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written-in-flowers · 6 years

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The Killer Within

Thank you @holy-bts-hoe for the cover! <3

Pairing: Namjoon X Jungkook, Yoongi X Jimin

Genre: Murder Mystery, Crime, Smut, Angst

Rating: M (for violence and graphic descriptions of violence, explicit scenes)

Summary: In his pursuit of a never-before-seen killer, Dr. Namjoon Kim must face his own horrid demons. It begs the question: What makes a man kill?

Word Count: 4k

Chapter One: Murder in the Courtyard

He felt as though he’d dragged the cart for miles. His horse slowly clopping behind him, Eddie wished he’d taken a faster route. Sadly, a faster route meant strolling through Applegate, a place he’d rather avoid. He carried valuables in this cart thieves would love to get their hands on. He’d be dead by morning if Mr. Moore found out he’d lost everything because he foolishly walked into the worst part of the city. Eddie bit down his grumbling and moved along.

“Come on Roxie,” he said over his shoulder. “We won’t get their any faster if you don’t keep up.” The horse huffed as if in protest. He abused the animal enough tonight. “It’ll take maybe a half hour more before we reach uptown. You’ll like it there, Roxie. Mr. Moore’s got a nice stable waitin’ for you.” He passed by an archway leading into a darker alley, “Here. We can cross through and make it to Hampton Road.”

The elderly man held the horse by the reins and guided her through. They each puffed at the wretched smell emanating from the ground. He thought he’d stumbled upon a sewer for a moment. The cart’s lantern swinging on its pole, he’d taken a few more steps before he saw it. Laying in the very center of the courtyard was a bundle of clothes. A pale arm told him it must be a woman.

“Excuse me, Miss? You alright?” Eddie let go of Roxie’s reins and took up the lantern. “Must be drunk,” he muttered to himself. “Figures, especially so close to Applegate.” He thought about moving around her, but something said otherwise. Particularly the deep, dark-colored pool contrasted to the muddy puddle. “Miss? Miss, are you hurt?” He drew closer to her. “I can get you some help if you need it. It’s cold out and you’re-Oh Dear Lord!”

On her back, skirt lifted over her he saw nothing but a mess of blood and skin. Shock crashed his lantern onto the ground, and he sprinted back up the alley. “Murder! Murder! Help! Murder in the courtyard!”

“You’re late.”

He sat at the vanity brushing out his cropped hair. The fine fabric of his dress gave little glimpses of his smooth skin. Namjoon couldn’t help envisioning whatever he wore under there tonight. He’d thought about it on the way there. The cold air did nothing to ease the warmth radiating inside him. In the mirror, Jungkook stared at him doe-eyed with a soft pout. Yes, he had been late. A patient of his became rowdy during their session and it took a while to calm him. Shrugging off his coat, he hung it up and walked further into the room. He placed his hands on Jungkook’s shoulders, tenderly massaging them.

“I know,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

“I was worried you might not come after all. Maybe you’d forgotten about me and moved on to somebody else.”

“I’d never do that to you.”

He smelled like jasmine tonight. The scent wafted right by his neck where Namjoon kissed. The scent stayed in his nose as he continued kissing where allowed. He wanted to lose himself in the scent; forget the world and drown in Jungkook's arms and sheets. He glanced back into the mirror where Jungkook grinned at him. He’d buttoned his dress only to the middle of his stomach where Namjoon glimpsed his hairless chest and nipples. His heart raced at the idea of kissing and sucking them. He longed to hear Jungkook’s delighted squeals and sensual moans. How could someone have such a profound effect on him? All Jungkook needed to do was smile and Namjoon melted.

He nipped at his ear as he said, “Were you with anyone else tonight?”

“No,” Jungkook replied. “I’ve been up here since dinner like every weekend. Rooster doesn’t like it, but he puts up with it because of you.”

“He puts up with it because of my money.”

Jungkook turned around to face him. Being so close to him this way, Namjoon wanted to ravage him. Jungkook’s perfume only fueled this need. “No, I don’t think it’s only that,” he said. “You scare him.”

Namjoon chuckled, “I scare him?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Rooster likes his life the way it is. He seems to think you can end that for him.”

Namjoon paused, looking up into Jungkook’s face. He figured as much. Many other criminals he met felt the same. Well, they usually jested about it rather than be serious. Rooster, in his anxiety, would worry about it. Everyone knew what he’d done and who he’d done it to. The police questioned him for hours over it, but got the same response every time.

“I told you. I told everyone. It was an accident.”

“I believe you,” Jungkook cupped his face and kissed him. “A lot of other people don’t though. They think you bashed his brains in after he-”

“-Let’s not talk about that,” Namjoon cut in. Running a hand in Jungkook’s hair, he pecked his lips again. “I didn’t come here to talk about that.”

“You being friends with Detective Jung doesn’t make him feel any better.” Jungkook shifted closer to him. He held onto Namjoon by the lapels of his jacket and drew him nearer on his knees. “The police make people like us very nervous.”

Namjoon looked over his face for the millionth time, taking in his sweet lips and wide eyes. “Why are you here, Jungkook? A smart person like you should be somewhere else doing work fit for you.”

“And what ‘work’ would that be?”

“Office work. Construction, you have the body for it. Something that requires brains,” he said before a light kiss. “You deserve better.”

“Boys like me don’t get ‘better’,” Jungkook sighed, toying with Namjoon’s tie. “We play the cards we’re dealt and learn to live with it. Besides, Rooster would kill me if I tried running. He rearranged Lizzie’s face as an example a few nights ago.”

“I’d protect you. Like you said, the man’s afraid of me.”

“He might be, but Thompson isn’t.”

Namjoon remembered the towering ice box called Thompson. The bald man often stood outside the brothel doorway to watch over the workers outside. He also kept look out for police on patrol. He reminded Namjoon of the patients he’d get at Woodgate. Large, vicious men who liked to hurt for no reason other than pleasure and amusement.

“Besides, a boy’s got to eat,” Jungkook continued. “Hooking isn’t all bad. It can be fun,” he smiled at Namjoon, “When you meet a few good ones.”

“Still,” Namjoon finally said, “Sometimes we get an opportunity to change out our cards. I did and I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Jungkook tilted his head curiously.

“What do you mean ‘are you’? Yes, I am.”

Jungkook observed him. He read his face and expression before saying, “If you say so, Doctor.” He pressed his lips to Namjoon’s, then kept their foreheads together. Namjoon sensed the dip in Jungkook’s voice. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he began. “You don’t have to lie to me or to yourself here. My room’s our special place,” he kissed him, “And in our special place, you can talk about whatever you want.”

Namjoon stared at him. He looked over the solemn brown eyes glinting at him. They paired with the small frown he gave him. Jungkook meant well; he knew he did. The boy only wanted to comfort him; relax his worries away for a time. Something in him refused the feeling. No amount of kisses could keep the monster away. “I like you without the wigs,” he told him. “The brown one looks so awful on you.”

The change hadn’t slipped past Jungkook, but he let it anyways. “You hate them because they make me look more like a girl,” he put on a sly smirk.

“If I wanted to fuck a girl, I’d go find a girl.”

“But you still like my dresses.”

He wrapped an arm around him, his body spreading Jungkook’s legs. “Because you don’t keep them on long anyways,” he pecked his lips, a strawberry flavor coming from them. His hands started roaming over his thighs. His black cotton stockings felt smooth to the touch; he toyed with their silver buckles and matching garters. He wanted him, and he wanted him now. Their bodies came closer together and Namjoon kissed him again, this time a bit deeper. “I like how they look on you,” he snapped off the buckles as he talked against his neck. “I like taking them off you. It’s like I’m unwrapping a present every time I undress you.”

“Most clients just like it because they feel less guilty,” Jungkook said, hugging him. He relaxed at the lips kissing the base of his throat. “They can pretend they’re fucking a girl instead of a boy. A lot of them ask me to put on my girl voice too.”

“I hate that girl voice.”

“Me too.” He let Namjoon kiss and fondle him before asking, “Don’t you feel guilty? You know, being with men instead of women. It could get you into a lot of trouble if someone found out.”

“No,” he answered, licking at his bottom lip. “I’ve learned to embrace this part of me. Turning away from it only makes you feel trapped, lost and confused. And like you said, I have friends in a lot of places.”

He felt between Jungkook’s legs. Heat radiated through the thin dress, the shape of it pressed into Namjoon’s palm. Jungkook moaned into his mouth as his began gently rubbing the shaft pushed sideways. The ruffles of his bloomers could be felt, and they only made Namjoon searched for his cock more. He kissed and licked down Jungkook’s chest to the exposed nipples below. Namjoon loved how responsive he became once he sucked them. He’d gaze up to see his gorgeous face contorted by pleasure; innocent eyes pleaded with him for more. Yet, Namjoon only continued teasing him. The idea of getting Jungkook right to the brink of desperation aroused him every time.

He eventually kissed down his stomach, unbuttoning the chemise as he went. With every bit of skin he found, he became hungrier. As he reached the bloomers, he spotted the hard outline of Jungkook under them. This encouraged him to kiss the rough ruffles and lick between them to the cock inside. He chuckled when Jungkook pulled him closer by the hair. He mumbled something about wanting more, but Namjoon pretended not to hear. He enjoyed the teasing far too much to end it so soon. They had the whole night, and he wouldn’t waste it.

“Let’s get this out, shall we?” he asked Jungkook, gradually tugging down the undergarment. “I want you in nothing but these stockings tonight.”

“You can have me in whatever you want,” Jungkook whimpered. “Just please touch me now.”

He left small trails of kisses on his hips. He started by the waist and followed the pelvis down to the center. Right as he hooked his fingers on the waistband, the door opened.

“Excuse me, Dr. Kim, sir!”

It was Lionel. Lanky and long, Private Lionel Davies stood in the doorway in his black uniform not looking at either of them. Namjoon quickly stood up from Jungkook, who covered his naked torso. Shaky hands holding his police hat, Lionel didn’t meet Namjoon’s eyes. Not out of disgust for the place he’d entered, but of fear.

“What do you want?” Namjoon snapped. “Don’t you know to knock on doors in a whorehouse, boy?”

“S-Sorry, sir,” Lionel bowed his head, “It’s Detective Jung, sir. He asked me to come fetch you. He says it’s urgent.”

“I’m sure whatever Hoseok needs can wait.”

“Not this time, sir, no.” He finally met Namjoon’s eyes, “It’s-It’s awful. Ungodly, sir.”

“‘Ungodly’?”

“Please, sir, don’t make me explain out loud. You’ll find out soon enough when you come with me.”

Namjoon looked to Jungkook with apologetic eyes. The anticipation in him sunk to the bottom seeing him on the chair. He’d hoped for a long night. Jungkook only nodded. “It’s okay,” he assured, “I understand. Important doctor and police business, I’m sure.”

“It seems so.” Namjoon kissed Jungkook’s cheek and pushed a bill into his hand, “For your meals, love. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he smirked, “Dr. Kim.”

Taking his coat off the hook, Namjoon followed Lionel downstairs into the brothel’s main room. The Burning Dragon was the place to go for men craving an ‘exotic taste’. Chinese, Japanese, Korean and the like strutted around in loose silk robes; wearing various stages of dress and faces painted with rouge and lipstick. He spotted a few real women, but caught mostly young men or boys. Namjoon watched greedy men in fine suits fawn over them, grope them, and laugh with them. They’re the same men Jungkook spoke about. The bar supplied enough booze to help forget they’re fondling a man and not a woman. Boys winked and smiled at him as he passed, but he walked by. At that moment, he wished he could go back upstairs to the only person he truly wanted.

“Namjoon!” a friendly voice called from the bar. “Leaving so soon? You’d only been up there ten minutes!”

Hyungsik Yang isn’t the only man to exploit his own people. Plenty of opium dens and brothels did the same. However, Namjoon learned he was a special kind of pimp. Dressed in a pinstripe suit, a pink flower on his lapel and matching pocket square, ‘Rooster’ grinned at him from the bar.

“Just a bit of police business,” he called back. “Totally need-to-know basis, I’m afraid.”

Rooster’s smile faded at the mention of ‘police’. “I see…”

He bid him goodnight and walked onto the busy street. Winter already began creeping on the crowded New York streets. Crisp, cold air filled his nose and lungs the moment he stepped outside; the promise of snow soon on them. Working girls and boys stood outside taverns and brothels hoping to lure in greedy customers. A group of street urchins passed him in their tattered clothes and gloves. Children of the night, he thought, as he stepped into the carriage outside. He knew the further they went down Buck Alley, they’d find even more varieties of people.

“You’re not to tell anyone what you saw, Lionel,” Namjoon said in the quiet of the carriage. “Understand? Not a soul.”

“Ye-yes sir,” he nodded. “Detective Jung told me he’d have my badge if I did. What you lot do ain’t any of my business, sir. I’m only doing my job.”

“As you should.”

“Plus,” he shrugged, “Rooster pays us cops good for keeping quiet and minding our own business.”

“I’m sure he does.”

They rode in silence for a while as they went down the cobbled street. He thought on his friend Detective Hoseok Jung. They’d met by chance at Chapman Asylum a few years ago. Hoseok went there inquiring about a patient of theirs: Charles Bishop. The name alone boiled Namjoon’s blood. They believed Bishop might’ve murdered more people than they first believed. Hoseok wished to speak with him, and the hospital obliged. Bishop. Namjoon remembered him; he’d never forget him. Towering and broad, Namjoon recalled how his greasy black hair fell in front of his eyes. A deep brown-almost black-would glare at anyone who stared too long. Namjoon used to worry for a moment he’d recognize him. He thought he'd confront him at least, but he never did. Not until the very end. Namjoon pushed that aside for now. He had more important things to focus on. He noticed they’d gone from the brothels and taverns to the side shops and green grocers. They’d left Applegate and moved into Cheswick Court. What could’ve possibly happened in this part of town? A large crowd formed at the opening of an alleyway. Spectators, reporters and police men gathered around in a semi-circle, trying to get answers or peer over their shoulders.

“There’s always a crowd,” Namjoon muttered. God, he’d kill someone to be with Jungkook right then.

“The people love a good murder, sir. I reckon they think it’s better than going to a show.”

“To them it is a show.”

The pair exited the carriage just outside the circle. The moment he stepped down, people turned to see him. He groaned at the reporters who reached him. They shouted various questions at him, trying to get a quote from him. But Namjoon knew about as much as them. It didn’t surprise him to see them crawling around a crime scene. The papers loved talking about anything remotely gruesome or tragic. They’d certainly enjoyed slandering him for six months. Lionel and other officers pushed them away to give Namjoon a path to the alley. The smell became more potent as he stepped through the dark, dank alley. Rotten, putrid scents came through the air to his nose, and rather than cough, he inhaled.

“Namjoon. I’m glad you’re here.”

Detective Hoseok Jung stood in the center of the courtyard. A bundle laid at his feet in the mud, long and sprawled out. Other officers walked about searching for evidence and documenting anything they found. Dim lanterns gave light to the intersection of back alleys and houses. Namjoon immediately glanced around the area, seeing clothes lines, boarded up backyards and even an outhouse by a wall. Not a commonly frequented area, he guessed someone came upon the body by accident. The men shook hands, and Namjoon crouched beside her.

About twenty-five years old, the woman laid in a puddle of blood and mud. Her dark hair spattered and matted, she'd fallen backwards into it. That wasn't the worst part. Gaping wounds across her neck indicated it'd been slashed twice from ear-to-ear. They'd severed it down to the vocal cords nearly reaching bone. If they’d gone any deeper, they might’ve decapitated her. He looked further to see haphazard stabs punctured her chest and breasts. They crisscrossed and clustered over various areas which only spilled more blood. Rage. Hate. Merciless. Whoever killed this woman wanted her obliterated. They'd hacked at her nose, sawing it off to the bone and leaving only two holes. Light bruises went about her cheeks and eyes; they'd sliced at her lips as well. Her face meant something to them. They'd focused on it for a reason, but what reason? He picked up her hand and examined her fingers. Calluses on her fingertips suggested hands-on work. By the patches on her skirt and the exceptional detailing on her neckline, he thought perhaps a dressmaker or seamstress. Turning the hand around, he searched for defensive wounds but found nothing.

“She hadn’t seen them coming,” he said.

“Hello to you too, Namjoon,” Hoseok sighed.

“Who is she? Do you know?”

“A gentleman nearby says her name is Jangmi Lee,” he answered. “She’s a seamstress down the street. From what we’ve gathered, she was walking home when attacked.” He paused, “So, you were with the boy tonight?”

“It’s dark here,” he stared around the square, “And everyone here keeps their back windows and doors locked. Nobody would’ve seen it happen. Who found her?”

“That gentleman over there,” Hoseok pointed to an old man in overalls. Sitting on a backdoor stoop, he recounted everything to the officer nearest him. “He’d been on his way uptown before he decided to take the shortcut.” Hoseok pursed his lips, yet added, “Makes it an ideal place. They cut at her vocal cords,” he bent down next to him, “Almost down to bone, damn them. She can’t scream if her cords are severed in half.”

“Then they went to work on her chest.” Namjoon peered down at the dozens of stab wounds, “They didn’t hit anywhere in particular, but it’s odd, isn’t it? They focused mainly on her breasts and chest.”

“Maybe they thought they’d hit her heart by some chance?”

“No, she’s already dead. Why bother?”

The pair thought together before Hoseok spoke, “Well, her gender must have something to do with it. The breasts are the first thing you get your hands on when you…” he hesitated. He looked to Namjoon and said, “You know, when you’re that way with a woman. So, he’s targeting the thing that naturally makes her a woman.”

“Did you look at her womanhood?” he asked.

“What?” Hoseok whipped his head to him, “Why on Earth would we-”

“-He might’ve mutilated it if you’re theory is right.”

Namjoon went a bit ways down to the hem of her skirt and lifted it. A large pool of blood soaked through undergarments and layers of clothes. The fabric torn open, he saw several lacerations over the pubic mound and lips. A poor job, in his opinion, but they'd gotten their point across.

“For God’s Sakes Namjoon!” Hoseok swatted his hand from the skirt, “Give the woman some dignity! We'd already found her with it over her head and legs spread out!”

“I only needed to be sure. The cuts are odd; it's as if they'd tried removing her sex completely.”

“Removing?! Why would they-”

“For the reason you gave: she's a woman. Yes, I believe that plays a part here.” He turned back to her face. “They smashed her face and cut off her nose. Why her nose? It’s such an odd thing.”

“There’s gangs around here who like to collect trophies,” he told him. “It’s not uncommon for them to take the nose, but this doesn’t seem gang-related. If it were, they wouldn’t have been so brutal about it.” He hesitated, “Except that friend of yours. Rooster?”

“Rooster is far from a friend,” Namjoon corrected him. “But this isn’t up his alley. He’d never do this sort of damage to someone who crossed him.”

“It’s all still speculation though,” Hoseok finally stood up. “This could always be a one-off attack. Cheswick isn't too far from Applegate. Gangs, rapists, thieves, drunkards and degenerates of all sorts live down there.”

“Well, it’s not the wealthiest area, is it?” Namjoon looked up to him. “A lot of those people end up resorting to crime for money.” He looked about the area again, “She must have made a decent living to be here. Though I doubt this is a robbery. Was anything missing?”

“No. We recovered her bag not too far away with everything still in it.”

“Then they came for another reason.” The ideas came to him endlessly.

Then something glinted in the corner of his eye. Namjoon looked below to find silver shining in the lantern’s half light. Namjoon wiped off the mud from each one, examining them in the light. Two pieces of silver with a five-hundred inscribed on each one. Cheap. Worthless. The things the killer wanted the entire world to know about Jangmi.

“I don’t think these were here by accident.”

Hoseok observed the coins, “No. No they’re not. Nobody in Applegate just drops their money and there’s no coin purse on her. It’s deliberate then?”

“Yes, I think so. They don’t think she’s worth more than a thousand-won. Such meaningful clues.”

“Meaningful? What’s ‘meaningful’ about this?”

“They could easily have killed her and walked away,” Namjoon explained, “But they chose to leave these. I’m sure they’ve left other things behind as well. Maybe even inside her.”

“Inside her?! We don’t know of that for sure right now.”

Is it wrong that it’s the sort of clue he’d give? “And probably won’t until Seokjin’s looked at her.”

“Seokjin? You mean Kim Seokjin? The mortician who runs that funeral home with the birds on it?”

“They're crows, Hoseok.”

“Namjoon, the department has its own medical examiner. I think he’s more qualified for this than-”

“-I don’t trust your examiner,” he snapped. He stood up from the corpse and pocketed the coins. “He’s a lazy, incompetent drunk who couldn’t even dissect a frog. Seokjin is more than capable of examining this body. He does it for a living, remember? He can learn more than us right now.”

Hoseok looked down at him a moment. Namjoon saw the conflict inside him before he sighed, “Fine. I’ll have her taken there. Bridges, Connor,” he called two officers over, “See to it this woman is taken to the Kensington Funeral Home and NOT the examiner’s office.” He glanced to Namjoon, “And see if Dr. Kim is in his right state of mind. If not, she’s going to Sanders.”

“But, sir,” the shorter man-Bridges-said, “Dr. Kim’s right here.”

“Not him, the other Dr. Kim. He’s the tall one with the shoulders in the mortuary.”

“Oh,” Bridges flushed in embarrassment, “Sorry, sir. Yes, we’ll see she’s taken there straight away.”

“Thank you.”

The two men walked away from them to an incoming carriage, most likely an ambulance coming to take her. “They’ll never admit it,” Namjoon sighed, looking back to the body. “They can never seem to admit that they can’t tell one Asian from another.”

“Oh don’t be so harsh,” he patted his shoulder. “They just get confused sometimes. You’re both doctors with the same last name.”

“Does this mean they like you now?” Namjoon lifted an eyebrow. “That they totally respect and accept you into their ranks, Mr. First Non-White Detective?”

“It’s taken some time,” he fixed his jacket, “But they at least listen to me now.” He then whispered, “They think I don’t hear what they say behind my back.” He nodded to the group standing by one of the alleys, “They call me Officer Chink. It’s an awful name. That Irish one-O-Neil?-is the worst about it, but then visits the Drunken Mermaid by the docks. They’re all bastards, but they’re brothers-in-arms too.”

“Brothers-in-arms is best left for the military. Not a group of criminals in black uniforms.”

“It’s a bitter pill to swallow,” Hoseok sighed. “But it makes Mom proud. She keeps telling all her friends about it.”

Namjoon looked back to Jangmi. She must’ve been eye-catching if the killer chose her out of millions of women. What she’d done to deserve this, Namjoon wasn’t sure of yet. She could’ve done nothing at all. The destruction on her face reminded him of another. Examiners said they almost couldn’t recognize Bishop underneath all the damage. However, they couldn’t call it murder either. They’d seen many accidents where the deceased suffered serious skull fractures, a broken nose, and lacerations to the face. He’d snapped his neck during the fall...or had he? Namjoon tried remembering that day, yet it never came to him. He was sure the killer remembered everything perfectly.

An artist never forgets his masterpiece.

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