ｃｈｒｙｓｓｉｅ

ｒｏｈｙｐｎｏｌ

Seeing as she had no other choice, she tossed the rug into the wash and started to sweep the glass up.

~

Grayson stepped inside. No one even noticed him, which was how he liked it. He had pulled a hat over his head, obscuring his face.

He walked up to the barkeep, who was wiping glasses and humming a tune.

The barkeep's head snapped up suddenly when Grayson coughed. "'Scuse me, laddie? Can I help ya?"

Grayson looked at him for a few seconds. "I'm waiting for my friend. Just came in here to get out of the rain."

"A'right then," the barkeep said with a shrug, turning away from Grayson to another customer, who was ordering a spirit of sorts.

"You know where Willy is?" the man ordering the drink asked.

"Oi, he's usually in here 'round one." the barkeep replied.

The man shrugged, then walked away, back to his table of rambunctious friends.

The barkeep looked at Grayson.  "Drink while ya wait, laddie?"

"No thank you." Grayson replied quietly. The barkeep kept glancing at him.

This bothered Grayson. He didn't like being noticed. It fucked his plans up. If the barkeep remembered what he looked like -

Grayson calmly pulled his hoodie over his head, and the barkeep turned away.

Then William Daryman stepped into the pub.

William Daryman was small and weedy and missing half of his teeth. The white hair on top of his head was thinning.

He scrambled up to the barkeep like a little rat (which was exactly what he was) and said, "The usual."

Grayson watched, amused, as the barkeep passed him a beer. He wasn't familiar with the brand, but William seemed to be from the way he drained the bottle and asked for another.

"Oi! Willy! Get your arse over 'ere!" a man yelled from one of the tables. He was red in the face. Probably had been drinking a lot.

Grayson hadn't had a drink for a long time.

~

Chryssie had finally managed to clean up most of the glass.

The handle of the cup had broken off and fallen under her bed.

She reached for it and noticed the box of chocolates that was sitting, desolate and gathering dust, right next to the handle. 

She still wasn't sure who they were from, but she had eaten a few of them already and nothing bad had happened to her.

She pulled the box out from under the bed, neglecting the glass handle. She tucked the note into her pocket and opened the box.

There were eighteen chocolates left, and twenty-four chocolates had come in the box.

She had only eaten two.

Quickly, she jumped up, her heart pounding. She shoved the box back under the bed.

She knew that her mother couldn't have eaten them. Her mother hated those chocolates, and she hadn't even known about them.

Chryssie certainly hadn't eaten them.

Which left only one explanation: someone was, or had been in her house, in her room without her knowing.

She felt ill.

She heard a creak from the other room and jumped up, terrified.

Her mother had always said that Chryssie had an 'overactive imagination'.

Chryssie hardly thought that her 'overactive imagination' could make four chocolates disappear.

After a few minutes of arguing with herself, Chryssie unplugged one of her lamps and held it like a bat. She took a deep breath and flung her door open.

There was no one there.

She gave a sigh of relief, putting her lamp back down, but flicking the lights in the upstairs hallway on anyway.

She turned to walk back into her room when she saw it, hanging there on the door.

A typed note.

Scared?

And then Chryssie fainted.

~

Grayson calmly waited for about fifteen minutes, then stepped outside of the pub. As if on cue, five minutes later, William came stumbling out, completely sloshed.

Grayson grabbed him by his collar and dragged him into an alley.

"OI! OI! YOU TAKIN' THE PISS-?!" he began to sputter.

"Shut up." Grayson interrupted coldly, pulling his knife out and pressing it to his neck.

William nearly went cross-eyed trying to keep the knife in his view. "Wha - what d'ya want?"

"Drugs." Grayson replied as flatly as he could.

William laughed nervously. "I don't-"

"Yes, you do!" Grayson exclaimed, poking him with the knife. Blood dripped out of the pinprick that Grayson had made on his neck.

"Okay!" William said shakily, digging a hand into his pocket and pulling out a bag of white, circular pills. "Is this what ya-"

Grayson grabbed the bag and stuffed it into his pocket. Then, with one quick movement, he dragged the knife across Willy's throat and stepped back.

Blood spattered onto the ground around him as the body fell. There was choking and sputtering, and then nothing.

The life left his eyes, leaving them glazed over and unseeing.

William Daryman was no more.

It was necessary to Grayson's plans, after all, he couldn't have William just blabbing to the police about him, which is exactly what would have happened had he kept him alive.

Grayson turned and walked out of the alleyway, clutching the bag of pills in his pocket. Thankfully, there were no bloodstains adorning his clothes

The pills. He wasn't planning on raping anyone. He thought that rape was disgusting and cowardly. Of course, he was handsome and could convince bloody well anyone to shag him.

But he was planning on drugging someone.

That was why he needed Rohypnol.

a/n
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indigo