ᴍɪsᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪsᴅᴏᴍ (wisdoms) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-02-18 19:41:00 |
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Ah, London. The city where pirates were hanged. This was something poetic, Killian was sure of it. There in the Wapping district of East London right outside the Prospect of Whitby pub, a historical landmark in its own right, was a replica of the gallows. The gallows, yes, where Grand Pirate Captain George Cusack, the Great Sea-Robber (rumoured to have recently bedded his sister - no thank you), met his untimely end. Became one with the noose, along with seven or so in his pirate crew. Some of them got lucky - their sentence was merely a life of service in the Royal Navy (or was that worse? Difficult to say). But Wapping, by the docks, also happened to be a criminal hotspot - in old times past, certainly. Now it was just your standard blah, with a few points of interest here and there. What Killian cared about most of all was the unfortunate sod who lived in one of Wapping’s warehouse conversions - it had, in fact, been converted to a two-bedroom flat, by St. Katharine’s docks with a balcony that overlooked the river Thames. That was the thing about people who killed - they were just your average joe sometimes, weren’t they? Nothing particularly special about the fellow who was mere months away from retirement; he took public transport further into London everyday, the underground close by, he had a regular job and a regular paycheque. He did his grocery shopping at the market and generally kept to himself. You’d never know, sitting next to him on the tube, that years ago he’d loitered about the M6 corridor (a long stretch of highway) and that’s where he found Pete Wisdom’s mum, that was where he’d killed her. Later, after some time, a number of human bones were located along the Thames river. Then a human jawbone. Finally, years later, that’s when the human skull was found on the bank of the Thames near a bridge. DNA testing confirmed that all of the bones belonged to the woman Killian was tasked with looking into. Her fate now sealed. The police covered a lot of things up - especially when it came to serial killers, being unable to find them or locate sufficient enough evidence. Not wanting to put the whole country into a panic, right? Pffft. He really loathed most of them. No wonder PIs and the po-po’s didn’t get along. He’d already gone over all of this with his clients, though. Now, it was dusk, and they were in a rental car facing the building where the fellow lived. Likely his days were numbered, but Killian would leave that up to the other two. “He’s got to come out sometime,” the pirate noted. Pete knew his mother was dead. He’d known well before this, a feeling in his gut - the fact that she’d been murdered by a serial killer in his dreams the biggest lead - but still. He’d have to give her a proper burial, now that he had the remains. Her remains. He might throw up. But they were here, and now he wasn’t sure what else to do now that he had the answers to his questions. “Or I could just go in,” his tone was dark, and there was a rage he rarely felt simmering dangerously beneath the surface. “No one would miss him.” He’d had assignments like this before - in and out, dead and gone. Literally only took a minute. See, Lina wasn’t sure if this would take only a minute. It wasn’t just any assignment, it wasn’t just part of the job - the man they located and were now technically stalking was responsible for not only murder, but for causing so much turmoil in a family that it ripped them apart for years. The lack of closure, all the blame Pete had endured because it all had to go somewhere, apparently, and why not toss it on the shoulders of the son? This was as personal as personal got, and she knew one or two things about tying loose ends with a little (a lot, really) blood, and a little death. Her small hand went over his to squeeze - an attempt to calm those flames, for now. They needed to run rampant eventually. All part of that healing process. “Well, if our patience is running thin - and I’d say it is - I can always lure him out,” she offered, twirling a strand of that inferno-colored hair around a free finger. “Pull the whole ‘help me I’m a poor American girl with a flat tire, woe.’” Their other option was to do the deed in his home, but then worry about the clean up. Burning the entire place down was an option - burning anything down was, when it came to the Wisdoms - though she had to wonder how much evidence was in that home. Didn’t serial killers take trophies, something like that? Pete considered it, returning the hand squeeze - of course he didn’t want to be too irrational about this, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to look himself in the mirror if he just took the high road and let that scum continue to live out his days, evading police capture and being slippery enough to slide under the radar. Maybe returning the murderous favour wouldn’t ultimately fix anything, but fuck, it would definitely make him feel better. And he was thinking along the same lines, that burning down the whole building (it was in theory easy enough to do even now - no interacting with his mother’s killer required) would destroy evidence. That’s not what he wanted - he wanted the police to do their bloody job, to discover the dead body and how it lead back here to the cosy living space of a murderer at large. He wanted closure for other victims families too, if there were any trophies to be found. “I think that’s a good plan,” he said in regards to Lina luring the fellow out. Same name as the dream killer, Michael, and it was something that caused bile to raise up into Wisdom’s throat. Not like he enjoyed the thought of Lina being alone with him for those few brief moments, but she could take care of herself. She wasn’t a bored housewife running from her responsibilities, glad to leave the kids behind to take a long drive and forget. Killian was glad they’d used fake names to rent this car. Always plotting, the Captain was. Especially when he knew he’d be in London on particularly shady business. “We’ll get him in the car, go for a drive,” he offered. “Do what you need to do, then dump the body in the Thames.” He wasn’t concerned about that either. Do you know how many bodies were dumped in the Thames? Ye gods. It’d wash ashore eventually. No worries, Petey-bird. She had this. Best thing about her was that she really was an unsuspecting opponent at all times - blame the bitty size and round eyes, up until someone took a closer look, realized those were devilishly red irises, and before they knew it everything was ash and, oh, that hole in the ground? A fucking crater. Him and Killian were too intimidating to pull the cute card, anyway, and at least she was a pro at it. “Yep, on board with all that,” she nodded, the situation too serious for any wisecrack puns or quips - she knew that hellish storm that was brewing inside her husband, and it’d been building and building with momentum ever since the investigation started. Moreso when they discovered that the one responsible was alive, living normally, when that was the last thing he deserved. Lina released his hand only to reach up and grab his chin and playfully shake. “I’ll be right back, Hot Hands, and Killian - make sure he doesn’t kill him yet.” It wasn’t the right place yet, but soon. Anyway. Time to unbuckle herself and prepare for the role of the helpless, and she zipped up her tattered leather jacket the moment she stepped out of the car. Today was the day for actual denim jeans and short-heeled boots (it added that extra half-inch of height that she needed, without the pain). It was cold out here, and fidgeting from the chill would give her that extra pitiful edge of ‘wahhh help me I’m an adorable tourist.’ A nod was sent to their direction, before urgent knocking on the door began. Making sure that Wisdom didn’t suddenly just unleash all the ambient heat he’d been absorbing, aye, Killian could do that. He gave Lina a quick salute send-off with his fingers - her husband’s expression was still dark as a starless sky, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. Then they could end this. Killian stayed in the car with him, lighting up a cigarette - he’d asked first, since he knew Pete had quit, but he assured the other man it was fine. The woody scent of burnt tobacco didn’t bother him, nor the grey mist escaping through the open car window. Killian didn’t smoke often, but before murder? It seemed viable. Calmed the adrenaline - and this sort of thing always got it flowing. When Lina knocked, the door was opened a minute or so later by a beady-eyed man, short and rotund and generally unappealing. Even had the receding hairline and a British nose that was bulbous, not even close to the majesty of Wisdom’s own. The scent of a meal that must have been covered with plastic and microwaved (pot roast, was it?) wafted out - apparently he wasn’t much of a cook, in addition to not being much to look at. But really, he was just a smug old man who believed he’d gotten away with murder. He wet his lips with his tongue (good thing Pete stayed in the car - such an offence directed at his wife, innocuous as it was, would have set him off) when he saw who had come by. “Need something, love?” Ew. No. Really. Ew. Lina’s poker face remained, innocent and sheepish, but she was vomiting, eternally, on the inside - probably due to a mix she was face to face with the shithead responsible for tearing apart the Wisdom family, and the stench of what could have maybe been rotten food, and, oh, what did he call her? Feel lucky, asshole. She wasn’t about to rip that tongue right out of his mouth. All the violence would be dutifully left to her wrathful husband, and her self-assigned duty was lure him out of that sorry excuse for a home. “Hi,” she smiled, biting her lip ‘shyly.’ “Sorry to bother you but, uh, you see - I kind of hit a snag with my tire and the rental company’s being awful and didn’t include a floor jack to live it up and I’ve tried other houses and you’re the only one that’s answered?” Her hand went to the back of her head for an awkward rub, nose scrunched. “Could you please, please help?” Oh, the birdie was American. The accent was a dead giveaway, but that was alright. The American girls, they were nice. Tourists who didn’t know their arse from their elbow - always fun when they came ‘round, but this portion of London? Nothing exciting here like Big Ben or the Queen. Birdie must be lost also. Well, who cared. She was found now. “Sure thing, love,” the greasy fellow (who only had an hour left to live, at most) replied. “Them rental companies’re always trying to jip you. Let me just grab my tools. You want to come in and wait?” Meanwhile, in the car, Pete was about ready to shoot to the front door like a rocket. Killian held him back, good hand on the man’s shoulder. “You catch more flies with honey than you do vinegar,” the Captain reminded him. “He doesn’t need her honey,” Wisdom grumbled. “Her honey’s off limits.” But alright, he’d wait. A bit more. Actually, mister, the last thing she wanted to was step foot inside and keep sharing the same oxygen, and it took every ounce of imaginable willpower to keep herself from gagging. But, again, clueless and cute, she’d stick to the act despite the fact that her patience was thinning to mere non-existence. Lina bit back a bitchy sigh and kept smiling, a little extra cheer to show how she appreciated that this repulsive, vile piece of shit came to her rescue. “If you don’t think I’m intruding, sure,” she said, but she wouldn’t fully enter - fuck that. It was more of a timid step inside and staying near the door out of, uh. Politeness, or something. Her fingers were reflexively a little twitchy; it was normal when she felt a little hostile (considering her fingers where how she summoned spells, after all), but to anyone else it was just a sign of normal anxiety. “You’ve got a nice home.” Kill me. “Thanks again for this, sir. You’re really a lifesaver.” Or, well, you’re about to get killed so that’s even better. What the fuck were you trying to cook? Rummaging for tools, and whistling a jaunty tune, Michael emerged with a box that supposedly contained useful things - he’d play the part too, sure, but he wasn’t about to be overly helpful and actually fix the bird’s flat tire. She couldn’t go anywhere? All the better for him. He swore he’d given up these ways - but when a cute little thing came to his door, so many possibilities practically falling into his lap, then it was best to answer the knocking of opportunity. “It’s no trouble, love. We’ll be off, then?” The man smiled - it was an oily smile, like that slippery used car salesman who knew he’d hoodwinked you, and shut the door behind him. Though he fully expected to return quick enough. Heading outside, he was surprised to see that the birdie hadn’t arrived here alone. And a bit disappointed, actually. “Who are your frien - “ He was forced to stop talking when, upon leaning into the car to get a better peering look, he was all of a sudden bitchslapped with a metal prosthetic hand. Or at least he thought it was that - hit hard enough to cause a nosebleed, and for a cut to open above his eyebrow; it had him seeing stars for a second there. “Wha - “ “Get in, we’re going for a joyride,” Killian announced cheerily, letting the tub of lard be shoved into the backseat. With Wisdom, also known as, the killer’s reckoning. Lina casually whistled, looking at every direction to make sure there were no wandering eyes staring their way but the coast looked clear, the first half the mission was a total success, and she could now drop the cutesy act for the god honest truth: disgust. And amusement, because gross ass here found out he got tricked. “I don’t ever think I’ve needed to shower in boiling bleach just to by being close to someone,” she groused, climbing into the front of the car - Pete would be by himself next to the freak, but she made sure to sit on her knees and take in the view behind her. “And for my friends, well, the one that gave you the good whack - that’s Killian, he found you for us. The attractive fella you’re next to, though. That’s my husband.” Killian wiggled his fingers in a sarcastic wave by the rearview mirror, then focused on driving - he knew these streets well enough. Had been to London enough times. Pete had their guest of honour in a headlock already, cutting off circulation a bit - just enough to make things uncomfortable, but not enough for dear old Michael to pass out. No, that would end the fun far too early. “Husband?” the fellow wheezed, while Killian took them on a journey along side streets that ran adjacent to the river - this particular one was cobbled, with a bridge at the far end as his destination; the street ran behind another row of converted warehouses, the scent of spices in the air - anise, clove, thyme, cinnamon. It was said that a century of storing spices, the scents infused themselves into the brickwork. “Husband,” Pete confirmed. “And we know who you are. We know what you did. It’s why we’re here, to make sure you pay for it.” Oh, shite. He struggled, of course, the weasel he was. But Wisdom wasn’t about to let him get away. Or open the door and take the easy way out. Lordy, please, let that not be disappointment in his voice at announcing there was a husband in the picture - that was going to get him killed even harder (was that a thing?), but she’d raise no complaints to that. “Keep squirming like that and he’ll be happy to make it hurt that much more, creep,” she shrugged, twisting back into her seat properly to take in the view of what was going to be his gravesite. Fitting spot, no one around to see, and he’d be another set of remains lost in the waters. Lina’s eyes went to the rearview mirror, briefly. “Have to ask. It sucks getting abducted and knowing you’re about to die, huh? I think that’s called karma. What’cha think, guys?” Hey, she wasn’t up against casually conversing to make his life seem that much less important. It really wasn’t an important life, not in the slightest. There wasn’t any guilt to be felt, not with Pete - who knew that this had been a long time coming. “Aye,” said Killian, agreeing with the point of a karmic punch in the face. “They say what goes around comes around. I think it’s certainly true to some degree.” When it situations of great distress, people did the natural thing. They screamed. Only Pete didn’t allow that to happen - he slit the fucker’s throat, the glow of a knife emitting from his fingertips. It simply severed the vocal cords, definitely didn’t kill him. But by the gurgle and horrible sound poor old Michael made, seemed like he wished he was. “Here’s good,” Wisdom told Killian, who stopped the car on the embankment. “Hope you’re not squeamish, Michael.” Or actually he didn’t give a fuck either way - good thing Pete had silenced him too, because what he did next would elicit a few screams from anyone. Probably even the hardiest of individuals, but this tub of lard wasn’t very hardy at all - truth be told, he was pretty weak once you had him backed into a corner. A legend who had escaped the bumbling police for years, but he wouldn’t be able to escape this. This meaning getting a good look at the hot knives that were claws, protruding from Wisdom’s hands - and he slashed across the man’s belly, spilling his intestines. And had the good sense to open the door and let him lean out, so that all those guts didn’t get in the car. Let’s not make a mess, now. “You killed my mum, you know,” Pete told him, in case he was wondering why he’d been abducted. Or was wondering why these people were literally making him cry now. “I’m sure you don’t remember, couldn’t recall her even if you saw her face, but my memory’s a bit better than yours, mate.” “Did he piss his pants?” Killian asked, turning around to observe. Oh yes. He had. “It’ll get worse, fellow, you’ve still got a few minutes of agony with your organs hanging out.” Damn. That crimson smile Pete made across his throat, she saw that from the mirror, unable to look away - and then what he’d done next? Well, Lina didn’t see it but she heard it. The distinct sound of a slice through skin, the wet noise of organs. Things she hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Closure wasn’t always clean. It was exhausting, messy, violent and bloody. And sometimes, the only way to get it was death. “Just a few minutes?” With a little tsk, the sorceress opened the passenger door and stepped out to take a better peek at her husband’s work - and he was brutal, rightfully so, and she wasn’t about to be craving spaghetti anytime soon. “That’s pretty generous for the likes of you, Mike.” Why not shorten his name? They were buddies, with the way he was trying to get her into his house. “No one’s going to find you, no one’s going to miss you, and wow, you really did pee yourself. That’s disgusting.” With utmost maturity, she formed an L with her fingers against her forehead. Loser. Hard to believe that slicing someone open could lead to closure, but here they were - the sizzling hot flesh wounds, made with a weapon that wouldn’t ever be found either (convenient, indeed, when knives were expelled from one’s fingertips), the key to achieving that closure. Even if he didn’t have his mutant powers, Pete would have found a way. An old-fashioned bullet to the brain, executed, a very cold ending. He usually wasn’t one to take pleasure in killing either, but the vindictiveness he felt now was very warming. ‘Mike’ could hear them, of course - he wasn’t completely gone yet, still managing to stay awake and alive while he struggled to breathe. There was no saving him though. Not a chance. Whatever word he was trying to say (it sounded like please, as if begging would take this train off the tracks completely, ha), died out. Pete just kicked him to the ground and didn’t stop - curbstomping the rest of the life out of him, like he was releasing every ounce and shred of frustration, anger, pain. Everything he’d felt since his mother disappeared. Since his father blamed him for existing. Since he’d dreamed of another life eerily similar to this one where all he knew was killing, more killing, and profound loss. Loss of friends, loss of lovers, loss of humanity. Killian got out of the car to watch also, and he didn’t make a move to get Wisdom to quit beating on the man, not even when he was very clearly dead. Eventually, it was still again. Another kick for good measure. “I can’t - I don’t want to touch him,” Pete said, and spat on the ground. “I’ve got it,” Killian assured, and made a move to grip Mike, to drag him to his burial site. Lina probably wanted to comfort her husband, and Killian would give them a minute - the pirate was well-versed at the art of dumping bodies into water. Oh, Lina was familiar with this. That frenzied unleashing of wrath, built up from years and years of it pent up without a proper outlet - she’d done it herself, when she had struck Shabranigdo over and over until red was splattered everywhere, as it drip-dropped from his corpse and pooled onto the floor. And the feeling afterward, it wasn’t a sick pleasure what she’d done and how she had finally won. It was grief. Slender arms circled his waist and tugged him close, up against her compact little body to make him focus on her, away from the mess, away from that. “Hey,” whispered the redhead as her hands went to his face. “Hey, I got you, Petey-bird. It’s over.” This part was, anyway. Sometimes old scars had to be cut open again and bleed out, all so the wound could heal right this time around. “I love you - more than you know.” Pete slung his arms around Lina, and she was a lot smaller than him - but it was like he was using her as an anchor anyway, using the shift of breath in her lungs and her voice to be able to even come back from some horrible plane of existence. He didn’t enjoy who he was, when he was lost in the zone and not even feeling an ounce of compassion. It was dangerous, to be trapped in that kind of tunnel vision and just letting go of all the rage. “More than you know,” his voice was broken, as he cupped the back of her head with his hand and pressed his lips to hers; there was salt, the taste of it, thanks to the tears leaking from his eyes. “I’m not sorry I did that.” She knew, of course, they all did. This was why they’d come. Then, he heard a splash when what he assumed was Mike’s heavy body hitting the water. Probably with rocks helpfully tied to his ankles. “Don’t ever be sorry,” she told him with words cracked like mirrors, because she hated what he’d gone through - if she could she’d take it all from him so he wouldn’t feel any of it. If magic like that existed then, hell, it was well beyond her skillset, but it didn’t matter because he needed this. No matter how raw it was, no matter how much it hurt. The next kiss was hers to start, all love and passion and comfort. They should probably add a another cushion of funds on top of Killian’s check to cover a body disposal fee, huh? “You did what you had to do to set the record straight,” Lina went in for a third, then fourth kiss. Sorry for the PDA, Hook, they were having a very much needed moment. “Tonight, tomorrow, the next couple days - they’ll be rocky, but we’ve got this. And I’ve got you.” Through thick and thin, ‘til death did them part or the world around them came undone again. Whatever happened, they’d get through it. This wouldn’t be any different. Killian understood - and was politely not paying much attention to the PDA, since it was their moment and he had the body to take care of. When he did this sort of job for clients, he wanted it to be done right. And cleanly. And without them having to worry about anything. “Rocky, yes, especially when I tell my father,” Pete responded, voice unreliable and grumbling. He smoothed Lina’s hair with his fingers, letting out a sigh that shuddered his whole body. Harold knew that his son and daughter-in-law had come to England for matters pertaining to his former wife’s disappearance, but Pete thought it best to tell him everything that happened later on. Not to mention, he’d made the decision to move to the States, so, this was just more incentive. Closure. Leaving the bloodstains of the past behind. They’d get through it, though. Killian returned then, sans a body. The water rippled below them, washing away any trace of them being here. “You lot ready to go?” “Ready,” Pete nodded, since he didn’t envision staying in this spot for longer than he had to. He needed a bloody drink> Drinks in the near future, definitely. It was just one of those days. “Yep,” she also confirmed, ready to sit in the backseat with Pete for some post-murder cuddles - but hopefully there wasn’t a piss stain back there somewhere. “Let’s get the hell out of here and find a good pub. We need carbs and booze.” Look, intestines and dumping bodies weren’t enough to curb her appetite completely, and they’d need something solid to absorb whatever they’d eliminate their emotional thirst with. But after this, it was one step closer to going back home, and one step closer to getting the hell away from all this for good - the end of the chapter written, so it could all come to a close for that part of their family history. |