Howling winds churn falling snow against the black night, swallowing everything in a thick, wet, suffocating cold. Frost creeps down the window of Lydia’s hotel room, hiding the worst of the storm from her as she hurries to dress. Here in the warmth, within these four reassuring walls, the warden of Mortem’s threats feel almost like a dream. But a dream that she knows will haunt her every waking moment until this story is put to bed one way or another. And in order to do that, she will have to return to the asylum. The very thought makes her feel sick.
Alex will be here soon, she tells herself. He will protect me. She believes it too, up to a point. Alex is strong, and capable, and smart. Not smart like her, but savvy. He thinks like a cop. That can be useful. But Lydia thinks like bad people do, and the man in the cage whom she needs to break, bested Alex for a long time.
A gentle knock bounces off the door and Lydia jumps. She’s not ready. Bare feet skim over the carpet to the door, which she opens with a coy flourish.
“Hi.” She smiles.
“Wow…” Alex replies. He’s wearing that same leather jacket over a clean, white shirt and black jeans. For him, Lydia knows by now, this is dressed to impress. Simple, but, she admits to herself with a tremor of pleasure, pretty attractive nonetheless.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She blushes, looking down and shaking her luxurious blonde curls before flicking her eyes back up to him. She’s wearing a fitted two-piece bodice of rich ebony-hued fabric, with hints of an intricate swirling pattern in dark purple embroidery. Lacing of the same rich, royal shade cinches it closed at the back, perfectly enclosing her breasts and revealing a small area of toned stomach. The bottom section flares over her hips, below which a midnight blue skirt, slit front and back, falls elegantly to the floor. Clear crystals encircle her neck, and the ever-present ruby ring.
Alex mouths a response, but finds his lungs suddenly devoid of air and unable to project it. Lydia grins and motions for him to come in. “I just need a moment to finish my make-up,” she says, heading for the bathroom. “Make yourself at home.”
“You look amazing as you are,” he calls after her, relocating his voice.
“You’re sweet,” she replies through the half-open door. Alex sinks gingerly onto the foot of the bed and picks up the nearby TV remote. He points and clicks, and a local weather report appears on screen. The volume is low, but it serves to settle his nerves a little. His leg is twitching, restless, venting off some excess tension. He hasn’t spoken to Lydia since the incident with Jason. What does she think about that? About him? Has it changed? Would she even say if it had? His eyes dart around the room, seeking comfort but finding only an unsettling order everywhere they alight. Everything is too straight, too perfect, from the radio on the bedside table to the shoes arranged perfectly next to the wardrobe, and finally the desk; a closed laptop, pens laid neatly together and a small notebook. Alex glances quickly towards the bathroom and then back to the book. He hesitates, then snatches it up like a cobra seizing its prey. Eagerly, he flips to the most recent entries.
What is evil? Reference historical figures.
Focus: Jason’s family history, genetics, ancestors – looking for psychopathic tendencies.
Birth of twin brothers – colour, relatable.
Childhood – relationship with brother (Finley), how does death affect Jason? Blame from father? Guilt for mother?
School with Cecil – friends? Bullied? Grades?
Teen years – romantic relationships? Hostile ones?
Young adult – drug abuse, theft, peer pressure, circumstance, home environment.
First kill – how, why?
Birth of the Krimson Killer – influences, inspirations? What do his methods tell us about him? What about his targets?
Downfall – confession, guilt?
Mortem – my POV.
A toilet flushes, ripping Alex from his trance. In a panic, he throws the notebook onto the desk and then, eyes flicking back and forth between it and the bathroom door, lunges to correct its position, perfectly aligned to the right of the laptop, and centred beneath the pens.
“Hoped it was my diary, did you?” asks Lydia. Alex snatches his hands away from the desk and whips around to face her.
“I just…” he stammers.
“It’s okay, Alex.” She smiles, leaning against the frame of the door. “Curiosity is a normal human trait; I’m not going to punish you for it.” She walks towards him, hips swaying meticulously. “Unless you want me to?”
“I, uh…” Alex swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “Sure.”
Lydia takes a moment to enjoy the thrall that she has over him. She does like him. He’s kind, funny, good company. But first and foremost, right now he is useful as a bodyguard and source of information. She doesn’t feel bad about using him. This is the way the world works. Human beings are inherently selfish and self-serving. She’s only obeying her natural instincts, using the tools that Mother Nature has gifted her.
“I’m kidding, you dope.” Lydia turns and snatches up a pair of black heels from the floor, then sinks into a chair to put them on. “Well, what did you think?”
“Of what?” asks Alex, confused.
“Whatever it was you read in there,” she says, nodding towards the desk.
“Oh.” Alex glances at the notebook. “Well I guess… it was interesting to see your thought process. The way you structure things, you know, plan them.”
“They’re just bullet points.” Lydia smiles. She likes that he admires her mind, but doesn’t wish to seem arrogant. Or at least, any more arrogant than might be strictly necessary.
“Well,” says Alex awkwardly, “they’re very neat bullet points.”
“Thank you,” Lydia laughs, standing up. “Shall we?”
“Sure.” Alex jumps up.
“I still don’t know where we’re going,” she says in a deliberately breezy fashion, grabbing her coat from the back of the door.
“I told you,” Alex replies, “it’s a surprise.”
Lydia’s instinct is to be irritated, but she isn’t. She hates surprises, doesn’t she? Always has. Could it be that she doesn’t mind the uncertainty when she’s with him? Could it be that she’s changing? Is the ice queen melting?
This is a surprise.