Post by Victor on Aug 18, 2021 17:22:20 GMT -8
Victor tried not to celebrate deaths too often. He didn't want to get in the habit and let it slip in the public eye. Even so, it was hard to ignore the sheer convenience of the death of Mark Huait.
For nearly ten months now the pair had an arrangement where Victor could use Mark's identity under limited circumstances. It had been mutually beneficial. Victor was Lost, and so naturally in need of a solid mundane identity to build his influences on. Mark was a drug dealer and sometimes-thief in desperate need of alibis. The initial proposal had been an awkward conversation at best, but the outcome was well worth it, as Victor covered for Mark's criminal antics with prestigious lunch dates and event tickets. Though, as the months had rolled on, the difficult logistics of scheduling parallel lives had taken its toll.
It was thus that when the great white owl came screeching at his window to foreshadow Mark's death, Victor's initial instinct was to react with the quiet satisfaction of a man who happened upon a lucky penny lying on the sidewalk. Dead men didn't need identities after all, and Victor was more than glad to relieve the corpse of his papers. He knew exactly where Mark was- The man had texted him that very afternoon warning that he was going to be at one of his usual hangouts, and it would be best if Victor could make sure his ID was officially seen somewhere respectable. If he wanted the identity all to himself, all he would have to do was to pop by with his van, wait for any perpetrators to leave (this was almost certainly going to be a murder), and disappear the body before any authorities got their grubby little hands on it. All in all, an endeavor with low risk and high reward. Just how Victor liked it.
He nodded to the owl, leaning over his kitchen table to snatch his phone and keys. The bird let out one last call, earsplitting even through the windowpane, before silently fluttering its wings and disappearing into the evening. The van was already loaded. It was always loaded for this kind of work, so Victor needn't waste his time grabbing anything else. It would be just under a thirty-minute drive at this time of night, to get to where he figured Mark's corpse would be. A little long for this kind of operation, but with the likelihood that murderers were the only witnesses, Victor figured he would have time. After all, murderers didn't tend to report their own crime scenes.
In under two minutes he was on the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other straining to roll down the window. The van had been parked in the summer sun all day, and the heat was still lingering uncomfortably inside, making the air thick and causing the leather to stick to his bare hands. The cool breeze was a remedy, but a slow acting one. He turned on the radio with a faint hope to hear traffic, but caught the end of a bouncy pop song instead. On a weeknight like this he wasn't expecting anything, but the caution was a force of habit. You could never have too much information.
By the time the Fairest had gotten on the highway, he was nearly on autopilot. Sitting back, feeling the cool wind bite through his beard, and starting to get irritated with the noise coming from the radio. He hadn't been paying attention to it much until now, but the high-pitched whine that was layered into the current track was deeply unpleasant in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. He smacked the button to turn the thing off, and froze when the music stopped but the whine continued. It wasn't a whine. It was sirens. Police sirens.
Shit.
Victor pumped the breaks, unpleasant memories rearing as he cocked his ears in an attempt to get a better pin on where the sirens were. They couldn't be more than a mile away, and they were definitely up ahead. Only one car as far as he could tell, though the wind rushing past his face made that a tricky call. If he floored it, he could probably catch up to the car before it got where it was going... Victor shook his head, dismissing the thought for the devil it was. If they had discovered the body, it would be an absolute disaster for them to catch him speeding with no license but that of a man whom they knew to be dead. Better to stay behind and pray this was all coincidence. Maybe they would turn ahead on a closer exit, or keep speeding past the one he was meant to turn on. Victor glanced in his rear-view mirror to check that he couldn't see lights behind him, only to notice the sirens ahead getting louder, heralding flashes of blue and red that were starting to peek over the horizon of the uneven road. Then they shut off completely. A slight tension lifted from the Fairest's shoulders as he kept to a cruising speed and switched to the far lane.
The cop car had stopped, blocking the path of two other vehicles. A grey pickup sat lopsidedly, its left mirror shorn off and its passenger-side door severely dented. It was a beautiful piece of machinery aside, nearly new and quite expensive, if he guessed the model right. A shame. The other car was further down, a silhouette still obscured by the blinding lights and metal bulk even as the van got within spitting distance of the wreckage. Victor slowed down further, peering cautiously at the scene as he played the part of a driver concerned with making sure he didn't add a third vehicle to the tally. His headlights revealed three cops, a woman sitting on the road, and finally... an unmistakable rusty red sedan. Mark's sedan. Mark's shitty cheap lemon sitting on the road askew with the right door bent and the windshield smashed through. Victor growled a curse beneath his breath, barely controlling his instincts to hit the breaks. For the time, he forced his eyes back to the road. He would get a closer look soon enough, even if he knew deep down that it would serve nothing but to foster his frustrations.
The road was dark, and the next exit was coming up in less than a minute. In combination with the lights and chaos of the wreckage, Victor figured he had plenty enough cover. He switched lanes, rolled up his windows, shut off his lights, and threw one last look behind himself before crossing the solid white line to the place where the pavement met dirt. He sat there still for what felt like a small eternity before killing the engine and opening the door. He could hear their voices now that it was quiet, interspersed with the occasional rush of a car going past the scene. The changeling then slid into the darkest shadows cast by his van, and bade the light to shy away as he trudged invisibly forward towards that troublesome red sedan.
"The ambulance should be here in five minutes."
"and the Tow?"
"I was told thirty minutes at most, but I'm not sure they will be able to fit both vehicles."
Victor kept his ears on the conversation, though his eyes didn't wander from his target until he spotted the small white tarp on the far side of the car, draped over an unmoving figure with familiar proportions. Victor dug his nails into his palm. So much time and effort gone into a perfect scheme, and this fucker didn't even have the common decency to croak where the cops wouldn't find him.
"You grabbed the guy's license, yeah?"
"Yeah, it was on the seat."
"Could you spell the name for me?"
"Mark Huait?"
"Yeah."
Victor stared down the corpse with a withering disappointment. If the name was already in their hands and on their system, there was nothing else to be done here. Trying to salvage the thing would take time and risk greater than simply making an ID from scratch, which was what this whole endeavor was explicitly meant to avoid. No, he would have to burn his set of papers, and all of the wonderful contacts they had come with. The changeling stood still, bidding better options to come to mind. None did. If Victor had been all alone he might've wrung the corpses neck for good measure, but alas he wouldn't even get that satisfaction. All he could do was spin on his heels, walk the other way, and whisper on the wind
"Back to square one. Who do I call, who do I call..."
For nearly ten months now the pair had an arrangement where Victor could use Mark's identity under limited circumstances. It had been mutually beneficial. Victor was Lost, and so naturally in need of a solid mundane identity to build his influences on. Mark was a drug dealer and sometimes-thief in desperate need of alibis. The initial proposal had been an awkward conversation at best, but the outcome was well worth it, as Victor covered for Mark's criminal antics with prestigious lunch dates and event tickets. Though, as the months had rolled on, the difficult logistics of scheduling parallel lives had taken its toll.
It was thus that when the great white owl came screeching at his window to foreshadow Mark's death, Victor's initial instinct was to react with the quiet satisfaction of a man who happened upon a lucky penny lying on the sidewalk. Dead men didn't need identities after all, and Victor was more than glad to relieve the corpse of his papers. He knew exactly where Mark was- The man had texted him that very afternoon warning that he was going to be at one of his usual hangouts, and it would be best if Victor could make sure his ID was officially seen somewhere respectable. If he wanted the identity all to himself, all he would have to do was to pop by with his van, wait for any perpetrators to leave (this was almost certainly going to be a murder), and disappear the body before any authorities got their grubby little hands on it. All in all, an endeavor with low risk and high reward. Just how Victor liked it.
He nodded to the owl, leaning over his kitchen table to snatch his phone and keys. The bird let out one last call, earsplitting even through the windowpane, before silently fluttering its wings and disappearing into the evening. The van was already loaded. It was always loaded for this kind of work, so Victor needn't waste his time grabbing anything else. It would be just under a thirty-minute drive at this time of night, to get to where he figured Mark's corpse would be. A little long for this kind of operation, but with the likelihood that murderers were the only witnesses, Victor figured he would have time. After all, murderers didn't tend to report their own crime scenes.
In under two minutes he was on the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other straining to roll down the window. The van had been parked in the summer sun all day, and the heat was still lingering uncomfortably inside, making the air thick and causing the leather to stick to his bare hands. The cool breeze was a remedy, but a slow acting one. He turned on the radio with a faint hope to hear traffic, but caught the end of a bouncy pop song instead. On a weeknight like this he wasn't expecting anything, but the caution was a force of habit. You could never have too much information.
By the time the Fairest had gotten on the highway, he was nearly on autopilot. Sitting back, feeling the cool wind bite through his beard, and starting to get irritated with the noise coming from the radio. He hadn't been paying attention to it much until now, but the high-pitched whine that was layered into the current track was deeply unpleasant in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. He smacked the button to turn the thing off, and froze when the music stopped but the whine continued. It wasn't a whine. It was sirens. Police sirens.
Shit.
Victor pumped the breaks, unpleasant memories rearing as he cocked his ears in an attempt to get a better pin on where the sirens were. They couldn't be more than a mile away, and they were definitely up ahead. Only one car as far as he could tell, though the wind rushing past his face made that a tricky call. If he floored it, he could probably catch up to the car before it got where it was going... Victor shook his head, dismissing the thought for the devil it was. If they had discovered the body, it would be an absolute disaster for them to catch him speeding with no license but that of a man whom they knew to be dead. Better to stay behind and pray this was all coincidence. Maybe they would turn ahead on a closer exit, or keep speeding past the one he was meant to turn on. Victor glanced in his rear-view mirror to check that he couldn't see lights behind him, only to notice the sirens ahead getting louder, heralding flashes of blue and red that were starting to peek over the horizon of the uneven road. Then they shut off completely. A slight tension lifted from the Fairest's shoulders as he kept to a cruising speed and switched to the far lane.
The cop car had stopped, blocking the path of two other vehicles. A grey pickup sat lopsidedly, its left mirror shorn off and its passenger-side door severely dented. It was a beautiful piece of machinery aside, nearly new and quite expensive, if he guessed the model right. A shame. The other car was further down, a silhouette still obscured by the blinding lights and metal bulk even as the van got within spitting distance of the wreckage. Victor slowed down further, peering cautiously at the scene as he played the part of a driver concerned with making sure he didn't add a third vehicle to the tally. His headlights revealed three cops, a woman sitting on the road, and finally... an unmistakable rusty red sedan. Mark's sedan. Mark's shitty cheap lemon sitting on the road askew with the right door bent and the windshield smashed through. Victor growled a curse beneath his breath, barely controlling his instincts to hit the breaks. For the time, he forced his eyes back to the road. He would get a closer look soon enough, even if he knew deep down that it would serve nothing but to foster his frustrations.
The road was dark, and the next exit was coming up in less than a minute. In combination with the lights and chaos of the wreckage, Victor figured he had plenty enough cover. He switched lanes, rolled up his windows, shut off his lights, and threw one last look behind himself before crossing the solid white line to the place where the pavement met dirt. He sat there still for what felt like a small eternity before killing the engine and opening the door. He could hear their voices now that it was quiet, interspersed with the occasional rush of a car going past the scene. The changeling then slid into the darkest shadows cast by his van, and bade the light to shy away as he trudged invisibly forward towards that troublesome red sedan.
"The ambulance should be here in five minutes."
"and the Tow?"
"I was told thirty minutes at most, but I'm not sure they will be able to fit both vehicles."
Victor kept his ears on the conversation, though his eyes didn't wander from his target until he spotted the small white tarp on the far side of the car, draped over an unmoving figure with familiar proportions. Victor dug his nails into his palm. So much time and effort gone into a perfect scheme, and this fucker didn't even have the common decency to croak where the cops wouldn't find him.
"You grabbed the guy's license, yeah?"
"Yeah, it was on the seat."
"Could you spell the name for me?"
"Mark Huait?"
"Yeah."
Victor stared down the corpse with a withering disappointment. If the name was already in their hands and on their system, there was nothing else to be done here. Trying to salvage the thing would take time and risk greater than simply making an ID from scratch, which was what this whole endeavor was explicitly meant to avoid. No, he would have to burn his set of papers, and all of the wonderful contacts they had come with. The changeling stood still, bidding better options to come to mind. None did. If Victor had been all alone he might've wrung the corpses neck for good measure, but alas he wouldn't even get that satisfaction. All he could do was spin on his heels, walk the other way, and whisper on the wind
"Back to square one. Who do I call, who do I call..."