Chapter Text
The irony wasn’t lost on William. They’d thought him too unstable to become a police officer. Really. Him? They should turn to the people already carrying badges. He’d thought he’d done well enough with his responses during the psych evaluation. Something must have slipped through. He just needed another chance. Or better yet, an opportunity to go in and change the records.
But did he really need to join the police?
It wasn’t like he planned to be an officer for a long time. It was just to get to Banks. To find him. Sure, being in the force would allow William access to information he wouldn’t normally be privy to, but there was always a way. Besides, Banks would be his source of information. Eventually. Not getting into the academy was an inconvenience, but only that. In some ways, this could even be seen as a blessing. Just being around the fucking pigs had his blood boiling. If they weren’t fucking scum then their silence and inaction made them just as culpable. They were without virtue. All without saving. If they had any hope of redemption, they would have to save themselves. Though even in that, William doubted many-if any-would succeed. The individuals chosen didn’t matter though. Not truly. It would be the shockwave. The after effects. The change that would come in the police force. Whatever lives had to be sacrificed and however many didn’t matter. It was worth it for the change that would come.
It would be worth it for William to finally get justice against the bastard that had taken everything from him.
So William didn’t go into the academy. He took other routes. Changed his name. He probably should have done that one before applying to the academy, not that it mattered now. He found other jobs. Odd ones here and there. At least to an outside observer. In actuality, William chose each one for a reason. There was always something he could learn. A new technique. A new tool. Something William could use and mold for his own purpose.
When he was ready to move back to the city that had once been home, he found a job in a butcher’s shop. He sought out the job for two reasons. One, he’d had a chance to train under that kind of job before. The skills and having that kind of space at his disposal would be incredibly useful once the games began. Two, after doing a little detective work of his own, he discovered that particular butcher hadn’t always existed. It had once been Constantine Paints . A hobbyist shop. A shop that had once been frequented by locals with an owner who had been a friend of Marcus Banks. It was too perfect to not apply.
His plans hadn’t gone perfectly, but he never let it deter him. He’d worked hard. Had continued to learn and grow. And now he was back. He was almost ready to begin the games.
But just almost. He wasn’t a cop and he and Banks hadn’t interacted yet. He needed another way to gain information. Another way to stay in the loop with the cops while not being a cop. There was a solution. A near perfect solution but no opportunity. He waited. And waited. And–
This was taking too long. If one didn’t fall into his lap, he’d make his own opportunity. He followed. Took notes. Listed each name. Looked into their background as much as he could. He wasn’t going to kill an innocent. He’d only be as bad as the fucking cops if he did that. But there had to be something…
There. One of the bartenders. A dealer. Passing powder and pills to the same people who arrested others on their same addictions. The man probably sold it to them cheap in order to stay out of jail. How unlucky for him. He likely would have preferred jail after William was done with him.
William broke into the bar in order to gain the employee’s personal information. He broke into the man’s home. He followed. He watched. The tools were gathered. The plan was set. This man would become another meaningless statistic to the very people he’d partnered with to fatten his own pockets.
William gained access to the man’s apartment again. He was just as careful as the first time. It was finally coming together. He couldn’t risk a mistake now.
Once again, he watched. He waited. The man came home. William could hear the door lock. He listened to where the man was going. The bedroom or kitchen? The footsteps grew a little distant. William heard the fridge open. He moved out of the bedroom quickly. He knew where the floorboards creaked. William walked around them. He got up behind the man just as he shut his fridge. The knife slipped out. William rammed the blade straight into his throat to prevent any screaming.
He’d thought about this for years. Had created plan upon plan for years. He’d learned to slaughter animals. He knew how to kill people like they were pigs, but this was his first. He wasn’t in a butcher shop. He was in a man’s apartment. He wasn’t holding a nail gun to a pig’s head. He was holding a struggling human being as his throat spilled red. He’d killed a man. He was killing a man. This person was going to die because of William.
Doubt filtered in. Just for a moment. He pulled the struggling, twitching body with him to the ground.
What was he doing? What the hell was he doing?! Oh god, he might be sick. What would his dad think? The blade clattered to the ground. His hand covered the large, open wound in a desperate attempt. Blood bubbled up between his gloved fingertips. He blinked hard. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. A whimper left his throat.
“I’m sorry, dad. I’m sorry. Daddy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” It was like the voice wasn’t his own. Tiny. Young. He blinked. The body stopped struggling. A lifeless wheeze left the lips. William moved his hand back. Deep red dripped between his fingers. He’d cut too deep to have any hope of stopping the bleeding. He violently shoved the body off him. He stared at it with wide eyes.
He’d…
He’d actually…
His dad was dead. He’d been dead for years. It didn’t matter what Charlie Emmerson would have thought. The justice and truth he’d believed in had been a lie. He’d died because he’d thought a cop would do the right thing. If only Banks had been the one to meet his dad and not Dunleavy. Maybe it could have been different…
Thinking about an alternate future was pointless. William looked to the dead body. He swallowed the bile in his throat. He imagined Dunleavy lying there instead. His lips twitched.
He’d done it. He could do this. It was no longer just an idea. A fantasy. It was real. And if he could do this, he could do more. And once he had a partner? He had Banks at his side? They wouldn’t be able to stop him.
William stood up. He was careful not to leave a bloody handprint. At least not anywhere planned. He took the gloves and shoved them into his pocket. He took out another set. He stole the man’s stash and some cash. He even left the knife. It couldn’t be tracked back to him and the cops would only further assume the killer was a desperate junky and hadn’t had any ulterior motives. They’d likely look for past clients that might have felt shorted or were hard on funds. After all, there’d be no evidence of a break-in. They’d assume the man must have known his assailant. Would look at familiar contacts at best and at worst think this was a random burglary turned robbery gone wrong. They would never know it was William.
He left following his pre-planned route. He destroyed anything with blood on it. He took a shower to wash off the rest.
And then it was back to waiting.
Waiting and watching.
The small time dealer never even made front page.
A job posting went up.
William went in with a pleasant, bright smile and applied.
It went well enough, but on top of everything, he got lucky.
“Says you’re working at Constantine’s ? The butcher’s place off seventh?”
“Yes. Just mornings though so my afternoons and nights are completely free.”
“Then you know Eddie?”
“Yeah. He hired me.” William easily latched onto the connection. It hadn’t been intentional, but he ran with it all the same. By the end of the interview, he was already being offered the job. William smiled. He accepted the position.
He was surrounded by scum. Drunk scum who had loose lips and never looked to the bartender as long as he got the order right. An unofficial cop bar was still infuriating, but much more manageable than working beside these fucks. William continued to work hard. Just as he had all his life. He took the odd shifts no one wanted. He worked late into the night. He watched and listened and learned–
“Lisa’s gonna have your ass for missing dinner again.”
“I can’t. Not tonight. Not fucking tonight.” A groan followed the words. A swig from the beer bottle. “Better not to show up at all than to show up late. Least that way any blowup isn’t in front of her parents.”
“You’re sleeping on the couch again, Zeke. I’d bet money on it.”
“Fuck off.”
“Zeke…” the name automatically left William’s lips. It was a sigh. A breathless, needy prayer. He knew the man’s full name. He’d always known his full name. But the man had always been larger than life to William. Officer Banks. And then Detective Banks. A savior. William’s hero. To call him by a name, and a nickname at that, it was so personal. So close. This was the closest William had been to him since the shooting. He hadn’t even noticed him sitting down. How had he not noticed?
“What the fuck you want?”
William realized the two men were staring and that he’d stopped wiping the counter. The friend looked irritated at having been interrupted. “Sorry, just don’t think I’ve ever met a Zeke before. That short for anything?”
“Ezekiel. Only my father calls me that,” snorted Zeke. “Haven’t seen you around.”
“He replaced Kevin,” Zeke’s friend supplied. “Got stabbed in his apartment.”
“Right. Yeah, I remember now.”
The pal kept talking. He moved back to the previous conversation without a segue. It didn’t allow William time to interject again besides a, “Can I get you anything else?”
“No thanks, kid.”
His skin crawled, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. “William.”
There wasn’t any recognition in Zeke’s eyes. Nothing clicked. A smidge of disappointment sparked up, but William tried not to let it get to him. Zeke had no idea what the kid would look like now. Why would he think that kid would be looking for him? Would try to find him after all these years? William would tell him. Zeke would learn soon enough. For now, he simply relished in the slight, passive, “Nice to meet ya, William,” before he turned back to his partner.
William suppressed a shiver at hearing his own name on Zeke’s lips. He quickly focused back on cleaning up the bar, walking over when he was called, pouring liquor and cracking open beers. Things like that. His eyes never really left Zeke though. Not until the man stood with a tired sigh and followed his buddy out of the bar.