Chapter Text
A Thursday. Heavy rain. Very muddy…
Perhaps the weather wasn't ideal, but it hid his tracks just as well as treadless shoes - as good as simply not being here. Summer heat, smothered by the dreary forecast, obscured his view through the windows, and while usually, he'd simply let himself in, tonight it was raining, and rain made mud. Mud made a mess, and Tanner didn't appreciate messes, which was common ground he admired about the woman beyond the panes.
Luna kept a neat and ordered home, regardless of whether she really did much living in it. Few times did he stumble across a forgotten article of clothing (although when he did, it merely ended up in his collection for later) and rarely did he spot a scuff mark or congealed stain of food. He could tell when she'd had a long day and an even longer night ahead of her when there were more than one or two dirty dishes in the sink. Tonight, he couldn't see into the kitchen, but the way she slouched forward in her computer chair, lip between her teeth, said it was one of those evenings.
A takeout carton of some Eastern dish sat sunken behind her bottle of water; a statement of the day's events. How a home-cooked meal would perk her right up, he thought.
Sadly, he couldn't stay long let alone tie her to a chair and cook for her.
His clothes were heavy with moisture. Those twitchy fingers of his were starting to drum in hyperactive impulsivity. Another one of those breathy, frustrated sighs of hers would surely send him into a tailspin of maddening pursuit. The last time she wouldn't stop making noises, he found himself much closer than he planned; perhaps inches from the back of her neck.
Spontaneity was fun, but over the years, Tanner realized dragging this stuff out was much more… pleasurable .
"Not yet, no. We have plenty more time," he whispered, hot against the glass, "... plenty. I’ve got more fun things planned for the two of us."
With a trembling digit, he drew a smiley face in the thick condensation from his breath, relishing the way Luna blinked at the soft little squeak of his skin against her window.
"Maybe tomorrow," he added in a low threat, already retreating back to the sidewalk where his forlorn and dripping umbrella awaited him.
Tomorrow night's forecast predicted a light northern breeze and a first-quarter waning gibbous, barely bright enough to spot him on those wire-frayed cameras. Getting caught was its own rush, but even just the possibility made things more interesting - more electrically charged. The tension was palpable! Sooner or later, she was going to find him. Her timing was eventually going to bear fruit. Tanner knew this.
As the rain pelted down across his black polyester umbrella, he unbuttoned his lab coat, blowing out warm regard for the thought of her upcoming death. Just thinking about it now was causing scratchy sensations of manic excitement; warm venom rising beneath the skin. His heart thudded happily, eager to feel that morbid high - that sweet, sweet jolt as life glossed over eyeballs.
Luna has such gorgeous eyes , he thought, wondering how they would look rolling beneath her lids, lashes fluttering closed… weeping tears of-
An abrupt splash of tepid, filthy rainwater pelted him across the stomach. The backfire kick of some road hog rumbled past him as foul moisture stained through his pressed linens. He turned, livid - hot with a new hunger - and caught the flash of street lights off the license plate. He committed the tag to memory, watched the truck turn left at the four-way, and imagined a sparkling waterfall of blood cascading out the truck bed.
Red fell like rain from the sky. The puddles around his heels were goopy, clumping pools of blood. Animalistic contentment rose.
Tanner undid his belt buckle, releasing tight, body-heated pressure from the gritty, vile street water, and tapped his heel. He smiled, that smile stretching into a viper's grin, and snapped his toe-heel forward, followed by a quick backheel tap to the wet cement - and repeat.
He shrugged off the tack of rage with a loose waistband and open coat. Picturing merriment and murder, he danced and skipped his way home, kicking water to and fro. Glistening droplets fanned outward as he twirled his umbrella with an infectious tune humming in the back of his throat. If he whistled, well… it was only because the person behind the wheel of 5-61943M had a good eighteen hours left of life before they ended up in a trash bag.
Tanner was gonna make it rain red… and then, the real solo waltz would begin.
Following Sunday. Hot… with dry thunderstorms.
He's been standing beside her bed for a few minutes now; contemplative and… hesitant. Tonight was supposed to be the night. He made plans, brought the supplies, and set up his alibi with methodical precision. All the usual bangs and whistles were put in place. Yet...
"Hmm…" he considered low in his chest. Watching Luna's body twitch in her sleep - unaware but still reactive to an unknown presence in her bedroom - was hypnotizing in a way he hadn’t foreseen. It was less those typical throbbings down below and more an expectation of her next breath. He found some clean pleasure in watching her lungs continue to fill, release, and fill again.
Something was nagging at him about her potential demise. Things just didn't feel right. Could it be something as simple as the timing? Perhaps it was just too soon - maybe next week would work better. No, no... that wasn't it. The timing was perfect. There was something else making him hesitate.
Usually, these dalliances didn't last this long. So far he’d spent thirty-two days stalking this one, eleven days longer than his longest game. That previous record was only so long due to some issues at work - an alibi that couldn’t be secured fast enough. Luna was most peculiar indeed. One swoop of the needle and he could have her down in the basement, a thing to play with as he so chose, but he merely rubbed his thumb up and down the cool barrel of his syringe; waiting for something.
Tanner stood there, needle poised between them, and found himself wondering if she'd ever locate him . That current fixation of the media: The Blue Blood Killer. Was she close? No, she wasn't, but oh , did she try. Sometimes, he wondered if she’d keep searching until the moment her heart stopped beating.
If she had more time than he planned to give her, would Luna succeed in her quest for justice? Of course, she's never caught Tanner, both within her neighborhood watch program or outside it at work. Of the thousands of cases she's filed and processed; statistically, one or two of them concerned himself. Then again, Tanner was too good for that, but if Luna couldn't catch him philandering inside people's stomachs and such, then there was little chance she could uncover whatever BBK was.
"... which begs to question what I'm going to do with you now."
Sound asleep, with no way to know what true horrors lurked just mere inches away, Luna's leg stretched beneath the sheet. He followed the wrinkles and shadows it made with his eyes, barely moving. She kicked off the covers and slowly, ever sluggishly, her leg slumped over the edge of the bed.
His eyes traversed the naked skin. Nearly an acre of it kissed the moonlight cutting through her curtains. So much… flesh, and so suddenly. It surprised him. It wounded him. It brought him to a sour, heated conclusion. Tanner clenched his fists and fingers. The plunger on the syringe sunk deep, ejecting more than half Luna's dose; dribbles of midazolam running down his knuckles.
A flicker of excitement, colored in posey, ripped back the thicker layer of murder that usually - almost always - accompanied these outings. The usually dormant flesh beneath his belt prickled with blood flow. Genuine embarrassment snapped in his cheeks before it settled into something dark… something wicked and… obsessive.
The only neighbors that cared for her safety - or the idea of caring - were away for the next two nights. Not that he needed them gone to have his fun. The dribbling hypodermic in his fist wouldn't knock her out, but it would keep her quiet. However, the thing he wished to keep her docile for had changed, and the seedy desire that replaced it was new.
Like a Congo snake might hesitate in the brush, minutes before striking their unlucky victim into explosive cell death, Tanner swayed backward. He took a step back, then again, retracing his steps until he was slipping out the guest bedroom window.
Tanner drank in the evening warmth, smiling despite the way his body shook. Musical crickets ushered him away from Luna Youngman's home, back to his own dwelling where he'd have to rethink this whole murder thing .
Surely, they had more time. Tanner could give her a few more days. He was generous after all. A kind sort of man when he wanted to be. Luna needed to find out who this mysterious BBK was anyhow, and she certainly couldn't do that if she was dead, living on in his memories like a returning program of merriment and uncompromised entertainment. It sounded well and good but not great. Definitely not perfect.
For now, Tanner would wait - wait and try not to think about that bare, silky leg hanging off the bed.