Prince the Ripper PART TWO
Title: Prince the Ripper
Author: Pain au Chocolat
Language: English
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters used in this fiction, and I do not own the past. As in I don’t own Jack the Ripper. I’m just taking a history lesson and throwing some KHR characters into it, adding some gay romance and let’s see what happens…
Rating & Warnings: M. AU, OOC, yaoi, blood, murder, gore.
Summary: England, 1888 - When the first corpse of a female prostitute turned up with organs missing, no one knew that it was the beginning of a tale told by a psychotic genius in its goriest form…
Pairing: Belphegor x Tsuna
PART TWO
Tsuna was relieved to see Yamamoto there at the police station, even though he had no idea what the other man’s business there was.
“I was sent here by detective Reborn,” Tsuna had said, and Hibari had ordered him to sit down. The brunet chose the seat next to Yamamoto, as far away as possible from the scary police officer. In less than fifteen minutes Reborn entered the room with another man, and nodded approvingly.
“Gentlemen,” Reborn started. “You have all heard of the two murders that have occurred. Of that I am certain. However, I’m sorry to say, we’ve still got no clue of who the killer might be. To figure that out I have gathered you seven here, to help me.”
“I’m sceptical regarding whether or not we need this amount of people,” a man with dark blue hair (what an unnatural colour!) and oddly mismatched eyes sneered.
“You’re still sceptical of the Earth being round, Mukuro,” a silver-haired man - Tsuna remembered him to be Dr. Gokudera - retorted frostily. “That doesn’t mean anything. Nobody cares.”
“I suppose that the term ‘gentlemen’ is used very loosely here,” the man wearing a horribly tasteless cow-print shirt muttered.
“We’ll work with this team,” Reborn said icily. “And that’s final. You’re all here to help me catch a madman on the loose, because those two murders are not the end of this mess. This criminal is going to kill again, and our job is to catch him before he does so. While it’s true that our Great Britain has never encountered this sort of crime before, overseas this would be nothing new. An alarming and surprising case, yes, but not the first of its kind, and therefore their resources to battle what they refer to as serial killers are much more advanced than what we have here. Before I start explaining more about the case, I shall introduce the parties involved.”
’That would be preferable,’ Tsuna thought.
“I’m Reborn, everyone knows me. This man, not unknown either, is Hibari Kyouya and he is the person officially in charge of this investigation. I would prefer for my connection to this case to stay unknown. You report to him, if there’s anything to be reported. Yes, you included, Mukuro," Reborn said and turned to point at the cow-print guy.
“That remarkably useless character-“
“HEY!”
“- is Lambo, Hibari’s assistant,” Reborn continued, ignoring completely the protest of the other man, who started to pout. “He’s the one responsible for taking pictures of the crime scenes, and if the camera is broken he’s capable of quick-drawing. Other specialities include looking like a male prostitute.“ Lambo looked clearly insulted by now, but seemed to know that protesting against the insults would be futile.
“This is Gokudera, the doctor who inspects the bodies. He looks like this, but he’s reliable.”
“What’s that supposed to mean!?” the man in question snarled, lighting up a cigarette. Unsurprisingly, Reborn didn’t react to his words either, opting to move on with the introductions.
“That there is our criminal psychiatrist, Mukuro. Regardless of what his appearance might suggest, he doesn’t deflower everything that walks on two feet and has a hole, so rest assured. He knows his stuff and gets paid for this, so don’t spare him the workload.”
“Are trying to annoy me on purpose?” the man with the mismatched eyes sneered. With a slight, mocking smirk Reborn pointed at the man he had come in with.
“Ryohei. His assistance here is to remind us of the fact that sometimes even a blind man can see what others don’t. He isn’t blind, though, so don’t keep your hopes too high.”
“That’s an EXTREME comparison, Reborn!!” the man exclaimed, before laughing loudly.
’I think he totally missed the insult,’ Tsuna thought and shook his head with a small smile. Well, at least out of the team so far, Ryohei didn’t seem scary. Compared to Hibari, Mukuro and Gokudera…
“This is Yamamoto,” Reborn continued. “The local tavern owner's son. Not as dim-witted as he might seem. In a good position to be on the lookout for suspicious behaviour and such. Useful.” After that Reborn glanced at Tsuna, who swallowed nervously. The fedora-wearing detective smirked.
“And the last one in the team is Tsunayoshi,” Reborn merely said. “Now that the introductions are done and over with, we can move to the main case. And no, I’m not giving you the option of backing up. So far in this case, as known, we have two victims. Martha Tabram and Mary Nichols, both prostitutes here in Whitechapel. Presumed to have been killed by the same man. Gokudera, what can you tell us about the bodies?”
“Well,” the doctor started. "The killer knew exactly what he was doing, and did it without hesitation. The cuts were clean and professional and the organs were extracted neatly. Money was left with the women for their organs, and I suspect it was the killer who left it, which means that he's not poor. Maybe he's a doctor. It would make sense."
“You or Shamal?” Mukuro sneered, and Gokudera grimaced at him.
“Finally admitting that you’re not a doctor?”
“But,” Tsuna started softly. “Doctors aren’t the only ones with… um… ability to use sharp objects. There are chefs, for example… and… other workers.”
“He’s right,” Gokudera agreed with a flash of approval in his eyes. “I suppose we should make some sort of list of the people capable of using a sharp object with such precision. However a common worker doesn’t know how to get the organs out properly. A chef might.” Reborn nodded, and turned to Mukuro.
“How about you tell us what you have found out so far?”
“I shall do that,” the Italian man replied with evident smugness. “The serial killer is, without a doubt, a psychopath. It’s a new term - I doubt any of you has heard of it before. However, not every psychopath is a criminal - only a small part of them, mostly due to lack of intelligence and self control. Of this small group of criminals, some become serial killers. Serial killers have an excessive need for power and control and we should focus especially on those with a violent past. Especially, I said, not solely. It’s futile to sit back and expect regret from a psychopath - their way of thinking is too different, and from their point of view their murders are accomplishments, works of art, they’re eager to show everyone.”
Without knowing why, Tsuna tensed, suddenly remembering a certain artist with an odd smile. Why was he thinking of Bel now? Honestly, he was acting like an obsessed girl or something… With determination the brunet pushed away the thoughts - and the nagging feelings - of the blond man and refocused on what Mukuro was saying.
“Psychopaths are not mentally retarded, and they are not necessarily insane. A mind can be evil without being abnormal, and the killer is, without a doubt, a rational and a calculating man. Serial killers are actors with natural penchant for performance. They possess the charm, and are truly Satan’s slaves, if not his reincarnations. They enjoy positions of authority, and are most probably respected or admired by the people around them. We used to think of the Devil as the sole force behind their violent, unnatural behaviour, but now we know that it’s the beast within. The in-human.”
“This is starting to sound like a lecture,” Lambo sighed tiredly, but ended up smiling apologetically when Mukuro fixed him with an icy glare before continuing.
“Psychopaths know society's rights and wrongs, and will behave as if they sincerely believe in these values. They know how to act to affect people the ways they want to. Charming their ways into the good graces of the people around them is what these beasts do. In many of the cases I have seen and heard of in Europe and beyond, the serial killer keeps souvenirs of the crime, like this man we’re dealing with. Organs, pictures, a shoe, a bag… Anything to refuel the fantasy later.”
“Fantasy?” Yamamoto repeated with a frown. “You mean that the killer actually… um… fantasizes about what he does?”
“Without a doubt,” Mukuro deadpanned. “There are six phases of the serial killer’s cycle that we know of. First phase: the Aura Phase, where the killer starts losing his grip on reality. Second phase: the Trolling Phase - when the killer looks for the victim. Prostitutes are always in danger since usually people don’t much pay attention to whether or not they start disappearing. Third phase is the Wooing Phase, during which the killer lures his victim. After it comes the Capture Phase, where the victim is entrapped. Then the Murder or Totem Phase, which is the emotional high for killer since it’s the grand act of their… and after that the sixth phase kicks in: the Depression Phase, which occurs after killing.”
“Wait,” Yamamoto spoke again. “You said that they don’t feel emotions and regrets… yet they get depressed because they killed?”
“No,” Mukuro said. “They don’t get depressed because they killed. They get depressed because they don’t feel like they really gained anything after the murder. Some say that they never really got what they had hoped for out of the murders, and always felt emptiness and hopelessness after it. The killer is simply acting out a ritualistic fantasy ... but, once sacrificed, the victim’s identity within the murderer's own fantasy is lost. The victim no longer represents what the killer thought he or she represented, and therefore becomes meaningless. It’s post-homicidal depression and it triggers the phases into beginning again.”
“So, how are we going to recognize this killer?” Ryohei asked. “We’ve got one extreme bad guy here.”
“Well,” Reborn started. “There are other things we know that might help us. Hibari?”
“The murders were not made for profit, and we can exclude the other street rats in the area,” the dark-haired police stated monotonously. “The motive is psychological, not material. The victims were both prostitutes, and the next one will be one too… perhaps prostitutes have a symbolic value to the killer - we’re yet to analyze the method of killing to determine a meaning or any ritualistic signs, but we might need to keep watch on the local priests too.”
“So,” Reborn said. “We think we can spot the beast with uncontrollable urges to kill other people around him, but we’re wrong. On the streets we avoid the mentally ill, the dirty, drunk and dishevelled old man who stinks and curses loudly. Yet the serial killer is most probably the charming, well dressed, polite man who blends in with anonymity, goes to the church, is kind to children, women and elderly and perhaps even helps publicly those in need. Like all evolved predators, they know how to stalk their victims by gaining their trust. Serial killers don't wear their hearts on their sleeves. Instead, they hide behind a carefully constructed facade of normalcy. That’s something I want all of you to know.”
Tsuna’s heart was hammering against his ribcage, and the young teacher admitted to himself that he was scared. Moments ago, before he had heard all this talk about beasts within and what not, the threat had seemed distant… like a nightmare of another person. But now it was suddenly there, looming, ready to attack. And for some reason the mere thought of Belphegor made him feel alarmed. The charming artist was trustworthy, wasn’t he? Oh yes, and very nice and polite. No, Tsuna knew that that wasn’t it. There was something… something he wasn’t quite seeing in the equation…
“Our resources and research equipments are limited,” Gokudera remarked. "We don't have a crime laboratory here, unlike the Coelha they have in Rome."
"Romans have been killing and fucking each other in turns for centuries,” Mukuro scoffed. “They need a crime laboratory. That's why they have it."
“I wonder if it’s really a local,” Tsuna mused aloud, and Yamamoto turned to him with a serious expression, ignoring the growing commotion between the two doctors in the team.
“Yeah… it’s hard to believe.”
“Not really,” Reborn joined the discussion. “Like wine, the best plans can wait decades for the right time.”
“No, that isn’t it,” Tsuna muttered, with furrowed eyebrows. So focused he was on his thoughts that he completely missed the approving, slightly amused look in the detective’s eyes.
“Oh?” the fedora-wearing man said quietly, leaning forward. “Not a local?”
“W-well, I don’t know,” the brunet sighed. “It just doesn’t… you know… seem correct.”
“Is that how you feel?” Reborn asked flatly, and Tsuna blushed, but nodded anyway. After a moment the older of the two nodded too. “Very well. I shall trust your… intuition.”
Something in the man’s voice made Tsuna alarmed, and because of that the brunet managed to finally push away the thoughts about the blond artist that had been plaguing him for the whole meeting. No, for sure, Belphegor was a trustworthy person, and he was thinking of the blond only because of the dinner invitation he had for the day after.
“Quiet down,” Reborn ordered, and Gokudera and Mukuro obeyed - glaring at each other venomously, though. “We’ll be starting the investigations immediately, and we’ll be working in pairs. Hibari, you’re stuck with Lambo. I want pictures of the scenes of the crime, as well as pictures of every suspect. Anyone who moved into the area within the past year is a possible killer.”
“So much work,” Lambo whined, but went ignored as Reborn continued.
“Yamamoto, Ryohei… you two will go around gathering information from people. And keep in mind that you learn more if you don't knock. Gokudera…"
“I won’t be working with Mukuro,” the silver-haired doctor said stubbornly.
“That’s why you’ll work with Tsunayoshi. You will inspect the bodies and he’ll be with you. What he does is none of your business; you’re there just to ensure that nothing will happen to him.” Gokudera turned to look at Tsuna with furrowed eyebrows, and the brunet swallowed nervously.
“He doesn’t look like he’s worth anything,” the doctor stated coldly. “Scrawny, dull and -”
“And if it came down to me choosing either you or him, I’d still pick him,” Reborn interrupted sternly. “Do you really think that I don’t know how to pick my team?”
“Well, of course not, it’s just-“
“I’ll be trying my best,” Tsuna said softly, amber eyes looking directly at the temperamental doctor. “I promise you.”
“Fine, then,” Gokudera relented, looking suddenly less angry than he had been a moment before. “See that you do.”
8th of September, 1888, Saturday
Few days later, when Tsuna was making his way to school at six thirty in the morning through the Spitalfield’s market area, he saw a commotion across the street and felt a wave of dread wash over him. He knew, before he saw the slumped figure, that it was another corpse. Their team had failed. Not that they had done much to not fail considering how Mukuro, Gokudera and Hibari attempted to demonstrate murders by using each other as victims, but it was still horrible. Tsuna knew that he, himself, hadn’t done anything but occasionally talk with Reborn, Gokudera and Yamamoto.
“Tsunayoshi!” a familiar voice called, and Tsuna turned to see Molly Porter rushing towards him. “Did you hear?”
“I just arrived here, Molly,” the brunet said, and the woman shook her head, eyes dark with worry and anxiety.
“Dark Annie is dead,” Molly sighed. “The killer struck again! What in God’s name are the police doing!?” Tsuna paled, and bit his lip, watching with wide eyes how Lambo - who had arrived with few others of their ‘team’ - was taking pictures of the corpse. After he was finished, Gokudera stepped forward to inspect the body closer. Over the crowd Tsuna’s eyes met Reborn’s, and the detective touched his fedora in greeting before turning back to instruct Lambo.
“They’re doing their best, I’m sure,” Tsuna replied belatedly to Mrs Porter’s words. The woman scoffed, and shook her head.
“Obviously their best isn’t good enough.”
“Hello Tsuna,” another voice called and Yamamoto suddenly appeared next to the brunet. “You here too, huh?”
“I was on my way to work, actually,” Tsuna replied. “I should go. See you again in good health, Mrs Porter.”
“You too, Tsunayoshi,” the woman replied, eyes still fixed on the murder scene.
“I’ll walk with you since I’m going that way anyway,” Yamamoto said and followed the young teacher. “Awful, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Tsuna muttered. “It is. For some reason this feels much worse than the previous two murders even though it should be no different.”
“I guess that’s because we weren’t really involved with the previous crimes,” Yamamoto told him. “We have a meeting today, you know.”
“I know. I wonder if there’s anything we should-“ Tsuna suddenly froze on his tracks, and he abruptly turned to look at the gathering they had parted from with narrowed eyes. Something was different… someone… something…
’He’s there, the killer,’ Tsuna knew. ’He wasn’t a moment ago, but he is there now…’ He didn’t know how he knew, but he had learned to trust his intuition, and it had never failed him before. The killer felt like a void, and that void was there, in the crowd right now.
“Tsuna?” Yamamoto’s voice interrupted the brunet’s thoughts, and he lost his focus.
“Ah? Sorry… I just thought I saw something,” he said apologetically, and turned to continue his way to the school. “Maybe I was wrong.” He knew he wasn’t, but he knew that he couldn’t inspect the people one by one.
In the crowd Belphegor was watching after the two men with narrowed eyes. He had seen the young teacher from afar and that was why he even stepped out of his hiding spot to join the crowd. But before he had reached the brunet, that tavern owner’s bastard brat appeared.
During the past days, watching Tsunayoshi go to school through the glass of his window had become a source of pleasure to Belphegor. Secretly he watched, eyes following the slight, almost unnoticeable sway of the brunet’s hips as the young teacher walked. Too bad Tsunayoshi’s coat was of the rather long sort, till his knees, almost - otherwise Belphegor would have enjoyed staring at the other man’s ass quite a lot, thank you. The mere thought of it made the murderous artist hard, and he often dreamt of finally seducing the brunet. Something, however, like an invisible barrier stopped him.
Tsunayoshi wasn’t tall, even though he was taller than most women. He still stood shorter than Belphegor, and the blond liked that - he liked the feeling of power he’d be getting from dominating a sexual partner. Especially someone with such body - Tsunayoshi was obviously rather young, shy and inexperienced. His slender white hands were those of a teacher and not those of a man who did physical labour, which perhaps would mean that the brunet - while fit - wasn’t particularly strong physically. That implied vulnerability was only one more trait Bel found enthralling.
The others might not see it, but Bel was an artist who knew what beauty was. And Tsunayoshi was truly beautiful. Bel wanted to paint him. No, actually Bel wanted more than to just paint him - he wanted to possess him. He wanted to bruise those saliva-glossed lips with his kisses and to mark that flawless skin with his nails. He wanted to be the only one to make Tsunayoshi blush - and to be the only one to know how far a blush could go in the brunet’s body. Just the cheeks, or the whole face? Ears or down to his neck?
Often his nights were spent imagining Tsunayoshi beneath him, teary eyed, begging for more. Bel wanted him, wanted him so badly that he could hardly stand still in the younger man’s presence.
And now, watching him leave with some other man made Belphegor’s blood boil, even though the artist knew that they were just acquaintances.
Yet, he was done with being a friend to the teacher. It was time to act for real.
It was half past six in the evening when Tsuna arrived at the police station and the meeting could start. None of the men present seemed surprised when Reborn told them about the newest victim, which led the teacher to believe that they had all been briefed in during the day.
“Yamamoto, Ryohei… did you find out anything?”
“Well,” Yamamoto started. “According to what I heard, just before two in the morning today the victim known as Dark Annie was turned out of her lodging house to earn money for her bed. As we all know, she was few hours later found several hundred yards away in the backyard of 29 Hanbury Street, Spitalfields.”
“Which brings up the extremely baffling circumstances,” Ryohei continued. “29 Hanbury Street is just across from the Spitalfields market. Seventeen people made the building their home, five of which had rooms overlooking the site of the murder. Of those five or so with rooms overlooking the crime scene, some had their windows open that night. Yet no one saw or heard anything out of ordinary.”
“That we know,” Reborn said with a nod. “We did research the area. Anything else the people are saying? No? Very well. Hibari, read the official report.”
“What we know is that Spitalfields Market opens every day at five in the morning, today being no exception. Many people must have been there, some of which had businesses in the building at 29 Hanbury, preparing for the opening of the market. Residents were leaving for work as early as 3:50 a.m. The streets around the market were filled with the commercial vehicles delivering to the marketplace. John Davis, an elderly carman who lives with his wife and three sons at 29 Hanbury, found the body of Annie Chapman, known as Dark Annie, just after 6 a.m. He noticed that her skirts had been raised up to her pelvis, and went immediately to get help and returned with two workmen. By the time a constable was called, everybody in the house had been awakened,” the raven-haired policeman stated. “Yet, regardless of the traffic at such an early hour, nobody heard anything suspicious nor was anyone seen with bloody clothing or weapon.”
“Indeed,” Reborn muttered. “Gokudera? Anything to say?”
“The body was lying in the yard on her back,” the silver-haired doctor started. “The left arm was across the left breast, and the legs were drawn up, the feet resting on the ground, and the knees turned outwards. The face was swollen and turned on the right side, and the tongue protruded between the front teeth, but not beyond the lips; it was very swollen. The small intestines and other portions were lying on the right side of the body on the ground above the right shoulder, but attached. There was a large quantity of blood; with a part of the stomach above the left shoulder. The body was cold, except that there was a certain remaining heat, under the intestines, in the body. Stiffness of the limbs was not marked, but it was commencing. The throat was dissevered deeply. I noticed that the incision of the skin was jagged, and reached right round the neck.”
“In simpler English?”
“Well… she had been dead for approximately two hours before she was found. The absence of any cries heard by the residents of 29 Hanbury could be explained by the evidence that she was strangled into unconsciousness and immediately thereafter had her throat slashed. She was obviously murdered where she was found. The murderer might have attempted to cut off her head since as per the bruises we saw that she had been grabbed by the chin and her throat got slashed deeply from left to right. The mutilations that happened were done after her death.”
“You mean that after killing her, the killer stuck around?” Yamamoto said with disbelief, and Gokudera nodded with a slight sneer.
“Dr. Philips - he works for the government, but I got a copy of his report - wrote: The abdomen had been entirely laid open; that the intestines, severed from their mesenteric attachments, had been lifted out of the body, and placed by the shoulder of the corpse; whilst from the pelvis the uterus and its appendages, with the upper portion of the vagina and the posterior two-thirds of the bladder, had been entirely removed. No trace of these parts could be found, and the incisions were cleanly cut, avoiding the rectum, and dividing the vagina low enough to avoid injury to the cervix uteri. Obviously the work was that of an expert - of one, at least, who had such knowledge of anatomical or pathological examinations as to be enabled to secure the pelvic organs with one sweep of the knife.”
“Which means that we can pretty much exclude most of the citizens here, since using a knife in such an artful way isn’t within their abilities,” Mukuro muttered, but Tsuna shook his head and spoke timidly.
“We don’t know that for sure. It’s not like we can see clearly whether or not someone knows how to use a knife like that - it’s not something people go around admitting.”
“He’s right,” Hibari sneered. Gokudera nodded too, before continuing to read the copy of Dr. Philip’s report.
“ The whole inference seems to me that the operation was performed to enable the perpetrator to obtain possession of these parts of the body. Dr. Philips is a police surgeon with 23 years of experience and if even he was very surprised and shocked. He said that the mutilations had been done so skillfully and in what must have been a really short period of time. He even said that he couldn’t have done such work in less than fifteen minutes. More likely an hour. And I have to agree with him.”
“So we can safely assume at least that the same man who killed Nichols and Tabram, also killed Annie Chapman?” Lambo asked.
“Yes.”
“And that we are as far from catching the criminal as we were before this murder, considering that no evidence was left?”
“Correct,” Reborn stated. “But that’s only for now. We can clearly see that no mere slaughterer of animals could have carried out these operations. It must have been someone accustomed to the post mortem room. Also, I have investigated the possible murder instruments and I suppose something akin to a rather narrow, thin knife with a blade between 6 and 8 inches long. The kind of knife used by slaughtermen and surgeons for amputations could have been such an instrument.”
“This is so tiring,” Lambo sighed, picking up one of the many papers scattered over the desks. “Extensive conversations with the associates of Annie Chapman yielded neither good suspects nor any reasonable motive for the crime. Nor was there anyone suspicious found escaping the scene of the crime. Who wrote this? This looks like a… a…”
“I did,” Gokudera snapped, shooting a glare at the curly-haired police assistant, who gulped and looked hastily elsewhere.
“Do you think that this will change the course of prostitution?” Yamamoto asked Tsuna, who shrugged.
“It might.”
“Doubtful,” Mukuro said, leaning closed towards the two, his mismatched eyes sparkling. “This is Whitechapel; it will surge back to its normal pitch soon, since there are just too many people here whose daily needs depend upon the income they get from prostitution and other forms of evening entertainment to let the pace lapse for long.”
“The criminal, though, isn’t necessarily from Whitechapel,” Tsuna muttered, but Mukuro shook his head, leaning even closer towards the young brunet.
“I do not think so, mainly because visiting Whitechapel frequently these days is always noticed. The criminal would stand out with his trips. No, it’s someone living here.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Tsuna muttered, completely oblivious to the fact that the Italian psychiatrist was now leaning way closer than appropriate.
’I have a feeling that it’s not a local,’ the brunet thought. ’Yet how can it be that at the same time I have a feeling that it isn’t someone of the citizens here? Could it be someone who had just recently moved here, to this area?’
“So, any plans?” Yamamoto asked, turning towards Reborn, who shook his head slowly.
“None, really. Patrolling the area alone is impossible, so we have no ways to keep tabs on the most probable future victims; prostitutes. Of course we have sent a warning to them, but not everyone believes that they are in danger, and therefore some of those women are bound to leave safety for the nights.”
“So we’re still stuck investigating old clues,” Hibari stated.
“Well, we have now limited the suspects to the people who live in Whitechapel. Of these we can safely eliminate the females, children and the ill and injured. We can also assume that the majority do not possess this calibre of surgical skills. Of the remaining….”
“We gather a list,” Reborn said. “Ryohei, Hibari, Yamamoto - your task for the following two days is to gather all the citizen registration files available.”
“That’s an EXTREME amount of work!” Ryohei exclaimed. “But sure thing, Reborn!”
“That’s all for today. There isn’t much we can do now,” the detective veteran said, turning away. With a sigh Tsuna stood up, grabbed his coat and was among the first ones to leave - he was feeling rather tired after a long day.
“Tsunayoshi!” a voice called, and not a moment later the Italian psychiatrist, Rokudo Mukuro, appeared next to the young teacher.
“Mr. Rokudo…”
“Ah, please, do call me Mukuro,” the man requested with a small smile. “I was just wondering how you were feeling about this investigation? Or more like, the criminal.”
“Um… we don’t know the criminal yet, Mr. Ro- eh, Mukuro. I really cannot say anything about him.”
“Well, of course we don’t know the criminal yet, Tsunayoshi. But do you not wonder who could be capable of doing such things? Do you not suspect?” Mukuro said impatiently, and Tsuna shrugged warily.
“This is the first time I have even heard of anyone killing without a motive… and killing so many women. There is no benefit in that at all.”
“Ah,” Mukuro chuckled. “What makes you think that the motive is money?”
“What else could it be?” Tsuna asked, perplexed.
“Pleasure,” the psychiatrist muttered softly. “Psychopaths - and this criminal is one, believe me - are diagnosed by their purposeless and irrational antisocial behaviour, lack of conscience, and emotional vacuity. They are thrill seekers, literally fearless. Punishment rarely works, because they are impulsive by nature and fearless of the consequences. They’re incapable of having meaningful relationships and they view others as fodder for manipulation and exploitation.”
“That sounds really lonely…”
“It is,” Mukuro sighed, mismatched eyes staring into Tsuna’s brown ones. “What do you think of pleasure, Tsunayoshi?”
“What?” Tsuna asked, not sure whether or not he had heard the odd question correctly. The psychiatrist gave him an odd smile, and stopped walking, pulling the young teacher to stand extremely close to him.
“Pleasure,” he purred. “I want to kno-“
“Look at the time!” the more than just slightly freaked out brunet suddenly exclaimed. “I must rush home. We have the next meeting in a few days, right? See you then, Mr. Rokudo.”
“Tsu-“ Not hearing (or perhaps just not heeding) the other man, Tsuna waved and left the Italian psychiatrist standing behind. The brunet didn’t turn to look back - had he done so, he might have seen the predatory, slightly amused, smirk the other man had.
’Next time then, Tsunayoshi,’ he thought, and turned when he sensed someone walking towards him.
“Mukuro.”
“Reborn. What do you want this time?”
“I couldn’t help but notice your interest towards Tsunayoshi,” the detective veteran said, stopping next to the psychiatrist. “I recommend losing that interest and focusing on something else.”
“Why would I do that?” Mukuro asked mockingly. “Such beauty is rare to come by. Especially in a male.”
“I was aware of your preferences before,” Reborn stated. “But I still have to tell you that Tsunayoshi is off-limits to you.”
“Is he yours?”
“I am not attracted by the male gender, Mukuro.”
“Then I do not see why you even pay attention to this issue. I do what I want.”
“Duly noted,” the detective said dryly. “Yet I still insist. Leave Tsunayoshi alone if you’re not serious about him.” At this, Mukuro laughed loudly, in a rather uncharacteristic manner.
“Serious about him? Of course I’m not serious about him, Reborn. At the best, Tsunayoshi would be nothing but temporary amusement for me. A joke, if you may call him that.”
“I see,” Reborn muttered, readjusting his fedora, arm hiding a smirk. “Then there’s nothing left for me to say but one thing.”
“Oh?” Mukuro smiled mockingly. “And what would that be?”
“Be careful, Mukuro,” the detective said, obsidian eyes quickly glancing at where he knew for a blond man to be standing silently. “Be very careful, because Tsuna has people who care for him.”
It was already dark when Belphegor moved from his spot. He had few hours earlier seen Tsunayoshi walking with a stranger, but before the blond had had the chance to interrupt the two and lead Tsunayoshi away, the young teacher had already left. By then Belphegor had been close enough to hear what the man was talking about with another newcomer… and what he had heard, did not please him at all.
He wanted to kill that man.
From the point of view of a person who didn’t know and understand killers like Belphegor, this wouldn’t be strange at all. He had killed women already, so why not men too while he was at it? They thought that what killers strove for was the part where they finally could take the victim’s - any victim’s - life, but they were wrong.
Every killer had certain sort of type they’d go after. It wasn’t necessarily the gender of the colouring or even the religion - it could be something as trivial as the colour of a hat. Anything and everything could link a victim to another, and to the killer that link is what he follows. It’s a reason that makes sense to the killer even if outsiders don’t understand it. It’s a reason.
Belphegor killed women. Female prostitutes. And he had his reasons and motives for doing so. Killing a man would be strange, even if he definitely wouldn’t regret it, or even feel guilty about it. Picking a victim to kill was a complicated thing to do, and had many aspects to it. It held ideals, subconscious desires, symbolic meanings that were sometimes clear and sometimes not… The simple act of killing held a world within it.
A world of motives that Belphegor might have to change for the sake of eliminating that man, if it came down to it. What was his name again? Mukuro? So someone else had discovered Tsunayoshi’s beauty and was willing to explore it. As if! Belphegor wasn’t about to let that happen.
’Then again,’ the blond thought. ’If I seduce Tsunayoshi first, there would be no need for further actions. If he’s in love with me, he will steer clear from that freak.’ The decision of seducing the teacher had already been made, but the artist reconfirmed it and justified it to himself anyway.
Now, how to do it?
From what Belphegor has seen and learned, homosexuality was as much of a taboo here as it was anywhere else in the world, and most probably the innocent teacher was still unaware of his true sexual preferences. Most probably, if Tsunayoshi was to be left alone to develop at his own pace, he’d end up marrying a girl and wondering for the rest of his life why he never felt satisfied.
Hmm. Actually, the more he thought of it, the more Belphegor got the feeling that he was actually saving Tsunayoshi from heaps of misfortune and pain. He was actually doing the brunet a favour by seducing him.
Now, how to do it?
Speculation and justification were good and all, but what could Belphegor actually do to get his point across without scaring the brunet away? Things would have to be taken slowly and carefully. And for that he’d need a plan. For the first time in his life, Belphegor cursed his lack of knowledge regarding the standard human courting habits. To pick up women he never had to do more than smirk and offer some compliments. But with Tsunayoshi it was sure to be different.
Belphegor had, out of pure interest, read researches of people like him - people that were labelled as ‘psychopaths’ by the higher authorities. The term was relatively new and not many knew what it even stood for. According to the researches, psychopaths are only capable of sadomasochistic relationships based on power, not attachment… yet how come, then, that while Belphegor did definitely want to dominate Tsunayoshi, there was also that undeniable attachment? Was it just a lie? An illusion?
No. This was real. These feelings of a bond, this desire, this longing… it was all real. Unfortunately.
’He’s confusing me,’ Belphegor thought, walking slowly towards the room he had rented. ’Why is he making me think like this? Why do I care so much?’ Something was changing in the blond, and he didn’t understand what it was or why was it changing. Only that this was because of Tsunayoshi.
He didn’t know where he was going with these feelings and these plans. All he knew was that he wanted Tsunayoshi. And for now, that was what mattered. He’ll deal with the aftermath later.
But first, he could take Tsunayoshi out for dinner.
22nd of September, 1888, Saturday
“That,” Yamamoto started, looking at Tsunayoshi. “Was the third time you sighed. Come on, what’s wrong, Tsuna?”
“Nothing is wrong,” the young teacher claimed. It was a nice Saturday evening and the two were yet again at the police station, reading through papers. Currently they were the only ones in the room, since the others had jobs to do and errands to finish elsewhere.
“But not everything is alright, right?” Yamamoto grinned. “So, what’s bothering you? Is it Mukuro again?”
“Well, him too,” Tsuna muttered, shuddering at the mention of the psychiatrist. For some reason during the past two weeks the man had been rather… grabby. “I wonder what’s wrong with him.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain.” After all, how could he ask about and explain the lingering touches, needless brushing and oddly phrased sentences that seemed to mean much more than expected? No, Mukuro wasn’t a subject that he was about to discuss with someone like Yamamoto. Or anyone at all, actually.
But the other thing…
“Takeshi,” Tsuna started quietly, moving to sit right next to the taller man. “There’s something odd going on with a friend of mine, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh?” the tavern owner’s son let go of the papers he was reading, and focused on Tsuna completely. “Do tell. I’ll try to give some useful advice.”
“Well, you see,” the young teacher sighed. “This someone is a person I have made friends with only recently. In the beginning I was very wary and maybe a bit scared of him, but now he’s one of the closest and most precious people to me. I admire him a lot.”
“Okay. And?”
“Well, it’s just that he… uh… has been inviting me for dinners, taking me to watch plays, buying me some gifts and sometimes even flowers and once I even got solid milk chocolate. I mean, solid milk chocolate, Takeshi! Do you know how rare and expensive that is?”
“Yes,” Yamamoto muttered. “He must value you greatly, Tsuna.”
“Which, in a way, bothers me a bit,” Tsuna admitted with a slightly troubled expression. “Well, not necessarily bothers, but… I can’t help but wonder if all that is proper.”
“Oh,” Yamamoto nodded, finally understanding. “Well, let me ask you some questions. From what I understood, this person might have the same sort of feelings towards you as Mukuro does.”
“Excuse me, what?” Tsuna gasped. “Mukuro what?”
“Mukuro’s feelings,” Yamamoto repeated patiently, as the young teacher shook his head.
“No wait, I know Mukuro’s weird,” Tsuna said. “But he’s not… he isn’t… he doesn’t have… not towards me.”
“Tsuna,” Yamamoto snorted. “I know that thinking about how a man can feel something like that towards another is weird - and it is - but I don’t think that it’s nasty. I used to be really uptight about it, actually, till I was told by an old woman that love is love and that’s that.”
“But the thing is,” Tsuna whispered. “That I don’t think that any of this is love. Mukuro doesn’t seem to be the type to love. Neither does my… other friend.”
“So you think that they are going to lead loveless lives till the very end?” Yamamoto asked gently, and the young teacher bit his lip, thinking. Then, after a few moments of silence, he shook his head.
“No.”
“So if they’re going to love, why can’t they love you?”
“It’s,” Tsuna sighed. “Weird.”
“Definitely.”
“And I don’t think that it could work out. Ever.”
“So you can see into the future, now?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Tsuna,” Yamamoto said. “This other friend of yours, how does he treat you exactly? During those dinners, for example.”
“Well,” Tsuna started hesitantly. “He’s really nice. He always pays for the both of us and is very considerate.”
“What do you talk about?”
“Many things… Few days ago we were discussing the first electric underground trains that are scheduled to start running in a bit more than a year. He said that he’d like to go with me for a trip then, and to be among the first ones to use it. But I’m not sure since the tickets are bound to be expensive.”
“He indicates that a year from now on,” Yamamoto smiled. “The two of you will still be close. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Friendship,” Tsuna insisted. “It means that he wants to be friends in the future. Not necessarily…”
“But Tsuna,” the taller man interrupted. “How many friends wish to share an experience such as riding the first electric train together? That sort of occasions are usually spared to be spent with a special someone.”
“… Th-then… best friends?”
“Doubtful. And buying chocolate and flowers isn’t a purely platonic gesture either.”
“… Takeshi, can you just get straight to the point?”
“I’m just trying to tell you,” Yamamoto said. “That my earlier assumption seems to be correct - your friend might have some romantic feelings towards you.”
“But he hasn’t done anything that would indicate that,” Tsuna insisted. “Not really.”
“Something like what?” Yamamoto asked. “Like kissing you? You must understand that he’s perhaps the one who’s most aware of the boundaries of what’s proper. He won’t kiss you till you show him that it’s okay, and he won’t hold your hand till you reach for his. Why? Because he’s afraid of chasing you away.”
“Since when did you become such an expert?” Tsuna asked suddenly, and the dark-haired man shrugged with a small, sad smile.
“Those reasons have stopped many before,” the tavern owner’s son said, and somehow there was more to his words than the obvious. “But, I think we should continue with our work now.”
“Takeshi?” Tsuna asked softly, touching the other man’s hand gently. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing, really,” the taller man grinned, suddenly cheerful again. “Let’s just finish these before the others come back, alright?”
“Sure thing,” Tsuna agreed, turning back towards his papers and thus missing the longing, loving look that for a moment twisted Yamamoto’s expression into that of pain. The dark-haired man closed his eyes and sighed, before shaking his head and refocusing on the reports.
It’s just… that you’re too easy to fall in love with, Sawada Tsunayoshi.
29th of September, 1888, Saturday
“Did you hear?” Lambo asked, leaning closer to Tsuna who was once again in the office sorting through stacks of paper while trying to grade some of his students’ exams on the side.
“Hear what?” ’Ah, no, you silly student… Napoleon wasn’t of Korean origins… just what made you think so!?’
“Buck’s Row is going to be renamed.”
“Oh, really?” ’…and Marie Antoinette wasn’t married to a Russian knight!’
“Yes. According to what I heard, it will be called Durward Street. Officially the plates will be changed the first of November,” Lambo whispered loudly. “What do you think?”
“I hardly think that my opinion matters, Lambo,” Tsuna muttered, writing a big red 32 / 100 - study harder for the next quiz, Mr. Longchamp into the paper, before reaching for the next one. He was about to start grading it when the door of the office was slammed open and Ryohei rushed in, red faced and full of enthusiasm.
“Next time you better knock, turf head,” Dr. Gokudera snarled. “I almost dropped the ink bottle because of you!”
“You look like you have discovered something,” Reborn said. “Do share.” Lambo, Tsuna and Yamamoto turned towards the man, and even Mukuro and Hibari paused with whatever they were doing for the sake of listening.
“The killer sent a letter,” Ryohei told them, holding up an envelope. “Actually it was sent two days ago, but only few hours ago the letter was delivered to the Central News Office, and addressed to ‘The Boss’.”
“How did you get your hands on it?” Dr. Gokudera asked suspiciously.
“They think it’s a hoax,” the other man said. “I got it smuggled out but this hasn’t been released to the police forces yet.”
“They’ll do it eventually,” Reborn scoffed. “We’re just getting few days’ head start. Do you have to return that paper?”
“Well, yes,” Ryohei admitted. “I have to return it before tomorrow morning.”
“Very well then,” Mukuro scoffed. “Read it aloud, you idiot, or show us. What are you waiting for? The apocalypse?”
“So, what do you think?” Lambo asked.
“Awfully lot of spelling mistakes,” Mukuro snorted.
“Anything else? Anything useful?”
“Well,” Tsuna said slowly. “At least now we can eliminate more than half of the suspects. Considering that they cannot read, much less write.”
“So we’re going to treat this letter as if it really was from the killer?” Dr. Gokudera asked, still suspicious.
“Prince the Ripper… what an odd name,” Yamamoto muttered.
“How about someone fucking answers me?”
“Ha ha, relax, Gokudera.”
“Shut the hell up, you smiling freak. Sawada? Reborn?”
“Well, at least now we know for sure that we’re dealing with a psychopath,” Mukuro said. “He seems more amused than anything else by his killings. And he’s obviously dead set on killing some more.”
“How about a useful analysis for a change?” Hibari sneered, making the psychiatrist scowl in annoyance.
“Anger is rarely the motive of a psychotic killer. They do not feel anger on a conscious level, but the violence of their acts show the dissociated effect. This killer, like many others, seeks idealized victims to shame, humiliate and destroy. It’s a circle where ‘I must have’ ends with ‘it was not worth having’. With serial killers this ‘it was not worth having’ is followed by ‘maybe the next one’. And so it goes, the killing. In circles.”
“So much for a useful analysis,” Dr. Gokudera scoffed. “How does that help us? We already know that he’s going to kill again.”
“What we know so far of the killer,” Lambo started. “Is that he’s a male, uses a long knife to kill, is capable of reading and writing, lives in Whitechapel and can move around easily without anyone becoming suspicious.”
“Which probably means that he lives alone,” Yamamoto said. “To come and go at night in a shared household is always something that will be noticed, and eventually someone would be bound to become suspicious. So I think that this person lives alone.”
“I agree with Takeshi,” Tsuna stated, and Reborn nodded.
“How many suspects does that leave us with?”
“Too many,” Yamamoto sighed tiredly. “Over hundred, at least.”
“So many…” Tsuna groaned, rubbing his eyes. In an instance, Mukuro was sitting next to the brunet, hands resting on the shorter man’s shoulders.
“Don’t feel upset, Tsunayoshi,” Mukuro purred, making the brunet tense. “At least now we have a clue!”
“He’s right,” Lambo said, completely oblivious to the true reasons for Mukuro’s presence by Tsuna’s side. “Be more positive!”
“Yes, sure,” Tsuna muttered, sending a pleading glance towards Yamamoto, who shrugged with an apologetic smile. “Why won’t you go back to your seat, Mukuro?”
“I prefer to stay here, actually,” the psychiatrist declared, not discouraged at all by the brunet’s obvious lack of enthusiasm regarding his advances. Sure, it irritated Mukuro a little. But was he about to give up? No.
Elsewhere, a homicidal artist had just finished a painting and was now sharpening his beloved knives. The narrow, thin knives, about 6 inches each, were what he used to cut up the canvas. They were also what he used to cut up other things, such as skin. Keeping the knives sharp and shiny was a matter of pride to the artistic killer, and he wasn’t about to neglect his weapons.
’The human nature sure is a nuisance,’ he thought absently as he heard some women arguing loudly outside. ’How can it be considered a crime to rid the world of some of those disturbances?’
The past few weeks had been going splendidly. Sure, Belphegor hadn’t done anything to Tsunayoshi yet… but the teacher was getting it. The artist could see the way Tsunayoshi blushed when their hands touched or when they had to stand for a reason or another a bit closer, a bit longer. Seeing those reactions happen because of him, made Belphegor feel a higher level of happiness than ever, even during the murders.
Tsunayoshi’s kind brown eyes, void of any trace of malice or darkness. His adorably shy smile that made Belphegor want nothing more than to embrace the other and never let go. The tousled brown locks that made the artist wish for a comb and a valid excuse to touch-
”That’s enough, Elizabeth! If you’d pay your rent in time we wouldn’t have to fight over it every goddamned month!”
“Do you think I’m paid enough to pay you!?”
Tsch. All that screaming and shouting was really becoming more and more annoying. So it was all Elizabeth’s fault? Now if he’d find out who this Elizabeth was, Belphegor might do her a favour and end her life. He hadn’t killed anyone for a few weeks and frankly, he felt like it. The urge to kill was stronger than usually, which didn’t surprise the killer since he had been holding back for so long.
’I have to wait for a few hours,’ he thought, washing the brushes. He finished cleaning up and left his painting to dry as he headed out. In his pocket he had two of his canvas knives, folded neatly and ready for use when he’d get the chance. He knew that he’d definitely have to wait for several hours - it was too early and not that dark yet. The streets were still active, so Belphegor could do little beside take a long walk, daydreaming of Tsunayoshi and the murder that was going to occur.
A murder… or maybe two.
It was surprisingly cold outside and absently the artist noted that he should have, perhaps, bought himself a thicker coat. Then his thoughts drifted - as they nowadays tended to do - to Tsunayoshi. What was the teacher doing now? Was he still at the school or was he on his way home already? Was he alone or did the annoying nuisance follow Tsunayoshi again?
Then again, did the nuisance have a real chance with Tsunayoshi anyway?
Belphegor had seen the man - Mukuro - a few times during the past days. He didn't seem like someone whose company Tsunayoshi enjoyed. Then again, the young teacher was equally kind and nice to everyone... which made it difficult to guess whether he was really enjoying himself or just being polite. Well, Belphegor knew for sure that the brunet had enjoyed their dinners and other outings. Such spark in the eyes couldn't be faked even by the best actors.
The blond walked slowly, letting the time pass, enjoying the descending darkness and grinned as the street became less and less occupied. People were rushing home, rats were crawling out and the artist had already walked past a few prostitutes. It was a bit after midnight that he heard a familiar voice - it was the woman who had that shouting match with her landlady.
'I suppose this is fate,' Belphegor thought, with a grin. 'I forgot her name but that shouldn't matter.'
It didn't.
So deep he was in his thoughts that he completely missed the brunet who exited the police office across the street. The young man in question waved to catch the artist’s attention, but after failing at that merely turned to go home, not realizing that he had just witnessed something he should not have.
___________________________________________________________________
END PART TWO
(go to part part three)
___________________________________________________________________
Author: Pain au Chocolat
Language: English
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters used in this fiction, and I do not own the past. As in I don’t own Jack the Ripper. I’m just taking a history lesson and throwing some KHR characters into it, adding some gay romance and let’s see what happens…
Rating & Warnings: M. AU, OOC, yaoi, blood, murder, gore.
Summary: England, 1888 - When the first corpse of a female prostitute turned up with organs missing, no one knew that it was the beginning of a tale told by a psychotic genius in its goriest form…
Pairing: Belphegor x Tsuna
PART TWO
Tsuna was relieved to see Yamamoto there at the police station, even though he had no idea what the other man’s business there was.
“I was sent here by detective Reborn,” Tsuna had said, and Hibari had ordered him to sit down. The brunet chose the seat next to Yamamoto, as far away as possible from the scary police officer. In less than fifteen minutes Reborn entered the room with another man, and nodded approvingly.
“Gentlemen,” Reborn started. “You have all heard of the two murders that have occurred. Of that I am certain. However, I’m sorry to say, we’ve still got no clue of who the killer might be. To figure that out I have gathered you seven here, to help me.”
“I’m sceptical regarding whether or not we need this amount of people,” a man with dark blue hair (what an unnatural colour!) and oddly mismatched eyes sneered.
“You’re still sceptical of the Earth being round, Mukuro,” a silver-haired man - Tsuna remembered him to be Dr. Gokudera - retorted frostily. “That doesn’t mean anything. Nobody cares.”
“I suppose that the term ‘gentlemen’ is used very loosely here,” the man wearing a horribly tasteless cow-print shirt muttered.
“We’ll work with this team,” Reborn said icily. “And that’s final. You’re all here to help me catch a madman on the loose, because those two murders are not the end of this mess. This criminal is going to kill again, and our job is to catch him before he does so. While it’s true that our Great Britain has never encountered this sort of crime before, overseas this would be nothing new. An alarming and surprising case, yes, but not the first of its kind, and therefore their resources to battle what they refer to as serial killers are much more advanced than what we have here. Before I start explaining more about the case, I shall introduce the parties involved.”
’That would be preferable,’ Tsuna thought.
“I’m Reborn, everyone knows me. This man, not unknown either, is Hibari Kyouya and he is the person officially in charge of this investigation. I would prefer for my connection to this case to stay unknown. You report to him, if there’s anything to be reported. Yes, you included, Mukuro," Reborn said and turned to point at the cow-print guy.
“That remarkably useless character-“
“HEY!”
“- is Lambo, Hibari’s assistant,” Reborn continued, ignoring completely the protest of the other man, who started to pout. “He’s the one responsible for taking pictures of the crime scenes, and if the camera is broken he’s capable of quick-drawing. Other specialities include looking like a male prostitute.“ Lambo looked clearly insulted by now, but seemed to know that protesting against the insults would be futile.
“This is Gokudera, the doctor who inspects the bodies. He looks like this, but he’s reliable.”
“What’s that supposed to mean!?” the man in question snarled, lighting up a cigarette. Unsurprisingly, Reborn didn’t react to his words either, opting to move on with the introductions.
“That there is our criminal psychiatrist, Mukuro. Regardless of what his appearance might suggest, he doesn’t deflower everything that walks on two feet and has a hole, so rest assured. He knows his stuff and gets paid for this, so don’t spare him the workload.”
“Are trying to annoy me on purpose?” the man with the mismatched eyes sneered. With a slight, mocking smirk Reborn pointed at the man he had come in with.
“Ryohei. His assistance here is to remind us of the fact that sometimes even a blind man can see what others don’t. He isn’t blind, though, so don’t keep your hopes too high.”
“That’s an EXTREME comparison, Reborn!!” the man exclaimed, before laughing loudly.
’I think he totally missed the insult,’ Tsuna thought and shook his head with a small smile. Well, at least out of the team so far, Ryohei didn’t seem scary. Compared to Hibari, Mukuro and Gokudera…
“This is Yamamoto,” Reborn continued. “The local tavern owner's son. Not as dim-witted as he might seem. In a good position to be on the lookout for suspicious behaviour and such. Useful.” After that Reborn glanced at Tsuna, who swallowed nervously. The fedora-wearing detective smirked.
“And the last one in the team is Tsunayoshi,” Reborn merely said. “Now that the introductions are done and over with, we can move to the main case. And no, I’m not giving you the option of backing up. So far in this case, as known, we have two victims. Martha Tabram and Mary Nichols, both prostitutes here in Whitechapel. Presumed to have been killed by the same man. Gokudera, what can you tell us about the bodies?”
“Well,” the doctor started. "The killer knew exactly what he was doing, and did it without hesitation. The cuts were clean and professional and the organs were extracted neatly. Money was left with the women for their organs, and I suspect it was the killer who left it, which means that he's not poor. Maybe he's a doctor. It would make sense."
“You or Shamal?” Mukuro sneered, and Gokudera grimaced at him.
“Finally admitting that you’re not a doctor?”
“But,” Tsuna started softly. “Doctors aren’t the only ones with… um… ability to use sharp objects. There are chefs, for example… and… other workers.”
“He’s right,” Gokudera agreed with a flash of approval in his eyes. “I suppose we should make some sort of list of the people capable of using a sharp object with such precision. However a common worker doesn’t know how to get the organs out properly. A chef might.” Reborn nodded, and turned to Mukuro.
“How about you tell us what you have found out so far?”
“I shall do that,” the Italian man replied with evident smugness. “The serial killer is, without a doubt, a psychopath. It’s a new term - I doubt any of you has heard of it before. However, not every psychopath is a criminal - only a small part of them, mostly due to lack of intelligence and self control. Of this small group of criminals, some become serial killers. Serial killers have an excessive need for power and control and we should focus especially on those with a violent past. Especially, I said, not solely. It’s futile to sit back and expect regret from a psychopath - their way of thinking is too different, and from their point of view their murders are accomplishments, works of art, they’re eager to show everyone.”
Without knowing why, Tsuna tensed, suddenly remembering a certain artist with an odd smile. Why was he thinking of Bel now? Honestly, he was acting like an obsessed girl or something… With determination the brunet pushed away the thoughts - and the nagging feelings - of the blond man and refocused on what Mukuro was saying.
“Psychopaths are not mentally retarded, and they are not necessarily insane. A mind can be evil without being abnormal, and the killer is, without a doubt, a rational and a calculating man. Serial killers are actors with natural penchant for performance. They possess the charm, and are truly Satan’s slaves, if not his reincarnations. They enjoy positions of authority, and are most probably respected or admired by the people around them. We used to think of the Devil as the sole force behind their violent, unnatural behaviour, but now we know that it’s the beast within. The in-human.”
“This is starting to sound like a lecture,” Lambo sighed tiredly, but ended up smiling apologetically when Mukuro fixed him with an icy glare before continuing.
“Psychopaths know society's rights and wrongs, and will behave as if they sincerely believe in these values. They know how to act to affect people the ways they want to. Charming their ways into the good graces of the people around them is what these beasts do. In many of the cases I have seen and heard of in Europe and beyond, the serial killer keeps souvenirs of the crime, like this man we’re dealing with. Organs, pictures, a shoe, a bag… Anything to refuel the fantasy later.”
“Fantasy?” Yamamoto repeated with a frown. “You mean that the killer actually… um… fantasizes about what he does?”
“Without a doubt,” Mukuro deadpanned. “There are six phases of the serial killer’s cycle that we know of. First phase: the Aura Phase, where the killer starts losing his grip on reality. Second phase: the Trolling Phase - when the killer looks for the victim. Prostitutes are always in danger since usually people don’t much pay attention to whether or not they start disappearing. Third phase is the Wooing Phase, during which the killer lures his victim. After it comes the Capture Phase, where the victim is entrapped. Then the Murder or Totem Phase, which is the emotional high for killer since it’s the grand act of their… and after that the sixth phase kicks in: the Depression Phase, which occurs after killing.”
“Wait,” Yamamoto spoke again. “You said that they don’t feel emotions and regrets… yet they get depressed because they killed?”
“No,” Mukuro said. “They don’t get depressed because they killed. They get depressed because they don’t feel like they really gained anything after the murder. Some say that they never really got what they had hoped for out of the murders, and always felt emptiness and hopelessness after it. The killer is simply acting out a ritualistic fantasy ... but, once sacrificed, the victim’s identity within the murderer's own fantasy is lost. The victim no longer represents what the killer thought he or she represented, and therefore becomes meaningless. It’s post-homicidal depression and it triggers the phases into beginning again.”
“So, how are we going to recognize this killer?” Ryohei asked. “We’ve got one extreme bad guy here.”
“Well,” Reborn started. “There are other things we know that might help us. Hibari?”
“The murders were not made for profit, and we can exclude the other street rats in the area,” the dark-haired police stated monotonously. “The motive is psychological, not material. The victims were both prostitutes, and the next one will be one too… perhaps prostitutes have a symbolic value to the killer - we’re yet to analyze the method of killing to determine a meaning or any ritualistic signs, but we might need to keep watch on the local priests too.”
“So,” Reborn said. “We think we can spot the beast with uncontrollable urges to kill other people around him, but we’re wrong. On the streets we avoid the mentally ill, the dirty, drunk and dishevelled old man who stinks and curses loudly. Yet the serial killer is most probably the charming, well dressed, polite man who blends in with anonymity, goes to the church, is kind to children, women and elderly and perhaps even helps publicly those in need. Like all evolved predators, they know how to stalk their victims by gaining their trust. Serial killers don't wear their hearts on their sleeves. Instead, they hide behind a carefully constructed facade of normalcy. That’s something I want all of you to know.”
Tsuna’s heart was hammering against his ribcage, and the young teacher admitted to himself that he was scared. Moments ago, before he had heard all this talk about beasts within and what not, the threat had seemed distant… like a nightmare of another person. But now it was suddenly there, looming, ready to attack. And for some reason the mere thought of Belphegor made him feel alarmed. The charming artist was trustworthy, wasn’t he? Oh yes, and very nice and polite. No, Tsuna knew that that wasn’t it. There was something… something he wasn’t quite seeing in the equation…
“Our resources and research equipments are limited,” Gokudera remarked. "We don't have a crime laboratory here, unlike the Coelha they have in Rome."
"Romans have been killing and fucking each other in turns for centuries,” Mukuro scoffed. “They need a crime laboratory. That's why they have it."
“I wonder if it’s really a local,” Tsuna mused aloud, and Yamamoto turned to him with a serious expression, ignoring the growing commotion between the two doctors in the team.
“Yeah… it’s hard to believe.”
“Not really,” Reborn joined the discussion. “Like wine, the best plans can wait decades for the right time.”
“No, that isn’t it,” Tsuna muttered, with furrowed eyebrows. So focused he was on his thoughts that he completely missed the approving, slightly amused look in the detective’s eyes.
“Oh?” the fedora-wearing man said quietly, leaning forward. “Not a local?”
“W-well, I don’t know,” the brunet sighed. “It just doesn’t… you know… seem correct.”
“Is that how you feel?” Reborn asked flatly, and Tsuna blushed, but nodded anyway. After a moment the older of the two nodded too. “Very well. I shall trust your… intuition.”
Something in the man’s voice made Tsuna alarmed, and because of that the brunet managed to finally push away the thoughts about the blond artist that had been plaguing him for the whole meeting. No, for sure, Belphegor was a trustworthy person, and he was thinking of the blond only because of the dinner invitation he had for the day after.
“Quiet down,” Reborn ordered, and Gokudera and Mukuro obeyed - glaring at each other venomously, though. “We’ll be starting the investigations immediately, and we’ll be working in pairs. Hibari, you’re stuck with Lambo. I want pictures of the scenes of the crime, as well as pictures of every suspect. Anyone who moved into the area within the past year is a possible killer.”
“So much work,” Lambo whined, but went ignored as Reborn continued.
“Yamamoto, Ryohei… you two will go around gathering information from people. And keep in mind that you learn more if you don't knock. Gokudera…"
“I won’t be working with Mukuro,” the silver-haired doctor said stubbornly.
“That’s why you’ll work with Tsunayoshi. You will inspect the bodies and he’ll be with you. What he does is none of your business; you’re there just to ensure that nothing will happen to him.” Gokudera turned to look at Tsuna with furrowed eyebrows, and the brunet swallowed nervously.
“He doesn’t look like he’s worth anything,” the doctor stated coldly. “Scrawny, dull and -”
“And if it came down to me choosing either you or him, I’d still pick him,” Reborn interrupted sternly. “Do you really think that I don’t know how to pick my team?”
“Well, of course not, it’s just-“
“I’ll be trying my best,” Tsuna said softly, amber eyes looking directly at the temperamental doctor. “I promise you.”
“Fine, then,” Gokudera relented, looking suddenly less angry than he had been a moment before. “See that you do.”
8th of September, 1888, Saturday
Few days later, when Tsuna was making his way to school at six thirty in the morning through the Spitalfield’s market area, he saw a commotion across the street and felt a wave of dread wash over him. He knew, before he saw the slumped figure, that it was another corpse. Their team had failed. Not that they had done much to not fail considering how Mukuro, Gokudera and Hibari attempted to demonstrate murders by using each other as victims, but it was still horrible. Tsuna knew that he, himself, hadn’t done anything but occasionally talk with Reborn, Gokudera and Yamamoto.
“Tsunayoshi!” a familiar voice called, and Tsuna turned to see Molly Porter rushing towards him. “Did you hear?”
“I just arrived here, Molly,” the brunet said, and the woman shook her head, eyes dark with worry and anxiety.
“Dark Annie is dead,” Molly sighed. “The killer struck again! What in God’s name are the police doing!?” Tsuna paled, and bit his lip, watching with wide eyes how Lambo - who had arrived with few others of their ‘team’ - was taking pictures of the corpse. After he was finished, Gokudera stepped forward to inspect the body closer. Over the crowd Tsuna’s eyes met Reborn’s, and the detective touched his fedora in greeting before turning back to instruct Lambo.
“They’re doing their best, I’m sure,” Tsuna replied belatedly to Mrs Porter’s words. The woman scoffed, and shook her head.
“Obviously their best isn’t good enough.”
“Hello Tsuna,” another voice called and Yamamoto suddenly appeared next to the brunet. “You here too, huh?”
“I was on my way to work, actually,” Tsuna replied. “I should go. See you again in good health, Mrs Porter.”
“You too, Tsunayoshi,” the woman replied, eyes still fixed on the murder scene.
“I’ll walk with you since I’m going that way anyway,” Yamamoto said and followed the young teacher. “Awful, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Tsuna muttered. “It is. For some reason this feels much worse than the previous two murders even though it should be no different.”
“I guess that’s because we weren’t really involved with the previous crimes,” Yamamoto told him. “We have a meeting today, you know.”
“I know. I wonder if there’s anything we should-“ Tsuna suddenly froze on his tracks, and he abruptly turned to look at the gathering they had parted from with narrowed eyes. Something was different… someone… something…
’He’s there, the killer,’ Tsuna knew. ’He wasn’t a moment ago, but he is there now…’ He didn’t know how he knew, but he had learned to trust his intuition, and it had never failed him before. The killer felt like a void, and that void was there, in the crowd right now.
“Tsuna?” Yamamoto’s voice interrupted the brunet’s thoughts, and he lost his focus.
“Ah? Sorry… I just thought I saw something,” he said apologetically, and turned to continue his way to the school. “Maybe I was wrong.” He knew he wasn’t, but he knew that he couldn’t inspect the people one by one.
In the crowd Belphegor was watching after the two men with narrowed eyes. He had seen the young teacher from afar and that was why he even stepped out of his hiding spot to join the crowd. But before he had reached the brunet, that tavern owner’s bastard brat appeared.
During the past days, watching Tsunayoshi go to school through the glass of his window had become a source of pleasure to Belphegor. Secretly he watched, eyes following the slight, almost unnoticeable sway of the brunet’s hips as the young teacher walked. Too bad Tsunayoshi’s coat was of the rather long sort, till his knees, almost - otherwise Belphegor would have enjoyed staring at the other man’s ass quite a lot, thank you. The mere thought of it made the murderous artist hard, and he often dreamt of finally seducing the brunet. Something, however, like an invisible barrier stopped him.
Tsunayoshi wasn’t tall, even though he was taller than most women. He still stood shorter than Belphegor, and the blond liked that - he liked the feeling of power he’d be getting from dominating a sexual partner. Especially someone with such body - Tsunayoshi was obviously rather young, shy and inexperienced. His slender white hands were those of a teacher and not those of a man who did physical labour, which perhaps would mean that the brunet - while fit - wasn’t particularly strong physically. That implied vulnerability was only one more trait Bel found enthralling.
The others might not see it, but Bel was an artist who knew what beauty was. And Tsunayoshi was truly beautiful. Bel wanted to paint him. No, actually Bel wanted more than to just paint him - he wanted to possess him. He wanted to bruise those saliva-glossed lips with his kisses and to mark that flawless skin with his nails. He wanted to be the only one to make Tsunayoshi blush - and to be the only one to know how far a blush could go in the brunet’s body. Just the cheeks, or the whole face? Ears or down to his neck?
Often his nights were spent imagining Tsunayoshi beneath him, teary eyed, begging for more. Bel wanted him, wanted him so badly that he could hardly stand still in the younger man’s presence.
And now, watching him leave with some other man made Belphegor’s blood boil, even though the artist knew that they were just acquaintances.
Yet, he was done with being a friend to the teacher. It was time to act for real.
It was half past six in the evening when Tsuna arrived at the police station and the meeting could start. None of the men present seemed surprised when Reborn told them about the newest victim, which led the teacher to believe that they had all been briefed in during the day.
“Yamamoto, Ryohei… did you find out anything?”
“Well,” Yamamoto started. “According to what I heard, just before two in the morning today the victim known as Dark Annie was turned out of her lodging house to earn money for her bed. As we all know, she was few hours later found several hundred yards away in the backyard of 29 Hanbury Street, Spitalfields.”
“Which brings up the extremely baffling circumstances,” Ryohei continued. “29 Hanbury Street is just across from the Spitalfields market. Seventeen people made the building their home, five of which had rooms overlooking the site of the murder. Of those five or so with rooms overlooking the crime scene, some had their windows open that night. Yet no one saw or heard anything out of ordinary.”
“That we know,” Reborn said with a nod. “We did research the area. Anything else the people are saying? No? Very well. Hibari, read the official report.”
“What we know is that Spitalfields Market opens every day at five in the morning, today being no exception. Many people must have been there, some of which had businesses in the building at 29 Hanbury, preparing for the opening of the market. Residents were leaving for work as early as 3:50 a.m. The streets around the market were filled with the commercial vehicles delivering to the marketplace. John Davis, an elderly carman who lives with his wife and three sons at 29 Hanbury, found the body of Annie Chapman, known as Dark Annie, just after 6 a.m. He noticed that her skirts had been raised up to her pelvis, and went immediately to get help and returned with two workmen. By the time a constable was called, everybody in the house had been awakened,” the raven-haired policeman stated. “Yet, regardless of the traffic at such an early hour, nobody heard anything suspicious nor was anyone seen with bloody clothing or weapon.”
“Indeed,” Reborn muttered. “Gokudera? Anything to say?”
“The body was lying in the yard on her back,” the silver-haired doctor started. “The left arm was across the left breast, and the legs were drawn up, the feet resting on the ground, and the knees turned outwards. The face was swollen and turned on the right side, and the tongue protruded between the front teeth, but not beyond the lips; it was very swollen. The small intestines and other portions were lying on the right side of the body on the ground above the right shoulder, but attached. There was a large quantity of blood; with a part of the stomach above the left shoulder. The body was cold, except that there was a certain remaining heat, under the intestines, in the body. Stiffness of the limbs was not marked, but it was commencing. The throat was dissevered deeply. I noticed that the incision of the skin was jagged, and reached right round the neck.”
“In simpler English?”
“Well… she had been dead for approximately two hours before she was found. The absence of any cries heard by the residents of 29 Hanbury could be explained by the evidence that she was strangled into unconsciousness and immediately thereafter had her throat slashed. She was obviously murdered where she was found. The murderer might have attempted to cut off her head since as per the bruises we saw that she had been grabbed by the chin and her throat got slashed deeply from left to right. The mutilations that happened were done after her death.”
“You mean that after killing her, the killer stuck around?” Yamamoto said with disbelief, and Gokudera nodded with a slight sneer.
“Dr. Philips - he works for the government, but I got a copy of his report - wrote: The abdomen had been entirely laid open; that the intestines, severed from their mesenteric attachments, had been lifted out of the body, and placed by the shoulder of the corpse; whilst from the pelvis the uterus and its appendages, with the upper portion of the vagina and the posterior two-thirds of the bladder, had been entirely removed. No trace of these parts could be found, and the incisions were cleanly cut, avoiding the rectum, and dividing the vagina low enough to avoid injury to the cervix uteri. Obviously the work was that of an expert - of one, at least, who had such knowledge of anatomical or pathological examinations as to be enabled to secure the pelvic organs with one sweep of the knife.”
“Which means that we can pretty much exclude most of the citizens here, since using a knife in such an artful way isn’t within their abilities,” Mukuro muttered, but Tsuna shook his head and spoke timidly.
“We don’t know that for sure. It’s not like we can see clearly whether or not someone knows how to use a knife like that - it’s not something people go around admitting.”
“He’s right,” Hibari sneered. Gokudera nodded too, before continuing to read the copy of Dr. Philip’s report.
“ The whole inference seems to me that the operation was performed to enable the perpetrator to obtain possession of these parts of the body. Dr. Philips is a police surgeon with 23 years of experience and if even he was very surprised and shocked. He said that the mutilations had been done so skillfully and in what must have been a really short period of time. He even said that he couldn’t have done such work in less than fifteen minutes. More likely an hour. And I have to agree with him.”
“So we can safely assume at least that the same man who killed Nichols and Tabram, also killed Annie Chapman?” Lambo asked.
“Yes.”
“And that we are as far from catching the criminal as we were before this murder, considering that no evidence was left?”
“Correct,” Reborn stated. “But that’s only for now. We can clearly see that no mere slaughterer of animals could have carried out these operations. It must have been someone accustomed to the post mortem room. Also, I have investigated the possible murder instruments and I suppose something akin to a rather narrow, thin knife with a blade between 6 and 8 inches long. The kind of knife used by slaughtermen and surgeons for amputations could have been such an instrument.”
“This is so tiring,” Lambo sighed, picking up one of the many papers scattered over the desks. “Extensive conversations with the associates of Annie Chapman yielded neither good suspects nor any reasonable motive for the crime. Nor was there anyone suspicious found escaping the scene of the crime. Who wrote this? This looks like a… a…”
“I did,” Gokudera snapped, shooting a glare at the curly-haired police assistant, who gulped and looked hastily elsewhere.
“Do you think that this will change the course of prostitution?” Yamamoto asked Tsuna, who shrugged.
“It might.”
“Doubtful,” Mukuro said, leaning closed towards the two, his mismatched eyes sparkling. “This is Whitechapel; it will surge back to its normal pitch soon, since there are just too many people here whose daily needs depend upon the income they get from prostitution and other forms of evening entertainment to let the pace lapse for long.”
“The criminal, though, isn’t necessarily from Whitechapel,” Tsuna muttered, but Mukuro shook his head, leaning even closer towards the young brunet.
“I do not think so, mainly because visiting Whitechapel frequently these days is always noticed. The criminal would stand out with his trips. No, it’s someone living here.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Tsuna muttered, completely oblivious to the fact that the Italian psychiatrist was now leaning way closer than appropriate.
’I have a feeling that it’s not a local,’ the brunet thought. ’Yet how can it be that at the same time I have a feeling that it isn’t someone of the citizens here? Could it be someone who had just recently moved here, to this area?’
“So, any plans?” Yamamoto asked, turning towards Reborn, who shook his head slowly.
“None, really. Patrolling the area alone is impossible, so we have no ways to keep tabs on the most probable future victims; prostitutes. Of course we have sent a warning to them, but not everyone believes that they are in danger, and therefore some of those women are bound to leave safety for the nights.”
“So we’re still stuck investigating old clues,” Hibari stated.
“Well, we have now limited the suspects to the people who live in Whitechapel. Of these we can safely eliminate the females, children and the ill and injured. We can also assume that the majority do not possess this calibre of surgical skills. Of the remaining….”
“We gather a list,” Reborn said. “Ryohei, Hibari, Yamamoto - your task for the following two days is to gather all the citizen registration files available.”
“That’s an EXTREME amount of work!” Ryohei exclaimed. “But sure thing, Reborn!”
“That’s all for today. There isn’t much we can do now,” the detective veteran said, turning away. With a sigh Tsuna stood up, grabbed his coat and was among the first ones to leave - he was feeling rather tired after a long day.
“Tsunayoshi!” a voice called, and not a moment later the Italian psychiatrist, Rokudo Mukuro, appeared next to the young teacher.
“Mr. Rokudo…”
“Ah, please, do call me Mukuro,” the man requested with a small smile. “I was just wondering how you were feeling about this investigation? Or more like, the criminal.”
“Um… we don’t know the criminal yet, Mr. Ro- eh, Mukuro. I really cannot say anything about him.”
“Well, of course we don’t know the criminal yet, Tsunayoshi. But do you not wonder who could be capable of doing such things? Do you not suspect?” Mukuro said impatiently, and Tsuna shrugged warily.
“This is the first time I have even heard of anyone killing without a motive… and killing so many women. There is no benefit in that at all.”
“Ah,” Mukuro chuckled. “What makes you think that the motive is money?”
“What else could it be?” Tsuna asked, perplexed.
“Pleasure,” the psychiatrist muttered softly. “Psychopaths - and this criminal is one, believe me - are diagnosed by their purposeless and irrational antisocial behaviour, lack of conscience, and emotional vacuity. They are thrill seekers, literally fearless. Punishment rarely works, because they are impulsive by nature and fearless of the consequences. They’re incapable of having meaningful relationships and they view others as fodder for manipulation and exploitation.”
“That sounds really lonely…”
“It is,” Mukuro sighed, mismatched eyes staring into Tsuna’s brown ones. “What do you think of pleasure, Tsunayoshi?”
“What?” Tsuna asked, not sure whether or not he had heard the odd question correctly. The psychiatrist gave him an odd smile, and stopped walking, pulling the young teacher to stand extremely close to him.
“Pleasure,” he purred. “I want to kno-“
“Look at the time!” the more than just slightly freaked out brunet suddenly exclaimed. “I must rush home. We have the next meeting in a few days, right? See you then, Mr. Rokudo.”
“Tsu-“ Not hearing (or perhaps just not heeding) the other man, Tsuna waved and left the Italian psychiatrist standing behind. The brunet didn’t turn to look back - had he done so, he might have seen the predatory, slightly amused, smirk the other man had.
’Next time then, Tsunayoshi,’ he thought, and turned when he sensed someone walking towards him.
“Mukuro.”
“Reborn. What do you want this time?”
“I couldn’t help but notice your interest towards Tsunayoshi,” the detective veteran said, stopping next to the psychiatrist. “I recommend losing that interest and focusing on something else.”
“Why would I do that?” Mukuro asked mockingly. “Such beauty is rare to come by. Especially in a male.”
“I was aware of your preferences before,” Reborn stated. “But I still have to tell you that Tsunayoshi is off-limits to you.”
“Is he yours?”
“I am not attracted by the male gender, Mukuro.”
“Then I do not see why you even pay attention to this issue. I do what I want.”
“Duly noted,” the detective said dryly. “Yet I still insist. Leave Tsunayoshi alone if you’re not serious about him.” At this, Mukuro laughed loudly, in a rather uncharacteristic manner.
“Serious about him? Of course I’m not serious about him, Reborn. At the best, Tsunayoshi would be nothing but temporary amusement for me. A joke, if you may call him that.”
“I see,” Reborn muttered, readjusting his fedora, arm hiding a smirk. “Then there’s nothing left for me to say but one thing.”
“Oh?” Mukuro smiled mockingly. “And what would that be?”
“Be careful, Mukuro,” the detective said, obsidian eyes quickly glancing at where he knew for a blond man to be standing silently. “Be very careful, because Tsuna has people who care for him.”
It was already dark when Belphegor moved from his spot. He had few hours earlier seen Tsunayoshi walking with a stranger, but before the blond had had the chance to interrupt the two and lead Tsunayoshi away, the young teacher had already left. By then Belphegor had been close enough to hear what the man was talking about with another newcomer… and what he had heard, did not please him at all.
He wanted to kill that man.
From the point of view of a person who didn’t know and understand killers like Belphegor, this wouldn’t be strange at all. He had killed women already, so why not men too while he was at it? They thought that what killers strove for was the part where they finally could take the victim’s - any victim’s - life, but they were wrong.
Every killer had certain sort of type they’d go after. It wasn’t necessarily the gender of the colouring or even the religion - it could be something as trivial as the colour of a hat. Anything and everything could link a victim to another, and to the killer that link is what he follows. It’s a reason that makes sense to the killer even if outsiders don’t understand it. It’s a reason.
Belphegor killed women. Female prostitutes. And he had his reasons and motives for doing so. Killing a man would be strange, even if he definitely wouldn’t regret it, or even feel guilty about it. Picking a victim to kill was a complicated thing to do, and had many aspects to it. It held ideals, subconscious desires, symbolic meanings that were sometimes clear and sometimes not… The simple act of killing held a world within it.
A world of motives that Belphegor might have to change for the sake of eliminating that man, if it came down to it. What was his name again? Mukuro? So someone else had discovered Tsunayoshi’s beauty and was willing to explore it. As if! Belphegor wasn’t about to let that happen.
’Then again,’ the blond thought. ’If I seduce Tsunayoshi first, there would be no need for further actions. If he’s in love with me, he will steer clear from that freak.’ The decision of seducing the teacher had already been made, but the artist reconfirmed it and justified it to himself anyway.
Now, how to do it?
From what Belphegor has seen and learned, homosexuality was as much of a taboo here as it was anywhere else in the world, and most probably the innocent teacher was still unaware of his true sexual preferences. Most probably, if Tsunayoshi was to be left alone to develop at his own pace, he’d end up marrying a girl and wondering for the rest of his life why he never felt satisfied.
Hmm. Actually, the more he thought of it, the more Belphegor got the feeling that he was actually saving Tsunayoshi from heaps of misfortune and pain. He was actually doing the brunet a favour by seducing him.
Now, how to do it?
Speculation and justification were good and all, but what could Belphegor actually do to get his point across without scaring the brunet away? Things would have to be taken slowly and carefully. And for that he’d need a plan. For the first time in his life, Belphegor cursed his lack of knowledge regarding the standard human courting habits. To pick up women he never had to do more than smirk and offer some compliments. But with Tsunayoshi it was sure to be different.
Belphegor had, out of pure interest, read researches of people like him - people that were labelled as ‘psychopaths’ by the higher authorities. The term was relatively new and not many knew what it even stood for. According to the researches, psychopaths are only capable of sadomasochistic relationships based on power, not attachment… yet how come, then, that while Belphegor did definitely want to dominate Tsunayoshi, there was also that undeniable attachment? Was it just a lie? An illusion?
No. This was real. These feelings of a bond, this desire, this longing… it was all real. Unfortunately.
’He’s confusing me,’ Belphegor thought, walking slowly towards the room he had rented. ’Why is he making me think like this? Why do I care so much?’ Something was changing in the blond, and he didn’t understand what it was or why was it changing. Only that this was because of Tsunayoshi.
He didn’t know where he was going with these feelings and these plans. All he knew was that he wanted Tsunayoshi. And for now, that was what mattered. He’ll deal with the aftermath later.
But first, he could take Tsunayoshi out for dinner.
22nd of September, 1888, Saturday
“That,” Yamamoto started, looking at Tsunayoshi. “Was the third time you sighed. Come on, what’s wrong, Tsuna?”
“Nothing is wrong,” the young teacher claimed. It was a nice Saturday evening and the two were yet again at the police station, reading through papers. Currently they were the only ones in the room, since the others had jobs to do and errands to finish elsewhere.
“But not everything is alright, right?” Yamamoto grinned. “So, what’s bothering you? Is it Mukuro again?”
“Well, him too,” Tsuna muttered, shuddering at the mention of the psychiatrist. For some reason during the past two weeks the man had been rather… grabby. “I wonder what’s wrong with him.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain.” After all, how could he ask about and explain the lingering touches, needless brushing and oddly phrased sentences that seemed to mean much more than expected? No, Mukuro wasn’t a subject that he was about to discuss with someone like Yamamoto. Or anyone at all, actually.
But the other thing…
“Takeshi,” Tsuna started quietly, moving to sit right next to the taller man. “There’s something odd going on with a friend of mine, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh?” the tavern owner’s son let go of the papers he was reading, and focused on Tsuna completely. “Do tell. I’ll try to give some useful advice.”
“Well, you see,” the young teacher sighed. “This someone is a person I have made friends with only recently. In the beginning I was very wary and maybe a bit scared of him, but now he’s one of the closest and most precious people to me. I admire him a lot.”
“Okay. And?”
“Well, it’s just that he… uh… has been inviting me for dinners, taking me to watch plays, buying me some gifts and sometimes even flowers and once I even got solid milk chocolate. I mean, solid milk chocolate, Takeshi! Do you know how rare and expensive that is?”
“Yes,” Yamamoto muttered. “He must value you greatly, Tsuna.”
“Which, in a way, bothers me a bit,” Tsuna admitted with a slightly troubled expression. “Well, not necessarily bothers, but… I can’t help but wonder if all that is proper.”
“Oh,” Yamamoto nodded, finally understanding. “Well, let me ask you some questions. From what I understood, this person might have the same sort of feelings towards you as Mukuro does.”
“Excuse me, what?” Tsuna gasped. “Mukuro what?”
“Mukuro’s feelings,” Yamamoto repeated patiently, as the young teacher shook his head.
“No wait, I know Mukuro’s weird,” Tsuna said. “But he’s not… he isn’t… he doesn’t have… not towards me.”
“Tsuna,” Yamamoto snorted. “I know that thinking about how a man can feel something like that towards another is weird - and it is - but I don’t think that it’s nasty. I used to be really uptight about it, actually, till I was told by an old woman that love is love and that’s that.”
“But the thing is,” Tsuna whispered. “That I don’t think that any of this is love. Mukuro doesn’t seem to be the type to love. Neither does my… other friend.”
“So you think that they are going to lead loveless lives till the very end?” Yamamoto asked gently, and the young teacher bit his lip, thinking. Then, after a few moments of silence, he shook his head.
“No.”
“So if they’re going to love, why can’t they love you?”
“It’s,” Tsuna sighed. “Weird.”
“Definitely.”
“And I don’t think that it could work out. Ever.”
“So you can see into the future, now?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Tsuna,” Yamamoto said. “This other friend of yours, how does he treat you exactly? During those dinners, for example.”
“Well,” Tsuna started hesitantly. “He’s really nice. He always pays for the both of us and is very considerate.”
“What do you talk about?”
“Many things… Few days ago we were discussing the first electric underground trains that are scheduled to start running in a bit more than a year. He said that he’d like to go with me for a trip then, and to be among the first ones to use it. But I’m not sure since the tickets are bound to be expensive.”
“He indicates that a year from now on,” Yamamoto smiled. “The two of you will still be close. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Friendship,” Tsuna insisted. “It means that he wants to be friends in the future. Not necessarily…”
“But Tsuna,” the taller man interrupted. “How many friends wish to share an experience such as riding the first electric train together? That sort of occasions are usually spared to be spent with a special someone.”
“… Th-then… best friends?”
“Doubtful. And buying chocolate and flowers isn’t a purely platonic gesture either.”
“… Takeshi, can you just get straight to the point?”
“I’m just trying to tell you,” Yamamoto said. “That my earlier assumption seems to be correct - your friend might have some romantic feelings towards you.”
“But he hasn’t done anything that would indicate that,” Tsuna insisted. “Not really.”
“Something like what?” Yamamoto asked. “Like kissing you? You must understand that he’s perhaps the one who’s most aware of the boundaries of what’s proper. He won’t kiss you till you show him that it’s okay, and he won’t hold your hand till you reach for his. Why? Because he’s afraid of chasing you away.”
“Since when did you become such an expert?” Tsuna asked suddenly, and the dark-haired man shrugged with a small, sad smile.
“Those reasons have stopped many before,” the tavern owner’s son said, and somehow there was more to his words than the obvious. “But, I think we should continue with our work now.”
“Takeshi?” Tsuna asked softly, touching the other man’s hand gently. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing, really,” the taller man grinned, suddenly cheerful again. “Let’s just finish these before the others come back, alright?”
“Sure thing,” Tsuna agreed, turning back towards his papers and thus missing the longing, loving look that for a moment twisted Yamamoto’s expression into that of pain. The dark-haired man closed his eyes and sighed, before shaking his head and refocusing on the reports.
It’s just… that you’re too easy to fall in love with, Sawada Tsunayoshi.
29th of September, 1888, Saturday
“Did you hear?” Lambo asked, leaning closer to Tsuna who was once again in the office sorting through stacks of paper while trying to grade some of his students’ exams on the side.
“Hear what?” ’Ah, no, you silly student… Napoleon wasn’t of Korean origins… just what made you think so!?’
“Buck’s Row is going to be renamed.”
“Oh, really?” ’…and Marie Antoinette wasn’t married to a Russian knight!’
“Yes. According to what I heard, it will be called Durward Street. Officially the plates will be changed the first of November,” Lambo whispered loudly. “What do you think?”
“I hardly think that my opinion matters, Lambo,” Tsuna muttered, writing a big red 32 / 100 - study harder for the next quiz, Mr. Longchamp into the paper, before reaching for the next one. He was about to start grading it when the door of the office was slammed open and Ryohei rushed in, red faced and full of enthusiasm.
“Next time you better knock, turf head,” Dr. Gokudera snarled. “I almost dropped the ink bottle because of you!”
“You look like you have discovered something,” Reborn said. “Do share.” Lambo, Tsuna and Yamamoto turned towards the man, and even Mukuro and Hibari paused with whatever they were doing for the sake of listening.
“The killer sent a letter,” Ryohei told them, holding up an envelope. “Actually it was sent two days ago, but only few hours ago the letter was delivered to the Central News Office, and addressed to ‘The Boss’.”
“How did you get your hands on it?” Dr. Gokudera asked suspiciously.
“They think it’s a hoax,” the other man said. “I got it smuggled out but this hasn’t been released to the police forces yet.”
“They’ll do it eventually,” Reborn scoffed. “We’re just getting few days’ head start. Do you have to return that paper?”
“Well, yes,” Ryohei admitted. “I have to return it before tomorrow morning.”
“Very well then,” Mukuro scoffed. “Read it aloud, you idiot, or show us. What are you waiting for? The apocalypse?”
“So, what do you think?” Lambo asked.
“Awfully lot of spelling mistakes,” Mukuro snorted.
“Anything else? Anything useful?”
“Well,” Tsuna said slowly. “At least now we can eliminate more than half of the suspects. Considering that they cannot read, much less write.”
“So we’re going to treat this letter as if it really was from the killer?” Dr. Gokudera asked, still suspicious.
“Prince the Ripper… what an odd name,” Yamamoto muttered.
“How about someone fucking answers me?”
“Ha ha, relax, Gokudera.”
“Shut the hell up, you smiling freak. Sawada? Reborn?”
“Well, at least now we know for sure that we’re dealing with a psychopath,” Mukuro said. “He seems more amused than anything else by his killings. And he’s obviously dead set on killing some more.”
“How about a useful analysis for a change?” Hibari sneered, making the psychiatrist scowl in annoyance.
“Anger is rarely the motive of a psychotic killer. They do not feel anger on a conscious level, but the violence of their acts show the dissociated effect. This killer, like many others, seeks idealized victims to shame, humiliate and destroy. It’s a circle where ‘I must have’ ends with ‘it was not worth having’. With serial killers this ‘it was not worth having’ is followed by ‘maybe the next one’. And so it goes, the killing. In circles.”
“So much for a useful analysis,” Dr. Gokudera scoffed. “How does that help us? We already know that he’s going to kill again.”
“What we know so far of the killer,” Lambo started. “Is that he’s a male, uses a long knife to kill, is capable of reading and writing, lives in Whitechapel and can move around easily without anyone becoming suspicious.”
“Which probably means that he lives alone,” Yamamoto said. “To come and go at night in a shared household is always something that will be noticed, and eventually someone would be bound to become suspicious. So I think that this person lives alone.”
“I agree with Takeshi,” Tsuna stated, and Reborn nodded.
“How many suspects does that leave us with?”
“Too many,” Yamamoto sighed tiredly. “Over hundred, at least.”
“So many…” Tsuna groaned, rubbing his eyes. In an instance, Mukuro was sitting next to the brunet, hands resting on the shorter man’s shoulders.
“Don’t feel upset, Tsunayoshi,” Mukuro purred, making the brunet tense. “At least now we have a clue!”
“He’s right,” Lambo said, completely oblivious to the true reasons for Mukuro’s presence by Tsuna’s side. “Be more positive!”
“Yes, sure,” Tsuna muttered, sending a pleading glance towards Yamamoto, who shrugged with an apologetic smile. “Why won’t you go back to your seat, Mukuro?”
“I prefer to stay here, actually,” the psychiatrist declared, not discouraged at all by the brunet’s obvious lack of enthusiasm regarding his advances. Sure, it irritated Mukuro a little. But was he about to give up? No.
Elsewhere, a homicidal artist had just finished a painting and was now sharpening his beloved knives. The narrow, thin knives, about 6 inches each, were what he used to cut up the canvas. They were also what he used to cut up other things, such as skin. Keeping the knives sharp and shiny was a matter of pride to the artistic killer, and he wasn’t about to neglect his weapons.
’The human nature sure is a nuisance,’ he thought absently as he heard some women arguing loudly outside. ’How can it be considered a crime to rid the world of some of those disturbances?’
The past few weeks had been going splendidly. Sure, Belphegor hadn’t done anything to Tsunayoshi yet… but the teacher was getting it. The artist could see the way Tsunayoshi blushed when their hands touched or when they had to stand for a reason or another a bit closer, a bit longer. Seeing those reactions happen because of him, made Belphegor feel a higher level of happiness than ever, even during the murders.
Tsunayoshi’s kind brown eyes, void of any trace of malice or darkness. His adorably shy smile that made Belphegor want nothing more than to embrace the other and never let go. The tousled brown locks that made the artist wish for a comb and a valid excuse to touch-
”That’s enough, Elizabeth! If you’d pay your rent in time we wouldn’t have to fight over it every goddamned month!”
“Do you think I’m paid enough to pay you!?”
Tsch. All that screaming and shouting was really becoming more and more annoying. So it was all Elizabeth’s fault? Now if he’d find out who this Elizabeth was, Belphegor might do her a favour and end her life. He hadn’t killed anyone for a few weeks and frankly, he felt like it. The urge to kill was stronger than usually, which didn’t surprise the killer since he had been holding back for so long.
’I have to wait for a few hours,’ he thought, washing the brushes. He finished cleaning up and left his painting to dry as he headed out. In his pocket he had two of his canvas knives, folded neatly and ready for use when he’d get the chance. He knew that he’d definitely have to wait for several hours - it was too early and not that dark yet. The streets were still active, so Belphegor could do little beside take a long walk, daydreaming of Tsunayoshi and the murder that was going to occur.
A murder… or maybe two.
It was surprisingly cold outside and absently the artist noted that he should have, perhaps, bought himself a thicker coat. Then his thoughts drifted - as they nowadays tended to do - to Tsunayoshi. What was the teacher doing now? Was he still at the school or was he on his way home already? Was he alone or did the annoying nuisance follow Tsunayoshi again?
Then again, did the nuisance have a real chance with Tsunayoshi anyway?
Belphegor had seen the man - Mukuro - a few times during the past days. He didn't seem like someone whose company Tsunayoshi enjoyed. Then again, the young teacher was equally kind and nice to everyone... which made it difficult to guess whether he was really enjoying himself or just being polite. Well, Belphegor knew for sure that the brunet had enjoyed their dinners and other outings. Such spark in the eyes couldn't be faked even by the best actors.
The blond walked slowly, letting the time pass, enjoying the descending darkness and grinned as the street became less and less occupied. People were rushing home, rats were crawling out and the artist had already walked past a few prostitutes. It was a bit after midnight that he heard a familiar voice - it was the woman who had that shouting match with her landlady.
'I suppose this is fate,' Belphegor thought, with a grin. 'I forgot her name but that shouldn't matter.'
It didn't.
So deep he was in his thoughts that he completely missed the brunet who exited the police office across the street. The young man in question waved to catch the artist’s attention, but after failing at that merely turned to go home, not realizing that he had just witnessed something he should not have.
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END PART TWO
(go to part part three)
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