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"You should kill him."
There was that voice again, demanding he do bad things.
"Have a nice day!" Alastor said with a smile, because he was a good person, and he wasn't going to do bad things.
It was all in his head. Had to be. Had to be. His mama had raised him right, he said his pleases and his thank yous, he greeted everyone with a friendly wave, and he never.
Stopped.
Smiling.
Polite. Good. A model gentleman.
That man was an utter waste of perfectly good oxygen, spouting heinous words one after the other, but it wasn't up to Alastor to put a stop to it. Even if he maybe wanted to, just a little a bit. Even if the thought of taking his knife and burying it deep between someone's ribs delighted him to no end.
The man walked away, a slur leaving his lips in place of a goodbye.
He should be grateful that Alastor was a good man who didn't listen to the voice.
-
"You should kill him."
"I'm not going to kill him."
"What?"
"Oops."
A lot of people hated Alastor, some for good reason - he was a good man, but he still had a propensity to rub people the wrong way. Others hated him for the colour of his skin - a nice warm rosewood - and that had Alastor's grin twisting into something uglier, akin to a snarl.
It wasn't Aastor's job to teach grown men that if you didn't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all.
"What do you think I said?"
The man gave him a look of disgust and shook his head, walking away.
-
"You should kill him."
Sometimes the voice wasn't just a voice. Sometimes the voice was accompanied by a short, blonde man who wore a white suit with red accents and an overized tophat. He was funny looking, and not at all the kind of man Alastor thought his mind would conjure to encourage him to do bad things.
This time, the person he was being told to kill hadn't even done anything that bad. Yes, he'd bumped into Alastor quite roughtly, and yes Alastor had fallen hard, scuffing and tearing the brand new suit he'd been saving for for months.
But he apologized profusely, helping Alastor to his feet and dusting him off - that last part he could have done without, but it was polite thing to do.
"Don't you worry, my good man!" Alastor had declared, not letting go of the man's hand to give it a firm shake, "Accidents happen, nothing to be afraid of!"
He turned then, walking away from the sight of red, red blood pooling at his feet.
It was just a hallucination.
Had to be.
-
"You should kill him. Woudn't it be nice to see all that gushing blood? Feel it wash over you? Just imagine it."
Alastor ignored the voice, grin strained, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."
"You didn't get the job." The man repeated with a heavy sigh, as if it was a momentous task.
"You're alone. Do it now. Just like this."
A knife was taken to the man's throat, dragged across to part the skin and allow bood to come bubbling forth, spilling over his shirt collar and neatly knotted tie. Blackened fingers dug into the wound, pulled the two sides apart, until head was separated from neck and everything was red. He had no reaction, of course, because it was all in Alastor's head, had to be, but it nauseated him nonetheless.
"Well? Get out. We're done here."
"Thank you for your time, sir."
Alastor was a good man and he didn't kill to get the things he wanted.
-
"You should kill him."
"I'll do nothing of the sort."
"You should kill him."
"I won't."
"You should kill him."
"I don't do that!" Alastor snapped, growing annoyed. He wanted to grab the blonde man, give him a firm shake for good measure, but his fingers slipped right through him, "I don't do that, do you understand me? I am a good man!."
The blonde man grinned at him, tilted his head to the side like a curious puppy, "He's getting away."
"Let him."
"You should kill him. Follow. Before it's too late."
Alastor turned to walk away.
"You want to."
Alastor stopped.
There was a laugh from behind him.
"You want to. Silly thing. That want is enough to bind your soul to Hell. Kill one man, kill two, kill several, you'll end up in the same place either way."
Alastor's breath hitched, "I don't want to."
Arms enveloped him from behind, warm and comforting.
A lover's embrace.
"Let's do it together."
Alastor didn't know where the knife in his hand came from. Couldn't say why he took a step forward, and another, and then another, gaining speed with each one until he was running. Chasing. Hunting.
The streets were empty at that time of night, it wasn't hard to find the man again. The one who'd cornered him, threatened him, thought he'd let Alastor off easy with a couple of bruises. Weak. A coward.
"You should kill him."
"I want to."
"Then do it.
A hand wrapped around his own, raised the knife.
Alastor brought it down all on his own. Felt hot, wet blood splashing against his face. He licked the drop that fell on his lips, savouring the strong taste.
The man was screaming and Alastor grinned at him, sharp canine teeth on display.
He brought the knife down again, stabbing and slashing, until the man fell quiet and the muscles in his arm screamed. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, cool night air chilling the blood that clung to him. Sticky and cloying and-
Alastor had done something bad.
Alastor had done something very bad.
"You should kill him."
"I-I just did."
"And it felt good, didn't it? Such a thrill. But I'm talking about that producer, the one who denied you your own show, let's go find him."
"No. N-no, I-"
"You should kill him. And all those other men too."
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Alastor stumbled back.
The loud clatter of the knife hitting the ground pierced him, made him flinch like he'd been attacked.
It wasn't real. Not the corpse at his feet. Or the blood on the ground, on his shoes, on his shirt, on his face, in his teeth. Not the blonde man that gently guided him to his feet, held him close, that white, white suit staining red, red, red.
None of it was real. It was all in his head. He was crazy, after all. Had to be.
He didn't kill four more men.