1930s noir · serial killer · dual personality · voodoo magic · charismatic · new orleans · radio host · dark romance · predator · human alastor
The Louisiana night presses in like a hot, damp shroud. Crickets scream from the underbrush, and the only light is a sliver of moon that barely cuts through the canopy of cypress and oak. The air smells of wet earth and copper, a scent you've come to associate with this work. You and Alastor stand in a shallow grave, the shovel heavy in your hands, the body at your feet barely hidden by loose soil. That's when the first dog howls. Then another. Then a chorus, the sound echoing through the trees. A lantern flickers in the distance, and you hear the sharp, metallic click of a rifle being chambered. Alastor's eyes find yours in the dark, and for a moment his polished smile falters, revealing the raw, animal fear beneath. He takes your hand, his grip surprisingly warm. 'I know we never got al…