Cosplay Killer Read online

  “About?” Dannel tried to pay attention, but the flash of lights down the corner and the shouting from a nearby pub made it difficult. “What do I think about what?”

  “Me? Buff, renegade Shepard?” Evie flexed her upper arms, showing off her muscles. “That’s your yes face, right?”

  “Sure.” Dannel stared at his reflection in a shop window. “It’s definitely an expression of some sort.”

  In truth, Dannel didn’t know. He struggled to decipher body language, emotions, and tone of voice. His—and others. His expression seemed suitably blank.

  Why do they say know thyself?

  How do I know myself?

  I barely figure out what I’m feeling while it’s happening—half the time Ossie has to help me decipher it.

  Maybe it should be, get a boyfriend who knows you, so you can know thyself?

  “Hey, you hungry? Evie grabbed his sleeve when he continued forward after she stopped. He let her guide him across the street. “I’d sell your soul for nuggets.”

  “My soul?”

  “I figure I’m worth chips, nuggets, and a shake.” She grinned. “Are you up for a late-night or early-morning snack? My protein bar didn’t even take the edge off my hunger.”

  “You know protein bars aren’t good for you.”

  “Not taking nutritional advice from a man who drinks milkshakes every day of the year.” She darted through the sliding door in front of him. “I’ll pay, since you treated yesterday.”

  “I’ve bought our after-work snack for ten days in a row.” Dannel waved woodenly at the cheerful young man at the register. They were regulars at their favourite late-night spots. “Milkshake—half chocolate, half vanilla. Three large chips. And whatever she wants.”

  Be more polite.

  Dannel tried for a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Thanks.”

  “Thanks” is polite, right? Is it the right word? Why is this so hard?

  “He means. Hello. How’s your night gone? We’re absolutely shattered. Too many wankers out there setting fires and making work for us.” Evie flashed a better example of a welcoming grin than Dannel could ever manage, no matter how much he practised. “We’d love two large shakes, two large chips, a cheese melt sharebox, spicy nuggets, and sweet chilli chicken wrap.”

  “Hungry?” Dannel blinked at the larger than normal order.

  “You know Oz-man’s going to want the wrap for breakfast.” Evie had an excellent point. “We’ll eat the melts on the way home.”

  Another excellent point.

  At the end of a twelve-hour shift, Dannel wanted two things—silence and food. On busy days, they tended to not have time for meals. And he constantly struggled with sensory overload.

  He hated it.

  Hated how his struggles made him feel like a failure when he logically knew he wasn’t.

  “What’s with the frowny face?” Evie nudged him away from the counter. She handed over his milkshake and the box of melts, keeping the bag with the rest of the food under her arm. “Let’s get you home. You’re definitely more worn out than I thought.”

  He didn’t argue.

  “Dannel?”

  “What?” He glanced over at her.

  “You could quit.”

  He shrugged. “I’m aware of the possibility.”

  “There’s no shame in changing careers in your thirties.” Evie chewed on a chip. She had one of the packets in her hand and held it out to him. “Oz-man would support you. So would I.”

  “Yeah.” Dannel snagged a few greasy chips. “My dad would be disappointed.”

  “The man who walked out when you were a kid and only came back when you were a teenager?” Evie held a grudge far longer than he did. She was a good friend. “I think it’s all in your head. No one would be disappointed if you stopped being a firefighter. I’d miss you, but honestly, we live in the same building. I’d see you every day, no matter what. The stress isn’t worth it.”

  What could he say? The job everyone thought was his dream job made him beyond miserable. It sent his blood pressure soaring just picking up his gear.

  It wasn’t the work itself. Or not only the daily grind of potentially life-threatening situations. The constant racket at the station between sirens, co-workers, and engine noises combined with dealing with people non-stop made life hell. He wondered how many years had been knocked off his life from the damage of the high-stress environment.

  “Why don’t you chat with your Oz-man about it?” Evie wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “I love you, so I’m not afraid to say being stubborn over this is beyond senseless.”

  “I know.”

  They finished the chips and cheese melts on the walk home. Evie disappeared into her flat. Dannel smiled at her door, then headed into his own.

  Creeping quietly into their flat, Dannel froze at the sight of Osian asleep on the sofa. He’d obviously tried to wait up. The last few hours of a shift always made Osian anxious. They tended to be the most dangerous hours of his day. Tired firefighters and paramedics tended to make mistakes at the end of a shift. They were alert and aware at the beginning.

  Dannel set his drink and the bag of food on the coffee table. “Ossie?”

  Osian groaned into the cushion. He sat up and smiled groggily at him. “Home. Good. Sleep now.”

  He caught Osian before he could lie back on the couch. “Why don’t you go to bed? You’ll hurt your back out here.”

  “Smell chips,” Osian muttered. He stretched his arms slowly, revealing the soft, pale skin of his stomach and the wisps of hair down his abdomen that Dannel loved. “Save me any?”

  “And a wrap.”

  “I’m suddenly wide awake.” Osian stood up and stretched for a second time. “Or, my stomach is.”

  Grabbing the bag, Dannel offered it to Osian. He went into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. His body wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed and not move for at least a decade.

  Dannel moved over to stare out the window. He loved the silence of their street in the early morning hours—one of the positives of his late shift. “My ears are ringing.”

  Osian put the bag into the fridge and came up to wrap his arms around him. “Why don’t we put the Hamilton album on? It always helps you relax. Or maybe your gaming soundtrack compilation?”

  “Musical silence?”

  “Musical silence.”

  Musical silence.

  The term they’d come up with as teens. Osian had seemed to instinctually understand how music settled something deep inside Dannel. They’d spent endless hours on the roof of their building, listening to their favourite albums and ignoring the world around them.

  “My vote’s for Hamilton.” Dannel tilted his head to rest against Osian’s shoulder. The arms around him tightened. “Cold chips and salty political quips.”

  “Punny.”

  “I thought so.” He breathed in deeply; just being home with Osian eased some of the tension in his body. “Tired.”

  And he was. Evie had been right when she’d said he needed a change. He simply didn’t know how to make the first step.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Osian hesitated when Dannel immediately shook his head. “Okay. Greasy chips and music it is.”

  3

  Osian

  “If we don’t answer, they’ll get tired of knocking and go away,” Osian whispered. He peered through the peephole at his baby sister, Olivia, and Dannel’s younger brother, Roland. Both twenty-seven, both constant annoyances to their older siblings almost from birth. “They’re together. Never a good sign.”

  “Bugger.” Dannel stepped up behind him. He leaned against Osian, pressing him into the door so he could look through the peephole himself. “Maybe they’ll get bored if we ignore them.”

  “Inside voice.” Osian groaned before chuckling. He had no doubts their siblings had heard Dannel. “They might’ve brought a bribe.”

  Knock.

  Knock. Knock.

 
; Knock.

  “They could at least tap out a rhythm.” Dannel winked at Osian, who laughed against Dannel’s shoulder to muffle the sound.

  “We can hear you laughing.” Olivia calmly interrupted their snickering fit. “We brought cake.”

  Dannel glanced toward the door. “Cake?”

  Osian tried to silence him with a searing kiss. “We aren’t that easy.”

  “What kind of cake?”

  “Made a Bakewell Swiss Roll.”

  Dannel opened the door so fast it that he almost knocked a laughing Osian to the floor. “Sorry, Ossie.”

  “Yeah, yeah, get the cake before they drop it.” Osian waved off the unnecessary apology. “Apparently, we are easy enough to be bought by pastry.”

  “Cake.” Olivia handed over the plate to Dannel, who immediately made a beeline for the kitchen with his younger brother on his heels. “You’d think no one ever feeds them.”

  “I shudder to think about how Auntie Rolina managed to feed both of them without going bankrupt. Remember when they hit their growth spurt in their teens? They practically inhaled food.” Osian draped an arm across his sister’s shoulders. “How are you doing, kid?”

  “First, you ate as much as both of them.” Olivia dug her elbow into his side. “Second, I’m only three years younger than you.”

  “Still a kid to me.” He paused when she held him back.

  “How are you doing?” His sister ignored the sounds of the now duelling brothers, fighting over the cake with extended forks they’d been given as a joke gift ages ago. She always read him better than everyone else. “Osian?”

  He never knew what to say. There were no easy answers. Olivia tended to read him better than anyone aside from Dannel, so faking his way through a lie was pointless.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends. “Better? Not perfect. Still a few rough days here and there where I hate myself.”

  “Better is good. Better without the question mark would be better,” she teased. “Wish you’d let us help.”

  “I’m—” Osian was cut off by a loud crash in the kitchen. “They dropped the cake. Thanks, you know, for bringing a homemade pudding for me. The floor really appreciates the thought.”

  “Should we help?”

  He glanced at the jumbled mess of broken ceramic, frosting, cake, and jam. “How about no? They broke it, they can figure this out.”

  They made the mistake of meeting each other’s gaze and immediately collapsed into hysterical laughter. It took ten minutes to calm down. And infinitely less time to clean up. Osian mourned the cake dumped in the rubbish bin.

  “So, leftovers?” He pulled out the pizza box from the bottom of their fridge. “Got enough for a slice each.”

  Cold pizza. Colder beer. They lounged in the living room, eating, drinking, and arguing about the best musicals. The passionate debate ended with Osian and Dannel loudly re-enacting their favourite song from Wicked—out of tune.

  “Why exactly did you two come over?” Osian pulled Roland aside while Olivia and Dannel cleaned up from their impromptu party. “It wasn’t this.”

  Roland folded his arms across his chest, and the smile evaporated from his face. “Your sister is persuasive.”

  “You’re a hardened detective.”

  “I haven’t quite made detective.” Roland flicked him on the arm. “Have you talked to Evie lately?”

  “Why?” Osian glanced over at Dannel, who’d put on his headphones. Time for the siblings to go. He’s definitely reached his limit of socialisation. “Can you summarise for me?”

  “You’re not the only one in need of a change of career.” Roland nodded towards his older brother. “Think about it.”

  The siblings headed out after a bit. Olivia had a class to teach in the morning and a husband working the late shift. Roland gave Osian a pointed glare before following her out of the flat.

  Osian grabbed his phone from the counter to text Evie, only to be immediately distracted by a new email. “What a bellend.”

  Another anonymous letter, almost exactly the same as the last one.

  Tapping his finger against the side of his phone, Osian wondered why the anonymous messages set him so on edge. He’d tried tracking the email. There was no concrete identifying information.

  A faceless wanker hiding behind technology who made Osian’s head hurt.

  Maybe I should send these to Roland? Coppers investigate things, right? He can play detective and figure this out.

  “Ossie?”

  Osian followed the voice down the hall to find Dannel holding two pieces of the harness that made up part of his cosplay. “What happened?”

  “Your sister or my brother.” Dannel gently set the broken straps down on one of the tables. They’d turned their spare room into a workspace. “Hand me the glue—not the wood one but the fabric one.”

  “Ahh, yes, clear concrete.” Osian dug around in the tall cabinet to find the right bottle. They’d taped over the real labels and come up with names of their own. “Think it’ll hold?”

  “Long enough for the convention. Unless you want to be Hamilton? Again.” Dannel kicked the stool closer to the table. “Not sure I’m down to be Washington. The breeches itched.”

  Osian grinned to himself. He hadn’t minded the breeches on Dannel. The costume had clung to his body in wonderful ways. He had a lot of pleasant dreams about those trousers.

  Right, focus on this year’s costume.

  I can’t be Nathan Drake without a weapon harness.

  Drawing his mind away from thoughts of Dannel dressed up, Osian gathered up a few scraps from when they’d made the harness. They kept the leftover pieces for repairs. He set a few on the table within easy reach.

  Osian watched Dannel deftly piece his costume back together. “Want to model last year’s outfit for me?”

  “Not wearing itchy breeches for you.”

  “What if I make you non-itchy ones?” Osian pushed his luck.

  “Maybe.” Dannel kept his attention on the harness. “Grab my thin pliers?”

  “Needle nose?”

  “Thin,” Dannel insisted. “I like my word better.”

  4

  Dannel

  “An adventurer and a space cop walk into a bar.”

  “This isn’t a bar,” Dannel corrected. He shoved his hands into his pockets; stress made always seemed to make him more pedantic. “I hate this.”

  “I know.” Osian wrapped an arm around his shoulders—awkwardly, given the armour of his costume. “We can hang out here for a while.”

  Cosplay had been one of Dannel’s greatest passions for a long time. They’d been to so many conventions. And every time, he had a meltdown on the walk there.

  Not always on the walk. Sometimes on the Tube. Occasionally at home before.

  He’d push through, like always. And he’d be exhausted afterwards. Most of the time, he thought the entire exercise was worth stress and strain.

  Then, other times, Dannel wondered how many years the strain would take off his life. He feared eventually he’d have to stop attending conventions. His health might begin to be seriously affected by the stress.

  Okay. Morbid thoughts are morbid. Shake them off. I love cosplay. All our friends are here. We’re dressed up. Ossie is hot as Nathan Drake. I can do this, even if I just stare at his arse the entire way. It’s a useful distraction.

  I can do this.

  Dannel repeated his internal mantra until his breathing settled. “Ready?”

  Osian eyed him for a second before handing over the helmet part of his Liam Kosta costume. “We can go home, you know?”

  They could. Dannel would regret it. He breathed in deeply and settled the helmet under his arm.

  Courage occasionally came from donning a character.

  “Let’s have fun.” Dannel grabbed Osian’s hand. “We skipping the queue?”

  “Gemma and Ethan wanted help setting up the first aid booth.” Osian guided him past the re
gular entrance, flashing their badges to security. “I promised we could play assistance.”

  “Free tickets?”

  “Free tickets.”

  Gemma Cox had been Osian’s on-and-off partner as a paramedic. She’d traded off with Abra and Archie, another paramedic friend. Ethan was her current beau. They were part of a small but devoted group of London first responders who enjoyed cosplay.

  “Boys.” She waved them over with a grin, barely shifting her focusing from setting up their portable defibrillator. They’d crowdfunded for it a few years back after someone had a heart attack in the middle of a Star Trek Q & A. “Oz, give me a hand with this?”

  Dannel went over to Ethan to allow the two former paramedics to handle their business. “Need anything?”

  “Help me get these freebies on the table? We decided to hand out survival kits with water and other essentials. Hopefully, we’ll have fewer cases of dehydration. You’d think people would be aware they can’t spend an entire day wandering around without having a drink of something.” Ethan used his foot to nudge one of two plastic bins toward him. “Are you two planning on staying here when the doors open or checking out a few panels first?”

  “Panels.”

  “Panels? Good choice.” Ethan shifted away, turning his attention to the second container. “Right.”

  What do I say next?

  Setting his helmet to the side, Dannel turned his attention to the little packets. Ethan seemed content to work in silence. He appreciated his friends knowing when small talk wasn’t necessary.

  By the time the doors opened to let the flood of people in, the first aid station was ready to go. Dannel and Osian snuck away to get to the first of the question and answer panels. They’d waited all year to be up close and personal with the angel and demon from Good Omens.

  “Will you be okay on your own?” Osian followed him out of the conference room when the panel finished. “I promised Gemma I’d check in with her. Have you heard from Evie?”

  “She slept in. Typical.” Dannel didn’t honestly expect any of their friends to go to the first day of the convention. They usually came on the second. “Go on. I’m starved. Want me to grab a snack for us?”