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Every child is a gift from God. While some might deny it, this is a complete and utter fact. To be blessed with the miracle of a child is one of life’s greatest joys and there is nothing on earth that is better than looking into the tired eyes of your child after spending hours bringing them into the world.
Sometimes a gift shouldn’t have been given.
Marie was sixteen when she ran away from home.
She had been blessed with parents that believed in education, and yet that blessing had become her very downfall. She loved to read more than anything in the world. She would read love stories about handsome men sweeping beautiful women away into the world. She would read about the riches they would become blessed with if they would only follow their hearts. She loved her stories and there was very little that could draw her away from her books. That was until a new man came into the small town she called home. He was tall and handsome. Brown hair, green eyes. He was the most beautiful person she had ever seen. And he was interested in her. Plain, ugly Marie who lived in a shack. Stupid Marie who walked around with her nose constantly in a book. And he was interested in her. She felt like she was living in one of her stories. He loved her and he would take her away into a life of happiness and luxury.
Marie loved her parents, but she had been drawn away by promises that he had made her. He told her that he would give her the world and, like a fool, she had listened. And so on a bright starry night in the middle of July in 1899 Marie left her cabin and she never looked back.
His name was Henry and he was twenty seven. He had wandered into their small town because he had read an article about it in the newspaper. The article mentioned the growing population and, with it, the grow opportunity for jobs. He had arrived and found out that most of what was written had been based on false hope. He didn’t plan on staying long. He didn’t plan on falling in love with a girl eleven years his junior. But life was funny that way.
He had been in town for three months when he got a letter from a friend in New Orleans. They had a job for him. The job wasn’t fancy, but it came with a paycheck and a room to stay in. And so he left the small town. Only he brought Marie with him. The pair left in the middle of the night to avoid being stopped and they headed into a life that they hoped would bring them nothing but joy.
When Henry and Marie arrived in New Orleans they didn’t know what life would have in store for them but they knew that whatever it was they would be fine because they would be together.
Henry’s job had been even better than expected. He was able to make $17.50 a week and none of that had to be used for rent as they were allowed access to a single room apartment owned by his boss. In the beginning Henry would take Marie out and show her off. He would take her dancing and to dinner. Or he would take her to see a show. He was showing her just how much he loved her. He was making good on the promise he had made her. Marie was never happier than in those early months of living in the city.
In November, four months after moving to New Orleans, Marie found out she was pregnant. She had been feeling sick for a while, and had missed her period for the last four months. She had assumed it was the stress, but when she looked in the mirror one day she noticed the changes that were happening and to her body and was dumbfounded by the fact it had taken her so long to notice them. After confirming the news with the doctor she had to figure out how she was going to break the news to Henry. They hadn’t discussed children, and she had hardly expected it to happen so soon. They weren’t even married yet!
Henry found her that night sobbing into her pillow over the situation. He held her hand and stroked her face as he waited for her to feel good enough to say what was upsetting her. Turns out she needn’t have worried as he was thrilled to find out they would be having a baby. The next day Henry went out and bought the nicest ring he could afford and proposed. It wasn’t big or shiny, but it was Marie’s and she would never take it off.
In December they were married. Henry had given Marie a weeks’ worth of wages and sent her to buy a dress and whatever else she wanted. As soon as it was ready they set off and got married at the courthouse. It wasn’t a fancy wedding, but they didn’t need fancy. Marie had her dress, her ring, and the love of her life. She didn’t need anything else to be happy.
Early in the morning of April 19th, 1900, Marie went into labor. After fourteen long hours she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. As soon as she looked at his tiny crying face she knew it was love. She couldn’t imagine what life would be like without her beautiful son and loving husband. She was glad she had run away from home. Without doing so none of this would have happened. She still would have been the same lonely soul she had been her entire life. Here she was a wife and a mother. She had value. And she wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.
Her son. Her beautiful son. Marie gently brushed his tiny face with the back of her finger. It was soft. She stroked his nose in a methodic manner and hummed with him pressed against her chest. She smiled up at her husband, proud and strong, as he blissfully looked back at her.
Marie looked back at her son and gently kissed his forehead, “Welcome home, Alastor.”
Babies cry a lot when they are first born. At first it’s endearing. That’s the sound of a life that you grew in your own body for nine months. It’s the sound of love. After a few hours or days it becomes old. You think to yourself “I would do anything for you, but please, for the love of God, shut up!” And then after days of the screaming and the crying you just want it to be over. You haven’t slept in days, you can’t think. Even when the baby is sleeping all you can hear are their screams. But soon enough it will be over. The baby will grow into a child who loves you unconditionally and that is the best part of being a parent. Or so Marie tells herself as she rocks her son while pacing the room listening to his screams.
Henry had grown sick of the crying much quicker than Marie had. He hardly ever returned home anymore. When he did, it was stinking of cheep whisky and sweat. He would barge in and demand Marie leave him alone. If she tried to talk to him he would shush her before flopping over onto their bed, pulling a pillow over his head, and falling asleep. Long gone were the days of him taking her out for dinner. She spent most of her time alone now. Alone with only her thoughts and her child. The less time Henry spent at home, the more she regretted marrying him at all. Sometimes she imagined what her life might be like if she had stayed with her parents. What they would do if she returned home with a child.
The answer was a simple one, and it was what kept her in her lonely prison: they would kill Alastor and pretend he had never existed. They would sacrifice him to keep their family’s reputation as intact as possible.
And so Marie stayed. And she hoped that when Alastor got older, cried less, laughed more, Henry would return to how he used to be; that Henry would be the loving knight that he used to embody before the birth of their child.
Sometimes life has another plan in mind for you.
The first time Henry hit her she promised herself it would be the last.
Alastor was sleeping in his bassinet and Marie was reading to herself in the low light by the window. It would be dark soon and Marie wouldn’t be able to read for much longer, but that was alright. She should be getting her sleep as much as Alastor allowed, but instead she chose to read another chapter as a way to unwind from the day.
She chewed on her nail as she read through the pages. It was a particularly anxiety inducing part of the plot and even though she had read the book before she couldn’t help but allow herself to be overcome by the words in the novel.
As she turned another page the door to the small room flew open and banged against the wall. It was loud enough to startle Alastor awake and he immediately started to scream. Henrey stomped over to the bed and began undoing his belt.
Marie set down her book and glared at her husband. “He was asleep. Why did you have to open the door so harshly?” She pulled herself to her feet and made her way to the bassinet. She reached down and began to stroke Alastor’s nose while shushing him.
“Woman, it is not my job to make sure he doesn’t wake up.” He threw his belt to the side and toed off his work boots.
Marie turned her head as she continued to calm Alastor. “It is if you want to sleep tonight. I mean really, Henry. You don’t want to listen to him cry anymore than I do, so why can you not just be a little quieter when coming home?”
Henry glared at Marie as he pulled off his jeans before starting with the buttons to his shirt. “Why can’t the stupid brat just learn to shut up?” he snarked.
“He’s a baby.” Marie raised her eyebrows at Henry. “He has to learn to trust us to take care of his needs. When he does, he’ll cry less.” She looked back at Alastor who had stopped crying. “He just needs a little bit of time.” She pulled her hand away from him and turned around to face her husband. “He might learn to trust faster if you stopped avoiding him like he was some sort of monster.”
Marie began to walk back to her chair to finish her chapter but Henry grabbed her arm and swung her around. She opened her mouth to ask what he wanted but before a sound could leaver her mouth he swung.
Henry hit Marie with enough force to knock her to the ground where she looked up at him in shock and anger.
“I am the man of this house,” Henry spat at her. “You are barely worth the clothes on your back. If you ever speak to me like that again I’ll kill you.” With that he spun around and plopped onto the bed.
Marie stayed on the ground for longer than she could count. The sun had long since gone down when she finally stood. She walked to the bathroom they shared with the rest of the house and gazed at her face. It had the beginnings of a dark purple bruise forming across her cheek. She reached up and brushed it with her fingertips before wincing in pain. She had never been hit before. She had never needed to be disciplined like the other children she saw in town and so this was a new kind of pain that she had never experienced. Marie turned out the light and walked out of the room. She walked into her bedroom, grabbed a bag, and silently loaded it with clothes for her and Alastor. When she was finished she grabbed him from his bassinet and walked out of the room.
She promised herself she would never go back.
Henry found her less than twelve hours later. She was sitting at the train station begging for money to get on the next train to anywhere. (If Marie had been thinking clearer she would have grabbed the money from Henry’s stash on their dresser and been long gone before he awoke, but she hadn’t thought of grabbing any money before trying to flee.) Henry grabbed her arm and dragged her back to their home before beating her to near death. He told her that if she tried it again he would kill Alastor before moving onto her.
She never tried to leave him again.
In February of 1901 Henry came home with good news. He had officially saved up enough money for the downpayment on a house for their family. The house he had purchased was a bit out of the way, but it was cheap and it was nice. It had indoor plumbing. It was only two years old and the old owners were moving to New York for work so they were motivated sellers.
The family moved in with a little more than a month to spare before Alastor’s first birthday. He would have his own room, and there would even be enough space to get him some toys for his birthday.
Marie was excited. She would be a homeowner before her eighteenth birthday. Her parents would be jealous of her success (even if it came at the price of a new bruise every time she spoke “out of turn”).
They had lived in their house three years when Henry lost his job. His work quality had been decreasing for a long time and his boss couldn’t take it anymore. His friends had tried to convince his boss to give him another chance, but it was of no use.
He didn’t tell Marie. He would wake up every morning, get ready, leave, and then come home twelve hours later. Everyday. Marie only found out when she asked for their grocery money and Henry had told her there was none. He had spent the last of their savings on whisky and there was nothing left for their family.
Marie had to beg on the streets with her four year old son hoping someone would take pity on them and give them something so at least Alastor wouldn’t starve.
Luckily a kind woman saw them and offered her a job. She had told Marie that she was looking for a housekeeper, and if Marie did a good enough job she could even bring Alastor along. It didn’t pay half as well as Henry’s old job (she would be working six days a week for a dollar a day), but it would afford them rent, if they stretched it, food.
Henry wasn’t happy to hear that she would be working, but had allowed it when she said he wouldn’t have to take care of Alastor during the day. She didn’t tell him that they would have money for him to get drunk, as she knew that he wouldn’t take the news well.
When Alastor turned five he was finally old enough to be allowed to go to school. Instead of going with Marie to work she would escort him to the schoolhouse a mile away from their house. After the day was over he would return home by himself until Marie could make it back home. He had fought his mother long and hard over the decision, but she was firm in her belief that school would be his ticket to freedom someday.
Alastor’s favorite thing about his mother’s job was when she was allowed to bring home leftovers from the meals she had cooked during the day. The family she worked for was a well off one that lived in luxury. They had access to ingredients that Alastor could only dream of being able to afford one day, and sometimes they went on trips. When they did they would give Marie an advance in her pay and allow her to bring home whatever was leftover so it didn’t go to waste while they were away. His favorite meal for her to bring home was jambalaya. She didn’t make it often, as the family she worked for often wanted what they considered to be more “sophisticated,” but when she was able to bring some home he could never get enough. It was a welcome change from the beans that were a common meal in their household. (They often had beans for breakfast, lunch, and dinner as beans were filling and affordable on their strict budget).
After his mother’s death he found himself remembering the meals shared over the jambalaya more than anything else. Those dinners were the only times that he could remember her smiling with real joy in her face. His father, more often than not, stole that joy away so it was a blessing to see it when he was off getting drunk on money they didn’t have.
Marie died when she was thirty one years old. She had come home from work to discover the house was a mess. Henry had gotten drunk and then he had gotten angry that Marie wasn’t home when he got there. Alastor had seen his father storming to the house and left out the back door knowing it would be better to stay outside and allow his father to cool off.
Marie, unaware of the mood that her husband was in, entered the house without a care. She untied her apron and hung it on the hook by their front door. She set the carefully packaged food down on the dining table and called out for her son. Instead of her beautiful child she received his angry father.
He didn’t have anything to take his anger out on and so he used Marie. He beat her harder than he ever had before until not even her cries could be heard over the sounds of his fists hitting her flesh. When he had taken his anger out enough he left her on the cold floor of the dining room and left out the front door. He didn’t even bother to close the door as he left, yelling about how she better clean up her blood before he returned.
When Alastor came home early the next morning he saw the open door and for the briefest moment he felt worried. He brushed it off under the assumption that everything would be fine when he stepped into the house.
It wasn’t.
Alastor saw his mother’s apron hanging next to the door, gently blowing in the wind. Looking past the hook he could see the packaged food on the table. He walked closer to it, noticing that it was knocked to the side. The lid had been slightly removed resulting in the food spilling onto the table. It had been like that for hours, which was made obvious by the slight crust that had formed on it over time. He stepped closer and reached out to grab it, preparing to clean the table to keep his father from getting even angrier over the mess when he noticed it.
There was a trail of…something on the floor leading away. He put his hands down and followed the trail to his bedroom. His door was a jar. He pushed it opened further and his eyes followed the trail that led to his bed. At the end of the trail sat his mother. She was covered in bruises and blood. Her eyes were closed and her head leaned back, resting precariously on his blankets.
He wrapped his arms around himself and stumbled forward falling to the floor next to where she lay. “Maman?” He reached out a hand to her face.
She dragged an eye open. The other twitched, but refused to follow. There was no white in her eye anymore. Her brown iris completely surrounded by red. She opened her mouth and coughed. “Alastor.”
She attempted to drag her hand up, but it refused to cooperate. Alastor grabbed her hand with his own and held it firmly.
“What-,” Alastor’s voice cracked, “what happened here, Maman?” He didn’t need her to answer as he had a perfectly good idea of ‘who’ and ‘what’ did this to her.
“I am going to die.” Marie stated. Her voice shook with every word, but there was no question in her tone.
“No! I can get you to the hospital. They can—”
“Alastor. Look at me, my love. I have only held out this long because of you. I needed to—“ Marie’s speech was interrupted with a cough, “—I needed to see you one last time.”
“Maman, please. I can’t live without you!” Alastor pressed his face against his mother and she stroked his head.
“You can, my love. It will be okay. I will watch over you from Heaven. And when you get there we will never have to worry again.”
Alastor pulled his head back and Marie rested her hand on his cheek. She wiped his tears with her thumb and gave him a soft smile. “Come on, my love. Why don’t you give me a smile. You know,” she whispered, “You’re never fully dressed—”
“—without a smile.” Alastor finished for her. He took a deep breath and tried to smile for her. It was her dying wish, he could at least fulfil it for her.
“There he is, my lovely boy!” Marie’s hand started to go limp so Alastor held it tighter in his own. Marie closed her eye and leaned her head back.
“In my room,” she started, “there is a drawer full of sewing supplies. It has a false bottom. If you pry it up there should be $100 in there. I have been saving to take you away from here. It is too late for me, but you can take the money and run. Promise me you will leave this place and never come back.”
Alastor promised her and Marie smiled. And with the final promise made, Marie’s heart stopped. Alastor wanted to mourn her loss, but he had to go. He had to keep his promise to his mother.
He held back a sob as he set her limp hand on the ground and he stood on shaky legs. He stumbled to his mother’s room keeping his ears open for any sign that his father was coming home. He used the walls to guide his way to his mother’s dresser and he slowly opened the drawer that he knew contained her sewing supplies. Carefully he took them out and set them to the side before prying up the bottom of the drawer. There, in a mess of bills and coins, was the money his mother was talking about. He grabbed a bag full of fabric scraps and dumped it on the dresser before piling the money into the bag. As he finished up he could almost feel his father’s presence.
He shoved everything back into the drawer and tucked the bag of money under his shirt, keeping it hidden. He ran back to his room and stared out the window checking to see if the coast was clear. When he didn’t see his father he grabbed a suitcase from the hall closet and began shoveling his clothes into the bag. He zipped it back up and was preparing to leave. He looked at his mother again. He set the bag on the floor and walked over to her. He knelt down and gently pulled her head forward. He unhooked her necklace and set her head back down.
The necklace came from her mother. He had never seen her go a day without wearing it. To leave it here, with his father, would be traitorous. He clipped the necklace around his own neck, not caring about what anyone else would think of him, and he kissed her cheek for the last time. He stood, grabbed his bag, and hurried down the stairs and out the door.
Alastor took the first train out of New Orleans, which just so happened to be going to Baton Rouge. Hopefully it would be big enough, and far enough away, to keep him hidden from his father.
When he arrived he didn’t know what to expect. He was afraid of this place and the people here, but what choice did he have? He stepped into the city and prepared himself for a new life.
It took him three days before he realized that he wouldn’t be able to go to school anymore. His mother had valued education, and so he had as well, but in his position he would need to get a job. He would need to find a room that wouldn’t ask his age before accepting him. He needed to figure out how to live and he needed to figure it out fast.
He had been wandering the streets for days, not wasting any money on a hotel room in fear that he would run out of money too quickly. He was starting to look every bit as homeless as he now was.
On the forth day he was noticed by an old woman. She lived in a small house across from where Alastor had been sleeping. She came over to him with a plate of food and a question. He didn’t want to accept, but she refused to leave until he did. And then she asked him: What happened to him?
Alastor’s mother had taught him to be honest and so he told her the truth. He was on the run from his father after he murdered his mother.
The woman took pity on him and offered him a room to stay in her home. She said that she could allow him that, but she wouldn’t be able to pay for his food. Again, he didn’t want to accept, wary of relying on someone he didn’t know, but she refused to take no for an answer.
Over time she told him about her life. Sarah’s, as she said her name was, husband had died years earlier and her daughter had run away as a child and never contacted her again. She had long since given up hope of hearing from her, and so she made peace with the fact that she would be alone for her final years (she often said she believed that Alastor was sent from God to be her companion until she died).
It only took an additional few days for Alastor to find work at a small restaurant a few blocks from his new home. He would be making 50 cents a day, which was half of what his own mother had made, but it would be worth it to give him a way to survive. He could always look for a job somewhere else while he worked.
The restaurant was a family owned business that promised authentic Louisianan cooking for the tourists. Most of the customers had never been to the state before, and were eager to try the foods that were famous in the area.
Alastor had started out as a busser, but quickly became someone that they relied on as an extra set of hands in the kitchen. His mother had taught him everything she knew (when she was able to save the money for the good ingredients) and so he was practically a prodigy at cooking. It didn’t take long before he was completely moved to the kitchen and given a small raise that would allow him to stay at the restaurant for as long as the owners could keep their hands on him. He brought in more business than they had ever had before and so he had to be kept.
He was given two days off a week and he would often use them to sneak into the library and read. While he couldn’t attend school with his current situation, he didn’t want to fall so behind in his education.
When he was at work the older men often listened to the radio. They would listen to the music, the shows, or anything really. It became a comfort to hear the soft crackling through the speaker that signaled the radio being powered on.
As he grew up in that kitchen he internalized the love that would be felt whenever the radio turned on. He would often find himself mimicking the accent of the announcer and telling stories in that same fashion as he worked.
By the time his eighteenth birthday rolled around he knew that he wanted to be a radio personality. Sarah supported his dream and gave him every opportunity to pursue it. His boss at the restaurant told him it was foolish. Radio wasn’t for people like him. People like him weren’t supposed to be seen or heard. His coworkers told him that the boss was just petty because Alastor had a chance to make it out of the life he had been born into. They helped him look for jobs and even called in favors to get him interviews. It never panned out.
Or it didn’t until March of 1920, a month before his twentieth birthday, when Sarah told him that she had found someone who was willing to overlook his differences and give him a chance. She had gotten him a job at a station that would allow him to work his way up to a speaking position. The only problem was the job was back in New Orleans.
He was terrified of running into his father, but it had been six years. Surely that was enough time to prevent his father from recognizing him. Afterall, he wasn’t sure he would even recognize the child he was all those years ago.
He stepped off the train in New Orleans a week after Sarah told him about the job. The station had given him two weeks to move to the city and get settled before he was expected to start working. Thankfully he knew his way around and didn’t have to struggle too much finding a room. He spent the first few days back in New Orleans preparing for his new life. He got new clothes worthy of his new profession. He bought himself a nice suite with a matching hat and a cane. It was a bit more than what he wanted to be spending on clothes, but it would be worth it to show up to his first day at the studio with such a nice outfit.
On his first day of work he woke up earlier than he intended. He had hours left until he was due at the station and yet he couldn’t get one more moment of sleep. After struggling to sleep for a half an hour he decided it wouldn’t be happening and so he stood and prepared for the day. After a quick shower, shave, and breakfast he was almost done with his preparations. He got his suite out of the wardrobe in the corner of the room and set it on his bed. He smoothed out any wrinkles that this action had made and he readied himself for the new chapter he was starting in his life.
Stepping into the station he readied himself for whatever tasks they had for him. He would do them all with a smile and he would be known as the most pleasant person in the building. He would give them no choice but to use him the next time they needed someone to step in and do the show for an emergency. He would give them no choice but to love him.
It did not go as well as he had hoped. He had messed up. He had gotten in the way. He had acted like an utter fool and he would be lucky if he survived to the next day, let alone be allowed to actually say something on the show. He was a failure and he always would be. His mother deserved a better son than what she had been given in him.
As he wallowed in his misery on a bench after work he saw someone he had never expected to see again. His father was walking along the street with some woman. His arm was linked in hers and they were laughing like there was nothing wrong in the world. As they passed by Alastor he almost thought he had been recognized. He pulled the hat lower to hide his face and watched the pair. His father called out a name, Alastor couldn’t hear exactly what it was, and a small boy ran over to them.
The child, who couldn’t have been older than four, grabbed his father’s hand and the trio continued on their way. Alastor watched them until they reached a corner. In a split second decision, he rose from his spot on the bench and followed them from a distance. It was a morbid sort of curiosity that led him to following the family around. Nothing more, nothing less.
They wandered along until coming to a house—his house, the one he had grown up in, the one his mother had been murdered in—and they entered it. His father lingered by the door for a moment, eyes locking onto Alastor’s form for a quick second, before he closed the door.
Alastor stared at the door and felt as if he had been stabbed. Not only was his father still living in the house that he had killed his wife in, but he had gotten a new one and had a new child.
Looking back at things, this would be the moment where Alastor knew he had come to a crossroads. He had two decisions that would shape the rest of his life (and afterlife). He could either turn around and walk away, forgetting about his father and going back to Baton Rouge to live a mediocre life and mediocre death. Or he could take revenge.
Alastor had promised his mother he would never return to this house, this city. He had broken that promise now. He couldn’t allow his father to tarnish her memory like this.
Alastor chose to take revenge.
His job at the station was still important to him, so he knew he had to be careful in his plot. He kept a smile plastered on his face and went about his life. He plotted in secret, keeping his true life and intentions to himself. He went to work and he worked hard, before returning home and planning on how he was going to make his father pay.
Three weeks later he walked out of the station and put his plan into action.
Alastor went home and changed into something less recognizable. For his job he had to be recognizable. For this he had to blend in. No one could notice him.
He left through the window as soon as the sun had gone down. It led into a back alley. No one was ever there. No one would know he had left. He took the alleys to his old home in the outskirts of the city. The lights were all out. That meant everyone was either asleep, or they were gone. Either way, he had a plan for what to do.
He snuck to the back door and into the kitchen. His father had a habit of never locking the back door. He said it kept everyone safer in case of emergency. Tonight it would be his downfall.
Alastor grabbed a knife from the set that was stored in the drawer. He touched the blade with the tip of his finger and watched the blood well up. His father liked to keep the knives sharp. He often said that a dull knife was more dangerous than a sharp one. Tonight Alastor would prove him wrong.
Alastor crept up the stairs and noticed the door to his old room was open. He peered in and saw that it was empty. That was good news. It meant they wouldn’t be home for a while leaving him plenty of time to prepare for his crime.
Creeping forward he pushed the door to his father’s room slowly open. To his surprise his father was sleeping in the bed. It appeared as if his father was the only one home tonight.
Alastor entered the room as quietly as possible and threw his plans out the window. If his father was home alone, and Alastor didn’t have to worry about his new family, he didn’t have to be as careful as he thought.
Alastor grabbed his father’s belt off of the dresser and attached it to the bed post. He opened drawers until finding the woman’s stockings. He secured them to the bed as well. After making sure the knot wouldn’t come undone he grabbed his father’s arms and slowly tied one to the stockings and the other to the belt. He tugged to make sure they were secure before moving on to secure his father’s legs to the foot of the bed. He shoved one last stocking into his father’s mouth so he couldn’t scream before beginning to violently shake him.
His father, the drunk bastard that he was, was a deep sleeper. Even as a child Alastor knew this as a fact. That is how Alastor knew with confidence that his father wouldn’t stir until he wanted his father to stir. And he had had plenty of time to prepare.
When his father opened his eyes he seemed confused. He tried to move his arms, but they wouldn’t budge. Same with his legs. His mouth was dry and felt like it was stuffed full of…something.
Alastor watched as the confusion began to change into panic.
As his father struggled against the binds Alastor could feel his fake smile changing into one that was real and cruel.
Alastor leaned over the bed and looked his father in the eyes. “Hello, Papa. Did you miss me?”
With a laugh he watched as his father began to struggle more than before. Alastor brought the knife up and held it in his father’s view. “If I were you, I’d stop struggling. I have some questions for you, after all.”
At the appearance of the knife his father stilled. Alastor twirled it around and began to speak. “It has been six years since I was last in this house, Papa. Six years since I have been in New Orleans. Imagine my surprise when I come home for a visit and I see that you have replaced me and Maman. It didn’t take you very long, did it?”
Alastor moved the knife to his other hand and reached out. “I’m going to take this out of your mouth now. I want you to answer some questions for me, and I might spare your life and that of your new wife. But if you scream, I swear to every god that is listening that I will kill all three of you. Do you understand me?”
His father nodded and Alastor’s grin widened. “Good.” He removed the stocking from his father’s mouth.
His father stretched his jaw, but didn’t scream. Alastor couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
“Why did you do it?” Alastor asked.
“Do what.” It wasn’t a question. His father had made it seem like a statement. As if that would keep Alastor getting an answer.
Alastor’s smile sharpened and he brought the knife up to his father’s neck. “Why did you murder my mother?”
“As far as the police know it was you who murdered Marie. You were an ungrateful brat and you killed her before running away.”
“That isn’t an answer.” Alastor tightened the knife against his father’s throat. A small line of blood was starting to ooze from behind it. Without warning he slashed the knife in an upward manner and dragged it over his father’s left eye. The very eye that was left so damaged his mother couldn’t open it in her final moments. As his father yelped in pain Alastor stabbed the knife into the mattress above his father’s head. “Why did you do it?”
“Because I was angry!” His father whined like a pathetic animal. “I was drunk and she was there! How was I supposed to know the stupid bitch would die?”
At his father’s attempt to call his mother that name Alastor took his hand away from the knife and dug his nails into the cut. He pushed his fingers into the wound and pulled it open. As his father screamed in pain Alastor finally pulled his hand back and grabbed the knife again. He pulled it out of the mattress and used it to cut open his father’s shirt.
He backed off for just long enough to slam his leg into the small wooden chair in the corner of the room. He kicked it until the legs broke from the force and he grabbed it. He walked back to his father’s side.
“I have work tomorrow so I can’t use my hands, but maybe with this you’ll know what you did to her.” Alastor set the knife on the dresser and grabbed the chair leg with both hands. He pulled it up, over his head, and slammed in down onto his father. His father’s screams were music to his ears as he slammed the leg into him over and over.
When his father’s screams had broken into quiet sobs of pain he finally pulled away. His father’s once pale skin was now a mess of blood and bruises. Just like what he had done to Alastor’s mother.
“I have one more question for you, Papa, and then I will grant you the Mercy you did not give Maman.” Alastor’s smile faltered for the first time that night. He swallowed heavily before forcing it back onto his face. “Why were we not good enough for you? What makes your new family so special?” Alastor practically had to spit the word out.
His father wheezed. “You can’t tell?” With his one good eye Alastor’s father looked at him with disgust. “I never wanted to have a monster child like you. Your mother was never supposed to be my wife. I tried so hard, but I hated her from the moment you were born. You are a freak of nature! My punishment from God for daring to sin. They’re special because they aren’t like you and your who—”
Alastor had heard more than enough. He forced the knife into his father’s throat and listened as his speech turned to gurgles. “Your mercy is that you don’t have to suffer in pain the way she did. It is more than you deserve.” Alastor twisted the knife. “I’ll see you in Hell, Papa.”
Alastor left his father’s body in the bed. He refused to stay in that house longer than he had already been there. He left the knife sticking out of his father’s neck and left the house.
It took three days for the news of the murder to become widespread. There were no leads on who would have killed such a “charming” and “well-liked” man. It became a popular enough story that the station decided to do a segment on it. They didn’t normally cover crime, but seeing as they were losing listeners, they figured that what was better than to have a new type of story to their station. They didn’t want to use their current voices on the off chance that the segment didn’t do well, and they offered the job to Alastor who couldn’t have been more thrilled at the opportunity.
He was nervous for his first broadcast, but his coworkers assured him that he would be fine. He just needed to sound good and read a script. He could always improvise if he felt confident, but that wasn’t a requirement for his first show.
“Salutations listeners! We sure do have a curious story to tell all of you today.”
With his first broadcast complete, his coworkers took him out for a celebratory dinner. He had done a spectacular job and they were confident that he would be the one to bring their little station into the public’s favor.
Alastor’s segment quickly grew in popularity as there was something almost hypnotic about his voice. It didn’t take long before he became the regular voice on the show and wasn’t simply the “crime time segment” that he was when he first began. As the years went on his popularity began to skyrocket. There wasn’t a person in New Orleans who hadn’t heard of Alastor, and there were very few people who didn’t recognize his voice in the entire country. He became a beloved figure who everyone would look to for their morning stories.
Slowly Alastor grew in his confidence. He had achieved his goal and become a radio star. He was one of the most well known people in the country, and there was almost nothing that he loved more than his fame.
The one thing that he did love more than his fame was his secret…hobby. After killing his father he had expected to be caught quickly. When he wasn’t caught, and then when he spoke about the crime that he himself had committed, he became obsessed with these crimes. He would constantly go out on the hunt for men that he deemed as “unworthy” to live. When he found them, he would plan. He would wait for them to be vulnerable and he would strike. He would never leave them the way he left his father. For these murders he would bury the bodies in the secluded areas around the city. He would hid the bodies where there was little chance of them being stumbled upon before they were already well into their process of decay.
It had been thirteen years since his first murder and he was cocky. He had a kill count almost to the triple digits. There was no way for him to get caught.
Except….
It was late. He had killed some bastard serial rapist. The man had tried to force himself on one of his friends, which was how Alastor found out. (You don’t get into the business of murdering creeps and not make friends with the burlesque dancers; they knew where to hunt the best creeps, after all.) This one had been slippery. He had almost escaped Alastor’s knife, but you don’t stay in a business as delicate as murder and not pick up a few tricks. And so the bastard had died, if not a little later in the evening than what Alastor had expected.
The sticky heat of the June air made carrying the body that much harder. Alastor dragged it to the hole he had dug earlier that day and plopped it in. He began shoveling the dirt to cover the corpse.
He hadn’t been working for too long when he heard it. The distinct sound of barking dogs and snapping twigs. Someone was coming. Alastor dropped the shovel with a curse and started to run back to his car. It was two miles away from the hole. He could only hope that he could reach it before whoever caught up with him.
It wasn’t long before the dogs had caught up with him. They snapped at his legs and snarled at him. He tried to fight them off but they grabbed at his skin and yanked him down. He could feel their teeth ripping into his flesh as he tried to escape them.
There were three dogs. The largest had grabbed onto his leg and refusing to let go. The smallest was the one hanging onto his hand. Alastor knew that if he looked he would see that it had torn down to the bone. The third was standing back barking at him.
Alastor blinked at them. His face was stuck in a forced smile. It was practically permanent at this point in his life. He was never without his smile. He even wore it when sleeping. His smile now was more like a sneer.
There was a sharp whistle and then a loud crack broke out.
Everything went dark.
Alastor’s body was found three days later by the police. They had gotten calls saying that there was a car parked on the side of the road illegally and it had been there for too long. He was less than a hundred feet from his car.
They almost couldn’t tell who it was that was lying in the dirt. His face was covered in blood and dirt. His limbs were shredded and the bone was poking out in more places than they could count. There was a single bullet hole in the center of his forehead.
Despite it all, his face was smiling up at them. He smiled as they carried his body up the hill and placed him in a car to him take away. He smiled as they placed him in a casket purchased for him by a dear friend. He smiled through it all.
It was like his mother taught him.
You’re never fully dressed without a smile.