SCREAM - THE GHOST OF LONDON

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Kit stood in the kitchen, the sound of running water filling the room as he rinsed the bloodied knife under the tap. The crimson stains swirled away down the drain, disappearing as if they had never been there. He worked meticulously, scrubbing the blade clean with a dish sponge, making sure no trace of blood remained. His movements were calm, almost methodical, as he rinsed the knife one last time before setting it on a towel to dry.

He glanced over his shoulder, where Lucas's body still slumped lifelessly on the lounge. Kit sighed and turned back to the sink, wiping down the counter and faucet, ensuring everything was spotless. The last thing he needed was for anyone to notice something out of place. When he was satisfied that the kitchen was as clean as it had been before, he dried his hands on a towel and began to plan his next steps, already considering how he would deal with Lucas's body.

Kit walked slowly back to where Lucas's body slumped on the lounge, the crimson stain spreading across the fabric. He rubbed his chin, contemplating the mess before him. "What am I going to do with you?" he murmured to himself, staring down at the lifeless form.

He considered his options, his mind racing through the possibilities. "I could cut you up and scatter you across London," he muttered, "but that doesn't fit the Ghostface MO." Kit sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Or I could dress you up in my Ghostface outfit and claim self-defense, but I'm not in the mood to throw myself around the room and stage another scene."

He shook his head, frustration creeping in. "None of this feels right."

Kit leapt over the back of the lounge and landed beside Lucas's lifeless body, sinking into the cushion with a heavy sigh. He glanced at the motionless form next to him and shrugged. "Ooooor," he muttered with a hint of dark humor, "we could just hang out for a while." He leaned back, resting his head on the top of the lounge, and let out a long exhale as if trying to find some twisted comfort in the moment.

Kit reached up, cupping Lucas' cold cheek with a twisted tenderness, his lips curling into a soft, almost innocent smile—the kind he'd once worn on screen in Heartstopper. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice calm, as if he were having a casual chat with an old friend. "I forgot how good it felt to kill again."

He leaned in closer, his thumb brushing over the blood-stained skin as he sighed. "Since the movie, all I can do is kill harmless animals, or occasionally stomp a homeless person to death in some dark alleyway." He chuckled softly, as if reminiscing about a fond memory, then continued, "Or sometimes, I sneak rat poison into the meals of people I work with—just to see what happens."

Kit's chuckle grew into a loud, manic laugh that echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls in a disturbing, haunting rhythm. He threw his head back, letting the moment sink in, relishing the power he felt surging through him.

Then, just as quickly, he straightened up, wiping the mirth from his face, returning to that eerily calm demeanor. "Anyway," he said, patting Lucas's now lifeless face lightly, "that's our little secret." He stood, adjusting his posture, and brushing off his hands like it was all part of his routine. With a casual glance around the room, Kit sighed, almost bored. "Now, I just have to figure out what to do with you... I suppose I could dress this place up like a scene from Stab, but that might be a bit on the nose, don't you think?"

Kit sighed as he stood up, glancing down at Lucas' slumped body. "Well, let's get this over with," he muttered to himself, grabbing Lucas by the legs and giving them a hard tug. The body slid off the couch with a dull thud, Lucas' lifeless arms flopping awkwardly to the sides as Kit dragged him across the room. The carpet muffled the sound of movement, and Kit kept his eyes forward, trying to ignore the trail of blood streaking behind him.

Reaching the bathroom, Kit nudged the door open with his foot and pulled Lucas inside. The small, tiled space echoed with the scrape of limbs as Kit maneuvered the body toward the bathtub. He huffed in frustration, his breath coming in shallow pants as he struggled to lift Lucas' weight over the edge.

"Why are you always heavier when you're dead?" he grumbled under his breath, giving one final heave. Lucas' body slumped into the tub with a sickening thud, his arms and legs hanging over the sides awkwardly. Kit wiped his brow with the back of his hand, stepping back to admire his work.

"There we go, much better." He looked down at the blood-smeared tiles and sighed, "Now for the clean-up."

Kit stood in the doorway of the bathroom, glancing back at Lucas' body slumped in the tub, then turned his attention to the mess left in the living room. He couldn't afford to waste time; the longer the blood sat, the harder it would be to clean up. He headed back to the scene, grabbing a few cleaning supplies from under the sink, including a bottle of bleach and a scrub brush.

"Alright, let's get this over with," he muttered as he crouched down beside the bloodstained carpet, his nose wrinkling at the sight of the deep red smears where Lucas had been dragged. He poured a generous amount of bleach directly onto the stains, watching it fizz and bubble as it began to lift the blood from the fibers. Grabbing the scrub brush, he began working in circles, methodically scrubbing the stains.

The carpet was stubborn, though, and the blood had seeped in deep. Kit's arms ached as he kept scrubbing, his mind blank as he worked, focusing on removing every trace of evidence. He'd stop occasionally, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand before pouring more bleach onto the next section of the carpet. Once satisfied, he stood up and stretched, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension.

Next, he moved over to the couch, grabbing a rag to wipe down the fabric where Lucas had bled before Kit dragged him off. Luckily, the couch wasn't too stained, just a few dark smears that quickly came off with some elbow grease and a bit more bleach. Kit sprayed down the area, wiping it with a rag until it looked as good as new.

Finally, Kit stepped back, scanning the room for anything he might've missed. He looked at the door handles, the light switches, the spots where Lucas' hands might've touched. Methodically, he went over every surface with bleach, scrubbing them down until they gleamed.

"That should do it," Kit said, standing back to admire his work.

Kit stepped into his spacious hotel room, his eyes immediately landing on the large, oversized suitcase sitting near the doorway. He approached it with a sigh, feeling the weight of the task at hand. The room, usually pristine, now felt claustrophobic with the remnants of the crime he'd just committed. He grabbed the suitcase and, with a grunt, dragged it into the bathroom.

As he entered the bathroom, Kit stripped off his blood-splattered shirt and tossed it carelessly to the floor. The shirt landed with a soft thud, a reminder of the mess he still had to clean up. Placing the suitcase on the tiled floor, he unzipped it, the sound of the zipper harsh in the otherwise quiet room.

Kit turned to Lucas' limp body slumped in the bathtub. Without hesitation, he grabbed the corpse by the arms and hauled it out of the tub, letting out a low groan as the weight pulled against him. Lucas' lifeless form flopped into the suitcase with a dull thud, but fitting him inside was another issue entirely. Kit muttered under his breath as he struggled to force Lucas' body into the confined space.

Realizing it wasn't going to be easy, Kit knelt down beside the suitcase and grabbed one of Lucas' arms. With a sharp crack, he broke the bones in the hand so it would fold neatly, then did the same to the other. He pushed the arms into the suitcase, tucking them in like he was packing away clothes for a long trip. Lucas' body resisted fitting into the small confines, so Kit placed one knee on his chest and used his weight to pin the corpse down.

"Come on, just fit already," Kit muttered, frustration growing as he pushed harder. With a final shove, Lucas' body crumpled into the suitcase, his chest compressing beneath Kit's knee as the last bit of him was forced inside. Kit quickly zipped the suitcase shut, leaning back against the bathroom wall with a satisfied, albeit exhausted, sigh.

"That's done," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the now-packed suitcase as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Fuck" he muttered.