#noirdock

I'M BACK

Trigger warnings for: knife use, violence, blood

Prompt: “Don’t be afraid.”

The near-silent whine of the window sliding open was all Noir needed to bolt awake, his eyes flying open to catch the glimmer of moonlight filtering through the window, the rustling of curtains in the light, cool breeze.

Typically he prided himself on his reflexes and quick thinking, but by the time he caught the flitting, shadowy movement coming out of the darkness of his tiny, rundown apartment bedroom it was too late; a violent figure was upon him, rocking the bed and squeaking the mattress as he pinned Noir down with his muscular bulk. No amount of struggling on Noir’s part was going to free him.

“Don’t be afraid.” Murdock’s savagely grinning face loomed from anonymity, the silver-y moonlight glinting off his dark glasses, then off the six-inch, wickedly serrated blade he drew from the depths of his coat. He considered it for a few seconds, even going so far as to flash it cinematically, reflecting Noir’s grimacing, sweaty face back at him. “Actually, I think you should be afraid. Very afraid.”

“So fucking cliche.” Noir spat, the end of his sentence slurring into nothing as Murdock pressed the knife to his neck, its finely honed edge slitting the skin, drawing a line of red just above his Adam’s apple. His chest shuddered as he fought to keep his composure; sweat dripped down the side of his face. “At least come up with something original if you’ve put in all that work to find me.”

All that moving around, shitty motels followed by shitty hotels followed by pay-by-month apartments with rats rustling in the walls. The never-ending dread of being chased even when he was supposed to be the one doing the chasing.

“Oh.” Murdock’s warm breath tickled his skin as he leaned close, close enough to kiss. “I didn’t need to work. I’ve always known how to find you.”

Briefly he lifted the blade, only to run it lightly down the side of his face. It stung; Noir gasped, ignoring the feeling in his chest at Murdock’s pleased smile.

Then the blade was gone. “Not now. Soon.” Murdock said, sitting up, looming over him, his face all but disappearing into black, becoming blacker as Noir’s vision swam. “Soon, you and I will get to know each other. Intimately.”

Prompt: Metal

Prompts by @tracobuttons

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This one was ugly. Grotesque. One of his officers, upon entering the crime scene, immediately had to rush out, one hand clamped over his mouth and hose, eyes bugging. 

Not him. Noir strode into the blood-soaked hotel room, his nice shoes leaving wet footprints in the carpet. It had everything a hotel room needed, he thought: a bed, a nightstand, a body.

Officers swarmed around him, nothing more than bothersome flies poking into his periphery; one ventured into the bathroom, another began taking photographs, a third started cataloging evidence. He paid them no mind, instead coming to stand by the bed. As he did, his shoes crunched into something.

Lifting a foot, he looked down. Nails, about a half dozen of them. Fingernails and toenails both scattered the carpet just beside the nightstand, like Murdock had sat on the side of the bed as a mother would, prying his victim’s nails out with a pair of pliers. 

He didn’t bother examining the body. “I’ve seen enough,” he announced. “Pull footage from the hallway and elevator.”

On the elevator down he stared at the small camera blinking at him from the ceiling above the door. Noir manifested a tumbler of whiskey into his hand and took a sip.

“What did you see?” He asked it.

The hotel lobby held their makeshift command center; computers occupied every available surface, and the occasional sergeant glanced up as Noir walked by. 

The hotel concierge– a small, skinny man with a pencil mustache who looked a little bit like a mouse– waited by the desk, along with several of his senior officers.

“Detective,” one of them nodded to him. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

Classic. Cliche. Noir could picture the black-and-white film now. He refrained from commentating, instead taking another swig of whiskey to prepare himself before setting it on the concierge’s desk and leaning forward to peer at grainy, slightly blurry footage.

Grainy, slightly-blurry footage of Murdock, standing in the elevator, right where Noir had stood minutes before. He stared right into the camera, the lenses of his sunglasses shiny. His face was splattered with blood. He wore a wicked grin. 

“Catch me if you can.” He said, his voice tinny, ringing hollow. He held up a knife, flashed it under the fluorescent elevator lights.

The elevator in the video dinged. The doors slid open.

Prompts by @tracobuttons

More noirdock. Trigger warnings for torture.

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The sky had never looked so much like a ceiling that night. Maybe because it was actually a ceiling. With a popcorn texture, to be exact.

    “Maybe I’ll start with your tongue. You talk too much.” Murdock examined a shining tray of instruments, occasionally pausing to glance over his shoulder at Noir or to stroke one of a dozen blades in a way Noir could only describe as lovingly. “But it sure would be a shame to silence your pretty voice.”

    Noir could only move his head. His arms and legs were forced down, strapped to the cold, unforgiving table with harsh leather straps. He wished he had his tumbler. “Take my tongue and I’ll bite you.”

    “Mm. So feisty.” Murdock finally chose a knife and sauntered to the table, bending over him, faces close enough to kiss. He traced the tip down Noir’s cheek, leaving a trail of delicate red drops in its wake. He brushed it feather-light over Noir’s jawline, down his throat, even pulled aside his shirt to draw it over his exposed collarbone. “Why don’t you tell me where to start? I promise I’ll do as you say.”

    “Will you?” Noir could taste the tension. Could see the excitement in Murdock’s eyes, glimmering behind those dark glasses. He plastered a daring grin on his face and desperately tried to think of a way out of this that didn’t get him killed. Almost didn’t care if it did. “Better listen carefully, then.”

Prompts by @tracobuttons

Tagging as "noirdock"

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Like a slippery snake, he’s wriggled through my fingers again.

Detective Noir took an elegant sip from his tumbler as he stepped into the crime scene, the gray folds of his trenchcoat barely brushing to the surface of a congealed pool of blood. He side-stepped it and continued on, taking his place beside Abe.

“What do we got?” He grunted, though he knew damn well what they had; another Murdock Murder. It was written all over the victims’ faces, paralyzed in one last expression of agony. Stretched in ways no human ways should stretch.

Abe cast him and his tumbler a sideways glance. “Isn’t it obvious?” Snide. Condescending. “It’s our secret admirer.”

Abe would lose his mind if he knew what I knew. If he walked the same dark and dirty paths I have. Noir crossed to the bed where the corpse lay spread-eagle across the thick, blood-soaked quilt, several knives buried deep in its chest, a scattering of fingers and toes throughout the whole mess.

He snuck a glance to his left. To the window. Even through the dark of near-midnight he could just see an outline, hovering outside the glass. An outline with teeth.

Murdock smiled at him, and waved. 

Noir didn’t respond. Abe was saying something. 

“-eed to widen the perimeter. I have a suspicion our suspect is nearby. He’s a vain son-of-a-gun. He’ll want to stick around.”

“Yes. Good idea.” Subtly, Noir wiggled his fingers in Murdock’s direction. Their sign for get out of here. Moments later, the outline would be gone, but he didn’t risk another look to check for sure.

Abe snapped his fingers at the officers just now entering the crime scene, and at the ones still hovering over the bed, daring each other with quick eyebrow raises and quiet grimaces to be the first ones to pick up a finger. “Get to it, people! We need to stop this madman before he kills again.”