Good Morning, Baltimore; September 20th, 2010
[ Trigger Warnings: Abduction, Mutilation, & Stockholm ]
Sept 20, 2025
From: Bishop Du Maurier
123 New Oxford Street,
London, WC1A 1AA
To: Alaric Duvall
401 E Madison St,
Baltimore, MD 21202
Alaric,
It is always so strange to sit at my desk, pen in hand, and write your name at the top of the page. Stranger still that I find myself doing it with such calm. The world says it is my right to hate you. They expect fire, fury, disgust. And yet, when I reach for them, I find nothing quite so simple.
You and I know too much of one another for me to really believe you were ever in your mind.
You took pieces I can never recover, yes, but you also left me with something I cannot name. An awareness. A sharpness. A reminder that the world is not to be trusted. There are moments when I find myself missing your voice, that steady cadence you used when the walls pressed in. No one listens like you did, even if you twisted it. That may be the worst of it.
It rained the other night. The same kind of storm that carried you onto my porch. Every time I hear it now, I think of you. Isn't it strange? That I should still associate you with something so natural, so cleansing.
I still don't forgive you. I don't think I ever will. But I would be dishonest if I pretended I don't think about you, or if I claimed I don't hope prison is treating you... fairly. Do they let you walk in the yard in the evenings? I sometimes imagine you there, immaculate even in gray, lecturing your fellow inmates as if they were your students. You always did know how to command a room, silver tongue and all.
I found this book the other day that I thought you might enjoy. Dense, meticulous, impossible to skim. Just like you. I've sent it along, but I don't know whether they will allow you to have it. Only if you've been on your best behavior. If not, I suppose Dr. Bloom will enjoy it. Hello, Dr. Bloom.
Until next time, Alaric. You remain, inconveniently, unforgettable.
Sincerely,
B. du Maurier
The rain was beating against the drive outside. He ran across the room, desperate to pull the window shut before any got into his house. There was no doubt though that he was too late. It was raining too hard, too fast. He couldn't help but chuckle and shook his head as he latched the window.
"Where did this all come from...?" He looked up at the sky. It was beautiful to watch, relaxing in a way. He decided to take a walk out to the front porch, pulling open his front door and stepping outside. He watched as it came down, wetting the earth and flooding little potholes in his drive.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Alaric's voice was soft, clinical.
Bishop turned quickly to look at him. He was sitting on the porch swing in his perfectly tailored suit. Bishop took a couple staggers back, arms still crossed over his chest. "Quite beautiful," his voice was breathy, trying to sound calm even though inside he was screaming. "What are you doing here?"
Alaric's lips stretched across his teeth, pearly whites sparkling. He chuckled. "I'm here for my appointment, Dr. Du Maurier. Don't tell me you have forgotten."
No, Bishop hadn't forgotten but he had cancelled it. He had put an end to their patient-doctor relationship on Monday, because he was becoming increasing concerned that Alaric was becoming too attached. "You know we don't have an appointment today, Dr. Duvall." Yes, Alaric Duvall was a psychiatrist as well. He understood how the system worked, but there was something about him. Something sinister beneath the surface.
"I recognize that you informed me of your retirement, but doctor, you are a touch too young to retire. It's best that you continue seeing someone weekly to keep your skills up." Alaric rose to his feet and turned to reach out for the front door. "Please, after you." Something about the way he said it made Bishop fairly certain that he didn't have any choice but to obey. Thunder reverberated the sky and Bishop slowly turned to step back inside his home.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
The next six month folded into each other like damp pages in a ruined book. He wasn't certain when day began or ended - he only knew the sound of a drip from a pipe and silence aside from Alaric's voice. It was a constant low hum in the corners of his mind. Calm, coaxing, unbearably reasonable. "I vow to savor you and I vow not to leave you for your siblings to find. It will be better for them, believing that you abandoned them. You'll thank me when it's done."
In the beginning, Bishop tried to fight. He begged, argued, clawed, and tried to convince. But Alaric was patient - terrifyingly patient. He tended him as though Bishop were simply a patient in a hospital, wiping his brow, adjusting his position, ensuring he didn't faint too soon. It was methodical, deliberate, a clinical ritual.
The moment of the amputation was seared in his memory, though in fragments. The cold press of steel. The sterile smell of alcohol and something sharper - iodine, maybe. Alaric's voice, steady as if lecturing in a classroom. "A leg is not a life. It is an appendage. A part of you that has betrayed you."
He couldn't feel it, but the smell was enough to make his stomach turn. Luckily he had been on a broth diet for a month leading up to this point. Alaric's voice was so gentle, like music, promising him that he was doing the best for him. He was pretty sure he would never make it out alive.
On that final night, he was dressed in a suit and tie. Methodically placed at the dinner table. He couldn't be quite sure if he was high on morphine or just low on energy and strength. Everything was blurry. The soft classical music played in the background and the room was lit with candles. It was supposed to be a celebration, but then it turned into the police knocking at the door. He was sure that Alaric would finally finish him off, end him before they reached the dining room, but he didn't. Instead Alaric blew him a kiss and laid face down on the dining room floor.
It was over. He was free. Alive, but marked, reshaped.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
He thought about it often, sitting down at to his journal and rereading the entry from the day he was abducted and the weeks following the abduction. The hospital stay in the ICU, how loud everything was, the fear, the trial. That glint of pleasure in Alaric's eyes as he recapped the six month for the jury. He was very happy with himself.
Bishop still thought about it and every six month, he wrote a letter. He would have the letter mailed to England where a man would open the letter, reseal it, and send it to Baltimore, to the psychiatric prison where Alaric would remain for the rest of his life.
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Adam Milligan was walking home from school with his best friend, Martin. The two had planned to spend the night playing video games and slacking off on their homework, like they did almost every time their mothers had the late shift together.
“I thought your mom had to work tonight,” Martin said, looking confused as he saw her van in the driveway, “And who’s is that?” he asked, looking at the black, shiny car.
“No idea,” Adam told him, looking at the car suspiciously before hurrying inside, “Mom?!” he called, Martin following close behind.
Martin quickly grabbed the baseball bat from his bag, brandishing that.
“Dude,” Adam huffed.
“What?!” Martin demanded, “It could be an intruder. It’s my sworn duty as your best friend to protect the Milligan family.”
Adam rolled his eyes, “Mom?” he called again.
“In here, honey,” Kate called, causing them both to sigh in relief as they followed her voice to the kitchen.
“Mom, who’s car is that?” Adam asked as he walked in the kitchen quickly, “I thought you had to work.”
“I do, but...” Kate trailed off as a tall man walked into the room.
Martin looked suspicious along with Adam, still holding his baseball bat.
“Adam,” the man said quietly, “Hey, kid.”
“Who are you?” Adam asked immediately, going to stand by his mom, Martin quickly following.
“Well, I’m...” the man trailed off, looking at Kate.
Kate took a deep breath, “Adam, this is John...he’s your father.”
...
“What a total freak!” Martin yelled, swinging his baseball bat at some taller weeds by the woods in their shared backyard.
“Don’t say that,” Adam rolled his eyes, “I could be a total freak by genetics then.”
“Dude, what right did he have to show up here after what? Twelve years of no contact?!” Martin asked, “Kate was upset too. You know what happens to anyone who upsets you or your mom?” he asked before swinging his bat at a particularly tall weed, knocking it down.
Adam sighed, “He said he was gonna try to be around more...let’s give him a shot, maybe...he’ll make mom happy.”
“Better than Craig,” Martin snorted, thinking about Kate’s last boyfriend, a local cop, “What a tool.”
Adam smiled, rolling his eyes fondly as he watched his friend continue to attack weeds.
...
A few years passed and Adam hadn’t seen his father more than ten times. He sent an occasional letter and apparently his mother sent pictures, but Adam didn’t really see him as more than a sperm doner.
He taught him to play pool and bought him his first beer on his birthday, resulting in him spitting it up and his mother kicking John out before his birthday party even ended.
“Who’s that?” Joy whispered.
“Adam’s tool of a sperm doner,” Martin grumbled.
“Yo, your dad? Adam, are you okay? What’s he doing here?” Dawson asked quickly.
“Let’s go, you don’t look so good, man-“ Jared started.
“Adam!” John waved, “Hey, kiddo, happy birthday. The big one-four!”
“Fifteen,” Adam said as he walked over, maneuvering around a few of his friends and his mom’s relatives, “I’m fifteen.”
“Yikes,” Joy mumbled under their breath.
“Well, good opportunity to teach you to drive then!” John clapped him on the shoulder.
Adam’s eyes widened. He’d been begging his mom to teach him, but she hadn’t had the time yet with work.
“John...” Kate trailed off with a sigh, “He’s never been behind the wheel before.”
“Perfect time to try!” John told her before turning back to Adam, “What do you say, kid?”
That’s how he ended up behind the wheel of the Impala, while his friends stood outside with his mother to watch.
“Bet he keeps all his murder weapons in the trunk,” Jared stared at the car.
“Or bodies,” Ryka agreed.
“Quiet, you two,” Kate said with a sigh, sounding exhausted.
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Dawson said, looking nervous, “I’m gonna go see if Adam is okay with this.”
Joy made kissy faces at him as he walked over to where John was talking to Adam, the blond sitting in the driver’s seat.
“Seatbelt,” Dawson said casually, nodding to it.
“Oh, right,” Adam said quickly, putting it on.
Dawson noticed John wasn’t wearing one, but said nothing. He turned back to Adam, “You sure you want to do this? You don’t have to, it’s your party.”
“I want to learn and you know my mom doesn’t have the time to teach me,” Adam told him, “Just get in the back if you’re so worried.”
Dawson just nodded, getting in the back.
“Uh, John, this is Dawson, my uh...” Adam trailed off, looking at him nervously.
“His friend,” Dawson said, shaking his head subtly to Adam as he stared at John. A silent ‘I don’t know if this guy is okay.’ with understanding went through the two of them.
“Well, nice to meet you, Dawson, I’m Adam’s dad,” the man said, sounding proud, “How about we get this show on the road?”
“Somewhere to be?” Dawson snarked.
John glared at him slightly before showing Adam how to put the car in drive.
...
Adam slammed on the breaks after making it around their block and back to the front of their house. He put the car in park quickly, his knuckles white.
“Enough driving for the day,” Dawson snapped, holding onto his seatbelt tightly, his knuckles white as well.
“Yeah, I think he’s gonna break something on Baby,” John chuckled, putting the car in park. Before anyone could say anything, he pulled out two beers and handed one to Adam, “Your first drink for your birthday.”
“Yo, I don’t think-” Dawson started.
Adam took a drink and immediately spit it out, causing John to laugh.
“Okay, enough!” Dawson yelled, getting out of the backseat. He swung open the driver’s side door and grabbed Adam’s hand and pulled him from the car, “We’re not doing this with this fucker.”
“What?” John demanded.
“He’s fifteen, asshat!” Dawson yelled back at the car.
Send “Flashback” to have your muse see one of my muse’s bad memories
Warnings: Blood mention, Child Abuse, Mild Injury
Benji attempts to muffle his sobbing to the best of his ability, unable to handle the sharp ache and throbbing pain in his now wrapped arm. His mother had managed to stop the bleeding, and stitched the gash from where his father had tossed a bottle at him, shattering and if Benji hadn’t used his arms to shield his face he would probably be in much worse shape. Whatever painkillers his mother had given him earlier had worn off, and not only did his arm hurt, but it itched like crazy.
Benji had given into the urge to scratch it once or twice, only succeeding in making blood begin to seep through the white bandages and causing him even more pain. He forced himself to stop, and tried to keep himself quiet. If he was too loud he would wake his father…And then…
The six year old didn’t want to think about the consequences, instead forcing himself to turn on his side and bury his head into his pillow, pulling his blanket over his head.
A soft squeak alerted him to Nyx’s presence, his Zubat having emerged from it’s Poke’Ball at sensing his trainer’s distress. Benji lifted his blanket up just enough to let the small bat-like creature slip under and curl next to his chest.
“It hurts Nyx…I can’t sleep and…It itches so bad. Make it stop…” He whimpered, tears slipping over the bridge of his nose. He inhaled shakily, closing his eyes for a moment before Nyx made an odd noise. He opened his eyes to see the Zubat looking directly at him…And suddenly Benji began to feel extremely sleepy. It was like a strange pull, and eventually the boy succumbed to the urge.
Satisfied that it’s Hypnosis move worked, Nyx snuggled up to his trainer, determined to look after the boy through the rest of the night.
Aiden isn’t sure how long he’s laid still on the empty alleyway floor, his warmth barely seeping into the concrete ground below to warm him. He’s aching all over, the last of his ‘customers’ having departed over an hour ago. His last for the night, as well as the roughest. He wonders if the blood has finally dried between his thighs, and grimaces at the other crusted messes left over his stomach and chest. He tilts his head up enough to assess the damage.
Bites, bruises, a few rope burns…His throat hurts the most, from that first guy cramming as much of his dick into his mouth as he could, as well as the last guy deciding he could get his rocks off by choking him. Nothing he couldn’t chalk up to simply being a ‘good Friday night’. He debates lying for just a few minutes longer, but decides against it and finally brings himself to make himself decent, yanking his pants back in place and smoothing out his wrinkled shirt. He’d need to find some new clothes tomorrow, which wouldn’t have been a problem. He’d made a nice wad of cash out of tonight’s endeavors, a silver lining between all that he’s endured. Even convinced himself it wasn’t so bad, he had managed to sneak in a few orgasms amidst the rough handling.
The blond inhale sharply, sitting himself up against the wall of the building on his left. Once the pain subsided enough for him to stand, he’d make his way back to his temporary home. Just a little longer of this line of work and maybe…Just maybe…
Aiden doesn’t let himself finish the thought, instead fishing out a much needed cigarette.
Darcy had never been naive enough to think that something like friendship was worth anything in the world they lived in, but David had more than proved himself time and time again. And from the beginning, she’d admired him more than most. He knew far more than she did, and what began as a mentorship, turned into a friendship. Which was why she rarely confided in anyone other than him. He knew what to tell her when she started to doubt where she stood, or which way to guide her when she was stuck. It wasn’t a friendship she had to doubt, because they were both on the same side.
As she studied the plans on her desk, Darcy pressed her fingers against her temples, desperately trying to relieve the pulsing headache that always seemed to mount when she had a mission to complete in just hours. When the words finally started to blend together on the page, she finally gave up and leaned back, pinching the bridge of her nose before she heard someone enter. “Go away unless you have coffee and possibly hard drugs,” she muttered with her hands over her eyes.
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Her little feet shuffle nervously against the decrepit wooden floor “It might be ‘cause I went an’ kissed this boy on the mouth on a dare. I didn’t think that was trouble bad. But I heard ‘em talkin’ about doctors, an’ stuff. I guess I got him sick. I’m sorry...”
“When do they usually get up? ‘Cause he was on the ground a long time. A really long time. Why’dthey even fall down in the first place? Is that s’posed to be romantic? ‘Cause it’s just silly.”
