Based on the book and Tiktok Series by Emilie Knight/Knight Manor
Julie
Vic nods, eying the guards that come in to return him to his box, allowing them to free his chains from the fastenings from the table. They get him to the door before Vic stops turning to look at Frank with a smirk “See you soon”
Summary: Vic nods, eying the guards that come in to return him to his box, allowing them to free his chains from the fastenings from the table. They get him to the door before Vic stops turning to look at Frank with a smirk “See you soon”
Words: 2432
Age Rating: Mature (16+)
Warnings: Murder spoken about by the murderer.
* * *
“New Ripper Captured!” Frank scowled at the headline, shouldering his way through the shared office doors, pacing his way to his desk in the middle of the floor. The bold black ink mocking him, it was almost as humiliating to read as it was to see the photo of his former roommate plastered underneath with that stupid placid look on his face. It still felt like a terrible cosmic joke.
‘A Cop and Murderer rent an apartment, when does the cop smell the rot?‘
He slammed the newspaper into the waste basket beside his desk with more force than necessary, circling around the wood to jerk out his chair. It squealed in protest as he sat heavily, rubbing his brow, exhaustedly side-eyeing the stack of cold cases on his desk. They were his not-punishment from the sergeant for not realising he had been living with a serial killer. The top one is unfamiliar: the battered cover and thin on contents identify it quickly as another cold case, a yellow sticky note was stuck to the cover, labelling it as new, enticing. All the others previously read and picked over, cold as ice, unlikely to ever be solved. Hastily Frank grabs it, desperate to get lost in work for a while.
The note peeled off the folder with ease as Frank tugged it off, recognising Det. Ludnow’s handwriting in the briefly scrawled scribble ‘Julie Martyr, New Ripper victim????’ Frank stared at the folder like it might bite him, more victims appeared constantly, he was taken off the case for being too close to it emotionally. He hadn’t fought it. He’d felt too deflated after the initial arrest.
He tapped a rapid pattern against the folder, mind racing, knowing very well how fast he’d be sucked back into the case if he looked into this case and it was Vic, unsure if he could handle the repercussions. If Shelley could take any more guilt.
Before he could think too hard about it, he flips the folder open. A small photo of a young brunette, Julie Martyr, is fastened into place with a paperclip. Skimming the basic details teaches him everything there is to know about the case. There’s no evidence of anything found anywhere, somehow there was no DNA, murder weapon or location of the crime found. It was as cold as a case gets. The poor girl was stabbed to death from behind and seemingly left to cook in the backseat of her own car.
“Reminds me of a story that author friend of yours wrote that we rejected” Frank flinches at Ludnow’s voice behind him, he really was off his game if someone like him could sneak up on him “The one about a cannibal seeing how long it takes the sun to cook fresh meat in the middle of summer”
Frank hums trying to remember how that particular story had went, before sighing “Yeah, I don't think the method of killing was mentioned however”
“Which is why we tossed it” Ludnow sat on the edge of his desk “It made it too ambiguous”
“What do you want?” Frank closes the folder back up, the lack of anything in the file stopped it from making any noise but the motion was to make Frank’s point clear before tossing it aside, leaning back in the ancient desk chair to stare at the detective arrogantly perched on his desk. ‘Go Away’ is written in every aspect of his body language.
“Talk to him” Ludnow says calmly like he’s asking for a coffee, ignoring Frank’s obvious wishes to be left alone “He won’t speak with me or anyone, won't even confirm victims we can link to him with evidence”
“No” Frank grunts, moving to open up a file of one of his cold cases “I’ve nothing to say or ask of him”
“Not even to help bring a family closure?” Ludnow stands, grabbing the discarded folder and opening it back up so Julie’s photo was visible, dropping it on the desk in Frank's view “Think about it ‘kay?” Ludnow leaves with little fanfare, returning to his own desk presumably.
Frank leans back in his chair,trying to focus on the file he’d grabbed but couldnt help looking over the top to stare at the photo of Julie, stomach twisting as his thoughts raced, the angel and the devil whispering arguments in his ear, before sighing a simple resigned “Fuck”.
* * *
“This is a terrible idea” Frank mumbles at the table in the visitors room, he picked roughly at his skin of his fingers “Worst one I’ve ever had”
The room was a bland grey, it offered little to no distractions as he waited unless he wanted to count cinderblocks. There was no one else here due to it being outside of visiting hours, making this a fairly simple affair for him to set up. Any other time he would have had to bog himself up to the ears with paperwork for a private setting.
The clatter of chains at the door drew his attention up, Vic was hauled gracelessly through the door with an escort of 3 officers. Frank watches silently, surprised at the amount of security, as Vic turns to spit some venomous words at the man dragging him into the room but stops halfway as he sees him waiting. Instead, Vic seems to become more cooperative to the manhandling as he puts less of a fuss up as they seat him opposite Frank.
Fastening Vic to the table takes his escort little time and fairly quickly Frank is alone with Vic for the first time in months, Frank can see one of the escorting officers standing guard on the other side of the door through foggy glass. Vic stares quietly, resting his chin on his steepled fingers, waiting impatiently as Frank fiddles with the folder he brought. The awkward silence stretches out over several minutes
Frank huffs out a humourless laugh, finally cracking under the weight of the oppressive silence “Shelley says Hi”
“Mhm” Vic’s tone is flat, disbelief colouring his tone “You’ve not visited at all. Why are you here?” Frank pulls Julie’s photo from the folder he was worrying the corners of, sliding it over at Vic, who slides it back with an immediate eye roll, he barely looks at the photo to know who it depicted “Work. Should’ve guessed, I’ve told your colleague I don't know her”
“They’re looking at Shelley again” Frank half lies, he’s heard the unserious break room gossip where she’s discussed at being a potential accomplice but he knows its not a real suspicion of any of the detectives these days “This one matches an unpublished story she wrote” He jabs at the photo, pushing it back over, to draw Vic’s attention down to the photo “Tell me about her”
“Vic, I truly do not know how Shelley can come here to see you so often, how she can ignore what you did” Frank gestures around them with a wild swooping motion with one arm “But for her sake you need to start talking”
“Her sake?” Vic echoes “I-” He cuts himself off, scrubbing at day old stubble on his chin.
“Vic. Please” Frank’s shoulders slump, elbows hitting the desk as whatever fight he had within him was non-existent, he was running on only tired resignation these days "Have you ever had to visit someone that’s betrayed your friendship as badly as this? Do you know how much worse it would feel for her to know that despite her forgiveness that you’d still not help her?”
“Julie” Vic sighs
“Julie” Frank echoes the word, waiting on Vic continuing.
“Julie” Vic states again “Never got her last name”
Frank drops a small recorder on the table, he didn't hit record, watching Vic’s face closely to try and get an inkling of what he was thinking. Desperately trying to figure out if he’d clam up at the thought of a real confession to any of the crimes he’s committed.
“Well?” Vic eyes the small device on the table, face blank “Start your recording”
Frank nods, hitting the record button quickly “This is Detective Frank Stein of the LDPD, Badge Number 45081. It is May 12th” Frank checks his watch, hands shaking imperceptively “at 12:32pm. We are at New London Detention Centre. This meeting is being recorded both by myself and the prison security system” Frank pauses, finally regaining the nerve to make eye contact once again with Vic “I am joined by Vic Torre, inmate of the prison. Today we will be discussing Julie Martyr”
“Martyr?” Vic laughs, muttering under his breath “How ironic”
“So. Vic, why don't you tell me about how you met Julie?”
“Hitchhiking” Vic smiles, but the expression falls flat, looking rather hollow “Well, she thought I was hitchhiking”
“So you weren’t hitchhiking then?” Frank tries to keep his tone level as he speaks, squashing down any emotions trying to creep out
“I was hunting” Vic’s face smooths out, eyes darkening, something dark creeping into the edge of his tone “Bored you see” Frank nods, throat tight, not trusting his voice, choosing to wait on Vic carrying on “Its easy pickings on the highway. Loud enough to hunt, quiet enough to kill. I picked a stretch of road to walk, and tried to flag down whoever happened to pass. A few stopped, well, their deaths were judged by whether or not I thought I could win the fight. Most of them dropped me off safely, unaware of the death they had come so close to. But we know what happened to the one who I knew would lose the fight”
Frank sighs shakily, slowly watching someone he once thought he’d known well, shift into a complete stranger “When did you meet Julie?”
Vic hums “Early May? She drove a shitty little red car, the engine knocked loudly enough that I thought perhaps it would drop out the bottom before I got her to where I wanted her to be and it did. But… Luckily for me it crapped out in a place just exactly like where I would’ve picked. Quiet, deserted and not a headlight for miles.”
“What happened after her car broke down?” Frank feels his voice threaten to crack, and the look on Vic’s face lets him know that he’s aware of the distress threatening to pour out of the cracks forming under his skin.
Vic shifts, “She let out such a pathetically sad little whine, ‘Sorry. Sorry’” Vic mocks her tone unthinkingly, and Frank feels something icy take hold in his chest "Embarrassed I think. Told her I’d take a look at her engine for her, that if it was simple I’d probably be able to do something”
“She agreed to let you look?” Frank pushed “Just like that?”
“Popped the hood almost immediately” Vic smirked. “Held the flashlight for me to see easier, gave me the only tools she carried in her boot in case they would help. One of the them was this one really nice screwdriver, a nice smooth wooden handle with a real long shaft on it” Vic gestured the length of the screwdriver with his hands “While poking around her engine, I pointed out a section that would have her look away from me. She unquestioningly stretched out an arm to illuminate the area better for me, throwing herself off balance. She made it so easy to slide the screwdriver in between her ribs. The shaft was long enough I would assume I punctured her lung with the first blow given how much force I used. She screamed, dropped her phone into the engine.” Vic stared holes through Frank as he recalled Julie’s death, lost in the memory, though as suddenly as he had vanished into the memory he snapped back to the present and focused blankly on Frank’s drawn face “To be clear with you Frank I didn’t really care how she died, I just wanted to watch the life drain from her. I didn’t count how many times I impaled her on that screwdriver, I just… kept poking holes until the screams stopped. By the time that had happened the heavens opened and began washing away the evidence”
Frank let out a shaky breath of air that he knew would echo on the recording later, trying not to lose his temper “What happened after you were done poking holes?”
“Stuffed her in the back of her own car” Vic shrugged “Knew that people wouldn’t look too closely for a long time if I left it there with the hood popped if I staged her right. Her back to the passing cars with only her hair visible, she looked like she was just awaiting rescue”
“How did you clean the scene so well afterwards? No traces of DNA was found other than hers” Frank leaned forward, trying to look invested in the story despite the churning in his stomach threatening to make him vomit.
“No Comment” Vic states flatly.
“None?” Frank blinks in surprise, surprised that was Vic’s cut off point
“No. I’m done sharing now” Vic’s voice holds a note of finality, brooking no further argument, Frank really didn’t feel like pushing “You’ve got what you need anyway”
Frank sighs, nodding “Session ends” He clicked the recorder off and tucked it away securely, standing “I’ll get the guard to take you back now. I’m sure you’re done with me being here now”
Vic doesn't answer immediately, just watches him walk across the room to knock on the door to get the guards attention. “You really can’t stand to be in here with me can you?”
“No” Frank’s answer is short “I don't understand how Shelley can”
Vic nods, eying the guards that come in to return him to his box, allowing them to free his chains from the fastenings from the table. They get him to the door before Vic stops turning to look at Frank with a smirk “See you soon”
* * *
Frank’s fingers tap listlessly against his steering wheel beside his forehead he was pressing against it. His eyes burned as he willed himself to keep himself together, the recording in his pocket was both a victory and a loss for him, on one hand he’d gotten a confession no one else could and helped bring a family justice, on the other he’d seen the monster hiding in his friend that he’d been pretending wasn’t really there.
Vic was right. He’s going to be back here soon, they’ll send him back here for more confessions, to meet the barely contained beast once again.
people getting mad at ao3 for rightfully being firmly against censorship and allowing dark fics that depict taboo subjects in explicit details to be on their platform is so funny to me because ao3 was created specifically to be a fuck you to capitalism and censorship. the point of ao3 is that it’s a place to host and archive any fanwork, which includes fanwork about taboo topics that are not allowed on other platforms like wattpad or fanfiction.net
the whole point of ao3 is that it’s a safe space for all fics, and that includes fics about taboo subjects
ao3 has always been firmly against censorship since the day it was created, that’s why it’s run by fans, for fans, on fans’ donations, why it’s a nonprofit organization, that’s also why it has no ads or algorithms or any of those capitalism bullshit
if you have a problem with that, go to fanfiction.net or wattpad. no one forces you to stay in the house made specifically for the (affectionate) freaks
✧ Broken ribs suck. You don’t just “walk it off.” Breathing hurts. Laughing hurts. Existing hurts. Characters with rib injuries won’t be doing heroic sprints.
✧ Concussions aren’t instant naps. Dazed vision, nausea, dizziness, maybe even personality changes, but they’re not going to collapse neatly like in the movies.
✧ Blood loss is sneaky. It’s not just about dramatic pools of blood. It’s dizziness, confusion, and the body getting cold as circulation tanks.
✧ Adrenaline lies. Someone can take a serious injury and not feel it until the fight’s over. That “I didn’t realize I was bleeding until later” trope? Very real.
✧ Twisted ankles are brutal. One bad step and suddenly running is off the table. Even walking hurts like hell. Perfect way to ground a chase scene.
✧ Burns linger. Even small burns hurt more than most people expect. Blisters, infection risk, constant pain, it’s not just a cool scar later.
✧ Dislocated shoulders = useless arm. Characters can’t keep swinging a sword or firing a gun. They’re basically fighting one-armed until it’s fixed.
✧ Shock is a thing. Pale skin, trembling, rapid heartbeat, and eventually disorientation. A character might not even realize how bad their wound is.
✧ Stitches aren’t magic. Getting sewn up is painful and recovery takes time. They’re not instantly battle-ready after a needle and thread.
✧ Scars tell stories. Some fade, some don’t. Some stay sensitive forever. Don’t forget the aftermath when the wound becomes part of the character.
