Murder On The Air Chapter Six

Chapter Six: “I Would’ve Done So Already”

(Trigger warning)

October, nineteen hundred and eight

During one night that would soon scar him for life, twelve year old Alastor was woken up by thuds and muffling sounds. His mother was cleaning up the kitchen after a long late day of work. The sounds wouldn't stop, so the young boy got up to investigate. He walked quietly down the upstairs hallway and saw a few empty beer bottles leaned up against the wall. The door to his father's room was open a crack and a thin sliver of yellow light shone through.

Very strange. His father was usually never up this late. He opened the door a bit and a most horrifying sight met his eyes.

A young blonde-haired flapper dame lay naked on the bed, legs spread out, hands gripping the white sheets. She arched her back and moaned in ecstasy. Lying on top of her, was none other than his father, his penis going in and out of her with deep thrusts. Alastor could not hold back a shaken breath.

The moaning stopped. Louis' cock slipped out in a wet mess. With a crack of his neck, he turned toward his son.

It was like staring into the eyes of the Devil himself, pure dark eyes, full of anger and malice. The woman, stared confused.

He gave her a look that said, "I'll be right back."

He bellowed, "Alastor!"

The boy ran for his life. He heard the stomping of feet rapidly approach. He dashed into his room, trying to close the door, but thick white hands pried it open. Louis towered over him like a wild hairless ape with a black mustache and a frazzled mop of black hair. He locked the door and grabbed Alastor by his shirt collar.

"Clothes off," he demanded.

His teeth chattered.

"Are you deaf, boy? Now!"

With shaking hands, Alastor removed his shirt and pants and finally his undergarments.

Louis nodded and retrieved something long and black from a hook up above.

The boy's eyes grew wide. "Papa, no, no, please!"

"I've always known there was somethin' wrong with you," he stated. "Daily blasphemy against God, clumsy at sports, doesn't bat an eye at any girls."

The whip made impact against his light brown back, legs, and chest. He cried out at every painful sting.

"I always have to teach you a lesson every other day it seems. But to rudely intrude on me and my girl's privacy…"

Magic didn't spark to life from his hands, no matter how hard he tried.

Tears flowed down his face as rough hands grasped mercilessly at his frail body.

"I deserve this punishment! Say it," Louis demanded.

"I…d…deserve this punishment…" the boy stuttered.

"Again!"

Alastor repeated it in a frantic yell, anxious to get the torture over with. Where was his mother?!

Loretta was humming as she washed a pot, then suddenly heard some muffled yells from upstairs. She was wearing a dress of red and purple.

"Now what in da names of Heaven and Hell is goin' on up there?" she asked.

She turned off the water and walked up the stairs. The commotion and fighting grew louder. It appeared to be coming from Alastor's room. She peered into the master bedroom and saw a random blonde woman, waiting in bed. The two women gasped, then stared each other down.

"Ah strongly suggest that ya get ready ta leave this house, if ya know what's best for ya," Loretta chided.

"Why do you talk like that? I can barely understand you," she replied, fluffing her blonde hair.

"Here, Ah'll make it simple for ya," she said pointing down the hall. "Leave."

"No, he's waiting for me."

A gut-wrenching felling arrived in her gut…a feeling that only grew as she heard the screams. She rushed toward the white door with a long black handle. She grabbed it and pushed own, but it wouldn't budge.

"Louis! Alastor! What's going on?"

"Mama, help!" cried her son's voice.

"Shut your trap!" his father boomed as another crack sounded.

Loretta banged hard on the door. "Ya betta let him go right now! And who's that lady in your room?"

"None of your business, woman!"

"You let him out or Ah'll divorce ya!"

Louis let out a sickening laugh. "We both know I'm the head of household. You're my wife and you're staying with me! Now close your head!"

Loretta swore in French, kicked and pounded at the door to no avail. "Alastor!"

"…fucking sissy of a boy!" Louis yelled. "Wait, you're not into girls. That only means one thing. You must be horny for other guys!"

"That's not true, father!" he protested. "I'm not into anybody! I just dance with girls for fun. They're my friends!"

"Lazy dewdropper boy with nothin' better to do than to sit at home and doze off to musicals. Ya tryin' to be a disappointment to me and the Lord?"

"No father, I swear! I…I've tried hard at everything you taught me and I've gotten much better! Hunting, running, shooting, everything."

In fact, Louis was stunned and a little frightened at how fast he had improved. He wouldn't be surprised if his son ruined his reputation one day. If he indeed used dark magic of the Devil, it was only a matter of time if he used it to hurt both of them or even his mother in a reckless craze.

Thus, his son had to learn his place.

"Not good enough!" The man's white face turned beat red, his breath smelling of beer and cigar smoke. "I can see why those at school take you to be a weird sap. You're lost in your own puny head, not giving a flyin' horsefeather about what goes on in the real world. You bring mud into the house every day after frolicking around outside like it's no big deal. What a disappointment."

"Papa, I'm not a disappointment!"

"If you wanna live under this roof, I expect you to follow my rules. Tell me, you're a bi-racial freak who hits on any guy he sees, is that right?"

The young boy shook his head. "No."

"Answer the question truthfully, you liar."

"Papa, stop!"

"Answer the god damn question, boy!"

The whip struck again. "Yes!" he lied in desperation.

"Thatta boy," he nodded in approval.

A strong punch to Alastor's jawbone left him wailing. He had a bad feeling that he'd wake up in the morning with several bruises.

"You gonna…leave me on the streets?" Alastor groaned. "Better there than with you…"

Louis slapped him in the face. "You might end up there if you don't find a decent job. Believe me, if I wanted to kick you out and leave you to die…"

He spoke in a low voice.

"I would've done so already."

Kicks, scratches, whips…the assaults went on, Alastor gritting his teeth against the sharp sensations. He tried to concentrate on his mother's soothing voice from outside. He could hear her sobbing from behind the door.

"You're a worthless sissy slut!" Louis bellowed. "Say it."

"I…I'm a worthless sissy slut…" he looked down.

"Louder! Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Alastor stared, tears in his eyes and repeated the phrase again and again. He was utterly humiliated…a sickening feeling inside him every time he spoke those self-degrading sentences. The spanking was especially painful…his brown bottom turning red as a beet. Alastor closed his eyes and waited until it was over. He looked at his father and obeyed his commands, anxious for the torment to end.

At long last, the beatings stopped. His body ached all over, brown skin beat red.

Alastor thought it had ended…

Then his father had a crazed look in his eyes. He slowly walked over to him, a sway in his hunky hips.

"You like men, do ya?" he asked.

Alastor lied and nodded, feeling helpless. Louis began stroking his own dick.

"Well, then, for taking your punishment, I'll give you a little reward…"

He was pinned down onto his bed, stomach first by his father's large hands. Struggling and screaming was useless.

A horrible presence of something long, thick and foreign, pulling in and out of him from behind…

Rough calloused hands exploring light brown skin, tugging his neither regions, every touch a sickening violation.

The horrid taste of flesh and semen in his mouth, the choking and gagging worsening the experience.

An odorous smell in the air…a slimy substance, sticking to him and inside him, like a liquid pathogen that could never be cleansed away. The room was abuzz with child screams of protest, clashing with low grunts and manly moans of pleasure.

He felt like a deer that had been run over and spit on.

His father's face inches from his own…

Speaking in a bone-chilling whisper…

"…and don't you ever spy on me with my other sheba again, ya hear me?! You were unlucky enough to be born as it is. Crying pussy…"

He stomped out of the room, and slammed the door to the master bedroom. Alastor brawled into his pillow for what seemed like hours. He wanted to die then and there. His skin sweaty, covered with bruises and harsh blood-filled gashes.

"Je suis desole…mon fils…"

Soft dark brown arms enveloped his weak form, as his mother sat down on the bed beside him. He knew that comforting smell of perfume and herbs anywhere. She held him in her arms and closed her eyes, tears falling down.

"Geri."

A large teal blue aura outlined both of their bodies. Blue voodoo symbols hovered around the room, locked in up and down movements. White light shone over Alastor's body, mending his wounds, making the bruises vanish and turning the bloody gashes into faint scars.

But the emotional and mental scars would never heal…not even by the magic.

The light and symbols faded. Alastor groaned and lifted his head slightly.

"Mama?"

The smile on her face paled in comparison to the sadness in her brown eyes. "I'm here, Al."

Alastor promptly passed out. Loretta quietly carried him into the bathroom and cleaned him up. The master bedroom was quiet. Louis and the other lady were sleeping.

Loretta held back the gut wrenching feeling and carried her son back to his room. He was wrapped protectively in a white towel.

She sang a Creole lullaby as she tucked him into bed and placed a new pile of clothes next to him. Choking back more sobs, she kissed him on the forehead. Now, she was feeling guilt at another tragic situation beyond her control. Alastor had felt bad that he couldn't stop Louis from burning down Antoinette's cottage.

Now the nagging, soul-crushing sensation had looped back around. Not being able to save her son…no amount of guilt could describe it.

"I'm sorry…"

The next morning, Louis and the lady left for the day without saying a word.

Loretta spoke in English, her smile radiant and kind… "Your favorite meal, sweetheart. Thought it'd cheer you up."

Alastor sat down and his eyes lit up. A hot colorful dish of jambalaya sat waiting for him. A mesh-up of pink shrimp, onions, green pepper slices, sausage bits and a few other vegetables. The first taste sent a fiery kick to his tongue.

"Hot sauce, of course…" she said.

Alastor chewed happily, imagining that he was eating his father's fried fingers.

She tenderly touched her son's cheeks, wiping away the remaining tears.

"You're not worthless. You're not a sissy. Don't believe anything your father says to you. You are my son…and no matter what you do, I'll always love you."

"Y-you really believe that?"

"I swear by the Lord above, I do." She planted a kiss on top of his head of brown hair.

She tenderly lifted up the corners of his mouth, a playful look on her face. Alastor's cheeks blushed in happiness.

"Hey, don't forget to smile, my dear. You're never strong nor fully dressed without one!"

"Will you be a wife forever?" Alastor asked.

Loretta shook her head. "Fanm pou you tan, manman pou tout tan." (Wife for a time, mother for all time). "You will always be my first priority."

The two of them shared an embrace as the weak sun rays managed to shine through the nearby window.

January, nineteen hundred and nine

Alastor had turned thirteen.

"Happy Birthday, Al!" Loretta smiled as she made him, not a cake, as Alastor hated sweets, but an extra dish of jambalaya, complete with deer meat. Louis briefly said happy birthday before going off to work.

In nineteen ten, age fourteen, Alastor had studied hard and passed his entrance exam. He would soon go into high school. He now had a new pair of round glasses that he always wore. His brown hair was longer and tied back in a ponytail. He started having cups of dark coffee every morning, and continued to do so for the rest of his life.

Alastor had gotten much better at basketball. He was even considered to be one of the best players at his school! The jersey he wore still had the same number on it: fifty two. He effectively dodged the other players and even made some slam dunks.

However, as much as he enjoyed the exercise and competition, his love of music and entertainment was first and foremost. He still had a strong distaste for baseball, football, math and history.

Alastor had won a game of chess with another classmate. He had the white king in checkmate using a black knight, a rook and several pawns. He joked that since he had won, he would take the white princess as well.

One day, Alastor walked along near their family's favorite restaurant, Antione's Restaurant. His ponytail bobbed in the breeze. The Imperial Theater building stood proud not too far away. It was one of Alastor's dreams to perform there.

A sudden shrill came from an alleyway nearby. He turned and saw a black-haired woman wearing a white dress and round hat get mugged by a man in a brown trench coat, boots and hat. His hair was greasy and dark. The man had already taken her money and was gripping hard onto her covered breasts. The woman screamed again, trying in vain to get the guy off.

The mugger clamped a hand over her mouth. A rusted knife was in his other hand and pressed against her neck.

"Shh, now. Don't want to stir up any trouble, do we, doll?"

"Excuse me, sir?"

The man turned. "Scram, kid. I'm busy."

"You'd best leave that dame alone. She didn't do anything to you."

"I said scram!"

He raised his knife over the woman's head as she flinched and whimpered loudly.

Instinct kicked in. Before he knew what he was doing, Alastor leapt at the man, knocking them both to the dirty ground. Both of them wrestled and grunted. They both kicked each other in the face. Alastor slapped the man in the face, before he was shoved off. The man stood up, but Alastor grabbed hold of one of his legs. He swung it to the side and the man collapsed.

"Why you little…"

Alastor got punched in the mouth a few times, and he spat specks of blood at his attacker. His glasses had flown off. The man sat up and aimed his knife at him, but Alastor gripped his hand tightly, holding it back with all his arm strength. The knife grazed his chest and he seethed while staying focused. Using his strength, he shook the man's hand and wrist, causing the knife to clatter to the ground nearby. Alastor rammed his head into the man and shoved him against a nearby green dumpster. The mugger cried out. A splatter of dark red blood dripped down against the green colored side of the dumpster.

Wasting no time, Alastor was on him, pressing his weight so the man couldn't flee. Both of his knees were on the mugger's chest. Alastor's left hand reached for the knife and his fingers found the handle.

The mugger spat. "You half-breed son of a…"

The mugger let out a guttural cry.

Alastor had plunged the knife deep into the mugger's chest and pushed it further in. The man's helpless screams filled his head and a sudden rush filled through Alastor. Fear…excitement…a bit of both. It felt good to finally be in control of a situation for once. The mugger coughed up blood and his body shock. His head and body slumped over to the ground before he let out a few last ragged breaths. His eyes rolled back and his body went still.

Alastor stood up on shaking legs.

He had just killed a man.

He stared at his bloody palms, bloodstained shirt, and the corpse below him. Tentatively, out of the woman's sight, he licked his fingers clean.

A coppery tangy taste in his mouth.

He turned around.

"Are you alright miss?" he asked.

The blonde white woman looked shaken. "Y-yes, I'm fine."

Alastor retrieved his glasses, her purse and her money. The dame took the purse and money.

"You…saved my life…"

"It appears I have."

"I can't thank you enough."

"Who was that?" Alastor asked, curiously.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. "That's the crook who harassed my sister and almost killed my mother. He used to be a family friend until he got on drugs and did horrible things. His name is Marcus."

"Was," said Alastor, smiling a little too widely.

"I need to get going," she said. "My mother's probably worried sick about me. I'm Belle, by the way."

"I would shake hands but…you know…" Alastor mentioned to his hands.

"Right. And who are you?"

"The one who saved your life."

"Your name, silly."

Alastor glanced around for police. He was hesitant to announce his name to strangers. "I…really should go. You can call me…the Vigilante."

"Okay, then. I wish you well."

Alastor made a motion of tipping an invisible top hat to her before racing off into the shadows.

This would be the start of his sinister hunger for blood and flesh. He would trail down the dark path of a serial killer years later, being known by several names, "Louisiana Lunatic," "Bayou Butcher," "Cajun Cannibal," "Creole Cannibal," "Devil of New Orleans," or by a few, "Axeman Two."

But before he trailed down that path, he had tracked down criminals, gang leaders, rapists, and racists, finishing many of them off during his spare time in his teen years. He was able to track them thanks to him practicing blood magic in the forest. Whenever he would enter the city at night or when he was without his parents, he wore a black ski mask and a bike helmet fastened with antlers painted black. The helmet had flame designs on it, a nod to his affinity for fire magic. His clothing was dark brown and black. He carried a hidden knife and shotgun.

He was only caught once by police, when he had taken his mask off at twilight.

"Alastor Crowley, you're under arrest for the murders of…"

The police would never get to finish their sentences, as Alastor swiftly took them out like a ninja of the night. Some people knew his identity while others did not. Many people considered it speculation, and with the help of cloaking magic, Alastor was able to get away with his deed.

Alastor had a favorite Creole saying when he referred to his victims or when he hunted deer: "Ou konn kouri, ou pa konn kache." (You know how to run, but you don't know how to hide. He had taken the meaning literally.)

Thus, teen Alastor was inadvertently known as the Avenger, the Vigilante. Tormentor of evil and an enigmatic fighter for justice. He lived up to his name during his temporary antihero days...

…Before a future traumatic event of grief would cause the young man to snap.

…and a communication invention that would set the course of his career and the expansion of his newfound powers.