(Author note: Enjoy the 7k words chapters my friends- it took me quite a damn while to write it.
Man, writing hunts isn't easy.)
---------------------------------------
Commissioner David Rhodes leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight as he studied the young man seated across from him.
Lucien Mikaelson didn't look like most consultants Rhodes had encountered in his thirty years with the Chicago PD.
No nervous fidgeting, no eager-to-please smile, no desperate attempt to impress.
Instead, the young man sat with casual confidence, one leg crossed over the other, examining the room with mild interest.
"Your uncle speaks highly of your analytical abilities," Rhodes said finally, breaking the silence. "Says you've got a knack for unusual cases."
Lucien's lips curved into a slight smile. "Elijah tends to exaggerate. Family loyalty and all that."
Rhodes reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a thick manila folder, worn at the edges and stamped with "COLD CASE" in faded red ink. He placed it on the desk between them but kept his hand firmly on top.
"Before we discuss any consultant position, I need to see what you can actually do," Rhodes said, his voice measured. "Talk is cheap, especially when it comes with connections like yours."
"Fair enough," Lucien replied with an easy shrug. "What have you got?"
Rhodes tapped the folder. "Case #98-2176. Five victims across three states between '98 and 2000. Killer contacted families afterward with details only the perpetrator would know."
He paused, studying Lucien's reaction. "Every detective who's touched this case has hit a wall. Joint task force disbanded in 2003. Last communication from the killer was in 2005."
Lucien leaned forward slightly, interest flickering in his eyes. "Mind if I take a look?"
Rhodes slid the folder across the desk. "You've got 48 hours. Show me something my people missed, and we'll talk terms."
Lucien flipped open the folder, scanning the first page with practiced efficiency. "Any physical evidence still in storage?"
"Everything's preserved. Captain Chen can give you access and will handle any other legal matters when it comes to this test."
As if on cue, the office door opened, and Captain Evelyn Chen entered, her posture military-straight. "Commissioner, Detective Reeves is here about the Lakeshore case."
Rhodes nodded. "Captain Chen, Mr. Mikaelson will be reviewing case #98-2176. Give him whatever access he needs."
Chen's expression remained neutral, but her eyes narrowed slightly as she assessed Lucien. "Of course. Follow me, Mr. Mikaelson."
Lucien rose smoothly, tucking the folder under his arm. "I'll have something for you tomorrow, Commissioner."
Rhodes raised an eyebrow. "I said 48 hours."
"I know," Lucien replied with a casual smile. "But I'm thinking this won't take that long."
-------------------------
The Mikaelson dining room gleamed under crystal chandeliers, silver cutlery catching the light as servants moved silently around the massive table.
Klaus sat at the head, wine glass in hand, watching with amusement as Lucien spread crime scene photos across the polished mahogany, disrupting the formal dinner setting.
"Really, Lucien," Rebekah complained, moving her plate away from a particularly graphic autopsy photo. "Must we have murder with our meal?"
"Sorry, Aunt Bekah," Lucien replied absently, arranging the photos in a specific pattern. "Just trying to see if there's something I'm missing."
Elijah, immaculate in his tailored suit, leaned forward to examine the map Lucien had placed at the center. "The geographical distribution is interesting. Each victim discovered at a cardinal direction from Chicago."
"Exactly," Lucien nodded. "East, west, south, north, and the final victim-" he tapped the photo of Aisha Williams, "-directly in the center of Illinois."
Klaus swirled his wine, the ruby liquid catching the light. "You realize I could have this solved for you by morning? A few calls to my contacts, perhaps a visit from one of my hybrids to the investigating officers..."
"I appreciate the offer," Lucien said, not looking up from his arrangement, "but I need to do this myself."
"Ah yes, the independent streak," Klaus remarked with a knowing smile. "How very... Winchester of you."
Katherine, seated beside Lucien, ran her fingers lightly along his arm. "The killer contacted the families afterward? That's unusually personal."
"For years," Lucien confirmed. "Letters, phone calls, eventually emails. Describing in detail what the victims experienced."
Kol, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly leaned forward. "The body positions and incisions remind me of certain practices I observed in Mesopotamia. Ancient worship rituals for entities that fed on suffering."
Elena, seated across from Lucien, studied one of the crime scene photos with a composure that belied her age. "The symbols carved into their palms - they're not random, are they?"
"No," Lucien agreed, meeting her gaze. Their eyes held for a moment, neither acknowledging the previous night's encounter. "They're definitely deliberate, but they don't match any known occult symbolism in the police databases."
Stefan, casually elegant in a charcoal sweater, picked up one of the autopsy reports. "Complete exsanguination with surgical precision. This killer has medical training."
"The question is," Elijah interjected, "why these particular victims? What connected them?"
Lucien shook his head. "That's what I can't figure out. Different ages, occupations, no social connections, nothing in common except being healthy adults between 24 and 31."
"Perhaps," Klaus suggested, setting down his wine glass, "the connection isn't what they were, but what they represented."
Lucien looked up, something clicking in his mind. "The cardinal directions... the timing... the blood collection..." He fell silent, his thoughts racing ahead.
"Lucien?" Elena's voice pulled him back.
He blinked, refocusing. "Sorry, just... processing. I need to look into something."
Katherine's hand found his under the table, squeezing gently. "You'll figure it out."
-------------------------
Midnight found Lucien in his study, surrounded by case materials organized in meticulous piles.
Maps covered one wall, victim photos another, timelines stretched across a third. He stood before them, hands clasped behind his back, eyes moving from one element to another.
Something was missing. Some connection he couldn't quite grasp.
The door opened quietly, and Elena entered carrying two mugs of coffee. "Thought you might need this," she said, placing one beside him.
"Thanks," he replied, taking a sip without looking away from the wall.
Elena studied the arrangement. "It's like a puzzle with missing pieces."
"Exactly," Lucien agreed. "I can see the shape of it, but not the complete picture."
She moved to stand beside him, close but not touching. Neither mentioned what had happened the previous night - her watching him with Katherine, while... touching herself, alongside his acknowledgment of her presence.
Instead, they stood in comfortable silence, studying the evidence together.
This did internally surprise Elena a lot, since she was so mortified, she was too ashamed to even be alone with Lucien for a single moment, but he treated her normally for the entire day and... She honestly couldn't keep herself away for too long.
"The lunar phases," Elena said suddenly, pointing to a chart Lucien had created. "Each victim disappeared during a specific phase."
Lucien nodded. "First quarter, full moon, last quarter, new moon, and the fifth victim during a lunar eclipse. It's deliberate, but I can't connect it to any known ritual practice that matches the other aspects of this."
As he continued thinking and observing the wounds, his eyes widened. "Wait, could it possibly-"
He moved quickly to his laptop, typing rapidly, until eyes widened again. "Acaroth the Whisperer," he murmured. "Of course."
"You got it?" Elena asked as she looked over his shoulder to look.
"Part of it," Lucien replied. "I know what they did and why. Now I just need to figure out who he is." As he said this, he showed her a picture, of a horse-like shadow, with too many eyes.
"See, It's not in standard occult references because it's too obscure. But it's I believe the worship of a minor Mesopotamian entity associated with whispers, secrets, and ecstatic revelation."
"The cult believed Acaroth granted visions of ecstasy to those who completed the ritual properly. It explains the communications," Lucien said, excitement building in his voice.
"The killer isn't just tormenting the families - he's extending the ritual. Their suffering is part of the offering. And if the killer actually correctly did these rituals and gained from it then..."
"Then it is supernatural," Elena muttered softly in realisation. She turned her head from the image to look into Lucien's eyes, seeing the excitement in it slowly letting way to the coldness beneath.
"So they fit the code," She murmered.
Lucien nodded as he turned to face her, a smile full of teeth on his face, "They fit the code."
-------------------------
Morning light streamed through the dining room windows as the Mikaelsons gathered for breakfast.
Elijah read the financial section of the Tribune while Rebekah scrolled through her phone.
Klaus buttered toast with precise movements, and Kol regaled Stefan with tales of a particularly wild night in the 1650s.
Lucien entered last, hair slightly disheveled, suggesting he'd barely slept. He poured himself coffee and sat heavily at the table.
"Rough night?" Kol inquired with a smirk.
"Research," Lucien replied, gulping the coffee.
"Any progress?" Elijah asked, folding his newspaper.
Lucien shook his head. "I've identified the ritual but not the practitioner. The killer needs medical knowledge, mobility across state lines, and deep understanding of obscure occult practices."
"Speaking of obscure practices," Kol said, reaching for the orange juice, "I once knew a Babylonian priest who could extract a man's entire blood volume without spilling a drop. He used hollow reeds inserted precisely-"
Lucien froze mid-sip, his eyes widening. "What did you say?"
"Hollow reeds," Kol repeated. "Primitive but effective for blood collection during sacrifices."
"That's it," Lucien whispered, setting down his cup with a clatter. "The medical examiner's reports noted the precision of the incisions but couldn't identify the exact method. They weren't looking for something ancient."
He stood abruptly. "I need to check something."
"You told him about that because you already figured it out didn't you?" Rebekah said to Kol, arms crossed casually, raised eyebrow.
Kol shrugged with a smile on his face as he drunk his glass of orange juice, "You give me too much credit, dear sister," Kol said with a playful smirk.
Nobody bought the deflection.
----------------------
Thirty minutes later, Lucien returned to the dining room, his expression triumphant. "Got it," he announced. "The killer is Dr. Lawrence Thorne, former medical examiner dismissed from Cook County in 1997 for 'concerning behavior' with deceased bodies."
Klaus raised an eyebrow. "And how did you reach this conclusion?"
"The incision pattern matches techniques described in ancient Mesopotamian medical texts, not modern procedures," Lucien explained rapidly.
"Thorne wrote a paper on ancient blood collection methods in 1996. After his dismissal, he disappeared from public record but purchased property in southern Michigan near the Indiana border - perfectly positioned to access all three states where bodies were found."
"Impressive," Elijah acknowledged.
"I need to get this to Commissioner Rhodes," Lucien said, gathering his notes.
Elena watched him with quiet pride. "Your first case solved before you're even officially hired."
Lucien paused, looking around at his family. "Thanks for the help. All of you."
"That's what family is for, love," Rebekah said with a smile.
----------------------
Commissioner Rhodes examined the neatly organized presentation Lucien had prepared, his expression carefully neutral.
Captain Chen stood nearby, arms crossed, while Detective Reeves leaned against the wall, skepticism written across his features.
"Acaroth the Whisperer," Rhodes repeated, testing the name. "And you're saying these murders were part of some ancient ritual?"
"Yes," Lucien confirmed. "The five victims represent the cardinal directions plus zenith, creating a mystical pattern. The specific lunar phases, the blood collection, the communication with families - it all fits the worship practices associated with this entity."
"And you know this how?" Chen asked, her tone precise.
Lucien smiled disarmingly. "I specialized in historical cult behaviors during my studies in Europe. These patterns are documented in several obscure texts."
"So, you found out who did it?" Reeves pushed off from the wall, his interest finally piqued.
Lucien carefully arranged his expression into one of professional disappointment. "No, sadly, That's where my analysis reaches its limit.
The perpetrator would need specific qualifications - medical training, mobility across state lines, and deep knowledge of obscure Mesopotamian rituals.
That narrows the field considerably, but we'd need more data to identify a specific suspect."
"But this connection - the ritual aspect - that's something concrete," Rhodes noted, studying the pattern map Lucien had created.
"The pattern is unmistakable once you know what to look for," Lucien replied modestly. "The ritual requires specific positioning, timing, and methodology. That's why the murders appeared random to investigators who weren't familiar with Acaroth worship practices."
Rhodes nodded slowly, flipping through the presentation again. "So our perpetrator is someone with medical knowledge, access to these obscure texts, and the means to travel extensively between 1998 and 2000."
"Yes," Lucien agreed. "And given the nature of the communications with families, likely someone with a professional writing background or academic experience. The language used suggests higher education."
Rhodes closed the folder, studying Lucien thoughtfully. "This is... unexpected. You've connected dots my best people couldn't see."
"Sometimes it takes fresh eyes," Lucien said with a modest shrug.
"And what would you recommend as next steps?" Rhodes asked.
"Cross-reference medical professionals with backgrounds in ancient Near Eastern studies or occult research," Lucien suggested.
"Focus on those who changed jobs or relocated around 1997-1998. The ritual preparation would have required significant research, so look for unusual book purchases or library loans during that period."
Rhodes nodded, impressed by the practical approach. "Captain Chen, I want a task force assembled to pursue this angle. Detective Reeves, prepare a briefing on this connection for the team."
As they left to carry out their assignments, Rhodes turned back to Lucien. "The consultant position is yours if you want it. Flexible hours, case selection at my discretion, compensation to be discussed."
Lucien extended his hand. "I accept."
Rhodes shook it firmly. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Mikaelson. I have a feeling things are about to get interesting around here."
--------------------
Lucien stepped out of the police headquarters into the bright afternoon sunlight, a small smile playing at his lips.
The weight of the consultant badge in his pocket was new, but not unwelcome. He spotted Stefan waiting in the black Bentley across the street and made his way over.
"How'd it go?" Stefan asked as Lucien slid into the passenger seat.
"I'm officially a consultant for the Chicago PD," Lucien replied, closing the door. "Rhodes was impressed with the ritual connection."
Stefan pulled smoothly into traffic. "Did you tell them about our friend in Michigan?"
"No," Lucien said, "I kept that detail to myself. Gave them the pattern but not the name. They'll eventually figure it out, but it'll take time - database searches, cross-referencing, jurisdictional paperwork."
"Time Dr. Thorne could use to disappear if he gets wind of the investigation," Stefan observed, navigating through downtown Chicago with casual precision.
"Exactly," Lucien agreed, his eyes hardening. "And we can't let that happen."
Stefan glanced over, a smile spreading across his face. "So we're going hunting tonight?"
Lucien nodded, already mentally preparing for what lay ahead. "I have everything we need. Thorne's exact location, floor plans of his property, details of his routine."
"The perfect first case for Chicago's newest police consultant," Stefan remarked with ironic amusement. "Solving it before they even know who to look for."
"They'll solve it eventually," Lucien said, gazing out the window at the city streets. "They'll find evidence at his property after he's gone. The families will get closure through the official channels. Justice will be served both ways."
Stefan's expression grew more serious. "And what about you? How does it feel to have a foot in both worlds now?"
Lucien considered the question, watching pedestrians going about their ordinary lives, unaware of the monsters that walked among them - or the hunters who pursued those monsters.
"Balanced," he said finally, the word carrying weight beyond its simple meaning. "It feels balanced."
-------------------------
The Michigan night was clear and cold, stars brilliant in the black sky above Dr. Lawrence Thorne's isolated property.
The house sat dark and silent at the end of a long gravel drive, surrounded by dense woods.
Lucien emerged from the shadows at the edge of the tree line, transformed from the polished consultant who had charmed Commissioner Rhodes hours earlier.
He wore dark tactical pants, a fitted black long-sleeve shirt, and lightweight combat boots that made no sound on the frozen ground. His movements were fluid and purposeful, eyes scanning the property with focus.
Stefan appeared beside him, equally transformed in dark clothing. "No security system," he reported quietly. "Single occupant. Currently in his study with a glass of whiskey and a book."
Lucien nodded. "Front or back?"
"Front," Stefan replied with a casual smile. "Let's be civilized about this."
They approached the house with unhurried confidence, two hunters who had done this many times before.
At the front door, Stefan tested the handle - locked. With a glance at Lucien, who nodded permission, Stefan applied minimal pressure, breaking the lock mechanism without noise.
The door swung open to reveal a darkened entryway. They stepped inside, closing the door behind them.
The house was meticulously organized, every surface clean, every object precisely placed. Lucien moved through the living room, noting the academic books on ancient civilizations, the medical journals, the expensive audio equipment.
"Upstairs study, end of the hall," Stefan whispered, vampire hearing having already mapped the house's occupant.
Lucien nodded and gestured for Stefan to take position at the base of the stairs. Then, with the casual confidence of someone entering his own home, Lucien ascended the staircase.
The study door stood partially open, warm light spilling into the hallway. Lucien paused, listening to the sound of pages turning, ice clinking in a glass. Then he pushed the door open fully and stepped inside.
Dr. Lawrence Thorne looked up from his book, initial surprise quickly replaced by wary caution. He was in his mid-fifties, silver-haired and distinguished, with the steady hands of a surgeon and the calculating eyes of a predator.
"Good evening," Lucien said pleasantly, as if they'd been expecting each other.
Thorne carefully marked his place in his book before setting it aside. "You're trespassing," he said, his voice cultured and precise.
A killer, confident, not fearful or worried at an intruder - who he was still assessing what the reason was he was here for.
"Am I?" Lucien asked, moving further into the room. "I thought I might be expected. After all, you've been sending messages for years. Seems only fair someone would eventually respond."
Something shifted in Thorne's expression - a flicker of understanding, quickly masked. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Lucien smiled, examining a collection of ancient medical instruments displayed on a nearby shelf. "Beautiful pieces. Mesopotamian, if I'm not mistaken. Particularly useful for blood collection rituals."
Thorne stood slowly. "Who are you?"
"Someone who knows about Acaroth the Whisperer," Lucien replied, turning to face him directly. "About cardinal sacrifices and lunar phases. About the ecstasy you feel when families read your messages describing their loved ones' final moments."
Thorne's hand moved toward his desk drawer, but Lucien was faster. With a casual flick of his wrist, the drawer slammed shut, nearly catching Thorne's fingers.
The doctor's eyes widened. "What are you?"
"The wrong question," Lucien said, his voice still conversational but with an edge of steel beneath. "The right question is: what happens now?"
Thorne lunged suddenly, grabbing a scalpel from the desk and slashing at Lucien's face. Lucien stepped back, the blade missing by inches. He smiled, a predator's grin.
"I was hoping you'd do that."
What followed was not a fight so much as a demonstration. Thorne attacked with the precision of a surgeon and the desperation of a cornered animal.
Lucien responded with casually, but still efficient, blocking each strike, redirecting each lunge, always just out of reach.
"You're quite good with that blade," Lucien commented, dodging another slash. "I imagine Rebecca Keller thought the same thing before you bled her dry."
Thorne's rhythm faltered at the name, and Lucien seized the opening, catching his wrist and applying precise pressure to the nerve cluster. The scalpel clattered to the floor.
"Was it worth it?" Lucien asked, still holding Thorne's wrist. "The ecstasy Acaroth promised?"
"You couldn't possibly understand," Thorne hissed, trying to break free. "The communion, the revelation-"
"Actually," Lucien interrupted, "I understand perfectly."
With a sudden twist, he dislocated Thorne's shoulder, the joint separating with an audible pop. The doctor screamed, collapsing to his knees.
Lucien circled him slowly. "You hunted them in places they felt safe. Beat them before killing them. Made them suffer for your pleasure." He delivered a precise kick to Thorne's ribs, the crack echoing in the quiet room. "How am I doing so far?"
Thorne tried to crawl away, dragging his useless arm. "Please," he gasped. "I can pay you. Whatever you want."
"What I want," Lucien said, crouching beside him, "is for you to understand exactly what you've done."
He grabbed Thorne's chin, forcing eye contact. "Look at me."
When their eyes met, Lucien reached into the Force, exerting his will with a simple command. "Sleep."
Thorne collapsed instantly, consciousness severed as cleanly as if a switch had been flipped.
Stefan appeared in the doorway, having heard everything. "That was quick," he observed with a smile.
"Just the opening act," Lucien replied, rising to his feet. "The main performance is yet to come."
He looked down at the unconscious killer, the man who had tortured five innocent people and tormented their families for years.
"Let's get him ready," Lucien said. "We have a long night ahead."
Stefan moved, hefting Thorne's unconscious body over his shoulder. The doctor's limp form seemed almost child-like against Stefan's strength.
"Let me show you what our friend has prepared for us downstairs, I just found out about it and boy, is it nice" Stefan said, his voice carrying the casual tone of someone discussing dinner plans rather than a ritual execution.
The wooden stairs creaked beneath their weight as they descended into darkness.
Lucien trailed behind, his senses extended through the Force, mapping the house's dimensions and confirming their isolation.
The nearest neighbor was miles away, the nearest passing car even farther - perfect isolation that Thorne had cultivated not for privacy, but for his own evil purposes.
At the bottom of the stairs, Lucien's fingers found a light switch. Fluorescent bulbs flickered to life one by one, revealing a space that made him pause in the doorway.
The basement was immaculate. Clinical. Almost beautiful in its terrible purpose.
White-tiled walls gleamed under the harsh lighting, not a single stain visible despite the work that must have happened here.
The concrete floor sloped gently toward a central drain - practical for washing away evidence.
Metal shelving units lined the walls, holding labeled containers and equipment arranged with obsessive precision.
And at the center of it all stood a stainless-steel table with built-in restraints at each corner.
Lucien approached slowly, taking in every detail. His fingers trailed along the cold metal surface of the table, feeling the subtle grooves where years of cleaning had worn away the finish.
"Poetic," he murmured, looking up at Stefan. "He built his own judgment seat."
Stefan laid Thorne on the table with surprising gentleness, positioning his limbs with practiced efficiency.
The restraints clicked into place - ankles first, then wrists, each one tightened to the precise point where escape would be impossible without causing damage.
"He's prepared for everything," Stefan observed, testing the restraints with a professional eye, "except being the sacrifice."
Lucien set his backpack on a nearby counter and unzipped it.
From within, he removed a roll of heavy plastic sheeting, the material crackling softly in the silence of the basement. Carefully, he began laying it across the floor around the table, creating a workspace that could be completely sanitized when they finished.
Next came his tools, arranged on a small rolling cart that Thorne himself had likely used for his own work.
Knives of various sizes and shapes, scalpels with pristine edges, clamps, forceps - each instrument selected for a specific purpose, each one positioned exactly where Lucien would need it.
Stefan watched this preparation with appreciation, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. His casual posture belied the predator's focus in his eyes.
"I never get tired of this," he commented. "The... cleanness of it. Of this justice."
He has gained quite an appreciation of bringing suffering on tormentors and dishing out justice- having experienced the immense peace he gained when Lucien did so to Dracula. Something he himself has come to enjoy a lot.
Lucien nodded without looking up. "Mhmm." he made an agreeing sound.
When the physical workspace was prepared, Lucien straightened and surveyed the basement again. "Check the rest of the house," he instructed Stefan. "Find his trophies. There will be something - photographs, recordings, journals. He's too proud of his work not to document it."
"And you?" Stefan asked, already moving toward the stairs.
"I'll finish preparing our guest of honor," Lucien replied, his gaze shifting to the specialized cooling container he'd brought.
As Stefan's footsteps faded upstairs, Lucien opened the container, revealing several blood bags nestled in ice.
Each was labeled with a different date, the handwriting neat and precise. He selected one, examining it in the harsh fluorescent light before setting up an IV stand beside the table.
The needle slid into Thorne's vein. He adjusted the drip rate carefully, ensuring it was ready but not yet flowing. The vampire blood would be needed soon enough.
He wanted to make sure this one experienced every bit of pain he brought onto others- the exact amount of wounds, and suffering.
Lucien used the solitude to center himself, connecting more deeply with the Force. He could feel the echoes in this room - not just Thorne's victims, but the ritual energy that had been raised here.
The walls themselves seemed to hold memories of suffering, of blood spilled in service to a forgotten false god.
The sound of Stefan's returning footsteps broke his meditation. Lucien opened his eyes to see Stefan carrying several items: a leather-bound journal with worn edges, a laptop computer, and a small wooden box inlaid with strange symbols.
"Hit the jackpot," Stefan announced, setting the items on a side table. "Journal entries detailing every kill, photographs of the victims, and recordings of his calls to the families."
He tapped the wooden box. "And this... this appears to be where he kept his ritual components. Oils, incense, the tools he used for the specific markings."
Lucien nodded, picking up the journal and leafing through several pages. The handwriting was meticulous, almost artistic in its precision - the same precision evident in the autopsy photos of the victims.
"Perfect," Lucien said, placing the journal back on the table within easy reach. "It's time."
He looked at Thorne's unconscious form, taking in the man's distinguished features - silver hair, strong jaw, the steady hands of a surgeon now rendered helpless by restraints.
In sleep, he looked almost peaceful, almost normal. It was difficult to imagine those hands methodically draining the life from five innocent people.
But Lucien knew better. The Force allowed him to sense the darkness that had taken root in Thorne's soul, the years of ritual sacrifice and sadistic pleasure that had twisted him into something barely human.
"Wake him," Lucien instructed, positioning himself at the side of the table.
Stefan moved to stand at Thorne's head, placing his hands on either side of the doctor's face. Rather than a rough awakening Stefan gently tapped Thorne's cheeks, almost like rousing a sleeping child.
"Rise and shine, Doctor," Stefan said, his voice pleasant and conversational. "You have visitors."
Thorne's eyes fluttered beneath closed lids, consciousness returning in stages.
First came the subtle shift in breathing, then the tension in his muscles as sensation returned, and finally - the moment Lucien had been waiting for - the opening of his eyes.
Confusion clouded Thorne's gaze for precisely three seconds before clarity struck. His pupils dilated with fear as he registered his position - strapped to his own table, surrounded by plastic sheeting, with two captors watching him.
His wrists strained against the restraints, showing more and more desperation as he tried anf failed to get out. His breath came in short, panicked gasps as he looked wildly around the basement, seeing his own instruments arranged on the cart beside him.
"What- what are you doing?" he stammered, his cultured voice cracking with fear. "Who are you people?"
Lucien pulled up a stool, sitting beside the table with casual comfort. He crossed one leg over the other, his posture relaxed as if they were having a friendly conversation over coffee rather than an interrogation before execution.
"I think you know exactly what we're doing, Dr. Thorne," Lucien replied, his tone mild. "Justice."
He picked up Thorne's journal, opening it to a marked page. "You've been quite busy over the years. Five victims. Five directions. Five phases of the moon." He looked up, meeting Thorne's terrified gaze. "Very symmetrical. I appreciate attention to detail."
"You're with the police?" Thorne asked, a flicker of hope in his voice. "I have rights-"
"We're not with the police," Stefan interjected, smiling pleasantly as he leaned against the wall. "Though they'll be visiting soon enough. They just won't find what they expect."
Lucien continued leafing through the journal, pausing occasionally to read passages. "Your documentation is impressive. Medical precision combined with ritual significance." He looked up again. "Tell me, was Acaroth your discovery, or did someone introduce you to the entity?"
Thorne's expression shifted subtly a flicker of religious fervor quickly suppressed.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, attempting to regain composure. "I want a lawyer."
"A lawyer," Lucien repeated, closing the journal. "Seriously? After all this, you still think you'll come out the other side of this alive? Like, it's really interesting coming from you. Let's see... Rebecca Keller. March 18, 1998."
He reopened the journal to a specific page. "You write here that she 'begged beautifully' when you started the exsanguination process. Did she ask for a lawyer too?"
He set down the journal and picked up a scalpel - one of Thorne's own instruments. The fluorescent lights caught the edge, making it gleam.
"You took five lives," Lucien continued, his voice still conversational. "You tormented five families for years afterward. And now you're going to experience exactly what you inflicted."
The casualness and coldness in Lucien's voice seemed to terrify Thorne more than rage would have. He began struggling more violently against the restraints, the metal cutting into his wrists.
"Please," he gasped, desperation replacing dignity. "I'll confess everything. I'll go to prison. Please don't do this."
Lucien examined the scalpel, turning it to catch the light. "Confession?" he repeated, his tone curious. "Like hell. See, my code of justice isn't the conventional one that people believe in these days. The whole following laws, catching the bad guys, throwing them in prison, the whole nine yards."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur. "I'm willing to at least let normal human sick sacks of shit get dealt with by the common code of law, but for freaks like you... No, you'll be dealing with me."
He brought the blade to Thorne's forearm, positioning it precisely where the first incision had been made on Rebecca Keller, according to the autopsy report.
With surgical precision, he drew the blade across the skin. Blood welled immediately, running in a thin rivulet down Thorne's arm onto the plastic below.
Thorne's scream echoed off the tiled walls, more from shock than pain - the cut was shallow, just deep enough to draw blood. Just as it had been on Rebecca.
"Interesting," Lucien observed, watching Thorne's reaction. "Rebecca didn't scream until the third cut. She had remarkable composure, according to your notes."
He made a second incision parallel to the first, following the pattern documented in the autopsy photographs. This time, Thorne bit his lip, trying to maintain control.
Stefan moved to stand at Thorne's head, placing his hands on either side of the doctor's temples. His touch was gentle, almost tender, belying the purpose behind it.
"You know, Lawrence - can I call you Lawrence?" Stefan asked pleasantly. "The physical pain is just one aspect of what you inflicted. There's also the emotional suffering."
Thorne's eyes darted to Stefan, confusion momentarily overriding fear. "What are you talking about?"
"You contacted the families," Stefan explained, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality. His thumbs traced small circles on Thorne's temples, a soothing gesture at odds with his words.
"You sent letters describing their loved ones' final moments in exquisite detail. You made phone calls, your voice disguised but your words clear. You sent emails with photographs they could never unsee."
Stefan's pupils dilated, expanding until his eyes seemed almost black. The compulsion activated, his vampire abilities reaching into Thorne's mind.
"Now you're going to feel what they felt," Stefan continued, his charming voice never losing its conversational tone. Letting who he was as the Ripper out, to play, when it was time.
"Every parent who opened your letter at the breakfast table, coffee growing cold as they read your words. Every sibling who heard your voice on the phone, unable to hang up despite their horror. Every child who realized what you did to their mother, their innocence shattered by your detailed descriptions."
Thorne's expression transformed as Stefan's compulsion took hold. Horror washed over his features, not from his own pain but from the emotions Stefan was forcing him to experience.
Tears began streaming down his face, his body trembling with grief and anguish that were not his own.
"Please," he sobbed, the word barely recognizable through his gasping breaths. "Make it stop. I can feel them - their pain - their grief - their rage-"
"Good," Lucien said, continuing his work on Thorne's arm. "That's exactly what we want."
He completed the pattern from Rebecca's autopsy, each cut placed exactly where it had been on her body. As he worked, he occasionally referred to the autopsy photographs, ensuring perfect replication.
"You know what I find fascinating?" Lucien asked, wiping blood from the scalpel with a clean cloth. "How precise your work was. These aren't random cuts. They form a pattern - a sigil dedicated to Acaroth. Ancient Mesopotamian in origin, but with your own modifications."
Thorne's eyes widened slightly, surprise momentarily overriding the pain and emotional trauma.
"Yes, I recognized the difference," Lucien confirmed, noticing the reaction. "Though I suspect you modified it based on incomplete translations. The central glyph is rotated incorrectly - it should face east, not north. A small error, but in ritual magic, details matter."
As Lucien worked, recreating the precise pattern of wounds documented in Rebecca Keller's autopsy, Thorne's blood loss increased. His skin paled visibly, breathing became labored, consciousness beginning to fade as shock set in.
"Not yet," Lucien said, adjusting the IV drip that had remained unused until now. "We're just getting started. You had Rebecca for hours, according to your journal. We have all five victims to get through."
The vampire blood flowed into Thorne's veins, immediately taking effect. Color returned to his face, his breathing steadied, and awareness sharpened in his eyes.
The wounds on his arm began to heal - not completely, but enough to prevent death from blood loss.
Thorne's eyes widened in confusion and terror as he felt his strength returning despite the continued bleeding. "What- what are you doing to me?" he gasped.
"Ensuring you experience everything," Lucien explained calmly. "All five victims. All their suffering. The vampire blood will keep you alive and aware through it all."
Understanding dawned in Thorne's eyes as he realized the full horror of what awaited him. "You're monsters," he whispered.
"No," Lucien corrected, selecting a different blade for the next pattern - this one matching Daniel Mercer's wounds. "We're justice. There's a difference."
He turned to Stefan, who still maintained the compulsion with his hands on Thorne's temples. "Shall we move on to Daniel? November 6, 1998. The western cardinal point."
Stefan nodded, his expression shifting subtly as he adjusted the compulsion. "Daniel's parents were divorced," he said, "His father blamed his mother for Daniel's death - for letting him move to Wisconsin to pursue his music. Their grief destroyed what little relationship remained between them."
Thorne's face contorted with fresh emotional pain as Stefan's compulsion shifted to reflect this new suffering.
"His students held a memorial concert," Stefan continued. "Thirty children playing the pieces he taught them. His parents sat on opposite sides of the auditorium, unable to comfort each other through their grief."
As Stefan spoke, Lucien began the pattern of cuts that matched Daniel Mercer's autopsy. These were different from Rebecca's - deeper in places, following the lines of muscle rather than veins. Thorne's screams echoed off the tiled walls, his body arching against the restraints.
"Daniel lasted longer than Rebecca," Lucien observed, consulting the journal. "Six hours of active exsanguination rather than four. You were learning to prolong the process."
After completing Daniel's pattern, Lucien administered more vampire blood, bringing Thorne back from the edge of unconsciousness before beginning Maria Santos's pattern.
Between victims, Lucien would pause, referring to Thorne's own journal entries, sometimes reading passages aloud.
"'Maria's blood had a different quality,'" Lucien read, "'thicker, more vibrant. The offering pleased Acaroth greatly, granting me visions of such intensity I lost consciousness for several hours afterward.'"
He looked up from the journal, meeting Thorne's pain-glazed eyes. "Was it worth it? The visions? The ecstasy? Was it worth what you're experiencing now?"
"Jonathan's brother blamed himself," Stefan said as Lucien worked on the fourth victim's pattern. "He was supposed to meet Jonathan for dinner that night but canceled at the last minute. For years, he's wondered if his brother would still be alive if he'd kept that dinner date."
Hours passed as they worked through each victim's suffering. The vampire blood continued to heal Thorne just enough to prevent merciful unconsciousness or death, keeping him aware through every moment of agony, both physical and emotional.
As they approached the final victim's pattern, Thorne had been reduced to incoherent sobbing, his mind overwhelmed by the combined trauma.
His once-distinguished features were twisted in a rictus of pain, eyes red-rimmed and swollen from tears.
"We're almost done," Lucien said, preparing for the final set of incisions - those matching Aisha Williams' autopsy report. "Just one more to go. The zenith position. The completion of your ritual."
Thorne's eyes, glazed with pain and horror, suddenly focused with unexpected clarity. "Why?" he managed to ask, his voice a ragged whisper. "Why do this? You're not... family... of victims..."
Lucien paused, the question seeming to genuinely interest him. He set down his instrument and studied Thorne thoughtfully.
"Because I care." he finally said. "I care about them. I care about the living. I care about the dead. Because actions have consequences. Because no one else could deliver the justice you deserve."
He leaned closer, his eyes meeting Thorne's. "I bring balance," he said simply, "It's not just what I do - it's who I am. Who I choose to be."
Without further explanation, he completed the final pattern with surgical precision, following the exact template from Aisha Williams' autopsy. When the last cut was made, he stepped back to examine his work.
Every wound, every incision matched those Thorne had inflicted on his victims.
Stefan removed his hands from Thorne's temples, the compulsion fading but leaving the trauma embedded in the doctor's psyche. He moved to stand beside Lucien, both of them regarding their handiwork with professional satisfaction.
But one more thing remained before the finale. Lucien's hand suddenly shot out, grabbing Throne by his jaw, turning his face to look into his eyes, as Lucien leaned forward.
"I want you to forget. Forget who we are. Forget our faces. Forget our voices. Forget anything personal about us. All you'll know when you get to Hell, and the demons play with your entrails is that the one they call 'The Gavel' sent you." With those final words, Lucien roughly let go of the doctor's jaw, pushing his head to the side.
Thorne's eyes glazed over, as Lucien's Dark Side compulsion took effect, forgetting down to the soul level.
"Is it time?" Stefan asked, his voice gentle in the silence that had fallen over the basement.
Lucien nodded, as he picked up the scalpel again and raised it above Thorne.
With a single swift movement, Lucien drove a blade directly into Thorne's heart, ending his suffering here- sending him into Death's hands, who will take him to his eternal refuge, the unending flames of Hell.
The doctor's body went limp, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the steady drip of blood into the drain at the center of the floor. Lucien remained motionless, his hand still on the knife, feeling the last echo of Thorne's life force dissipate into the universe.
Then the moment passed, and Lucien withdrew the blade. He cleaned it carefully before returning it to the cart.
He began the cleanup process. Stefan joined him, their years of partnership evident in how they worked together without needing to communicate.
"The Michigan State Police will find enough evidence to close the cases," Stefan observed, collecting Thorne's journal and photographs. "The families will have closure, even if they never know the full truth."
"That's all that matters," Lucien replied, removing the plastic sheeting precisely and carefully. "Justice served, one way or another."
Soon enough they left, the Hunt was complete.
------------------------
(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.
I know this hunt was probably to most of you not exactly the most exciting, but we're just beginning so give me a little time.
Lucien has finally become a police consultant.
How did you like his dynamic with Stefan when it comes to it all? Stefan is Lucien's hunting partner, his best friend, family really.
Big brother and little brother in action.
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)