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" A Very Dark Corner "Written By: Clara Barton Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. The following
is an intellectual exercise with no intention of profit. That said,
these characterizations, words, and situations are mine. Please ask
before reprinting. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Language, violence, angst…major angst (probably a bit more than my usual. Okay, a LOT more than my usual), sex… yaoi sex, that is. Pairings: 1x2 Summary: Duo Maxwell is anaspiring writer who
suddenly finds his lonely and dull life full of intrigue,romance,
and horror. " A Very Dark Corner " Chapter 5 Wednesday morning found Duo even more depressed and convinced that he was a horrible human being. Last night, comforting Heero and burying all of his own problems had been a respite – and how sick was it that he thought Heero's emotions and troubled past was a respite– but now, in the cold light of the November dawn, Duo was once again forced to confront reality. He listlessly poured coffee into a mug, stirred in sugar, too much milk, and then sat down in front of his laptop at his desk. Glaring at the screen, at his smirking face on the front page of his blog, did little to ease his guilt and anxiety. There he was – indulging in his worst thoughts, and he was smiling about it. No wonder some crazy person identified with him – Duo had to be crazy himself, to think that this was anything normal or right. Fueled by a rush of anger and self-loathing, Duo opened up his novel and proceeded to delete it, all thirty seven pages, and then put the empty document into his trash bin. Enough. He had done enough damage, he did not need to write something that could reach millions of people. He had infected enough, as it was. More out of a desire to punish himself than anything else, Duo continued to read through his blog, going back farther than he had made it last night, burying himself in the dark, gory visions. He roused himself only when he heard Hilde knocking on his front door and calling his name. He looked at the time, shocked that four hours had passed since he first sat down at his computer. Duo opened the door and Hilde barged in, arms loaded with Chinese takeout, and walked past him into the kitchen. He closed the door and followed her. "So, you're alive," she said. "Yeah, I wasn't going to kill myself or anything." She rolled her eyes. "I know that. I'm saying, your boyfriend didn't kill you." "Yeah. Miraculously." "I'm just saying –" "He is not a serial killer, Hilde. He's got – he's not." He thought about Heero's past, his childhood, and was once again amazed at how together the young man was. Much more together than Duo could hope to be. Duo refused to even entertain the idea of Heero killing people – he wanted to be a math teacher, he liked the Mariners, and he thought A New Hope was better than The Empire Strikes Back. No serial killer could possibly prefer New Hope to Empire. It wasn't logical. "He's new in your life, and it just seems strange that he would approach you now, after you were less than civil, and –" "Hilde, stop it. I'm serious. He likes me. I like him. This is the first guy I've kissed in a year. He makes me happy." Hilde sighed. "I'm sorry. Oh, Duo. I want you to be happy. I do. I just –" "Don't want me to be brutally murdered. I get that, but I'm telling you, he's a good guy." Before Hilde could say anything else, Duo picked up a carton of Garlic Chicken and, using the chopsticks, shoved a piece into her mouth. She glared at him, but chewed, and the tension between them settled. Working together, they dumped rice and the chicken on two plates and then went into the dining room and sat down to eat. Duo used this room very rarely. Solo had insisted on eating meals at the antique Cherry wood farmhouse table, breaking his rule only when one of them was sick, or the World Series was on – a concession he made for Duo. Now, with Solo gone, the table seemed massive and staring at it and the six empty chairs around it only made Duo feel more isolated. Whenever Hilde invited herself over, however, she always insisted they eat at the table. "So tell me about him," she finally said, her voice resigned. "I'm not giving you more clues you can use to prove he's a psycho." "I won't," she insisted. "This is me, best friend Hilde, asking to know about this guy who is so amazing that he actually makes you happy, when you insisted that would never happen again." He held her gaze for a long moment, trying to determine whether or not she would be able to separate her instinct to see the worst from her desire to be supportive. "He's great," Duo finally said. "He makes me laugh. He likes science fiction –" "The prequels?" Hilde interjected, a concerned frown on her face. "Direct quote, 'what prequels?'" Duo smirked when Hilde laughed. "He likes baseball – and, God, Hilde, he'd never had cheesecake before he met me. He grew up without eating sweets – of any kind. You should see his face when he eats chocolate. It's criminal, really." Hilde arched an eyebrow. "He sounds a bit sheltered." Duo shrugged. He agreed with her – but at the same time, Heero had faced way more in his life than anyone who could be labeled as 'sheltered.' "So he's a bartender. Where at?" Duo shook his head. "No, I do not want you dropping in on him." "Hm… but you met him on your date with Zechs. So…" "Hilde. I'm serious. Do not go snooping around. I'll introduce you if things start to look serious." "Okay," she reluctantly agreed. "Have you had sex yet?" "No," he said. Her eyes widened. "And he's… okay with that?" "Yes and no. I told him I wanted to get to know him before I jumped into bed with him, and he understands. Doesn't mean that he doesn't keep pushing for more each time we're together." Which Duo actually appreciated. He liked that Heero was so obviously physically attracted to him. "Wow. I'm really happy you're with someone who gets that." "Yeah. Me too." He sighed. "Okay. Talk to me about the serial killer." "Duo –" "Hilde, please. This is my fault. I need to know." "It is not your fault. Do you think Stephen King feels guilty when someone is inspired by –" "Please, your Shirley Temple example was enough. But you can't deny the fact that people are dead, dead exactly the way that I described them dying, and that they wouldn't be, if I hadn't written my blog." "Yes," Hilde eventually agreed. "But those boys might still be dead –" "What boys?" She sighed. "The serial killer seems to follow your scenes as closely as possible – I mean, really detailed and copying exactly here – but he doesn't kill women. He kills men. So far all of the cold cases that fit the pattern are sixteen to nineteen year old men." "Jesus." "Duo –" "Children. He's killing children because of me." "Duo, stop it," she commanded, steel in her voice. "Stop it right now. You are a writer. You put your work out there, and people read it. What you write – it's dark and violent and beautiful. There are a lot of people out there, perfectly normal people like you and me, who enjoy reading that sort of thing because it engages our senses, but we do not act on it. You are not responsible for the people who do. You cannot control what other people do. Whoever the killer is – he didn't wake up one day, read your blog, and say 'now I know what to do with my life.'" "You don't know that," he interrupted. She rolled her eyes. "You're right, I don't, not for sure. But I think – and the lead investigator thinks – that this is someone who is fairly experienced. Refined. With serial killers like this, if you're lucky enough to start tracking them in the early stages, then you notice their… skill level increasew, as time goes on, as they get more familiar with killing people. Our killer is already there." "So he's been doing this since I first started writing." "Duo! This isn't helping. This is some seriously bad shit and you need to focus. There is a crazy person out there who worships you. That's never a good thing. Plus, he's probably still killing people. You need to set aside your obsession with self-flagellation and focus. Stop trying to drown yourself in misery. Please." He sighed. "Then what am I supposed to do instead?" "There's a good chance you know the killer. That you've met him – I'm not saying it's your boyfriend – and that he follows you, on the internet, in real life. You need to be careful." "Okay." "Duo –" "I said okay." She sighed and then shook her head. "You should expect a few guests, in the day couple of days." "Cops?" She nodded. "Don't be surprised if you're treated as a suspect -" "I'm at least an accomplice," he pointed out bitterly. "No, you aren't. When they come by and question you, try not to let your...distaste for authority figures get in your way too." "I have no idea what you're talking about." "Right. So says the Duo Maxwell who tee-peed the Dean's house back in college. The same Duo who -" "Okay, I get it. I'll behave." "Let's not get delusions of grandeur, here," Hilde said. "You don't know how to behave." He glared and she grinned at him before sitting back and scooping up more food. "I hate you," he muttered. "I know," she responded with a smile.
By Thursday morning, Duo had made it back to the very beginning of his blog, all the way to his first, inexpert scribblings. He tried, as Hilde suggested, to stop thinking about his own role in this, but he was unable to. He wasn't Stephen King. He wasn't Shirley Temple. He was the hack who gave the creative license to some lunatic and inspired him to kill nineteen – at least– nineteen people. He spent the morning trying to clean his apartment, but he would continually stop and reread blog entries, trying to pinpoint which ones might be the worst, which ones the killer had decided to copy. It was almost twelve-thirty when someone knocked on his door. Duo felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He didn't know why Heero was half an hour early, but he was relieved. The thought of sitting here alone, reading through any more of this - he didn't think he could do it. He opened the door, but instead of finding Heero on the other side, there were two strangers. They were both men, dressed in suits and broadcasting an air of confidence and casual indifference. The taller of the two men, who had several inches on both his companion and Duo, was lean and his strong, angular face was framed by a dramatic fall of auburn bangs that partially obscured his sharp green eyes. The other man, blonde, tanned, and possessed of brilliant blue eyes, looked open and almost friendly. Almost, because the firm set of his lips was just this side of foreboding. Still, he had nothing on green eyes, whose mouth was drawn into a slight sneer at the sight of Duo. "Er, can I help you?" Duo asked them, suddenly wishing he had socks on. He didn't know why, but standing in front of these men in just jeans and a sweater, with no socks and his hair loose, made him deeply uncomfortable. "Duo Maxwell?" The blonde asked. "Yes?" He echoed the questioning tone without thought, earning a glare from green eyes. "I'm Lieutenant Winner and this is Lieutenant Barton. We're with the Massachusetts State Troopers. We'd like to ask you a few questions." So these were the guests Hilde had told him to expect. He reminded himself that he wasn't supposed to know, that Hilde could loose her job if he gave any indication that he had been warned about this visit - or given any details of the case. "Of course. Come in." He stepped away from the door and gestured them inside. Winner started to walk around, inspecting the apartment, while Barton sat down on the couch and casually crossed his legs and put one arm on the back of the couch. His eyes never left Duo. "Can I - do you mind if I grab some socks?" Duo finally broke down and asked after several minutes of silent staring from Barton. "This is your house," Winner assured him. "Great. I'll just be one second." He walked to his bedroom and pulled a pair of socks from his dresser. He pulled them on, trying to balance on one foot and then the other. He looked up to find Winner watching him, a slight smirk on his face. Duo grabbed a hair tie from on top of the dresser and pulled his hair back, forgoing his usual braid in favor of just having his hair out of the way. He walked back into the living room and resisted the urge to shove his hands into his pockets. "So… do I need to call my lawyer or…?" "Do you?" Barton asked. "Um…" Duo looked over to Winner and decided that he, clearly, was the good cop of this relationship. "We just want to ask you a few questions. If you want to call a lawyer, then we can take you down to the station and continue this discussion." So much for him being the good cop, Duo thought. The blonde had delivered the words politely, but the implicit threat – that they would arrest him – was easy enough to read. "So, these questions…" Duo prompted when both men remained silent. "You seem nervous," Barton commented, his sneer drifting into a slight smile. "Well, yeah. There are two cops in my house and as far as I know, I haven't done anything wrong… but you two project the warmth and tenderness of a python, so… yeah. I'm nervous." "But if you haven't done anything wrong, then surely it doesn't matter how warm and fuzzy we are," Winner said idly, looking at Duo's books. "Right." He stood in silence, watching Winner walk around and Barton remain perfectly still. "Nice place," Winner finally said as he sat down beside Barton on the couch. "Thanks." Duo stood for a moment and then sat down in the armchair across from the couch, feeling awkward standing with the two of them seated. "What do you do for a living?" Winner asked as he pulled a small, black notebook and pen from the inside pocket of his suit. "I… well, I guess I'm a writer?" "You don't sound very sure," Barton said. "Because your work is crap and you doubt the value of your efforts?" Duo blinked and sat back. "Ah, no. I just haven't had a book published yet. I'm still – I was – it's not done." "But in this day and age, there are more ways to get… creative endeavors out there than relying on the publishing industry," Winner pointed out. "True." "Which I'm sure you've tried." "Yeah." "You are the author of A Very Dark Corner? A daily blog about 'the horrors only we can imagine for ourselves'?" Winner read from his notes, quoting the tagline for Duo's blog. "Yeah, that's me." "So you write torture porn every morning," Barton surmised. "Must be a helluva way to start the day." "My therapist recommended it," Duo felt obliged to point out. "Your therapist?" Winner echoed. "Yeah. I was having trouble expressing my… you know, my emotions, my dreams, so he recommended that I do it anonymously, on the internet." "Hardly anonymous with your name and face plastered on it," Barton drawled. "Yeah, well, I've never been very good at follows instructions." He winced, realizing that that wasn't the best thing to say to two cops who were, undoubtedly, trying to decide if he was a serial killer. "Can we assume this unpublished book of yours is more of the same?" Winner asked. "Yeah," Duo reluctantly agreed. "Delightful," Barton muttered. "It's not for everyone," Duo said, then wondered why he was bothering to defend himself. If he was disgusted by it – why shouldn't they be? "Just a small, target audience of like minded individuals?" Winner suggested. "I guess?" "What do you have against women?" Barton asked. "I'm sorry?" "Yes, but what do you have against women? Why do you enjoy killing them?" Barton extrapolated. "I don't. I mean, I don't kill them – I write about them dying. But I don't have anything against women. My best friend is a woman." "Are you a homosexual?" Barton asked. "Look, I'm not really sure what's going on here. Did I do something? Am I in trouble?" Duo hated the why he said 'a homosexual' – as if having a preference in men made him an entirely separate species. "That's what we're here to find out," Winner said. "Do you know Alex Michaels?" "No," Duo said after searching his memory for a moment. "Seth Abrams?" "No." "Thomas Alcott?" "No." "Terry Stevenson?" "No – wait." Duo frowned. That name, for some reason, stuck out to him. Then it hit him and he paled. "He was that kid, the sixteen year old who was found dead last week, wasn't he?" Duo suddenly felt as though he had been slammed into a brick wall. Terry Stevenson was dead because of him. And those other names - those boys were all dead, because of him. "And did you have the good fortune to see him before he died?" Barton asked. "No. I've never – I'd never heard about him or anything until I read it in the paper." "Make a habit of going through the obits?" Barton asked. Duo shrugged one shoulder. "Occasionally. For inspiration." "Inspiration," Barton echoed, filling the word with so much loathing that Duo flinched. "Why do you see a therapist?" Winner asked. "That's private," Duo immediately snapped. Barton arched an eyebrow, but remained silent. "Would it have anything to do with the death of your parents?" Winner pressed. Duo forced himself to stay calm. "Yes." "How did they die?" "A car crash. When I was nine." "And… who are Helen and Edward Reynolds?" "My foster parents. They ran a group home." "They died too, right?" Barton asked. "Yes." "A fire… the other three children died as well. You were the only survivor." "Yes," Duo repeated. "How old were you?" Duo hated that Winner clearly had all of this information yet insisted on asking him questions and drawing him into the painful memories. "Sixteen." "You certainly benefited from their deaths," Barton remarked. "What?" Duo didn't bother to keep the anger and dismay out of his voice. Barton shrugged one shoulder. "When the Reynolds died you inherited quite a bit of money – must have been nice for you. How did you know they changed their will to leave their fortune to the foster kids they had?" "I didn't. I didn't even know they had money until the reading of the will. I thought they were just regular, middle class people. I mean – they used to be a priest and a nun in the Catholic church. That's not exactly the background for financial success." Duo realized he was rambling at the same time that he realized the implications of Barton's question. "Are you implying that I – that I killed them for their money?" Barton shrugged one shoulder again. "The case is over ten years old and it's a bit out of my jurisdiction." "And you're the first person to ever accuse me of killing my foster parents." The very idea of it made his stomach churn. He had been a troubled child when Helen and Edward took him in, and he had fought against the rules at the group home and given them no cause to trust or like him. But for some reason they did, and over time he grew to love them. Losing them at the age of sixteen had been every bit as painful as losing his biological parents seven years earlier. "What can I say… Florida doesn't have very high standards for making detective," Barton said with a bored sigh. "After their deaths, you were moved around to several foster homes in a two year period… five, I believe," Winner said. "Yeah." It had seemed that just as soon as he finally settled into a place he was shipped off somewhere new. At his age it had been impossible to be placed in a home where there was any possibility of adopting him. Instead, he had joined the mill of foster children shipped around from home to home by foster families who wanted to "try it out" or who seemed to view a foster child as an asset. He knew that foster families weren't all like that – the Reynolds had been the proof that a foster child could be safe and happy in a group home – but the two years before he turned eighteen were the worst of his life. "Strange, that no one wanted to hold onto you for very long. But then, with your track record… I guess I couldn't blame them." Barton still hadn't looked away from Duo, in all the time that they had been talking, and Duo was seriously starting to hate the color green. "Do you feel any resentment about your childhood?" Winner asked, a note of concern in his voice. "Resentment? Who would I resent?" "God? Your fellow man?" Barton suggested. "No. I mean, God, yeah. But –" "The Mallory's died, four years ago," Winner interrupted. "The – Jesus, what happened?" They had been the second family to foster Duo, after the Reynolds death, and he had been happy there, for four months, before James Mallory had been laid off and the couple had decided to move back to their hometown in Oregon and Duo had been shuffled back into the system. "B and E gone bad. They were shot," Barton supplied. "I had no idea," Duo said, genuinely sorry that he had never thought about them much after they abandoned him. "And what was your relationship with Solomon Levi?" Barton asked. Duo held his gaze for a long moment, trying to buy himself time. Of course they would want to talk about Solo. And if the questioning up to this point was any indication, Duo was not going to enjoy it. "He was my fiancé." "How long were the two of you involved?" Winner asked. "Seven years. We met at FSU." "Levi was a good guy," Winner said casually. "He liaised with my office a few times." "He never mentioned you," Duo couldn't help but say, knowing it was snide and bitchy, but feeling the need to fight back in some small way. "Given your… luck, we'll say, it's no surprise that he was murdered last year. About this time, right?" Barton added. "Yeah. A year ago three weeks from today." "I never cared much about him," Barton confessed, "he seemed dull as hell to me. But – now this is interesting – how did a social worker, making next to nothing a year, manage to buy this apartment building?" "His family had money," Duo said and shrugged. "When we moved up north this building was for sale… Solo wanted to try his hand at renovating some of the apartments." "And now this place is prime real estate," Barton pointed out. "I imagine if he was still alive he'd be seeing quite the return on his investment." He paused. "But, wait – when he died you got all of his assets, didn't you?" "I did," Duo said between gritted teeth. "So you're sitting on all that cash the Reynolds left you… and now you've got Levi's money added to that… so of course you can sit around and write your torture porn all day." "This has been a lot of fun. Really, but if you don't have any questions to ask me about anything that matters, can you just –" "So Levi's death doesn't matter to you?" Barton asked. "That's not what I said. Of course it mattered." "They never did find his murderer," Winner mused. "You've had some life, with everyone you know dying. To lose him like that – I read the autopsy report. He was gutted from neck to crotch. And his face –" "Stop. Please." Duo had never heard any details. He hadn't been asked to identify Solo's body, but he had been told that it wasn't a sight he wanted to see. Solo had wanted to be cremated, so Duo had followed his wishes. Part of him was grateful that he had never seen his corpse – it was bad enough to know that Solo was gone, but Duo didn't think he could handle seeing his lifeless body. Especially if what Winner said was true. Duo had never tried to imagine what Solo had looked like. He knew that he was brutally murdered, and every time his mind wandered towards those words he slammed all thought to a screeching halt. He did not want to think about it. He couldn't. "But you write this stuff all the time. By your standards, this is actually pretty tame." Barton pointed out. "Not Solo. I can't. No." Winner shrugged. "In any case, I imagine you went round the bend, after that, am I right?" Duo glared at him, seeing no point in answering that question. "So, before, sure your faith in God was shattered. But after that… you can't sit there and tell me that you were still a big fan of mankind." "Mankind didn't kill him. A person did." "Hm," Barton said, but it didn't sound as though he agreed with Duo. "Okay, listen, can I just make a quick phone call?" Duo asked and jumped up from his chair. "You aren't in prison. You aren't under arrest. We're just talking." Winner said casually. "Great." Duo dug his cellphone from his pocket and called Hilde. As the phone rang he walked towards the kitchen, hopefully out of their earshot, but not conspicuously so. "Hey," she answered after the third ring. "They are here. Right now. They've been here for – fucking hell, it's already almost one." "Duo, I told you this would happen. Just cooperate and -" "Hilde I am fucking cooperating. But they aren't asking me anything about my writing, or the murders. They're talking about Solo, and the Reynolds, and –" "Who is it? Who's there?" "Two guys. Lieutenants Winner and Barton." "Quatre's there? And did you say Trowa? Oh God. I am so sorry." "Hilde, I really think I should tell them. I don't know what the fuck they are investigating but –" "Problem?" Winner asked, loudly, from the other room. His voice obviously carried, and Hilde sighed. "Put him on the phone. It will be better if I tell him." "Thank you." He walked back into the room. "Ah, Lieutenant Winner, could you…" he held the phone out to him. Winner stared at it suspiciously but finally took it from Duo's outstretched hand. "This is Winner," he said and stood up from the couch. "Hilde?" He shot Duo a strange look and then walked away, back to the kitchen that Duo had just come from. Duo sat back down on his chair, and wasn't surprised when Barton immediately resumed glaring at him. Duo debated looking away, but decided that it would be indicating guilt or weakness, so he stared right back. It was perhaps five minutes later when someone knocked on his door. Barton scowled and looked at Winner, still in the kitchen on the phone, before turning his glare back to Duo. Duo felt a miniscule surge of triumph at the thought that Barton had looked away first. He stood up and crossed to his door, knowing – hoping and dreading – that Heero was on the other side. He really had no idea what to do now. "Hey," he said as he opened the door. Heero leaned forward to kiss him, but Duo stepped back in alarm. With a frown, Heero walked in to the apartment. He immediately spotted Barton on the couch and his frown turned into a scowl. "Babysitting?" Barton drawled after looking over Heero and taking in the backpack slung from one shoulder. "No," Duo hissed. "He's my boyfriend." It was the first time that Duo had introduced Heero to anyone, and Duo felt equally nervous about Heero's reaction and the reaction of the cop, who clearly had no respect for Duo, and had demonstrated little respect for homosexuality. "Really? Barton said, sounding interested, and Duo wanted to insert his foot into his own mouth. Before Barton could say anything, however, Winner stormed out of the kitchen. He thrust the phone back at Duo, and it was obvious that he was furious and just barely keeping a lid on it. His eyes slid over to Heero. "Who is this?" "His boyfriend," Barton drawled. "Who are you?" Heero demanded. Barton arched an eyebrow. "Lieutenants Barton and Winner with the State Troopers." "Ah," Duo said and looked at Winner, "I'm sorry about –" "I'll just bet you are," Winner growled. He looked over at Barton. "She told him about the investigation." Barton swore softly and then turned to glare at Duo. "So you've been playing us?" "Me? You guys are the ones who sat here for half an hour dredging up every shit thing that's happened to me and haven't asked me any questions about anything useful." "That's because we haven't ruled you out as a suspect." "Suspect in what?" Heero asked. Barton's eyes gleamed and he smirked at Duo. "An ongoing murder investigation. Twenty-two murder investigations, actually." Barton said. "Twenty-two?" Duo echoed. "Not nineteen?" "We aren't done yet, there's likely more. This is only going back three months." "Fucking hell." Duo scrubbed his face with his hands. Twenty two people were dead because of him. Almost two dozen. Hilde had said most of them were young men – most not even eighteen yet. He swallowed hard. "What can I do? What can I tell you? How can I help?" Barton snarled and looked on the verge of saying something, but Winner put a hand on his arm. "Why don't you talk to the boyfriend, and I'll talk to Maxwell?" he suggested. Barton's eyes narrowed, but he shrugged one shoulder and gestured for Heero to take a seat. The younger man looked at Duo, and his expression was unreadable. "I'm sorry," Duo said to him, unsure what ,exactly, he was apologizing for. "We can talk in the kitchen," Winner spoke up, and Duo followed him into the other room. They spent a moment staring at each other, but then Winner shook his head. "If this comes out during the trial – if there's even a whisper of this, we'd get hit with a mistrial and leave the case open to appeal. You understand that, right?" "Yeah, and I understand that my best friend could lose her job." "Your best friend? Fuck me." Winner ran a hand through his hair, upsetting the part and causing a few strands to fall across his forehead. It made him look much more human. "She won't lose her job. Well, if she's does I'll have lost mine too." He sighed and looked steadily at Duo. "She insists that you're innocent, that there is no way you could have done this." "She's right," Duo said. "This is… beyond any nightmare I've ever had." Winner continued to hold his gaze. "My gut tells me you're honest, that this wasn't you. And my gut instincts are almost never wrong." "I want to help you find whoever is doing this, okay? I need to. So – trust me or not, just please asking me something fucking relevant so you can find this sick bastard." One corner of Winner's mouth tipped slightly upward and he pulled his notebook and pen back out. "How often do you respond to comments on your blog? From readers?" Duo shrugged. "I try to keep up with them – well, the ones who don't seem bat shit crazy or – fuck. Do you think it's one of them?" Winner nodded. "I'm sure Hilde went over the profile with you? Obsessive and a fair amount of hero worship. This serial killer is definitely your biggest fan. It's possible he – or she – hasn't contacted you, but this has been going on for months. I doubt our killer has that kind of patience. Likely they've been stalking you since before the murders started." "Stalking me. For months." "They don't want you dead," Winner pointed out drily. "They want your acceptance." "What does that mean?" "All of this was done in exact replica of what you described. Except that instead of females, our killer has been using men." "Which I don't get. I mean, it's not like any of the stuff I write is sexual, so it doesn't really matter – but if the intention is to copy my work, then why change the gender? And why only kill men?" Winner shrugged. "That's something that bothers me… and Hilde." "How do you two know each other?" Duo asked. He doubted that someone who seemed as committed as Winner was likely to spill details on a case to a casual acquaintance. "We've been dating for the last three months," Winner said, looking slightly pained. "You – she – she never told me." "She never told me about you, either," Winner growled. "But that's not the issue at hand." "Right," Duo agreed, still reeling. Why hadn't Hilde told him she was seeing someone? "It's possible that the killer chose males instead as an attempt to… improve on your work, or to carry out his own vendetta." "So he's not, really, my biggest fan then." "No, he is. The detail he goes to is… exacting. In all the cases we've linked, he does exactly what you describe. Even his methods of disposal are the same." Duo frowned. "The bleach and the trash bags thing? I wrote that… five, six months ago." "Exactly. Is there anyone new in your life, since you started writing the blog? Someone who might have expressed interest in you?" Duo sighed. This was the line of questioning that Hilde had been harping on as well. "Heero Yuy– my boyfriend. My therapist, Wufei Chang, I guess, since he's the one who suggested this in the first place. Neither of those two are serial killers, though." "How long have you know Heero?" Winner asked, pen poised to take notes. "Almost three weeks." "Hm. We first started making connections between cold cases about three weeks ago – " "He's a bartender and a college student. Details have been kept out of the paper. How would he know that?" Duo interrupted, before Winner could continue the thought. Winner sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's what Trowa keeps saying. All of these pieces… they seem to point towards someone very meticulous, someone who knows how to kill, knows how to dispose of bodies so that we find them, and who knows how we work." "So… a cop?" Duo asked, thinking about his deleted chapters. "No. Maybe." Winner shook his head. "Can you go through your blog and read over comments? Make notes on who leaves the most feedback – anything that sticks out to you at all." "Okay, I can do that." "And… keep writing." "You can't be serious! You want me to keep feeding this lunatic ideas?" "I don't want to upset his routine, not until we know what the hell it is." "But, maybe if I stop –" "He won't stop killing, just because you stop writing. He'll lash out – punish you for it. He might start killing more people. He might come after you. Keep to the routine." Duo sighed. "This is a fucking nightmare." He rubbed his temples, feeling desperately powerless. "We'll be in touch," Winner said, and then seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he shook his head and left the kitchen. Duo followed him, and was unnerved to find Heero and Barton discussing baseball, of all things. When they entered the room, Barton stood. "Thank you for your time," Winner said again. "It's been such a pleasure," Barton added. And then they were gone. Duo closed the door behind them, turned, and leaned against it. "So…" he said, looking at Heero. The young man had abandoned his backpack by the couch and was sitting in the armchair Duo had previously occupied. "Is this what you didn't want to talk about, Tuesday night?" Heero asked. Duo nodded. "Yeah. My friend – anyway, I just found out about it and – look, if you want to go, I completely understand." He realized that Heero was too nice, too well mannered, to probably think of just getting up and walking out. "Why would I go?" Heero looked genuinely confused. "Because I'm involved in a murder investigation! Twenty two!" "But you aren't the suspect – that's what Lieutenant Barton told me." Duo stared at him and then shook head. Barton had walked in like he expected to find bodies under the couch, and he had never thought that Duo was guilty in the first place? "But it's still – I might as well be. There's some serial killer out there who I've inspired to do this shit." Heero frowned and shook his head. "What do you mean?" "My blog – the things I write. This serial killer is copying all of the murders I've written." "Can I read it?" Heero asked. Duo sucked in a breath. His first instinct was to say no, but didn't Heero have the right to read them – to know just what kind of sick man he was involved with? What dark thoughts Duo was capable of? He should have shown it to him long before now. He walked over to his laptop and pulled up the site. "I'll just… be over here," Duo said and gestured to the couch. Heero sat down at the desk and started to read. Hours later, after Duo had read and reread the last month's worth of Sports Illustrated magazines, Heero got up from the computer. Duo knew he hadn't read everything – it had taken him days – but, judging by the look on Heero's face, he had certainly read enough. "I have to go to work," Heero said. "Um, yeah, of course." Duo stood, awkwardly, as Heero collected his backpack. "I've got class and work all day tomorrow," Heero added. "I know." "Saturday –" "Heero. It's okay. You don't have to make excuses. I get it." The other man frowned and shook his head. "No. I just want to think. Can I come over, Saturday afternoon?" Duo hadn't been expecting that – he had been convinced that Heero would run as far and as fast in the other direction as he could. "Okay." "Thank you," Heero said. He started to lean forward, as though he intended to kiss Duo, but he caught himself. "I'll… see you then," Duo said and opened the door. Heero walked out, and this time, as he walked down the
stairs, he didn't look over his shoulder at Duo.
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