A/N: So. This is the murder-mystery I spent however long talking about. XD I'm putting the prologue and chapter 1 up together, because I hate putting up just a prologue. This takes place after the events of episode 18, and is meant to be an alternate ending to the anime.
For the record, for the rest of the story, Kuroshitsuji isn't mine, and neither is the idea for the murderer's modus operandi. Enjoy!
"I'm too young to lose my soul.
I'm too young to feel this old…"
Prologue
When Ciel Phantomhive woke up that morning, it was not because his loyal butler had thrown open the curtains to allow sunlight to rush in. The heavy drapes were still shut, and the line where they met in the middle was dark, indicating that it was still quite early. Ciel curled up underneath the thick blankets of his bed, cold without being able to explain why.
He shouldn't be alive. The church of cultists had fallen, and while many had escaped, the important thing was that the cult itself, and the insane angel who led it, had been destroyed. His revenge had been fulfilled and the terms of the contract met. And yet here he was, in his own bed, with a chill he could not shake. He had offered Sebastian his soul, and the demon had not taken it.
But why?
He understood what the butler had implied, by continuing to serve him. There was someone else out there; some ringleader who had yet to be caught. But he also knew that Sebastian had to be starving. Yes, the demon had aesthetics, but was that enough to justify putting off his meal a little longer, when Ciel had been willing, and never would have known that there was someone he had missed?
Ciel pulled the blankets tighter around his slender form, trying to calm his mind enough to go back to sleep. He had been spared; all that was important now was finding the remaining cultists and finishing his revenge. And then Sebastian would finally be able to have him, without any further trouble. He ignored the small part of his mind insisting that this was not what he wanted, and closed his eyes. It was too late for such thoughts.
In any case, he was Ciel Phantomhive, and he did not go back on his word.
xXx
Across London, in a small apartment near the docks in the East End, a certain Scotland Yard inspector named Aberline was gazing at the crime scene of his latest case. A body was lying on the floor of the apartment. Rope was tied around the young man's neck, and from the red marks present, that appeared to be what had killed him. Aberline shivered. Strangulation seemed a horrible way to die, gasping for breath that would not come as your lungs burned…
He shook his head, instead turning to inspect the room, to see if he could find anything of use. He was poking through the chest of drawers when Sir Randall came in with a sheet of paper.
"I've gotten the statement from the witness who found him." Sir Randall said, frowning. Aberline straightened up to look at him, and he continued, "She says his name was Ian McCullen, and he was barely making rent."
Aberline held up the wallet he'd found in the dead man's pocket. "He was twenty-four years old. There was no money in his wallet, but it didn't look like it had already been searched. I think this was straight murder, not robbery, especially since your witness said he couldn't pay." If the brunet-haired inspector was being honest with himself, this murder unnerved him. There was something about it, and not just the fact that the victim was only a few years younger than himself.
"So the question is why someone would want to murder some no-name East End rat." Sir Randall growled. "Well, at least we have a name and a bit of information to go off of. The last thing we need is the Queen getting worried and calling in her Guard Dog." His frown deepened at the thought of the young Earl.
"I think we can handle it. She doesn't call him in for mundane murders." Starting across the room towards the standing wardrobe, Aberline asked lightly, hoping not to upset his superior, "Why do you hate Earl Phantomhive so much?" He liked Ciel. He really did. Even if the boy was somewhat cold, Aberline could tell that beneath the façade he put on for the adults he had to deal with, there was a child in there somewhere. A lonely child who just needed someone to be there for him.
"He's thirteen years old and an uppity brat, that's why!" Sir Randall practically snarled. "He acts like we're beneath him, when it's our job to protect this city!" The head of Scotland Yard stormed over to begin looking through some documents piled on a desk in the corner. "We don't need the Queen's Dog checking up on us."
Aberline shrugged, knowing that his boss was impossible to talk to when he got into a mood like that, and opened up the wardrobe. There wasn't much, just a few pairs of pants and a single suit. It was likely the only nice set of clothing Mr. McCullen had owned. He was about to close the wardrobe again when he noticed a plain box sitting in the bottom, next to a pair of beaten-up shoes.
It looked almost out of place in this little apartment. Ian McCullen had very few personal possessions, and there was no indication that he owned anything of value that would need to be kept out of sight. Aberline figured that it was probably a sentimental thing, a memento of some kind, but it was his duty as a police officer to investigate thoroughly. He lifted the lid off of the box and peered inside. "S-Sir Randall…!"
"What is it, Aberline?" Sir Randall asked gruffly, walking over to see as well. Aberline held out the box wordlessly, and all it took was a single glance inside.
"What the bloody hell is that?"