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“Now, Alastor. You better come home safely, you hear me?” The middle aged woman chided, her hands resting on her hips, examining the young man who would soon be heading off to his first day on an up and coming radio station in downtown New Orleans. Her brown eyes seemed to radiate warmth and adoration towards her only child, though there was a stern note to them that implied she was not one to be trifled with. Although Alastor knew better. His mother had raised him well, and he was a gentleman.
“I will, Ma.” Alastor chuckled as he tugged on his red coat over his shirt, straightening out his sleeves. He was rather excited for this new position and to make something of himself. He wanted nothing less than to make his mother proud and be able to support and give her the life he believed she truly deserved.
Eveline raised an eyebrow at him, before swatting his hands aside so she could adjust his bow tie. “I’m serious. If anything happened to you- I can’t even fathom what I’d do. You know how folks are around here..”
Alastor’s thin arms fell to his sides as he let his mother’s touch take over in fixing his attire in the soft yellow light of the candles illuminating the front room of their humble abode. “I know, Ma.” He told her, smiling at her with not anything short of a child’s affection.
Eveline hummed as she straightened his bowtie, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes becoming a bit more prominent as she grinned at him, pinching his ear as she did when he was a misbehaving youngster. “And what do you know, boy?” She shook her head, releasing him and brushing some of his stray brown hairs into place like the doting mother she was.
“That I have to come back safely so I don’t trouble my dearest mother.” Alastor smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to the woman’s cheek. “I promise I’ll come back safely.”
“Good boy.”
Promises were inevitably going to be broken. Words were cheap, and whether words would be held to truth depended solely on the person. Some people lived and spoke righteously and virtuously and meant what they said. However, on the flip side there were always going to be those who said things and meant not a word spoken. And despite how hard one might try, things tended to happen beyond our control. This specific night was one of the best examples of this brutal truth.
Everything was eerily silent except for the sound of rain coming down on the forest canopy and the occasional snapping of twigs underneath heavy set boots. Occasionally there were bright flashes of lightning or the distant rumbling of thunder across the sky, but despite these natural occurrences, nothing else could be heard. The wildlife of the forest was silent, as if aware of the human threats lurking here tonight. They seemed almost resilient in their will to avoid any and all contact with the gentleman who was walking through their domain, carrying a shovel enveloped in old mud and debris. The atmosphere seemed eerie, the impending darkness of the evening as well as the hanging branches of trees making for a sinister sight.
The air smelled earthy in the way it always did during a thunderstorm; like dead leaves, mud, and rain. The rain was starting to come down even harder, and if it wasn’t for the cover the sturdy, billowing trees provided; the man walking through the natural paths may have been drenched by now. It was an odd sight; a young man caught in the rain and well dressed in a suit, carrying that shovel. There was really no telling what his purpose was for being out here around when normal folks would be partaking in supper around this time. Alas, there was nobody out here to witness the strange sight of him, gleefully humming a song that had become popular over the radio nowadays.
Alastor returning home hours after his radio broadcast ended wasn’t uncommon. He had made a special hobby out of purging New Orleans of those he viewed as unworthy to live. Though it was specifically men; men who treated women with less than the respect they deserved, men who uttered a slur to his dearest mother in Alastor’s presence. Men whose moral characters weren’t up to par with the gentlemanly ways he’d been raised with. And Alastor had come to find out that he found a sadistic glee in watching the fear in their eyes. Entertainment in watching them beg and plead for their pathetic lives as soon as they saw the knife brandished before their eyes. It was a sight certainly.. To watch fully grown men grovel like worms on the ground for their lives before their blood leaked in the grooves of the road. It was almost as fulfilling as learning something new from his mother in Voodoo or getting a kick in the ass from her jambalaya after a long day.
He walked unhurriedly with his shovel to finish burying his latest kill; the dismembered body waiting for him deeper in the forest. Despite the gruesome task at hand, Alastor’s mind traveled back to his Eveline who would be waiting with the table set for them to eat supper together, despite it being a bit later in the evening. That was his biggest motivator in finishing the clean up so he could return home. But fate had other plans.
As Alastor approached the designated spot he’d scouted out earlier, he had unintentionally wandered into the hunting grounds of deer and other wildlife. Which was rather careless of him, seeing as he knew full well where the bounds of legal hunting took place. As his dirty shovel met the dampened earth, he didn’t pause to even humor the idea that the events that would unfold next were even possible. Dirt splattered the ground as he dug, and he’d almost finished the hole when over the rainfall he heard the distinct noise of a dog barking. His head shot up, glancing around for a glimpse of anyone approaching, knowing damn well it would tarnish his reputation as a radio host if anyone caught him in this perverse act.
Alastor’s sharp eyes narrowed to investigate anyone nearby that he may have to eliminate to keep his secret. The dogs’ barking was still audible, but he saw no immediate threat. Feeling uncharacteristically anxious, he hurried on to finish digging his hole so he could toss the parts of the hefty, disassembled body into the hole. He kept listening on for the increasing volume of the dogs, keeping a sharp eye for anyone approaching. The fear of being caught suddenly hit full force as he heard rustling in the brush, followed by the clear volume of dogs barking. He turned around to see who dared to approach him, but with the downpour and the lack of light in the wood, it was hard to make the silhouette out clearly. Likewise for the other man.
Alastor had just turned to face the man when a single gunshot rang out, in what was otherwise silent. Alastor felt the force of the bullet entering his skull, his eyes widening in disbelief as the truth finally processed. He was hit. He was shot. His glasses flew off his face as he fell, his shovel falling off to the side. The sound of his lean body hitting the earth was audible to the hunter who had mistaken him for a deer. Blood poured from the wound between his eyebrows, flowing freely; warm and sticky into his left eye.
“Ah, gottem, boys. Gotta be a good size buck.” The hunter murmured to the snarling dogs at his side, who inched closer to Alastor’s form.
Alastor watched the dogs the best he could as he tried to stay coherent and awake. It couldn’t end like this. He couldn’t die out here like this, pitiful and drenched in mud and rain. He refused to accept this fate. Alastor felt oh-so aware of the state of his body; the bullet lodged halfway through his skull, the blood pouring down his face. He clawed at the grass, ripping up chunks of the earth as he tried to disregard the coppery scent of his own blood and move. He knew he needed to get out of here, but the excruciating pain lodged in his forehead rendered him unable to do anything but groan out in agony.
He knew he was going to die. There was no longer a doubt in his mind. He was unable to move, to do anything but lay there, face half buried in the mud, lying in agony. It must be karma; for those he’d killed, to suffer as he lay there dying, a mere few feet away from his last victim. But even now; he thought of his mother. Her gentle, yet firm eyes staring into his as she made him reaffirm his daily promise that he’d return safe. Her dark hands, now wrinkled with age, readjusting his clothes even when it really didn’t need it just so she could feel the motherly joy of caring for her son. And regret and dread filled Alastor’s heart, tears joining the blood on his face.
Ma… I’m so sorry. Tonight I lied. I never thought I would.. Not to you anyways. I’m not coming home.. Please forgive me.
Alastor wasn’t one to cry, to scream; to even humor the idea of losing his composure. But at this moment, he wanted to do all of the above. He wanted to sob and beg for forgiveness for the woman who wasn’t here. As he lay there dying what he believed to be the most dishonorable death, he didn’t hear the hunter give his dogs a command. He couldn’t hear anything but the intense ringing in his ears, fighting an inevitable black out. And then he heard the sound of his right wrist snapping as the teeth of one of the canines sank into it, his flesh tearing. The dogs had been sent onto him, and they went to town, pearly white fangs sinking and ripping at his flesh repeatedly; the pain crescendoing until Alastor wished he would just die already. He couldn’t fight back, couldn’t scream. He could only think about his mother and how devastated she’d be.
Ma, I’m so so sorry- I won’t be back for supper. You’ll have to eat alone tonight. Make sure you take care of yourself; eat well and don’t listen to what anyone says about you. I won’t be coming back tonight, or ever… Ma? Do you hear me..? Ma!? CAN’T YOU HEAR ME? I’M NOT COMING HOME. I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY-
“M-Ma..” Alastor managed to groan out, unaware that he was voicing his inner thoughts. Then a second gunshot rang out, and his suffering finally ended.