Page 82 of Hero Worship

The air changed aswe descended into Roche’s private gallery, growing colder, sharper. The scent of antiseptic and formaldehyde wrapped around us like a shroud, familiar scents that yanked me back in time to my childhood. To memories of walking through my father’s specimen room. The clinical chill, the museum quiet, the soft click of expensive shoes. It was all the same. I half expected to find my father waiting at the bottom of the first set of stairs.

We followed Roche. Each step down made me wince slightly, my knee clearly protesting the descent, but my grip remained steady on Xander's hip. Inside, my protective fury and themonster I'd awakened were at war. The possessive hunger I'd inherited from my father grew stronger with each step, fed by their artificial submission. Xander had always been fierce and independent; seeing them like this, even knowing it was an act, twisted something in my chest.

The drugs they'd taken made them sway slightly against me, and their pupils were blown wide enough to convince even me that they were floating in a pool of chemical restraint. Yet beneath that manufactured vulnerability, I caught flashes of their usual sharp intelligence.

Roche led us past glass cases filled with preserved butterflies pinned to velvet pillows. The display could’ve been lifted directly from my father’s connection. Even the lighting was the same, soft spots highlighting iridescent wings forever frozen in mid-flight. In death, they retained an artificial beauty that had always fascinated my father. Now, it called to something twisted in my own blood.

“Magnificent, aren’t they?” Roche paused to admire a particularly striking Morpho, its azure wings spanning wider than my hand. “Most collectors simply pin their specimens, but true preservation requires a more intimate understanding of anatomy.”

“The devil’s in the details,” I agreed, letting genuine appreciation color my voice.

Xander pressed closer to me, their breath coming faster, though their face remained carefully blank. I could feel them trembling, even if it was invisible to the naked eye. They were playing their part perfectly, but I knew them well enough to recognize the controlled rage beneath their docile facade. Was it fucked up that I thought his fear only made him more beautiful? Absolutely, but I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about it.

Roche smiled. “Butterflies are merely the beginning,” he said. “More complex subjects require significantly more preparation.”

Behind Roche, Misha swayed slightly, flashing a vacant smile. Roche gestured for us to follow him to another set of stairs.

I took in everything as we descended another level. We were two stories beneath the surface. With Roche’s security and our hidden location, the response time of any would-be rescuers wasn’t promising. We were on our own down here. I just had to pray that Xander was an even better actor than I’d given him credit for.

The landing opened up into a room that might’ve been more at home in a medical school rather than a private residence. Surgical lights hung from tracks in the ceiling, their sterile glow reflecting on the stainless steel tables arranged beneath them. Every surface held instruments that looked like they’d come straight out of a horror novel, or a morgue. Hard to say which. The entire space smelled of alcohol and chemicals, of older, darker things.

“My private workshop,” Roche said with obvious pride. “Where temporary beauty becomes eternal perfection.”

Xander tensed at my side, but showed no outward signs that he was anything other than happy and content, leaning against me.

“Remarkable,” I said, studying the collection of chemicals and tubes arranged on the nearby shelves. The labels all bore strangely familiar names, compounds I recognized from my father’s work. My fingers itched to trace the careful script.

“So few people appreciate the technical requirements,” Roche said. “The dedication needed to transform fleeting beauty into something timeless.”

“It seems like a lot of work,” I said.

“All art worth doing is difficult, and all art worth viewing requires…sacrifice.” Their smile widened as they came closer. “Tell me, Monsieur Verity, have you ever wondered what itwould be like to possess beauty completely? To own something so thoroughly that even time itself cannot take it from you?”

I looked down at where Xander was pressed against my side, letting my hunger show. “Every day,” I admitted softly, and felt Xander shiver.

“Then perhaps we should discuss my more permanent methods.” Roche lifted what looked like a bone saw, letting the light play across its serrated edge. “Your spouse’s beauty is undeniable, but surely you’ve considered how fleeting such perfection can be. How easily the years steal what nature has gifted.”

“Nature is cruel that way,” I agreed, tightening my grip on the back of Xander’s neck until he made a soft sound. “Always destroying what should be preserved.”

“Precisely.” Roche set down the saw and moved to a locked cabinet, lifting an ornate key from around their neck. “I have developed certain methods to prevent such tragedy, if you’re open to hearing about them. Ways to ensure beauty remains exactly as it should.”

The cabinet doors swung open to reveal rows of glass vials. Each one contained a shimmering clear liquid that refracted the light like liquid diamonds. "The latest revolution in preservation technology," Roche explained, lifting one vial with reverent care. "A compound that maintains cellular integrity indefinitely while allowing for perfect positioning. The subject remains completely flexible during the initial process, enabling proper arrangement before the solution fully bonds."

I leaned forward. "Fascinating. Some kind of advanced skincare treatment? The cosmetics industry is always seeking new ways to preserve youth."

"Oh no, Monsieur Verity." Roche's smile turned predatory. "You misunderstand. Life itself is decay. From the moment we draw breath, we begin to rot. The only way to achieve truepreservation..." They paused, studying my reaction. "Is to stop the decay completely. And the only way to stop decay is to end life itself."

I maintained my facade of clinical interest, despite my anger at the casual way he talked about killing. "An unfortunate but necessary sacrifice for eternal beauty."

"Precisely." They lowered the vial, approval glinting in their eyes. "The subject must be alive for initial administration, you see. Before cellular breakdown begins. But life and preservation are ultimately incompatible. One cannot maintain both."

I tilted my head, fighting back nausea as I glanced toward their pet. "Your companion seems unafraid."

“The drugs keep him calm,” Roche said, reaching out to stroke Misha’s shoulder. “And when the time comes, I’ll give him a little extra boost, so he doesn’t feel a thing. He’ll just... drift away. It’s peaceful and beautiful to watch.”

I fought the urge to be sick. This monster was talking about murdering human beings as if we were discussing the fucking weather.

Roche withdrew his hand from Misha and turned back to me. “Though I must admit,” they said, moving to a control panel near the door. “I find it fascinating that a former FBI agent would be so interested in my preservation techniques.”

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