Face of Evil

by George Morris De'Ath

  “Enough games,” she says, “you know why I’m here.”

  “I heard through the grapevine that you had an accident.” Jason presses his face to the bars, his eyes following her.

  “It was no accident, was it, Jason?” Lydia asks, snapping around to look at him. Jason pulls back from the bars, a feral smirk creeping over his face, and begins to walk towards her.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growls.

  Lydia turns and walks back towards him. “I think you do,” she hisses, leaning towards the cell as she slowly paces by. Jason gets a fleeting, close look at her face, catches the scent of her perfume. Involuntarily, his tongue slides forth to moisten his lips.

  “You’re lonely, aren’t you?” he asks, following her again within his cell, right to left.

  “I’m not playing your games today, Jason,” Lydia lies. She’s making him chase her. Frustrating the beast so that he’ll make a mistake. Does he realise?

  “We’re more alike than you know,” he says. “Both at home in solitary confinement. Only your life-sentence is self-inflicted, isn’t it?”

  “How did you contact your accomplice?” Lydia asks, calmly.

  “I didn’t contact anyone,” Jason replies.

  “Stop lying.” Lydia gives him a withering look.

  “You know that I’m not,” he smirks. “The great Lydia Tune, expert in human behaviour. If I were really lying, you’d know.” He pauses to enjoy the flicker of irritation on her face. “Is that what’s bothering you?” He leans forward into the bars again. “Or is it something else?”

  “Who did it?” Lydia snaps.

  “Could it be,” Jason continues his thought, undeterred, “that you thought yourself untouchable?” Lydia doesn’t answer. She’s trying to read him, but in this fading light the nuances of Jason’s expression are cloaked in shadow. The only features she can clearly see are those hungry eyes, and yellowing teeth when the wolf smile appears as it does right now. “You must know by now, no one is untouchable,” he says with a touch of sadness.

  “Who did it?” Lydia hisses like steam venting from the fury within her.

  “You should never have gotten involved, Lydia,” says Jason, twisting his arms around the cell bars like impatient snakes.

  “Who did it?”

  “That’s for you to find out.”

  “Okay!” Lydia says, sharply. She spins on her heel and makes for the door across the room.

  “See you around,” says Jason, his energy diffused in a heartbeat, slumping back onto his bed.

  “Oh, we’re not finished,” says a low bearing voice in the far right hand corner of the room where a figure lurks in the shadows beside another locked entrance. Jason squints towards it, his body arching as a creature to danger. Suddenly the figure moves, advancing upon his barred room rapidly. Lydia stops and turns in shock.

  “Alex.”

  “Detective!” Jason exclaims, beaming. “Goodness, you’re stealthier than I remember. Back for more, are we?”

  Alex doesn’t reply. His eyes are burning. His breath audible. Producing a long, steel key from his pocket, he unlocks the cell door, steps inside and pulls it shut behind him with a crash.

  “What’ll it be today?” asks Jason, cheerily. “A little good cop, bad cop?” Alex springs and holds Jason firmly against the wall, towering over him as Lydia watches on in frozen disbelief.

  “Alex!” she calls, edging closer to the bars.

  “Who was it?” asks Alex, clenching the inmate tight.

  Jason laughs. “Oh, I like him!” he says to Lydia, then focuses back onto his assailant. “Do you hear that? I like you!”

  Alex’s grip tightens on the inmate’s shoulder. “Who was it?”

  “Christ, you’re stupid.” He grins. “I think that maybe you’re just mad… because you couldn’t catch me.”

  “Alex, listen to me,” Lydia pleads.

  “Who was it?” Alex demands, applying more pressure, now around his neck.

  “Because I…” Jason sneers, “turned myself in…”

  “WHO WAS IT?” Alex yells, gritting his teeth, slamming Jason against the wall again.

  “Alex!” Lydia hisses, knowing this intimidation act is now going too far. “That’s enough!”

  Alex backs away, letting Jason go, who coughs slightly. “Jeez, at least buy a boy a drink first!” Jason manages, rubbing his neck.

  As the red mist clears from Alex, he feels a sickness rise from the pit of his stomach. He turns away quickly, retreating from the cell and locking the door behind him, trying to avoid eye contact.

  “Are you alright?” Lydia asks, appearing at his side and laying a hand on his arm.

  “I…” he says quietly, not looking at her, “I shouldn’t have…”

  “It’s okay,” she whispers, “I understand, we’ll talk about it later.”

  “It’s rude to whisper when you have company.”

  Lydia whips her head around to see Jason staring at her. His face pink, but he’s still smirking. “It’s rude to deny your guests,” she replies, coolly.

  “Should’ve said please,” Jason croaks. “Would’ve been a lot easier than setting your dog on me.”

  “I didn’t…” Lydia feels Alex’s bicep tense beneath her fingers, and she gives it a gentle squeeze. “Never mind,” she says, “I’m done here. I’ll write about somebody else.”

  “I don’t know who attacked you,” says Jason quickly. “That’s the truth.”

  “Bullshit,” Alex mutters under his breath.

  “I can take a guess though,” Jason offers, struggling painfully to his feet.

  “Go on then,” says Lydia.

  “Well,” he says, spitting out a little blood, “I hear you have some pretty twisted fans. Maybe one of them tried to abduct you.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Lydia replies, contemptuously. “Whoever it was didn’t try to abduct me, they just left me there.”

  “Maybe they got scared,” says Jason, feeling the faint burn of the law man’s grip around his neck still. “Had second thoughts. It’s not easy to go through with something like that. You have to be brave.”

  “You’re not brave,” Alex snarls, glaring at him.

  “And you are?” Jason snaps, his voice strained for the first time. “I mean, I gathered that you were a dirty player, Lyd, but using this lug to beat up a prisoner for information? Oh, such a hero.” He turns to Lydia whose dagger eyes penetrate into his. “But then again, with that said, I can see what you see in him.”

  “Let’s go,” says Alex, grabbing Lydia’s wrist and starting towards the door.

  “Maybe you just slipped on the ice,” Jason calls out, “and the concussion made you forget.”

  “You said,” Lydia turns back to him, yanking her wrist from Alex’s grip, “you said I was being watched.”

  “Did I?” Jason makes a show of scratching his chin, pretending to think about it. “I don’t think I did, you know.”

  “You said…”

  “I believe I asked if you knew what it felt like to be watched,” he says, innocently. “You know, because you’re so famous and all.”

  “That’s not how you said it,” Lydia glares at him.

  “Are you sure?” Jason asks, calmly. “You did just hit your head you know, maybe you don’t remember…”

  “I remember everything.”

  “Maybe…” That smile spreads across his face again, eyes glowing softly in the fast-fading light. “Maybe you’re going a little crazy.” He lifts a finger to his temple and moves it in slow, deliberate circles.

  “Lyd!” Alex pleads. “Let’s go.”

  Lydia glares at Jason for a moment longer, then turns and strides purposefully from the room.

  “See you soon,” Jason calls out in a musical tone. Alex shoots him a filthy look before following Lydia out.

  The wolf, alone again, weary from the hunt, sinks onto his bed.

  Twenty-Five

  Watcher in
the Wings

  “Are you alright?”

  Even as the heavy steel door shuts behind them, Alex catches Lydia’s arm and spins her around to face him. A neon light above buzzes and flickers, echoing her chaotic thoughts.

  “I’m fine,” she replies, absently.

  “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened in there, I- I just couldn’t help myself—”

  “It’s fine.” She cuts him off. “What did you find out about that teacher?”

  “I can’t talk to you about it,” he replies sheepishly. “Not right now.”

  “You invited me to the crime scene!” Lydia blinks at him in disbelief.

  “I shouldn’t have done that. I wanted to make sure you were safe, and I couldn’t leave.”

  “So you have no idea who attacked me?”

  “If someone attacked you,” Alex says gently, moving to hold her again. Lydia shakes him off with a piercing look.

  “You think I’m lying?”

  “Of course not!” Alex pleads. “But you have to understand how this all sounds. You didn’t see anyone; you don’t remember what happened and the doctor says you had quite a concussion. You could have been out for hours. I mean…”

  “Don’t say it, Alex,” Lydia warns.

  “Are you sure you didn’t just slip, and you’re paranoid because of what’s happened?”

  She takes a step away from him, the colour draining from her already pale face, eyes wide with shock.

  “Lydia, please don’t be mad,” Alex says. “I’m just trying to figure it out. And I mean, wouldn’t that be better? If it was an accident?” He makes a movement towards her again, but Lydia raises a straight arm, her hand flat against his chest.

  “Maybe you’re right,” she says, her voice empty as though her mind is elsewhere.

  “I can still look out for you,” he says. “If that’s what you want?” Lydia doesn’t reply. She sways unsteadily and for a moment looks like she might topple over. “Lydia?” Alex goes to catch her, but she regains her balance at the last moment.

  “I’m fine,” she says quietly. “I just feel a little strange.”

  “Do you want me to take you back to the hotel?” asks Alex. “Or…”

  “Your place?” Lydia narrows her eyes at him.

  “I was going to say ‘to get something to eat’,” says Alex. “But I like your idea too.” He catches her eye and she smiles. She can’t help herself. Being desired makes her feel good, makes her feel strong and purposeful again, even if she knows it’s only for a fleeting moment with her handsome toy. In a way, Alex is the only thing in this troublesome time keeping Lydia together; she feels safe with him strangely, though she would never admit that to herself, much less to anyone else.

  “Food sounds good,” she says. “Where shall we go?”

  “I’ll surprise you.” Alex grins.

  “I hate surprises,” says Lydia with a frown.

  “You’ll like this one.”

  Lydia opens her mouth to say that she doubts it, but decides that she doesn’t have the energy for this small talk right now. “I’d like to go back and change first,” she says, “take a bath; get his… scent out of my nostrils.” She makes a face.

  “I’ll give you a ride,” says Alex.

  “Don’t be silly.” She waves him away. “My car’s here.”

  Alex stares at her. “How did your car get here? I thought it was still—”

  “You’re not the only one with a few tricks up their sleeve.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” he asks, looking somewhat alarmed. “The doctor said—”

  “I know what she said,” Lydia says flatly. “I am saying that I’m fine.”

  “Alright,” says Alex. He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t want an argument either. “Then I’ll pick you up around… eight?”

  “Perfect.” Lydia smiles an unsteady smile. Usually false sincerity comes as easily to her as breathing, but this definitely feels forced, and she can tell from the look on Alex’s face that he’s noticed it too. “Let’s get out of here,” she says quickly. “Come o—”

  “Miss Tune!”

  Lydia turns to see the tyrannical Warden Shade marching down the corridor towards them.

  “You’d better go,” she murmurs to Alex. “He won’t be happy when he hears what you did to Jason. I’ll smooth him over, but best you’re not here.”

  “Sure?” asks Alex, uncertainly.

  “Positive.” Lydia smiles. That one was easier. Just a temporary lapse. “I’ll see you at eight.”

  “Alright,” says Alex, and he turns and heads in the opposite direction, back towards the entrance to the asylum.

  “Is Detective Gilbey in a hurry to be somewhere?” asks the warden, brusquely.

  “Work,” Lydia replies, simply.

  “I see,” says Shade. “Tell me, does his work usually involve assaulting his suspects?”

  He knows, Lydia thinks. One of the guards must have gone straight to tell him. Of course he had a spy. He’s just the sort. “I expect that depends on the suspect,” Lydia replies, coolly.

  “Indeed,” says the warden. His tone is conversational, but his eyes are dark and menacing. “I must say I’m surprised that you approved such a course of action.”

  “Why so?” Lydia asks, politely.

  “I had heard that you were a woman of many subtle talents,” says Shade. “I thought you would find Detective Gilbey’s approach crude and unsatisfactory.” Lydia peers at him curiously. Was that an insult or a compliment? Perhaps both? “Still,” the warden continues, “if it gets results, I suppose. So our boy knows nothing about your situation, eh? That is unfortunate.”

  Lydia feels a chill creep up her spine. Could Warden Shade be Jason’s accomplice? Was she standing here alone with the man who had knocked her out and left her for dead in the snow? “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she says, the coolness in her voice turning to ice.

  “No?” says Shade. “Well I’m sure about this; you and your damn book are going to get this place shut down if this carries on. And I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”

  “I assure you, warden,” says Lydia quickly, preservation instincts kicking in. “You may see me as a problem, but I can also be a solution.”

  The warden peers at her over the top of his spectacles. “Go on…”

  “Allow me to continue my work undisturbed,” says Lydia smoothly, “and I guarantee you Mortem will receive nothing but praise from me.”

  “I see,” says Shade, thinking it over. “That’s all very well, but why should I trust you when I can save myself the bother and just kick you out now?”

  “If you were going to do that,” says Lydia, taking a subtle step towards him and pushing out her chest a little, “you would have done it before now. I already have more than enough material for a story.”

  “Hmmm…” Shade’s piercing eyes fix upon her as though trying to see through her veneer of deceit. “I’d like to show you something,” he says finally.

  “Of course,” Lydia replies, somewhat taken aback. Alarm bells are ringing in her head, and it takes her a second to realise why. There is a battle of wills being waged, and she is losing. The sensation feels like a distant memory to her. Is she doing something wrong? Is she in danger?

  “This way.” He gestures down the corridor that Alex took, and together they make their way back towards the entrance to Mortem Asylum.

  *

  The cage-like elevator shudders as Warden Shade pulls the grate shut, and the vibration travels through Lydia like a wave of anxiety. Shade pushes the button marked with a downward arrow and it lights up as, with another quaking shudder, the contraption begins to descend into the bowels of the asylum.

  “You see, Miss Tune,” he says, looking straight ahead, “people see themselves as entitled to things they have not earned. They believe that they can achieve anything they set their minds to.” He smooths his walrus moustache. “Having borne witness to more failures of the hu
man experiment than I care to count, I have to disagree. A person’s birthright is not the moon and stars; it is nothing but ash and dirt. The chance at a life, nothing more.” The elevator slows, and grinds to a standstill. “Please,” he says, heaving the grate aside. “After you.”

  Lydia steps out into a pristine, white, well-lit corridor. “Where are we?” she asks, uncertainly. Just hearing the question come out of her mouth makes her heart race. She can hear the fear in her own voice, a quavering that echoes the crawling of her skin. And now the doubts begin to stack upon themselves, the thread of sanity slipping between her fingers. Panic. A synapse that, once triggered, cannot be undone. Something feels different about this part of the building, a tremor in the air itself that sets her teeth on edge.

  “The basement,” replies the warden. “Where we carry out our electroshock treatment program.” He motions down the corridor and they proceed. Lydia notices the network of pipes and cables along the ceiling all snaking towards their destinations in a twisted, convoluted manner.

  “So, do we have a deal?” she asks, a futile attempt to wrestle the situation back onto her terms. But she is out on a limb, and she knows it.

  “We do,” Shade replies, peering at her for the briefest moment. “You will return to Devere as many times as necessary to write your book, and you will have the full cooperation of my staff. In return,” he lets the words linger a moment, “you will put Mortem Asylum back on the map, for the right reasons. And you will give me full and final approval of your manuscript.”

  They reach a door with a glass window, through which Lydia can see a figure in a white coat. Doctor Engel? No, a man. He steps aside, and her heart stops. A patient is strapped to a chair, belts tight around his wrists and ankles, and a twisted crown of metal upon his head. His mouth is gagged, but his eyes are screaming.

  Shade opens the door. “After you.”

  “I never offered you approval,” Lydia says, frozen to the spot.

  “Nevertheless,” the warden replies with a nasty smile, “that is the deal.”

  “What if I refuse?” Lydia asks. She knows she is in danger, but her curiosity gets the better of her. Who is this man?