- Bound - [Ted Bundy X Jeffrey Dahmer]

Chapter One

Chapter 1: New Beginnings

Milwaukee, Wisconsin, 07/01/1978

Ted's pov:

I anxiously rock myself back and forth over a broken bar stool as I lean over the counter, drink in hand.

I repeatedly, almost obsessively analyze every decision I had made, every fleeting thought to have crossed my mind, and every word to have left my lips in an attempt to figure out how exactly I had gotten myself into this situation.

Of course, there wasn't much to figure out. I knew what I had done. I relished the thought of it. The only regret I'd say I have is not being more careful in my indulgence in the murders of those girls.

If only I had been less impulsive.

As a consequence I faced prosecution and was on the run from the police after escaping the penitentiary institution they had kept me locked up in for a mere few months like a rat to a cage.

Cunts. If they were going to keep me locked up at least do it right... I've grown to enjoy being chained up in certain scenarios....

Not that I'm complaining. I much prefer these circumstances to that shithole, and that's saying a lot.

I'd barely gotten by these few days after my escape, using stolen credit cards to buy the limited resources I had and sleeping in alleys or alternatively, in cars I had stolen the few nights I tried to sleep. But I was relatively free to do what I wanted once again, this time more carefully.

And now I find myself here. Sitting in a local bar drowning myself in liquor with no further expectations for the night other than to get kicked out at some point when it inevitably closes.

Until then I, of course, plan to drink myself senseless and hope I'm not recognised from the news.

I'd often see my mugshots plastered across the walls wherever I went, and although it wasn't ideal... I must admit I looked damn good in those pictures.

At some point I'd started to feel the room spin around me. Chuckling to myself, I lift my gaze from the surface of the counter and glance around the room, only to find a pair of eyes looking right back at me.

I felt my heart sink as I considered the possibility that I had been recognised, my pulse accelerating as I brace myself for the worst.

So there I stand, my eyes steady as I watch him... watch me.
It's unsettling to say the least. I'm unsure if I should run (or more accurately stumble) away or ignore it.

Nevertheless, his gaze is persistent. Observing me through his lenses and maintaining an awkwardly rigid stance as he leans over the counter across from me.

Through the haze I manage to make out his features, his piercing eyes are cold, calculated. He remains expressionless rather than worried or distraught as I'd imagine someone who had just discovered a fugitive to be.

In other words, he doesn't look like he's about to turn me in.

This reassures me.

...Although I can't help but think this guy looks like a psychopath.

Not that I'm one to talk given my charges and the constant speculation of others to find out what drove me to commit such atrocities...

But I have to admit his appearance is certainly... Odd? Anyone could see it.
Something has to be wrong with him.
Then again, his unkept blonde hair and questionable fashion sense don't exactly help either.

Despite his general awkwardness and the unsettling nature of his gaze I feel drawn to him, there's a familiarity to him I can't quite place.

I then realise I know this man from somewhere.
He frequented the same bars in the area as I did, and I noticed he often left with other men after engaging with them, often buying them drinks..... Not that I have been observing him at all it was just blatantly obvious... And I need to be aware of my surroundings... although I'm not doing a very good job at that at the moment either?