GOD KILLERS. Tom Riddle

12. The cold hand of death

CHAPTER TWELVE
THE COLD HAND OF DEATH

THEY REACHED THE HOTEL IN NO TIME. Tom lead the way up the path, towards the tall building, once, in its youth, the place had been gorgeous, however the years spent stagnant eroded it, mould grew onto the walls, a yellow tinge to everything — even the hotel clerk, a small woman with a scowling face.

"Afternoon, nice weather we're having," Tom spoke politely, his hands motioning to the outside, a flurry of snow had started, sending shivers up Augustine's spine. "may we have a room?"

The woman's face still scowled, staring between the two of them with a look of disgust written over it. Augustine felt the unwelcome shame rise through him, he'd forgotten not everyone was as accepting as the Knights were.

Stiffly, she said, "104," her lips quirked upwards and Tom tilted his head at her. Augustine caught the way his jaw clenched, his grey eyes glitter,  but he snatched the key without a word.

Hurrying up the staircase, suitcases in hand, Tom passed the key to him.

"I need to do something," he explained before ditching his suitcase at Augustine's feet. Once dropping his stuff, he disappeared back down the staircase, leaving Augustine to stand dumbfounded.

He did what he was told, seeing as there was nothing more he could do. He took the suitcases (with extreme difficulty) to the room titled 104.

....

Standing in the dark room, a bed, a wardrobe and a bathroom that hadn't looked like it had worked for over a millennia, a sick feeling rose through his stomach.

He needed to go back down. To see what Tom had done, or was going to do. He almost felt what he was doing. The look he gave the clerk. The feeling of guilt and shame. The same guilt he'd felt radiating from Tom.

He raced down the stairs, keeping the door unlocked — it wasn't as if anyone was going to steal anything — and hurried through the swinging creaking doors.

What he saw was something he wouldn't ever get out of his head, though he would never want it to escape him.

He'll think about it forever, he expected.

Tom was on the floor, the hotel clerk gasping and clutching as Tom had a phone cord wrapped around her neck, turning her neck the colour of raw flesh, her eyes bulging as she clawed at Tom.

But Tom didn't care for her clawing, red rises on his pale skin but he didn't care. His eyes blank at he twisted the cord tighter.

Augustine stared, stuck to place as he watched. He must've made a sound, or Tom must've sensed his presence, like always (there were times when Tom would walk besides himself, and once Augustine would follow him, unnoticed, he still felt as if Tom knew he was there, as if he sensed him)

Grey eyes flitted upwards, his eyes brighten and instead of focusing on the clerk, he kept his attention on Augustine.

And Augustine didn't turn away as Tom tightened the cord, the clerk couldn't even gasp, or make much noise, and as her flailing arms started to slow, Augustine felt the desperate hunger claw up his throat.

He inched closer, his feet heavy, he was so close he could touch her, but no, he just watched above them, Tom kneeling behind her, pulling at the cord.

And then she stopped altogether, the flailing arms lay slack besides her, blue eyes blank. She was dead.

Tom breathed heavily, out of breath as he drops her unceremoniously onto the floor.

"She deserved it." He muttered as if reassuring himself once he caught his breath.

Augustine nodded, "of course she did,"

....

BLOOD DRIED EVER SO QUICKLY, AUGUSTINE HAD FOUND OUT. As he sat the cold weather chilling him considerably, he stared at the blood underneath his fingernails. The redness had probably stained more than just his fingernails by now. From all the bloodshed he'd created. First Marina, then Jasper, the unnamed muggles. The hotel woman.

When she had died, they'd gotten to work. Taking the money from the safe (motive, Tom had said) and staging it to look like a murder, and murder normally involved blood.

So they stabbed her.

Which on Augustine's mind, this lead to confusion, seeing as they'd already killed her. (Tom had killed her, but kept saying we afterwards, leading to Augustine to question if he did lend a hand in killing her. .)

Tom had just said, it needed to look like a murder. This was how it's done in the muggle world.

Augustine hadn't questioned him again. And now they sat in a cafe. A cafe with no warmth to it and stale food that made Augustine's nose crinkle up.

Coffee came to them in a moment from a smiling waitress with straw coloured hair. She was far too interested in Tom, who sat opposite him, his hands cupped together simply. They shared the same blood beneath their fingernails. They were trapped together by a string of fate — a bloodied string of fate, unravelled from a hotel clerk.

Twirling her hair at him as she asked about him, about which school he belonged to, (a school near Cambridge he said casually) what he wanted to do with himself, (a politician hopefully, he grinned that gorgeous grin of his) Augustine hated every moment of it.

Tom just drummed his yellowing fingers (from the expensive cigarettes he'd inhaled) against the table, the drumming had no tune to it. A tuneless thing that made Augustine angrier.

"We're done here," he snapped at the girl suddenly. She looked to him, affronted, and nodded, red faced, hurrying off back behind the counter.

"Haven't I told you green isn't your colour Augustine?" Tom chided softly lifting a brow in a challenging manner.

"I am in slytherin, it'll have to do." He replied with a shrug, taking a sip of his coffee.

Placing it back down onto the table, he looked into the inky pool of blackness; he looked terrible, hair shaggy and a mess, eyes sunken and skin almost green. He was definitely sick from the initiation and the rest of the crippling madness he'd had to endured over the past few days. Looking back, he'd rather not of done any of it. Maybe if he'd just declined, his heart would never have been broken.

And then he looked at Tom, who's smiling into his drink, and he thought, , thank merlin I didn't decline. He'd never be so close to him again if he did decline. So close he could snatch him up. Take the knives from his bag and cut him up, taking his beating heart for himself.

Then, when he'd get back to Hogwarts, he'd take Bunny. Take him into the Quidditch pitch and gut him. Gut him for the embarrassment. Gut him for the feelings he felt.

He wouldn't care if Tom told him not to. It wasn't like Olive in the slightest. Augustine had never cared for Olive, never kissed her as sweetly as he did to Bunny. He wanted to do it personally. He wanted to see Bunny's eyes pale when he kills him.

He wanted to see him terrified of him.

an/ andddd we're back to our regularly scheduled programming !!!! that took a while but were back to the actual plot !! hope u enjoy <3