A rickety fan chopping through the cold evening air is the only sound to be heard as the wolf circles his cell in the cavernous room below, his restless gaze shifting between the fading rays of light spilling in through a high, small window, and a large, shimmering spider’s web stretched across the corner of his room. In the centre of its silvery strands, a fat, unfortunate fly struggles to free itself as its doom creeps towards it cautiously, letting it tire itself out before moving in for the kill. The prisoner freezes as he watches the spider wait, and wait, and then lunge, sinking its fangs into its prey and rolling it up tight in a silken shroud.
His expression now becomes one of sadness as he licks his dry lips, hands twitching, when suddenly his senses are on high alert. He whips around; eyes trained upon the only door, expectant, predatory instincts stirred. Sure enough, the handle turns and the beast’s mouth begins to water.
“I could smell you before you even parked your car,” he growls, baring those yellowing teeth.
“Hello, Jason,” Lydia replies calmly, approaching the cell. “How are you?” The wolf doesn’t reply. His shoulders rise and fall slowly, and she can hear his deep breathing from twenty feet away. He’s upset. Does he know?
“Oh I see…” Jason Devere turns his head slowly to look at her. “You want to play nice, after your boyfriend came after me?”
Lydia makes a show of looking him up and down. “You look fine to me,” she says pleasantly. “Are you in pain?”
Jason steps towards her, pressing himself against the bars, but Lydia is a few feet out of reach. “Constantly,” he breathes.
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“And how is your…” he touches the back of his own head, “little scratch?” His face works furiously as he fights to control his rage. He radiates power. Up close, it’s quite terrifying.
“I’m quite recovered,” Lydia replies, forcing a smile.
“Find out who did it yet?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
“I’m sure.”
“Jason,” says Lydia, beginning to pace a small area in front of him, “I need to talk to you about something.”
“Questions, questions,” replies Jason, pacing alongside her, as though the bars of his cell are some kind of mirror. “Well go on then, I haven’t got all night.”
“Oh no,” says Lydia innocently. “No questions. Not today.” She watches Jason’s face as he processes this remark, enjoying the confusion it betrays.
“Then why are you here?” he snarls.
“Well,” Lydia begins, dragging out the tension as much as possible, “you see, I went to visit your mother this morning.”
“You what?” Jason lunges towards her, his eyes daggers. “What did you say to her?”
“It was more what she said to me,” Lydia replies, getting as close as possible in order to read his responses without getting grabbed.
“And what was that?” Jason breathes heavily.
“She wanted me to know that you’re not a monster.”
“She didn’t use that word!” Jason roars. High above, a guard on the walkway stirs. “What did she tell you?”
“I assure you she did,” says Lydia casually. “She said that you weren’t a bad boy, that you’d just had bad things happen to you.”
“Well that’s life, isn’t it?” he replies, spitting out every word as though it were poison. Lydia takes in his suffering, raw and genuine, and she feels a pang of guilt. You couldn’t tell him anyway, a voice in her head says, soothingly, you’re not allowed. You shouldn’t know. Maggie would get in trouble.
“Not for most of us,” says Lydia, peering into his feral eyes. “At least, not exclusively.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Jason,” she slips on her kindest mask, “don’t you want the world to know that you’re not the monster they think you are?”
He glares back at her, his body shuddering as he fights to control his racing heart. “What if I am?” he growls softly.
“But you aren’t,” Lydia says gently. “Your mother knows it. I know it.”
“You know nothing,” he spits.
“She knows that you love her, Jason,” Lydia presses on. “She knows that there’s goodness still in you. Please, show me that kindness and your mother can be at peace.”
“Stop talking about her!” Jason bangs on the bars of his cage with an open hand.
“She feels responsible,” says Lydia, “and she can’t bear it. Your redemption is all that she wants.”
“Shut up!” he smacks the bars again, this time with a closed fist.
“Please, Jason, let me help you. Let me help your mother. I promise I won’t let you down.”
Jason turns away, his hands raised to his face, shoulders hunched. It’s hard for Lydia to tell because of his long, filthy mane of hair, but she thinks he may even be… crying.
“Jason?” she prompts gently, after a moment.
“Alright,” he says quietly.
“Alright… you’ll help?” she asks, trying to cover her excitement.
“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” he says, turning around. If he has been crying, there’s no trace of it now. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You let me tell it in my own words. Unedited. You publish them just as I write them.” He leans up against the bars again, but softly this time. At peace.
“Done,” says Lydia. “I will have them bring you a pen and paper.”
“Come back tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll be done by then.”
“Alright,” says Lydia. “Thank you.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” Jason says. Lydia meets his cold eyes, and for the first time she sees the truth behind them.
“I know,” she says, then turns and walks back towards the door, trying her best to remain calm while her skin crawls with electricity. Finally, she has the beast caught in a trap.
Now all she has to do is spring it.