#lawrencelore

Lawrence Valdis was born to a wealthy philanthropist and a very successful magazine editor in Boston, Massachusetts. He lived very well and, seeing as he was an only child, rather lavishly (translation: spoiled rotten). Lawrence’s father, Klaude Valdis was a very formal man but with a seemingly massive heart, dedicating much of his family’s funds on noble charities and local outreach programs. Outside of his generous philanthropy work, his father essentially made his money by, in young Lawrence’s words, “buying companies, breaking them apart, and selling the pieces”. It was lucrative, even if those on the receiving end of such a deal took issue with their business being split apart.

Lawrence’s love for entertaining came from both parents, his father frequenting galas and fundraisers and almost always bringing Lawrence with him (it was great for publicity). And Lawrence’s mother, Cynthia, just loved playing hostess in their opulent home— she is also the reason why Lawrence calls his home (the former Valdis family residence) a chateau. Lawrence would see how much attention she would get and delight in how she commanded the staff; she was a phenomenal party planner and Lawrence obviously followed suite. 

Now, of course, neither of Lawrence’s parents ever instilled homicidal tendencies in their son; that came later on and of his own accord. Lawrence’s deviances started with something simple, something he continues with even to this day; voyeurism. 

Before I go into this though, I also want to mention that Lawrence has always...felt things very strongly. He couldn’t just be happy, he was ecstatic. Sadness would send him in a depressive state. Anger, of course, gave way to full out rage. And love...it consumes him. These excessive feelings butt heads with his constant need for control, not only over others but over himself. His father was a very private man and had a great deal of self control even in dramatic or upsetting situations, taking time to speak his mind perfectly, doing well to not jump to conclusions or react impulsively. And his mother usually had a glass of wine in her so she was generally well-tempered and easy going.

Lawrence always felt a little inferior knowing he was so affected by his own emotions and spent much of his grade school years teaching himself how to suppress, control, and mask how he felt, mainly in order to fool those around him. He never liked when he was upset that he became almost immediately teary-eyed and his mother would fuss over him. He never liked when he would yell in frustration and his father would so calmly chastise him...Lawrence was given a lot of freedom and opportunities to be independent at a very young age and thus always tried to present himself as a little adult rather than a child.

This contradictory mindset (total self control vs. excessive emotion) is what fueled the later concept of Argus, his villainous alter ego. Lawrence can be the good host, prim and proper and acceptable. He’s in control of the party, his staff, and himself regardless of what was going on...and Argus is the result of his heightened emotions, whether it be anger or jealousy or lust. Argus can be excessive, Lawrence cannot.

It should also be noted that this is NOT like Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) and Argus is not a separate psychological entity or alter to Lawrence. Argus is a secondary persona that Lawrence does choose to be at any given time. Much like how Clark Kent will become Superman, Lawrence becomes Argus at will.

Now, back to the voyeuristic tendencies. Lawrence went to a number of rather strict private schools, full of children from other “elite” families. The transition to secondary school was where Lawrence started getting a better handle on his reactions while also first being exposed to deviant behavior. There was a hole that some older boys had carved into the wall to peek into the girl’s locker room and Lawrence was first invited to look and quickly became excited by the action. 

Lawrence was more interested in the act less for perverted reasons (although those were still there) and more because it was an instance where he had control of the situation. He got to watch, assess, learn things about the one being watched without their intrusion or complaint...it was exhilarating for him and this moment imprinted on him. Lawrence would watch frequently, whether there were others there to encourage the behavior or not. This was also when he developed his first crush.

As mentioned earlier, Lawrence feels things heavily, including love and lust and desire. And while this was a first crush, simple puppy love, Lawrence easily fell into something more akin with obsession. He was 13 and had fallen  for an older girl; sixteen year old Hanna Rosenfeld, who was completely unsuspecting of Lawrence’s attraction or the fact he watched her (granted, her locker was in perfect view from the hole, so it had less to do with her and more with opportunity).

He now watched her from the halls, quickly learning how to keep his eyes on her without her catching him. Lawrence became very quiet during this time (unless provoked in some way, which led to hot-headed replies and quick threats...he didn’t like being distracted). Throughout the years, he continued keeping an eye on Hanna and watching her— but she eventually started seeing someone else.

Lawrence was extremely offended and hurt despite the fact that she didn’t even know him; he had never spoken to her...but he had put so much effort into her. He had spent all this time watching her, making mental notes of the kind of clothes she liked, how she wore her hair in tight curls, her favorite body spray, how she liked to sneak out with her friends after school to smoke pot, how she wanted to be a teacher and only wrote in glitter pens—

The stalking (and he did stalk her, having followed her home a handful of times in the previous months; his independence had some perks after all) continued up until prom when, again, she wouldn’t shut the fuck up about her cute date. Lawrence, so angry at her perceived betrayal—

If you ask him now what happened that night, he’ll deny that he knew what was happening. That it was all a blur, but truthfully he remembers her vividly (the memory just reminds him of how inadequate he had felt at the time and so, unlike many serial killers who regard their first as the best, Lawrence instead tries to suppress that first impulsive kill). 

Lawrence had waited until she was dropped off, far after her curfew, after prom. He didn’t really know what he was going to do (another thing he doesn’t like being reminded of), but he had gotten her attention and grabbed her by the hair. 

She didn’t even recognize him. And that made him even angrier.

Now, he would credit this kill as what got him so interested in eyes— he had choked her beneath the peach tree in her parent’s garden and her eyes had gotten...so big. And she was watching him; clearly confused, frightened, but every time he would let up and she would catch her breathe and his serious look would soften and he could see how her eyes filled with hope. Hope that he would stop, that she’d live. 

And then he would squeeze again and the horror came back. 

And he loved every single second of it. 

Now, at this point, Lawrence could have ended up with a predilection for strangulation and this sort of nighttime ambush killing, but he truly hadn’t wanted to kill her. Just hurt her. Make her feel as bad as she had made him feel. It was a moment of impulse and excess that eventually led to her death.

Young Lawrence had sat on her chest, watching her as she lay dead beneath him. He felt a pang of guilt, but an envious sort of guilt. Mostly, he was upset that he didn’t get to date her or take her to prom like he had fantasized. That someone else got the chance to do that...and now she’s dead.

And her eyes were wide open...but ruined. All bloodshot from the strangling— he didn’t like how creepy they looked. She could have looked so pristine if it wasn’t for all those little blown out blood vessels. Lawrence wasn’t thinking so much about the fact that he committed murder or that she was dead but just spent that time assessing her eyes, upset that they appeared damaged, disappointed that she wasn’t as grand as he had made her out to be in his head.

The Valdis’ moved shortly after that. The affluent side of town couldn’t be all too great if some teenage girl gets STRANGLED to death in her own backyard. Cynthia was concerned about Lawrence, that he could be out alone, as he liked to do more and more often these day, and get murdered. She wouldn’t allow it. 

And no one at that school knew about Lawrence’s obsession...he never mentioned her to anyone, not even his few friends. Never attempted to speak directly to her. They weren’t connected in any way...Lawrence had never been in trouble before outside the mundane fight after school and perhaps one outburst in class. Nothing made him stick out as a potential suspect.

It wasn’t until years later when he was in college when he felt the strange pride of getting away with murder. 

During this time, when he was trying to move on after Hanna (strangely, he didn’t feel as heartbroken as he thought he would be..in fact, once he killed her, his crush sort of...dissipated), but he still kept thinking a lot about...eyes. He dreamed about hers for a long time, growing snippy during the day due to a lack of sleep...and frustration. They were never perfect in the dream. 

Again, his penchant for obsession comes into play; he’s not dwelling on the idea of murder, he’s had his taste of it and all it did was make his stomach turn and ruin his day. But the eyes...he liked how they looked. He wanted to see eyes like that again.

This turned into long sessions in the bathroom, looking into his own eyes. Lawrence has heterochromia, meaning his eyes aren’t exact matches to each other; in Lawrence’s case, he has one (left) eye that is a neutral brown and the other (right) is a pale blue (although it does have some brown speckling in the right upper quadrant of the iris. He has both been admired and bullied because of them. He tends to view them as unique but nothing more. He realizes early on that his own eyes don’t interest him, no matter how he looked at them. They’re his. It’s mundane for him...he already knew what was in them.

College is more of a turning point for Lawrence. By now, he’s already been scolded by police officers for hanging around one of the neighbor girl’s windows and there was even that one humiliating moment when he had fumbled his way into some girl’s pants in the backseat of his car and then there’s the tapping of a flashlight against the window. He decided long ago that cops could suck it. 

But college is different. He really is independent, not the same sort of independent his parents attempted to foster. He was free in every sense of the word, especially since he lived in a well-paid for suite on campus (with a roommate but who cares about that sorry sap). He could do what he wanted. Say what he wanted— and he eventually joins the University debate team on a whim and because some smug prick behind a booth had both tried to talk him into joining and subsequently offended him by adding you know, if you want. If you think you can handle it. 

Lawrence had stared him in the eye, unblinking, as he signed up.

And he was pretty good at it. He had a knack for research, for elocution. He had always liked to talk but up until now, tended to have very little to say that wasn’t about whatever thing he was fixated on at the time. Now there were issues posed and questions asked and again, he felt challenged. In a good way though. And he enjoyed making his point, especially if it lead to someone else’s defeat.

College was also a time for experimentation; Lawrence had known for many months before graduating high school that he did like guys as much as girls, his lab partner in chemistry being a boy his age with striking green eyes— Lawrence would now have to admit he didn’t fully know if he liked him as an individual or because he had such prominent eyes but...that’s in the past now. 

But college helped him find himself...as well as a number of his earliest victims, all of which died in different manners, Lawrence trying to decipher what part of murder he liked. He wasn’t positive he was a killer but, obviously something from that first night left an impression on him...and he wasn’t sure if a different methodology would lead to a different, better result. 

And there was so much...partying going on that he really couldn’t help himself. People rarely invited Lawrence, but he still managed to show up, drink a little, keep his wits about him; no one could deny that Lawrence wasn’t charming when he wanted to be. Sweet almost. Unassuming. Shaggy hair falling in his eyes and a shy smile tugging at his lips.

But he also broke the wrist of that one guy that spilled beer on his clothes. Lawrence had laughed it off as simply having a bit too much to drink and not realizing his own strength (he was stone cold sober and had delighted in how the bone had snapped, feeling rather vindicated). 

But back to the murder spree now; Strangulation was out of the question at this point...bludgeoning was nice but messy and...dull. The wounds inflicted felt dull as he administered them. Lawrence, after the first two, wondered if he was only a situational murderer. Did he have to be angered to kill? Or inflict pain? He seemed to have more fun with the occasional scuffle with a drunk guy at a party than these high stakes kills.

If anything, what he liked most out of everything was the stalking portion; watching them, learning their habits...the little quirks about them that no one else saw. That, and how their eyes looked when he killed them.

The first time he actually tried to take someone’s eyes was in his senior year. The heat was on with all these missing students, only one so far being found with her throat cut. But he had still met up with a guy who was down to party from the rival University. 

He had met Ronald (affectionately coined Ronnie) a while ago at one of the frat house parties (which Lawrence only went to these days to meet people...he hated the fraternity bros...all pig-headed little dumbasses who don’t ever shut the fuck up) and again, Lawrence would have started his usual routine of stalking and watching from afar but Ronnie was one of the few that reciprocated Lawrence’s affections (if they could be called that).

Lawrence could be a relatively good boyfriend to those few he casually dated during his college years; he remembered important dates and their favorite things, he was a good listener, hanging on their every word, and he wasn’t afraid to touch...he was drawn to attention and affection, which surprised many of his partners, seeing as he sometimes could appear so aloof and, at times, ill-tempered. 

It’s not that Lawrence is trying to be a good partner, but more often than not, he just wanted to be perfect. He now had that almost complete control over his emotions (aside from the occasional bout of anger, of course) and he felt confident that he could be this...strong, steady rock for whoever he chose to stand beside...a bit like his father (who had died early that year before graduation). But in truth, he remembered everything so well because he was keeping internal tabs. He listened because they might hint at something important (like if they were actually seeing someone else or growing tired of his possessive nature), and he always, always, always liked to touch and hold and cradle whatever he deemed was his...even if the feeling turned out to be fleeting.

At this juncture, he wasn’t bored of Ronnie at all but he felt that he didn’t care enough about him enough to spare him (again, there’s this feeling of things never being quite as good as he made them out to be...he can’t tell if he’s just plain picky or hasn’t found anyone he really cares for yet). When they had arrived down by the lake, a secluded sort of lover’s lane, Lawrence had bashed Ronnie’s head between the car door and the frame, watching him go down as blood begin to seep out his ears. It wasn’t hard enough to kill him but certainly daze him.

The enucleation was nearly accidental. Ronnie’s eyes had closed so Lawrence had attempted to open them, getting his spindly fingers around the eyelid...he opened it wide, saw the bright white of the sclera...

Lawrence, by this time, carried a knife. He changed them every so often, and never told anyone he had one (another note; Lawrence is excellent at keeping secrets. His memory is a vault you can’t open unless you press the exact buttons or ask the right magic questions)— he learned earlier that he rather enjoyed stabbing and cutting his victims but that never felt perfectly right. 

I got the tip of the knife into Ronnie’s eye socket. I tried to move slowly..not really knowing if I could puncture an eyeball...or what that might do. I didn’t want to hurt them, just sorta pop ‘em out. It was...bad the first time. I nicked the eye a few times but eventually I wriggled it out— Ronnie made this really bad, guttural kinda noise and his body....his body shook a lot during. He looked pretty funny actually. I tried not to laugh though, seeing as we had such history together and all. But I got his eyes out...a bit mangled. Bloodied. I had to nearly saw the nerve ‘cause it didn’t wanna...snap out like I thought it would. But I got one. And I pinned him down better...and took the other one. And I watched him...writhe in pain and fear. Holding his eyes in my hand. And...that was right. 

It finally felt right. I never...truly wanted anyone to die. Well, no, some deserved it...for how they treated me. How they lied and, and, and led me on. I hated that. I hated...people like that. They get your hopes up...but Ronnie wasn’t one of them...Ronnie and I had, unfortunately, run our course...but I still think of him fondly.

I mean, he was shaking so bad after that so I just went through his shit, ‘cause he always had some kind of hit on him. He had some pills. I don’t know what. I put about fifteen or so of ‘em down his throat and then I got him into the lake. Watched him float away. Almost like one of those...funeral pyres. It was nice to see. He deserved something nice. He gave me...probably the greatest gift anyone had ever given me before. 

I think the cop assumed the fishes and things ate his eyes out...they had eaten a lot of him when they finally fished him out. 

              — Lawrence Valdis,                   a son of a bitch, I h8 his creepy lil ass lmao

In essence, what Lawrence really wanted was eyes. His first weren’t perfect but the simple act of the removal was a start. It’s like plucking the last shred of hope out of someone, that freeing hope that he can then bottle and keep forever.

To this day, Lawrence has strict criteria for the eyes he keeps; the color matters little, so long as they are pristine in nature. Perfectly white, pure sclera, no nicks or dents or bumps. A fully intact (and neatly severed at the end) optic nerve. And two. Always two. He won’t stand for half.  

Now, this Lawrence that you’re reading about does seem a little different than the one I usually write; the biggest differences are of course means and motives; Lawrence is his own man now and has crafted an entire room in his inherited home for these enucleation sessions. He learned from these early, out in the open kills, that he much prefers being walled in, being secure—

This no doubt stems from what he eventually majors in....Lawrence starts with computer science and ends with a cybersecurity discipline. He engineers state of the art security systems for the city’s most elite families...and some criminals too. All of which he has back door access to...for reasons. This access allows him to gather intel that he often uses for blackmail purposes. Lawrence even has a contract with the city in which he handles a good chunk of their state building security systems which, of course, turns out to be detrimental to any and all officials, seeing as Lawrence monitors them from time to time, gathering more and more blackmail fuel.

He also limits himself (again, as a show of self control) to removing the eyes of those that don’t take the blackmail bait. It gives him an excuse now to remove their eyes and toy around with the rest of them whilst they writhe in pain (again, he’s very fond of stabbing and cutting). It also serves a duel purpose of promoting his criminal standing and warns others of what he could do to them should he become upset...or offended, which happens a lot more often than he’d care to admit.

He has also spent tireless hours perfecting his tools for these enucleations. Knives are special and he likes them to be well sharpened and well-designed...but the enucleation tools are his joy. He has several prototypes he’s developed himself— for example, one almost looks like a speculum, but just for the eye socket; it’s meant to pry open the lid as far as it’ll go so he can use another tool, something spoon-like but a sharpened edge that literally scoops out the eyeball and simultaneously severing the nerve. These more scientific measures are used when he wants a really perfect specimen...

The knives does make an appearance though, seeing as he practiced so long with them that he can do an optimal job of removing eyes with little damage (to the eye itself, he means)...but he also likes to use them for those he’s especially upset with.

In the end, Lawrence is a highly emotional, personal gain seeking killer. Everything he does, in and outside the realm of murder, revolves around his own personal perceptions and desires; in essence, catching Lawrence’s eye is a dangerous thing to do. He can follow you. He will watch you and build up the potential interaction in his head, whether it’s meant to be friendly or romantic or even sexual. And if things don’t go how he planned them and there’s no plan of action he can adhere to that makes it how he wants it, Lawrence would rather eliminate you than continue to pursue you. 

See, Lawrence rather enjoys the moniker he’s picked up, mainly due to its monstrous origins. Argus Panoptes. The Hundred-Eyed monster of Greek mythology. It’s excessive...and it’s on point.

Not only did Lawrence have an eye on every street corner, on every dirty alley someone might run down to get away from him, and on every corrupt cop’s dashboard, but his reach was as encompassing as all those eyes. You could never escape him.

And although that is a pretty great nickname for the man with the metaphorical, unblinking gaze over what he considers his city— it’s what he does to those unlucky few he targets that earned Lawrence his nickname. 

Somewhere in the shadowy chateau he calls home, living like an entitled king, is a room solely for the e y e s. In the handcrafted nooks in an ornate wall in one of his many ballrooms lay jar upon yellow-tinged jar with a floating pair of human eyes in them. He’ll gladly show it off if asked about it; it’s his magnum opus after all.

Lawrence would be the first to tell you he always liked attention and that seeking attention is never as bad as people make it out to be. It’s not shallow, it’s just the desire of a man who knows he deserves the limelight. So he did the rational thing and made a room where all eyes were on him.

Many of his competitors in both the criminal world and his public-facing cybersecurity firm, Io Industries, have gone missing. Many of those that refused his business deals and generous offers to work with him suddenly vanished. And he’ll allude to the fact that their eyes may be somewhere in that room.

He’s gotten good at it too— he's made special tools to better serve his little hobby; he didn’t want the eyes damaged after all. They needed to be pristine. They needed to be perfect. 

And if you ask him why, he’ll take you by the chin, lifting your head up as you stand at the center of that unsettling room, surrounded by his presence and the creeping sensation of all those dead eyes staring down at you. "Well, darlin'— why not?"