We'll Meet Again

Chapter Seven: Ain't That A Kick In The Head

The rest of Alastor's workday passed in a blur. People spoke but he barely heard. His replacement arrived just before noon and he passed off his notes. He also asked him to cover the morning show the following day. Alastor had tried to come in after this sort of business before and always found it hard to focus. He left the booth to his replacement and went to his office. He first made a call to his housekeeper to let her know about his guest, and not to disturb him the following morning. He then placed a call to the hotel Vox had been staying with. With some convincing, he managed to convince them to gather his things from the room and hold them at the desk. Lastly, he took a deep breath to collect himself and dialed the operator to ask to be connected to his home number. Vox answered awkwardly on the third ring seeming unsure of answering the unfamiliar phone.

"Hello, Alastor's residence. Can I help you?"

"Vox, this is Alastor. I will be later than expected tonight, probably well after dark. No need to wait up for me. I will have eaten and likely be ready to head straight to bed."

Vox's voice came back from the other end of the line sounding a little crestfallen. The tone took Alastor a bit by surprise.

"Oh, sure. I guess I'll just see you in the morning then."

He was not sure why he sounded so disappointed or why it made him feel so bad.

"Listen, Vox, I took tomorrow off given that I am likely to be out late. We can spend the day together if you like."

Alastor could tell from the change in his voice Vox was smiling, and was amused to find himself smiling as well.

"That...that would be great Alastor! I'll see you in the morning."

Alastor bid him farewell and returned the handset to the base. He stood from his desk and looked at the framed city map of New Orleans set on the wall behind him. In his head, he plotted the evening out. He knew the target's habits already. He had been waiting for some time for the man's worse nature to get the better of him. The man had a mistress he met with in Algiers every Sunday afternoon. All he had to do was be there when the prick left. Alastor gathered his things and went to lunch.

He waited near a street corner as the sun ebbed towards dusk. The target had arrived just over an hour ago and it was his custom to be there no longer than an hour and a half. He had done Alastor the distinct favor of pulling up in a fairly new-looking Nash Touring. It made this easier than it was already supposed to be, though it made for one more item to dispose of. The door to the shanty opened and he emerged still tucking his shirt over his amble belly. As he descended the steps and moved to the street Alastor assessed the situation. A few people were milling about, so taking him here would not do. He waited and laid low. The car rumbled to life and the target entered the vehicle. Alastor waited patiently for just the right moment. The car bumped along the rough roads for several minutes before coming to a stop at an intersection. Alastor sprang from his spot, concealed in the rear floorboard and stuck fast and hard. The hammer took the man in the back of his bald pate and he was out like a snuffed candle. Alastor moved fast, seeing no other lights to speak of he cut out the vehicle lights and bound and gagged the man. Alastor shoved him over to the passenger side and took the wheel. He urged the car down the road by moonlight, making the cloudless sky accessory to his coming deeds. He drove for about an hour before coming upon the spot he was seeking. A familiar old boat dock jutting out into the bayou. This stretch of road had long gone unused and the dock was showing signs of disrepair. He retrieved from the dilapidated boat house the cart he kept there for just this purpose. He moved it close to the car and hefted its still unconscious occupant into the cart. As he rolled the cart along the rough trail to the dock, the man stirred from his fitful slumber. He made desperate little muffled noises into his cloth gag and jerked about fruitlessly. They reached the end of the dock and Alastor put a stop in front of both wheels of the cart to ease the process of tipping its contents into the water. He then moved around to the side the man was facing and knelt to meet his eyes in the pale moonlight. The man's fear and confusion seemed to coalesce into rage as he saw the face of his captor. This was fairly normal, Alastor learned long ago that men like this only cared about power and control. They loathed the idea of someone they saw as inferior taking those fragile commodities from them. Alastor met his glare with a wide grin, it seemed to unsettle the man a little. Alastor had tried many times talking to these sorts of targets. He had learned the only thing that greeted him on the other side of that gag were hateful words and screams. The desperate sounds turned to pleading sounds as Alastor drew a wickedly sharp blade from his belt. He admired the way it glinted in the moonlight briefly. He reflected on the revelations of a young boy, reading a book he shouldn't have. A book he copied word for word before it was taken from him so that he could continue to reflect on it. The book that changed everything. Sacrifices were made to give this man the free will to live as he pleased. He chose to use it to seed hate, to foment violence. Alastor used the knife to make on long clean cut from the navel to Adam's apple. The pleading sound changed again. He took the cart by the handles firmly and hoisted it up. There was a splash, a pause, then a series of chaotic splashing sounds. He returned the cart to its place and started the car back towards town.

Just before he arrived in town proper, he turned the car towards the mighty Mississippi on a quiet stretch and rolled out. It splashed into the river and sank like a stone. He turned and walked the dark streets back to his home in the garden district. He avoided roads that would be busy and kept his hands in his pockets. Alastor was careful when engaging in this bitter business but one could never be too cautious. He took his shoes off before mounting the steps and knocked them together to ensure any remaining dirt or mud didn't follow him in. He took off his coat draped it over his arm and found just a hint of crimson had made its way onto his arm. He mounted the steps and unlocked the front door. The house was dark and silent save for the ticking of a few clocks. He put his coat in a chest by the door to be disposed of later then decided it would be best to add his shirt as well just to be sure. The chest snicked shut, the lid locked in place and he moved to the kitchen. Alastor ran the tap and rinsed his arms up to the elbow before grabbing the soap. He knew from experience that blood could get in all kinds of unexpected places and he wasn't keen on taking chances.

Vox jerked awake and squinted at the light in the hallway. It took him a moment to remember where he was. He had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for Alastor it seemed. He rose, neck stiff and back screaming in protest. Water began running into the kitchen sink. Vox blinked in confusion and took a few short steps from the couch to the kitchen. A floorboard creaked as he entered the dimly lit room through the open doorway. The figure hunched over the sink appeared to be Alastor, shirtless, dipping forward into the water as though he were washing up for surgery. He whirled and froze like a startled deer, pinning Vox to the spot with his eyes. There was something in that stare that deeply troubled Vox, something he hadn't seen there before. It felt like a very long time before either of them breathed, let alone spoke.

"You're...uh you're home."

Vox's voice was shaky and weak, he sounded scared. Alastor's mind was racing, he was sure he still had blood on him. If Vox hadn't seen it yet he soon would. A few rash courses of action sprang to mind but he dismissed them at once. Alastor had never killed, or even badly hurt anyone that he wasn't absolutely sure deserved it. He wasn't sure he was willing to hurt anyone to keep his secret but certainly not Vox. He sighed, resigned to whatever would happen next.

"Yes, I am. Just arrived actually."

He turned back to the sink and liberally soaped his hands, somewhat relieved that the water had a slight tinge of pink. Not much then, maybe he didn't notice. He was surprised to feel a hand cautiously rest on his bare shoulder. He resisted the urge to whirl on Vox again. Vox's hand urged him to turn and face him. Alastor obliged turning fully to face Vox who was closer than he had realized. Vox reached around him and took up a hand towel. He wet it briefly in the running water before using it to scrub at a small section of Alastor's cheek. It came away stained ever so slightly red. Alastor was surprised at the concern he heard in Vox's voice.

"Are you okay? You're not hurt are you?"

Alastor was a little touched. He took the towel from Vox's hands and used it to dry his own. He twisted slightly to turn off the water but made no move to free himself from between Vox and the counter. Alastor took the hand that had scrubbed his cheek and guided it back to rest there. Vox blushed but did not break the eye contact they were holding between them.

"I am okay Vox, thank you."

Something flashed in Vox's mismatched eyes. He slid his hand smoothly and cupped the back of Alastor's head. He pulled, urging them closer until their lips met. Vox saw Alastor's eyes widen with shock just before he closed his own to lean into the kiss. He felt Alastor shiver a little but he relaxed into the embrace. By the time they parted, Vox felt breathless. He searched Alastor's eyes, desperate for some reaction only to find confusion. He let out a heavy sigh and turned moving quickly for the stairs. Alastor reached out for his wrist but just missed it. He considered pursuing him but why? What would he do? What could he say? He heaved an exasperated sigh of his own and headed to bed, turning out the lights as he went.