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Thank goodness for the winter holidays and well-timed novel ideas, Pitch thinks as he observes the outdoor ice rink from a conveniently placed bench. His idea for a murder mystery centered around ice skating came to him in the middle of November, right on time for the many winter festivals and events that set up public, outdoor skating rinks. Perfect for observational research.
There’s a good mix of people out on the ice. Many couples, but also groups of friends and families, children as young as four or five all the way to elderly folk in their seventies and eighties. Most seem to have the basics down, moving with relative confidence around the rink, though some are doing small tricks like skating backwards. He’d seen a young woman do a jump two days ago at a different rink, though this rink’s rules state that skates must stay on the ice at all times—wise, with how many people are on the ice. It won’t do for someone to get injured because of a wayward skate.
This rink seems to be busier than a few of the others Pitch had observed, perhaps due to the bustling winter market connected to it. It’s beautiful despite the crowd, strings of colorful lights already on due to the early setting sun and the warm laughter of people out for some fun.
Movement at the corner of his eye causes Pitch to glance away from the skaters to a young man dressed in a blue puffer jacket who seems to be approaching him.
“Hi,” he says, pale blue eyes shining bright in the fading light. “I’m Jack and I was wondering if you’d like to skate with me? Not to sound weird, but I noticed you earlier. You have amazing movement when you walk, you’re a very graceful figure, and I just got this feeling that I’d love to see how beautiful you are on the ice.” His breath puffs up in the cold air, nearly the same shade of white as his lovely disheveled hair. Begging for a hand to run through it.
It can’t hurt to indulge.
Pitch smiles. “I’m Pitch and I must say, I’m flattered. Are your pretty words just to see me skate?”
“Well I’d like to get to know you while skating,” Jack admits, leaning in a little with a cheeky smile. “Maybe grab something to eat afterwards—I don’t know about you but skating always leaves me hungry—but I’ll take what I can get.”
He can’t help but grin up at Jack. The young man is cute, bold enough to just ask him out and offer up another activity after they skate, but smart enough to leave openings for Pitch to maneuver in. “I could be persuaded to don a pair of skates, for you,” he says.
“Persuade huh?” Jack muses.
“Indeed. Persuade me, Jack,” Pitch purrs. “And if you do well, I'll think about dinner.”
Jack hums, exaggerating a ‘thinking’ face while tapping his lip with his finger—his cracked, pale pink lip that Pitch has the sudden desire to nip at and see if it brightens to deep blood red.
Pull yourself together, he chides himself.
“Tell me if I’m wrong, but you seem the type to not enjoy being stuck in crowds, right?” At Pitch’s nod, Jack grins. “Right. Problem is, this rink’s only going to get busier from here, which will make skating hard to enjoy even if you’re doing it with me.” Pitch chuckles. “Plus, I know this market. They’ve got some live music coming in around 5 that’ll be right next to the rink, making it even harder to have a conversation.”
“And what is your solution, then?”
“There’s a pond, about a ten minute walk from here, that you can skate on. It’s not as popular as this rink, what with the winter market and stuff, but that means there’s way less crowds and less noise, so we can talk in peace.”
Jack is so bright, Pitch wants to say yes. But...
“A secondary location with less people? That’s how you get murdered, Jack. And as pretty as you are, I am not one to risk my life for a cute face.” He’s read about enough of these scenarios to have more caution—even if he’s tempted. Much too tempted.
Jack shrugs, smiling but with less power than before. A calm, understanding smile. “Makes sense, can’t be too careful, even if you think I’m cute.” He winks, still chipper. “Hope I catch you here when it’s less busy.” And with that, the young man walks away, quickly disappearing into the crowd.
Pitch looks back at the rink, where a rush of people are stepping onto the ice. It is getting crowded, much too crowded for him to consider stepping on. He should leave, go home and make up some soup and a hot cup of tea. Brainstorm ideas as to how ice skating and murder will go together. Do anything besides think about Jack’s snowy hair and chapped lips and the spark in his eyes. His grin, a peek at pearly white teeth, eager and confident.
The way Jack had described his form—beautiful, graceful, speaking of some need to see him on the ice... Pitch had been thinking about ice skating, why shouldn’t he do it with someone so clearly interested in him? Umbra is always telling him to go out and actually do something besides research, perhaps this is a chance to do just that.
Before he can come up with perfectly sound logic for why he should absolutely not do this, Pitch stands up and goes searching for the distinctive white hair.
Jack hums to himself as he stands up on said skates, looking over the small, ignored pond where his victims are splayed out across. Just two today, arranged just so as if they’re a snowflake. He would’ve gone for a third if Pitch had accepted, that tall, willow thin frame laid at the center with the two other victims’ blood pooling around him. But two is enough for Jack, especially when these two will look perfect with their limbs detached.
Pitch wouldn’t have. Someone with Pitch’s gorgeous form deserves something much more special than dying at the end of his skates.
Maybe he’ll see Pitch again and ask him out on a true date, not just one to lure him away to be murdered.
Gliding onto the ice, Jack begins a loop, breathing in the cold winter air as he mentally runs through the routine he’s mapped out for today. Weeks of practice, starting with just the routine to make sure he has the right amount of force, then doing it with foam to make sure he can still slice through it without injuring himself, and finally doing a trial run with some bones he’d taken from the butcher. All for this moment.
He glances around the pond’s surrounding edge, just to make sure no one’s here, then looks down at his semi-conscious victims. “Ready to make the front page news?” he asks, grinning. “I hope they give me a cool name, something with a pun about skates.”
With that, he gets to work.
His skates cut through the ice, building momentum until he’s leaping into the air, twisting once, twice, landing with a SNAP! The first victim’s arm is neatly severed at the elbow, blood arcing.
Jack continues, seesawing from side to side as he eyes his next landing. A jump, a spin, CRACK goes the second victim’s wrist.
An arm, an ankle, another arm, another wrist, Jack cuts across the ice and blood until all the arms, two wrists, and two ankles are removed from the bodies. Blood paints his lines, both from what clung to his blade and what pooled into the divots.
Exactly how he hoped it would be.
He still needs to sever one leg from each body, but he doesn’t trust his skates to have enough force to do so without injuring himself—despite what Twiner may think, Jack does know his limits. Sure he’ll push them, but not so much that it puts his freedom in jeopardy.
Jack cracks his neck and skates over to the side, where he left his bag and his bone saw. It’s simple work, removing the legs from the bodies. Not much blood sputters out, now that the people are dead and have been bleeding out.
The torsos lay next to each other, faces frozen in pain and terror. He cut off the left legs, so he only has to rearrange the attached legs a little bit to create the snowflake prongs. Left leg of his first victim could’ve stayed on, but it’s a pain to crack legs out of the hip joints post mortem by himself. Much easier to detach then arrange it so it’s laying almost perpendicular to the attached leg. Second victim’s left leg gets the same treatment but on their right side, against the still-attached leg and hip.
The left arm of victim one and right arm of victim two are fine, they just look better detached so the blood can splatter and pool as it wants. Victim one’s right arm goes in the space between the head and shoulder, around the ear so it points past the head, mirrored by victim two’s left arm.
Stepping back, Jack confirms that everything looks good and now it’s time for the hands and feet. He’d debated with himself over how the feet and hands should go, before deciding he’d figure it out in the moment. Keeping the fun alive with moments of spontaneity even in his more planned murders.
Three of the feet are arranged between the legs, as connecting lines between victim one’s legs, victim two’s legs, and between both victims’ legs. He places victim two’s hands between victim one’s leg and arm, then between both arms, and victim one’s hands between victim two’s leg and arm, then between both arms. Finally, Jack places victim one’s remaining foot upright, between victim one’s right arm and victim two’s left arm.
It’s perfect.
“Magnificent.”
Jack whips around to see Pitch, beautiful Pitch in his elegant black peacoat and black scarf with gold embroidery, standing on the snowy bank of the pond. Staring back at Jack and his bloody human snowflake.
He has to kill him. He has to . But Jack’s on the ice in skates and Pitch is at the top of the bank, and the cops have got to be on their way—he’s got, what, ten minutes? At most? And that’s only if there aren’t any cops in the area responding. Pitch can identify Jack in a line up, but he doesn’t have his last name yet which means Jack might—MIGHT—just be able to get out if he doesn’t try to kill Pitch. But that means leaving a loose end, and his skates will need to be destroyed, and his car’s parked two blocks away, and—
“Truly magnificent work, Jack,” Pitch says. He’s smiling. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting you to be a murderer despite my insinuation previously.” Why is he so pretty against the bare tree branches?
“Yeah it’s always funny when someone says that to me,” Jack blankly replies. “How’d you find me?”
An elegant shrug. “I followed you.”
“You literally told me you wouldn’t go with me.”
“I am allowed to change my mind, aren’t I?” Pitch sighs. “You are quite handsome Jack. And interesting. You were direct, I appreciate that. I suppose you had intended to cut my limbs off with your skates, but I’m still flattered.”
“I was asking you out so I could kill you,” Jack acknowledges. “But I also think you’re handsome. Which leaves me wondering why you haven’t run away yet.” Could Pitch be stalling for the police?
“I’m taking notes.”
What?
Obviously picking up on Jack’s confusion, Pitch smiles a little bit more and explains. “I write murder mystery novels. In fact, I was here today because I’ve been thinking about ice skating and murder. I wasn’t sure how the two would connect until I saw your performance.”
Jack frowns. “Right, because I’m supposed to believe that. When are the police coming?”
“Hopefully not until we’re long gone,” Pitch replies, “as I haven’t called them.” Bullshit. “I would like to ask you on a date, Jack. A nice public cafe, to warm us up and make sure you don’t kill me immediately. Perhaps that dinner you offered, I believe you mentioned skating works up an appetite for you.”
Oh.
He can’t help it—Jack laughs. “You remembered.” What the hell, he may as well. If Pitch had seen him skating, he would’ve called the police instantly, which means the police would’ve been here by now. Or he would've heard the sirens by now. And Pitch... Pitch looks comfortable. Relaxed, or as relaxed as he looked on that bench when Jack first approached him. “Alright Pitch, I need to clean up here, but sure. It’s a date.”
“Wonderful,” Pitch says. “I would love to pick your brain on how you prepared for this... performance.”
They agree to meet at a cafe a couple blocks from the winter market in an hour. Dinner to be discussed there.
Jack cleans his skates and the bone saw off before packing everything back into his bag and hiking up to the sidewalk, watching Pitch’s retreating figure move in that graceful glide which first drew his eye. Eventually Pitch walks out of sight, and Jack heads to his car. He goes home, cleans any flecks of blood off of him, changes from his skating leggings to some thicker brown pants he grabbed at ren faire three years ago, hides his equipment away, texts Twiner that he’s got a date and to not wait up.
It’ll be fine, he thinks as he pockets his trusty knife for emergency murdering needs. He can always kill Pitch afterwards. It’s just a date. And possibly the start of something new.