Hell en Pointe | Alastor ✓

chapter 22

"Kentucky?" you said. "You drove us to my fucking hometown?" You scrambled out of the car, shoving the door out of your way and standing up, resting your hand on the roof of the car. You looked around. It was the gas station just off two-twenty-four, the one your parents would always stop at and get you a Bug Juice as a kid.

"Is there a problem?" said Alastor kindly, shutting off the ignition and joining you outside of the car. He shut his door softly.

Then it hit you.

No. Ohhhh nonononono.

"Alastor?" you called sweetly.

"Yes, my dear?" he said, a little off-put by your tone.

"Is this guy you want to murder, oh, I dunno," you slowly turned around to look at him, "Tall, skinny, wears a pair of ugly ass crocodile skin boots around with an even more atrocious cowboy hat?"

"That's the one!"

Oh my God.

"You said he was an 'old buddy,'" you said cautiously. "Did you by any chance mean his great grandfather? The, uhm," you did jazz hands, "famous country talk show host?"

"Hmm," Alastor hummed, narrowing his eyes. "How's you figure that out, dear?"

"Well, I don't know," you jabbed an acuusatroy finger at him. "Maybe the fact that he's my ex fucking boyfriend from when I was a teen, and his great grandfather was freakin' John Yother of all freakin' people!"

"Did you just say his great grandson was your..." Alastor dead panned, his smile drooping. "...ex... boyfriend?"

"Uh, yeah," you said like it was the most obvious thing ever. "And I'm guessing you're beefing with his dead-ass great grandfather for...?" You gestured for him to finish for you.

"He slandered me on his show on the radio all the way back in '28, my dear!" Alastor grinned, making it seem like his reasoning for wanting to kill his nemesis's descendant was completely justified. "I didn't get to kill him myself — the old fucker died of a stroke — so I'll just go kill his grandson! I've had this planned for decades my dear!" Alastor tilted his head and his grin grew. "What's the new generation's saying..? 'Karma's a bitch..?"

"Alastor, honey," you said, trying to suppress your anger. The air was even colder up here, and you were freezing your ass off the longer you were outside of this gas station. Thankfully, it was pretty much deserted so nobody was here to witness you and Alastor bickering. "You can't just kill my freakin' ex, m'kay?"

"All the more reason to!"

"What do you mean?" you asked quickly.

"Why, do you still love him?" said Alastor, his eyes flashing over with a darkness. "Not that it matters. The young boy will perish within the next few hours by my hands whether you like it or not, but, I must admit, I am quite curious. Why are you so against me murdering him?"

"I—" you looked off to the side, debating if you should say anything. You finally locked eyes with Alastor. "Look. I'll explain on the way. Let's just get back in the car."

Alastor agreed and the two of you were soon back on the road. It wasn't very long after a short silence that he reinitiated the topic, pushing you to describe what happened between you and the boy in detail. Why was he so curious? you wondered.

"I was in a pageant when I was fourteen," you said, staring ahead at the winding country roads with your arms folded over your chest. Alastor listened intently. "Wore this beautiful blue gown, had my hair all done up in curls and had flawless makeup. I'd never looked more beautiful. I was the southern belle, I guess you could say."

You have a sidelong glance to Alastor for a second. He looked like he was imagining it in his head. You raised a brow.

"Anyway," you continued on. "That's where we met. I was a freshman in high school then, and he was a junior. We'd sat together at lunch a few times, knew each other through mutual friends. We were apart of this town's elite. We were the prime of popularity." You shrugged. "I guess it was only fate that we ended up getting together. We were sort of an 'it' couple, i guess you could say. We dated until I got into adulthood."

"Hm," was all Alastor had to say. You looked at him again. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so hard.

"Anyway," you said. "We broke up around the time you came along. I made that deal and it ruined my relationship." You looked at the ceiling, thinking for a moment. "Well, I ruined the relationship. I kind of started to go crazy. I would lose my mind in jealousy whenever he even looked at another girl. I think I killed about three girls at our school and six from other schools by the time I graduated."

"And he found out?" Alastor's voice was strained.

You shook your head. "Nope. Nobody ever found out. I don't even think people in Hell know I was a serial killer when I was alive." You looked out the window, feeling distant. "Anyway, he was abusive as shit. He beat the crap out of me whenever I would get jealous, but I would just keep coming back for more. I didn't know anything else."

"And you're still in love with him?" Alastor sounded furious. You looked at him in shock from the sound of his voice. His smile was completely gone. Like, completely.

"Uh, uhm... no," you said, struggling to form words. "Hell no, I mean. Of course not. He was a sick fuck, but I was too. And the last thing I wanna do is kill him because I'll probably end up having to look at his dumbass face in Hell."

"You know, my dear," Alastor began. His voice had never sounded this deep and calculated before. "I was considering leaving him alone, for the sake of getting us home quicker." He turned to look at you, but he didn't smile. He did anything but smile — and it scared you fucking shitless. "But now? Ho..."

"Alastor?" you said quietly, but he didn't answer you. He stepped on the gas and the car lurched forward. You yelped. At this rate, you'd be at your ex's house in no time; it wasn't very far from the gas station.

And it wasn't very long before you pulled into the familiar suburban home. It was a small two-story house made out of pale bricks and birch wood, with freshly painted black shutters and a perfectly paved driveway, a sleek bright purple Challenger sitting in the driveway.

Alastor didn't even say anything when he parked in the driveway, the stolen car hanging a little over the road. He didn't bother to rub the blood off his face or his remove his gloves. He merely marched up to the door and banged on it.

You ran up to him, following him in a jog. "Alastor!" you whisper-yelled, but the brunette paid you no mind. What the fuck was going on with him?

Then, somebody answered the door, but it wasn't Caden.

It was a woman.