Work Text:
Very few people would have done what Erik succeeded in. His profession was a whisper between shaky breaths. The cleanup was usually messy, and it involved quite a lot of bodily fluids. His work was brutal, but in a way, he had no choice but to continue like he had before. Getting rid of the body was always the worst part. As much as he scrubbed, the blood only seemed to multiply. The only upside was that at least once the cleanup started, the screams have stopped. He hated the sobs. The whining and especially how his victims always managed to wet themselves. They also never seemed to stop complaining. The music blaring in his ears never completely shut out all the noise. It bothered Erik. He hated what he did. Every night he went to the same pick-up spot. In the same empty corner. There always laid a package either with money or a single picture that included a name written on its back. Today there was a picture of a man in his late twenties, and on the back was a name as usual. Written in black ink was the name Evander Crossheart. Erik observed the picture of the young man. The man had short black hair and deep brown eyes that lured one in. His short hair was sleeked back and a single strand of loose hair fell on one side. On his nape was a small tattoo of a singular rose with drops of blood dripping from its leaves. The man screamed danger, but his eyes held a certain gentle touch. A deep black suit made the whole image whole. It tide the whole thing together in a perfect twist. Erik bit his thumb, nearly drawing blood as he stared the image down. He always liked to assess the treat. How hard his kills would be to plan. Each time a picture waited for him Erik spent the whole night planning every single intricate possibility. He couldn’t fail. He never failed. Not once could he allow such weakness. While walking down the road that led to his sallow empty home his hands clutched the picture as tight as he could. It was like a lifeline. And at the same time it felt like a curse. He knew as soon as he got home, he would need to get back to work. He needed to do research. As soon as he stepped inside, he could hear drops of rain fall and land on the dirty pavement outside. The sound was quite comforting as it shunned out all the noise that surrounded him. He couldn’t stand the talking of all those strangers, the noise. It was all too much. Silence meant peace. For Erik. It meant the job was done. The picture flew through the air as he let it drop to the ground. It laid there abandoned while he made his way to his study. Work called. The screen lit up in his face as he searched for the name Evander Crossheart in his browser. Nothing came up. Not a single trace. At first, he was slightly irritated, but once he even went to the length of hacking the police department, the army and on top of all that even the FBI and CIA. He was more than perfected at his craft, so this setback nearly made the veins on his forehead pop. This has never happened to this extent before. He was floored. What kind of person could be so hidden, so undetected. There had to be somewhere maybe hidden but there had to be a trace of this man. Someone had to know him. Somebody had the information he needed. He needed to trace every whisper or detail till he was led to his destination. The first thread he would follow was the one who left the picture for him to find. The one who wanted Mr. Crossheart gone, had to know who and more importantly where he was. The pick-up spot unfortunately was perfectly placed so no cameras or witnesses were anywhere near. It was strategic and smart, but it meant Erik was out of luck. The place was deserted, no one ever dared to go near that hole, it was dark and creepy. Erik needed to think. The walls seemed to close in on him. He could feel sweat form right over his brow threatening to drop. If he could not find the person who hired him. He would not even dare imagen what his fate would be. How they would punish him. Grotesque. It was the only word that sounded suitable for his unfortunate situation. Maybe he would end up cut into so many little pieces there would be no way the cops could identify him. He was royally fucked.
With his luck he would really end up cut into little pieces. The sheer ridiculousness of it all made Erik drop his head as hard as possible right into his pc. It hurt. Pieces of glass embedded themselves deep into his bloody skin. The screen flowed with that deep red color. Blood seeped into the deepest crevasses of his broken work. Normally it rained from anyone who was unfortunate enough to have heard his voice, but now it was his blood. This has never happened before. Dried clumps of blood covered his workstation. He felt a sense of unease overflow himself. Like someone was watching. Someone was nearby. He needed to get a grip. The need to control this situation was overflowing his insides. Fast. It felt like he was running out of precious time. He would find his end. Someone would find his weakness. With a tight grip on his dripping wound and one hand on the edge of his work desk, Erik swayed from side to side desperately trying to find his ground. He needed to find this Mr. Crossheart. And he needed to find him fast.
The sounds of a cabinet door being slammed open could be heard even from the people that lived below Erik. Bottles of lotions, perfumes and creams fell with a loud thud. The floor was completely covered in numerous substances. He rummaged through all that stood in his way till he held a bottle of wound ointment in his right hand. The man held the bottle right over his head, so all the contents flowed from his hair to his face. Clear fluid burned as it dripped from his hair. Wet strands of ebony locks stuck to his chin. He looked like a mess, but at least the blood had dried and the wound was cleaned. With a deep sigh Erik swayed from leg to leg as he headed out of the bathroom. In the living room he grabbed the next closest thing that could resemble a bandage. He used a few paper towels and wrapped them as tight as he could around his wound. After that he secured the makeshift bandage with a piece of tape. Erik looked himself in the mirror his image was a man whose hair stood in every direction while pieces of paper towels held it from falling. He couldn’t recognize himself. The sense of confusion that showed in his eyes was the first time he saw himself as anything other than perfection. As of this day he made sure everything he did and was, was without a doubt immaculate. He couldn’t handle straying from it even an inch. It was not permitted for a man in his way of work.
A loud ringing shook him out of his state of thought. One moment he was staring at his reflection, the next he held a phone in one hand while a voice that certainly sounded unhuman whispered in ear.
“Don’t look into Mr. Crossheart, if you want to live.”
Just that simple sentence, nothing else. Who was this man and how did he find out he has searched for him. He never even mentioned the name to anyone. The only thing he did was search for a trace of him. But he always worked in a way that was undetectable. It seemed mandatory if he didn’t want to die.
In a quiet tone nearly a whisper the word “How” left the stunned mans lips. In a hurry the frantic man stumbled through his small loft he needed to get out of there. Maybe even leave the county. The only things he grabbed were his emergency bag and a piece of memorabilia from the orphanage he grew up in. It was the only thing he had left from that place. Once he had all that he needed Erik ran as fast as his airways allowed. After an agony of running he arrived at the only place that held refuge in his empty soul. If he even had a soul at this point. Now he stood surrounded by burned walls, the only thing left were tables that once happy students learned on. It was a happy place a long time ago. Before it happened. Even if it was a distant memory, it was still a happy one. Maybe even the only happiness he can feel. He looked around the burned classroom and thought back while he sat where he sat when he was still small and innocent. When he wasn’t broken yet. He held the last thing that he still held dear in his hand as tears rolled down his tender cheeks. He didn’t like crying, but when he felt so lost it was unavoidable. Tears wet his sleeves as he tried to wipe them away before they even got the chance to fall. He really needed to get rid of that sweater now.
Deep brown eyes blinked slowly as he let himself drift off. He laid there collapsed on the floor, as exhaustion took over and he was finally able to get some needed rest.