Work Text:
3rd July 1939
Lacie watched the smoke rise. By herself. The Little Miracle Stations were convenient. And quite. There was barely anyone in the studio anymore. No one really talked to one another. Just mumbled and whispered and shouted. After what felt like an hour, but was probably just a few minutes, Lacie emerged. The cigarette was discarded to the floor and she walked away. The studio was cold and unforgiving. Ink everywhere, consuming it like a disease. She finally made her way to the lift. Down, down, down a dangerous descent. Everything was bland. Just seeing colour hurt her eyes by now. Her once lesiurely pace had morphed into a sluggish and exhausted drag. She was sick of it. She was sick of it all. Wally limped past, confused as to where she was going. He asked her. She answered. And he dismissed her. Like everyone did. She had barely any money as the studio crashed into bankruptcy, accompanied by the screams and struggles of the few workers left. She knocked 4 times on the door with a star in it’s name. There were better work places out there. She was certain of it. Her soon to be former boss answered, looking more tired and dishevelled than usual. He smiled. It was a poor imitation of the one he had used to lure her into this place.
“What do want Miss Benton?”, His voice was a shadow of his old one.
This whole place was a damn shadow.
”I want to resign.”, Lacie answered as calmly as she could.
Just being in his proximity made her want to punch him. He titled his head and feigned ignorance.
”I’m sorry, I must’ve misheard?”
”I want to resign.”, She repeated bluntly, “It’s not that hard to understand.”
The broken smile vanished. He stepped aside from the door.
”Come in so we can discuss it.”
Reluctantly, she entered his damned office. Papers spilled onto the floor, a large ink puddle just beneath the door frame. She stepped away from it and walked over to his desk.
”I wish to resign immediately, none of the stay for this many months nonesense.”
No reply. Only the closing of a door. She ignored this, her eye captured by something on the table. It was concealed by a few papers, but she read one part. Piedmont.
“You got that Drew?”, She moved away the other paper sheets.
”Of course!”, His footsteps were slow and steady behind her.
She read over the paper, trying to make heads or tails of what lay on it. Names were crossed out, cartoons next to them. Crosses could be found nearby the cartoons for the majority.
“There’s only one wrinkle.”
Lacie turned, papers flying out. Arms raised, bathed in shadows he said the last thing she would ever hear.
“You’re just too perfect to loose.”
Blood covered everything. Paper, clothes, the pipe. He hit her again and again and again until there was nothing left of her skull. He wiped the crimson from his face and lay down his weapon. He inspected the damage before nodding. He left the room, to clean himself up, confident that no one would see him. The empty husk of Lacie lay there behind a lock and a key.