The next day began and ended in chaos, much to Artemy’s dismay. He awoke to the sound of the kettle screeching on the stove, someone cursing at it from the kitchen. He jumped to his feet, fearful that someone broke into his house, but his sleep-addled mind couldn’t understand just why the intruder would want to fix a cup of tea first. Perhaps the poor chap forgot to eat breakfast.
He realized later, upon dressing quickly and stepping into the kitchen, that there was no such intruder - only Cassius, whom was apparently trying to figure out how to make tea.
Artemy snorted, drawing Cassius’s attention, whom looked rather sheepish. “Have you really never made your own tea before?”
Cassius scoffed at him, pouring a cup of hot water into his cup and placing it upon the table. “Why would I do what the servants of Beckett Manor do for me?” “You’re terrible, Cassius,” he said, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the weakest tea he had ever had. “I’d hate to be the maid to wash your linens.”
“And why’s that?” “Because you probably never learned to wash your own ass.”
Cassius laughed, though he also swatted at him in offense, drinking his tea with shocking ease. He cringed, looking down at the cup, only to say, “A bit strong, isn’t it?”
Artemy didn’t respond, trying not to look too disgusted when Cassius poured more water into his cup. When Cassius wasn’t looking, he snuck two more bags into his own cup, trying to actually get flavor into the poor drink without hurting his feelings. Such was always Cassius - too headstrong in his personality and beliefs, too sensitive, and yet unable to withstand anything stronger than water.
“Do you like coffee?” Artemy asked out of curiosity.
“Oh, no,” Cassius said quickly. “It’s just dirt, isn’t it?”
Artemy hesitated, stirring his tea slowly. “A bean, I believe.”
Cassius snickered, and it was then that Artemy realized that he hadn’t been serious. “I didn’t know you poor folk could taste the difference.”
“Monsieur Silvercrest sends mum and I a package of dirt every month - just so we don’t starve,” he remarked, his eyes briefly drifting to the unopened envelope on the countertop, with the same check as always. He looked back to Cassius, and while he looked better, his eyes were still tired. He hid it well, it seemed. “Are you sure you’ll be alright to go to class today? You could always bribe your professor for a better grade with that failed dowry money.”
Cassius choked on his drink, snorting as he laughed. He quickly grabbed his handkerchief as water poured from his nose. “You’re heartless, my darling Artemy. See if I ever occupy your guest bed again. I believe I’m fine, so long as we don’t get murdered, I suppose.”
They were off soon after finishing their tea and breakfast, though Artemy noticed that Cassius only barely picked through his porridge. He didn’t want to argue about it - not when he was preparing to convince Cassius not to meddle any further.
The two were halfway across campus when Artemy decided to speak about it, hoping that Cassius would be more sensible about what he had seen in the alley only a day ago.
He stopped walking when they approached the fountain, having arrived early - for once. He sat down, to which Cassius looked at him curiously. “Not planning on having one of your late homework sessions before class? I’m shocked.”
Artemy mustered a chuckle, feeling less nervous when Cassius sat beside him, breathing in the cool air with a sigh. “I believe we need to discuss it. What happened last night, I mean.”
Cassius’s once-peaceful face stilled, his mouth twitching only slightly. “There’s little to discuss, I believe. I know just as little as you on the matter.”
“Nevertheless,” Artemy countered. “No matter what you saw, I don’t think it’s enough of a push to begin trying to solve the case.”
Cassius remained silent, his eyes on the cobblestoned street beneath his polished shoes. Artemy didn’t need to see how his throat bobbed nervously to know what he was thinking. “Cassius, I know you want to go back to the scene.”
“Can you blame me?” He asked, growing defensive. “I know you don’t like law, but it’s in my blood. I’ll have you know, my grandfather solved over fifty-“
“-murder cases,” Artemy finished, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at the obvious exaggeration. God, he couldn’t believe Cassius still believed it was true. “I’m aware of the story, but you’re not him. You’re not even a graduate yet! I just have a terrible feeling that if we - if you - pursue this, something bad will happen.”
“As bad as getting mangled beyond recognition?” Cassius asked, shuddering once. “It could be you next, you know.”
“Or it could be you,” Artemy said with just as much importance, feeling that same desperation tugging at his heart again. “This doesn’t have to be a serial killer case. No one’s died today.”
Cassius huffed, rising to his feet quickly. He gripped his bag with tight knuckles, clearly upset with him for even daring to suggest he be reasonable. “The day is still early, Mr. Silvercrest. Evil does have to rest, you know.”
He stormed away before Artemy could respond, sighing at his dramaticism, acting as though the entire thing were merely theatrics. It seemed all Beckett lawyers saw it as a game, but Artemy couldn’t understand the fun in getting killed.
— First Quarter
Class for Artemy Silvercrest was a slow, dreadful thing, and he truly couldn’t think of a single reason why he needed to have three hours’ worth of business classes every other day. Though he preferred to spend the rest of the day either reading or seeing Cassius, he was far too behind in his studies to do little more than lock himself in the university library until the sun was nearly below the horizon. The candle he had lit was nearing its end by the time Artemy decided that enough was enough, and then he was feeling rather foolish for having stayed out so late.
A hesitance made him linger on the doorstep of the library, the night feeling stiff, as if it were a spring loaded, ready for something to occur. Even the lamplighters dotting the streets seemed to work faster than usual, not even stopping to gossip or take breaks. Artemy clutched his bag a little more firmly than usual, wishing he had rented a home closer to the university.
He tried to still his racing mind as he stepped into the street, though all he could think of was Cassius’s warning, his voice grave. He had thought that Cassius was just being a stubborn nuisance, though he knew that he often had a knack for predicting patterns in crimes. Artemy thought he would have made a better detective than a lawyer - if he weren’t so eager.
The two lamplighters on the street did not greet Artemy as he passed, to which he felt no offense. The night felt too unsettling for simple greetings. He walked on, looking into the pitch darkness of the street ahead of him, void of the safe haven of the lantern light.
He stepped into the dark, and, only two steps into what felt like danger, a sudden crashing stopped him in his tracks.
Artemy turned, perplexed at what would have interrupted an empty street’s peace - until he saw the ladder the lamplighters were using, lying on the road.
His first thought was that one of them had slipped while the other wasn’t looking, and so he rushed towards the source of the crash, fearing that someone was injured. However, when he arrived in the dimming light, he saw no people - injured or otherwise - around.
He only saw blood. Splattered on the cobblestones, on the ladder, even on the lamppost. It had happened silently, as if the men hadn’t even had time to scream, to call out for help.
Their tools were still by the lamppost, lying not in a heap, but in a neat pile, as if-
“As if one had planned it?” Artemy thought aloud, feeling more unsettled at the neatness of it all, at how every tool was untouched by the blood.
He was so shocked by it all, by being only feet away from his own death, that he didn’t hear the footsteps on the cobblestones until they were running for him.
Artemy gasped in fear, looking up from the macabre scene to see someone - something - in the distance, now on the opposite street, holding something in their hand. Foolishly thinking it was perhaps a passerby or a guardsman, Artemy felt relieved to find that they were looking at him.
He waved for them, his hands shaking with a terror he couldn’t’ shake. “Sir! Over here, please! I believe there’s been an - an accident! A murder, perhaps?”
He realized a little too late that just seconds ago, he had been alone. The man across the street, even from the distance, seemed to tilt his head.
The man stepped closer. For some reason, Artemy found himself stepping back.
The steps seemed to echo on the stones, all at once too slow and too fast for his liking. He found himself wondering what the man had been running from - or towards.
“Have you seen two lamplighters nearby?” He called out, hoping to break the strange tension that was forming. “I found their tools, but I didn’t see what occurred.”
Artemy turned back around to eye the scene, hoping to find any trace that the men didn’t just vanish from thin air - even if the alternative was something far worse. However, he saw no footprints, nor any disgusting piles of flesh. It was as if there were no remains at all.
A breeze rushed past him, blowing his messy hair into his eyes. He flinched, turning back and nearly running face first into the stranger.
The man’s features were indistinguishable in the darkness, and yet Artemy could see enough to know that he had made a mistake. The man towered over Artemy - a feat, since Artemy was near six feet tall - glowering at him with hard, impassive eyes.
“Good sir-!“ he stuttered, his voice barely a squeak, stepping back. “What - You got here rather fast! It must have startled me. Tell me, do you-“
A metallic tang filled Artemy’s nose - more fresh than the blood that was quickly drying on the street. The man’s eyes seemed to challenge him, as if testing him. Artemy risked what little choice he had left and looked down at what the man had been holding.
With long, unkempt nails and dirty fingers, the man clenched a single heart, much like how Artemy himself would have held an apple before lunch. He didn’t have the breath in his lungs to gasp, not when he saw the man’s - the killer’s - fist tighten, realization dawning on both of them.
“You’re-“ Artemy couldn’t tear his eyes away from the heart, his stomach lurching with unease. He would be next, then, just as the lamplighters had gone before him. He just couldn’t understand how it had happened so quickly.
Artemy stepped back once more. The killer stepped forward, though he did not lunge. He saw that the killer didn’t even have a weapon in his other hand.
If he was going to die, then, Artemy at least wanted to understand what was occurring.
He looked up at the man, and immediately regretted ever ridiculing Cassius for fearing the man’s eyes. They looked down at him just as emptily, with an emotion that Artemy had never seen in a man before. He thought he could drop dead from the sight alone.
“Tell me, then. How did you do it? Why did you only leave a heart?” Artemy’s own heart was pounding in his chest and foolishly, he wondered if the killer could hear it.
The man did not answer at first. He looked down at his own hand curiously, and then his lips were parting, revealing reddened teeth, the grin of a madman.
“I was full.”
The words seemed to slice through Artemy’s very being, making his heart skip before slowing, his terror making his vision hazy, blurred. The corpses, then - he then understood why the detectives never found any remains.
“Are you to kill me?” Artemy said in a rush, his skin cold and clammy. The man continued to look down at him, studying him ever so closely. As if thinking.
As if deciding.
“A curious question, for a man with no hope of escaping either way.” The man’s voice was strange, scratching along his throat as if he was either ill or unaccustomed to speaking often. “Many don’t ask. They accept.”
An unanswered question seemed to emerge, one that Artemy could not answer. One that Artemy didn’t really understand. Why, then, wasn’t he accepting whatever fate the man had?
The answer came in the form of louder, clumsier footsteps, ones much more familiar to Artemy’s ears, though he did not feel relieved. He and the killer turned to see two officers walking towards them, each holding a lantern.
There were no more words when the killer turned back to Artemy, though to his surprise, he merely walked back into the cover of the buildings around them, disappearing into the shadows as if he never existed. By the time the officers saw Artemy, it was far too late.
“Oi, you’re looking a bit rough. Late night out?” One asked him, his voice brash yet welcoming. Artemy made to nod but he instead lost his balance, falling onto the ground.
The officers hurried towards them, though they stopped when their lanterns shone over all of the blood. Artemy briefly worried that he would be accused of the murders, though he must have looked rather pathetic, because they only frowned at him.
He was vaguely aware that he was being spoken to, and so he pointed with a shaky hand towards the narrow streets the killer disappeared into. By the time the officers understood what was occurring, his eyes were already rolling back into his head, falling into a deep unconsciousness.
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