Chapter Text
“Marry me.”
A proposal from Hell.
Alastor never thought his marriage would begin like this, he never thought it would begin at all despite his mother's best efforts to prove him otherwise. But he supposed he was glad that she was not alive to see his married life start under these circumstances; blood stained and sweaty, beneath the cloudy night skies of Louisiana, swamp water soaking his pair of good trousers up to his thighs. And of course, he would not want his mother to see Alastor dragging a macerated corpse halfway into the water, cinder blocks tied to its ankles.
However, the young lady who stood before him seemed to have no qualms in his current activity, she was in fact standing tall a few steps away from the edge of the water, oil lamp in hand illuminating her red coat and gloved hand, but nothing else.
She did sound familiar, though.
Alastor did not respond to her call, unaware if she was even referring to him. Was she a crazy woman who was rambling to herself and didn't even see him or the corpse? God he hoped so, killing criminals was easy. They were people he researched that wouldn't be missed, but a random person was risky. He didn't like taking impromptu risks, he never had to. But why was she out here during the devil's hours in the middle of a swamp? Maybe he could get away with this, he just needed to stay completely still.
“Alastor.”
Fuck.
She could see him? She knew him?
She was coming closer, the dim lantern light growing as she approached and he could see blonde flecks of hair beneath the shadow of a low brimmed cloche hat. “I know you're there, Al. I know about Mr.Wiles.” Her voice rang in his ears like a music box, beautifully melodic but monotone in its essence. And yet, it was mind-boggingly familiar, like he just heard this voice yesterday. But Alastor couldn't find it in himself to move even his thoughts away from this moment. His heart was beating like a snare drum and icy drops of sweat dripped down his neck into his collar, he felt like a deer caught in a spotlight as he waited for the next move of the woman. If she was coming closer, he could incapacitate her surely.
She let out an exasperated sigh and strode fully to the swamp's edge, she stood beside the muslin-wrapped body of his victim and Alastor almost lunged at her ankles. He had stopped part way, one leather boot out of the water and both his hands clinging to the side of the muddy bank of the swamp. The metal click of a pistol freezing him once again, she was packing!
“Al, can you listen to me first?” Al? Only one person called him that. He looked up in slow motion, the glint of silver caught his eye, the thin barrel of a gun was pointed straight at him. And then, he saw the cherubic face of the speakeasy singer from Rosie's Emporium.
“Charlie?” Alastor's eyebrows shot over his glasses, now sweet little Charlie was the last person he expected to point a pistol at him in the middle of the night. Alastor couldn't help but smile crookedly at this absurdity.
Charlie had been the regular performer for Rosie since a full year ago. They had celebrated her one-year anniversary just two weeks from today and everyone hollered and danced with champagne flowing down their throats as she sang Yankee Doodle with the band. Miss Charlie was the neighborhood's good samaritan, volunteering at soup kitchens and nursing the drug addicts back to life whenever they overdosed on their cheap opium and luster dust.
The bird was quite literally known for her naivety and saintly disposition, but Charlie now kept a steely gaze on him and it felt terribly foreign to Alastor, he had to fight the compulsion to crack a joke to see her smile. She had a wonderful smile, one of the best he'd say. Never fake and always a promise of fun behind her rosy cheeks.
Charlie crouched down, her gun still pointed squarely at his mug, finger still cradling the trigger. She waited for him to fully emerge from the swamp where he sat down before her.
“Alastor, will you marry me?” She asked this time instead of commanded, this close he could see her stoicism ripple, a look of trepidation flickering on her face.
“Are you threatening me to marry you, doll?” Alastor wanted to be a lot more mad than he was, but this was much too screwy to not be laughable to him. Especially, since this was Charlie. A girl who once admonished him for killing a spider instead of cupping it with a glass and letting it out the door.
She wore a look of confusion before she glanced quickly at her gun and then back at Alastor.
“Oh no! No, no! This is just for my own safety because of…well…” She pointed to the late Mr.Wiles with her head as she flustered over her words. “You can say no if you want, I'll leave you be forever but I wanted to ask you, Alastor…” A realization seemed to pass over her eyes and she blinked once and then twice and then slumped her shoulders and began to retreat back into the wood beyond the swamp. “Actually, forget about it! I was never here Al!”
Now that wouldn't do.
Alastor lunged for the blonde girl, her back now turned to him and he caught her arms from behind.
“Alastor!” She whispered sharply and seeing as how she knew he was a murderer, her quiet tone was quite considerate.
“Now, now Charlie. You can't leave me in suspense like this! Besides,” he gripped the wrist that held her pistol and pried it out of her hand, the tiny revolver dropping to the ground. “Why should I believe you?”
He felt her pulse rise and her breath quicken but she didn't seem scared like he thought she would.
“Are you really going to kill me?” Charlie asked without looking back.
“Did you think I wasn't?” Alastor cooed into her ear, enjoying the scent of rose oil in her hair.
“Well, I know I'm not usually your preferred target. And I bet I'll be your last victim before you head to the electric chair.” Charlie’s voice was a little shaky but sure, as if she rehearsed what she was going to say. Was finding him like this a long standing plan for her? How long had she known? Did she know last Saturday when she sang ‘You're the Cream in My Coffee’ as she danced drunkenly in his arms? The thought sent a shiver down his spine that didn't exactly feel like terror but raised his heartbeat all the same.
“I can hide your body in a place where God couldn't even reach you.” He whispered softly into her ear and he felt her shudder as her breath hitched. The reactions sent that same wave of elation down his spine, though he thought it odd that she didn't try to struggle her arms away at all.
“Can it be a place where the mafia can't reach me?” Charlie responded in her own breathy whisper and Alastor twirled her, like he would in a dance, pushing his nose to her’s, her hat falling off of her head as he intruded into her personal space.
“The mafia is after you, dear?” She was truly a curious creature.
“The mafia wants me back .” Charlie had big brown eyes framed with thick golden lashes, she had freckles dotted over her nose in such a subtle hue that he'd never suspect them if he wasn't so near. She looked at him with resolve. “My father, the Big Apple, he wants me insured and he's going to make me marry a man on his payroll to bring me back to New York.”
The Big Apple? The man at the top of the whisky trade and one of the most prolific bootleggers in the country was the father of little Charlie? Well, now that she mentioned it, he did have her blonde hair and cherubic features. But Alastor thought the mafia boss so smarmy and self-important he couldn't imagine his connection to Charlie, especially when she was so humble most of the time, almost to annoyance.
“And you don't want that?” Charlie shook her head emphatically, her lips trembling in a cute pout. “And you are asking me ? To marry you?” Alastor emphasized the body behind them, still tied to cinder blocks. Still dead as a door-nail. “Pardon my disbelief dear, but you could get any other dick to take you up on your offer if all you need is marriage.”
No doubt Charlie could get barons and earls to chain her up for a single kiss on her shoulder. He saw one attempt it once and helped kick the touchy aristocrat out of the bar with Husker by his side.
“No one else would survive my father's attempts to get me back.” She said with almost too calm a look and then her eyes shone with something like recognition or admiration behind them. “At least you would stand a chance.”
“Well,” Alastor began, taking in her words like an odd tasting cup of coffee. He watched Charlie close her eyes and take a deep breath out, something he saw her do before starting a show, preparing herself for the stage. Preparing herself for death. “I never thought I'd get hitched like this! When's the date?”
Charlie's eyes shot open, her mouth opened into a cute little o-shape.
“You'll do it?”
“A stream of New York criminals guided straight into my clutches, a smart little canary wife who’ll be my permanent alibi, and a marriage status to get all my co-workers off my back about dating their daughters and nieces? Charlie, you should've told me earlier!” Alastor hugged the girl close and she almost dropped her lantern in shock.
“Really, Al? You'll really marry me after all this?” She sounded like a relieved paramore after she was caught in a torrid affair.
“Why, as long as you don't expect me to start a family or do such touching and canoodling all these couples do nowadays.” Alastor added in distaste, the idea of such debauchery shriveling his appetites from the back of his mind. Charlie surprised Alastor by breaking free of his grip and returning his hug with a vigor. Normally, he'd avoid such advances but Charlie was the exception, her bright bubbliness a great contrast to his morbid manicism and he appreciated her theatrics amongst the regular surly crowd of the speakeasy.
She was squealing thank yous into his ear and Alastor had an urge to squeeze her tightly into his chest, but he ignored it. For now, the threat of the mafia was not so urgent as the threat of the law catching the decomposing corpse of Mr.Wiles in the swamp once day breaks.
“We can discuss this all tomorrow, after your show and a few drinks.” Alastor peeled Charlie off and noted the absence of heat from his body. Charlie quickly agreed and headed back to the dirt path that led to town. Alastor wanted to accompany her as a gentleman should, but knew that he couldn't, what with the implications of traveling with a lady in the late night. Though, he supposed once she was his wife it wouldn't matter.
Huh, Charlie would be his wife.
Well that didn't sound too bad, Mrs. Charlie Malveaux. Alastor laughed, and as he finished rolling Mr.Wiles into the deep end of the swamp, watching him sink into the murky depth, he found himself whistling a tune.