Is this feeling what she thinks it is? Could she really, truly be capable of something as selfless as… love?
Thirty-Five
’Tis the Season
The eyes of passers-by in the hotel lobby linger on Lydia as she waits for Alex to arrive. She doesn’t wonder why, or even begrudge them a peek as she smooths the skin-tight scarlet dress underneath her luxurious black fur coat. Her hair is pinned loosely up tonight, giving the impression of effortless elegance.
Lydia’s eyes flick to the glass front door, through which she can see heavy snow still falling, then to the phone in her hand. He’s late, and she has no messages. In the back of her mind the image of Alex lying on the ground somewhere, bloody and butchered like poor Dorothy Eagle, tugs at her fidgeting consciousness. Whoever assaulted her and murdered the two old women was still out there, and Jason had stalled for more time. Had he sent his accomplice to take care of them once and for all?
A small girl enters through the lobby with her parents; she has blonde curls and a confident, almost arrogant gait, and Lydia is reminded forcefully of herself. Except that the girl is wearing a broad, genuine smile. She and her parents all look happy, not superficially happy but the kind of happy you know comes from somewhere deep inside. They are chatting and laughing, their energies bouncing off each other and mingling together perfectly like a beautiful, invisible dance. It takes Lydia a moment to realise that she is just enjoying the spectacle of them rather than trying to analyse their minds and behaviours as she does with every other human being she comes across. Even the sprig of festive holly pinned to the little girl’s dress isn’t conjuring forth Lydia’s usual resentment. A smile creeps across her lips too. Is she rediscovering an aspect of herself that has been so long buried?
The family leaves through the front doors and the little girl holds the door for a man in a black leather jacket. He thanks her with a courteous bow before spotting Lydia watching them.
“You’re late!” Lydia chides, playfully.
“Traffic,” he grins back.
“You’re such a liar.”
“Look who’s talking!” He raises both eyebrows. “Are you ready?”
Lydia licks her lips and takes a deep breath. “Ready,” she whispers.
*
Twenty minutes later, Lydia finds herself blindfolded, being led up several flights of stairs.
“I’m beginning to regret asking you to surprise me,” she giggles, squeezing Alex’s arm.
“Just another couple of steps,” he replies. “Aaaand… here we are!” Lydia hears the click of a door opening, and feels a sudden blast of chilly air as Alex’s fingers move to gently untie the silk scarf covering her eyes. They are looking out onto a snow-covered roof terrace where a table has been made up in the luxurious fashion of a fine restaurant on Valentine’s Day. Giant silver cloches cover the place settings, fairy lights strung elegantly from surrounding foliage twinkle magically, and a delicious smell of food fills the air.
“You did all this for me?” Lydia breathes, stunned, stepping out onto the terrace. The snow has stopped falling, and she gazes up, open-mouthed at the clear, black sky filled with stars.
“It’s nothing really,” says Alex, with blatantly false modesty.
“Alex,” she whispers as he leads her to her seat, “it’s amazing. How did you do it?”
“Called in a few favours,” he replies cryptically. “But never mind that now. Here.” He produces a thin, square, perfectly-wrapped gift from his jacket pocket and offers it to her.
“What’s this?” Lydia asks, accepting it.
“Open it and find out.”
Lydia turns the gift over in her fingers, then holds it up to her ear and shakes it gently like a squirrel testing a nut.
“Open it!” Alex urges gently. Lydia carefully slits the papers with a nail and out slides a compact disc case with a handwritten cover. The letters elegant and decorative, the design detailed and thoughtful. A labour of love.
“This is…” she scans the writing, “all my favourite songs. How did you…?”
“I thought you could listen to it in the car, you know, save you from all the dreadful Christmas music.” He eyes her warily, trying to read her shocked expression. “Do you like it?”
“Oh, Alex!” She looks up and throws her arms around him. “I love it! Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His cheeks glow even pinker than before in the biting winter air.
“I mean,” Lydia says, pulling back but keeping her hands on his arms, “thank you for everything. You’ve turned a miserable trip into a wonderful one.” She gazes into his eyes and digs her nails gently into his arm. One of them is shaking, but Lydia can’t tell if it’s her or Alex, if it’s the cold or…
In a heartbeat his lips are upon hers, warm and soft and tender, and her fingertips are stroking his rough cheek. A surge of electricity rushes through Lydia, spreading from her centre to the tips of her frozen fingers and toes in a split second, warming them through.
Then just as quickly they are breaking apart again, looking at each other like awkward teenagers, hands lingering awkwardly in mid-air as they fumble for a comfortable place to settle. Alex settles for his pockets, while Lydia’s fall limply at her sides.
“Drink?” Alex asks after an awkward pause, stepping up to the table.
“Please,” Lydia replies. While he pours, she takes a few idle steps towards the edge of the roof terrace. “Good grief,” she says, noticing for the first time an enormous Christmas tree in the square below, the top ten feet or so of which reach up past the terrace, “that’s quite a tree.”
“They’re turning on the lights tonight,” says Alex, offering her a mug of some steaming brown liquid. “Here.”
“What’s this?” she asks, lifting it to her nose.
“Hot chocolate,” Alex replies, producing a paper bag from behind his back. “Marshmallow?”
Lydia grins and fishes in the bag without breaking eye contact, producing a giant, fluffy white marshmallow and dropping it into her drink. Immediately it begins to melt, a thick, white covering spreading over the brown liquid like snow over earth. She takes a big, greedy sip and beams at Alex, her bright eyes twinkling over the top of the mug. For a few moments they just stand there, drinking their chocolate and glancing from each other, to the sky, to the giant tree.
“So…” Lydia says finally. “Here we are.”
“Here we are.”
“You know,” she begins to laugh, “if someone had told me that I would be spending Christmas in Decanten with Alex Gilbey from school, drinking hot chocolate on the roof of… what is this building anyway?”
“The police station.” Alex grins.
“Oh my god…” Lydia covers her mouth.
“Well,” says Alex, stepping close to her again, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too…” she whispers. Their lips meet again briefly for a kiss that tastes like chocolate and marshmallows.
“Listen,” says Alex seriously, looking down at the mug in his hands as though embarrassed about what he’s about to say, “I know we haven’t known each other very long, as adults I mean, but this past week has been…” he hesitates, searching for a fitting description.
“I know,” Lydia rescues him. “For me too.”
“I hope,” Alex seems to be steeling himself to say this, “I hope that when you’ve finished your work here, you’ll consider staying for a while.”
“I…” Lydia stammers, taken aback.
“It’s just that if you go back to New York,” Alex presses on, “I know that’ll be it. We’ll promise to keep in touch, but that’s a promise people always break. And it would be a shame to let this just fizzle out because I think we have something…” he looks up into her stunned face, “… special.”
“Oh, Alex…” It’s Lydia’s turn to look away. “I don’t want to leave, but—”
“Then don’t!”
“But my whole life is in New York. I can’t j
ust pick up and move on the off-chance this works out.” She takes a step back, peering at him with sad eyes. “If I can even do this.”
“Do what?” Alex frowns.
“This!” Lydia gestures between the two of them. “Whatever this is, or could be between us, I don’t even know if I’m capable of doing it properly.”
“Have you ever tried?” he asks, a hint of aggression in his voice now.
“What?” Lydia looks hurt.
“Have you ever tried to do this thing you’re not sure you’re capable of?” He takes a step towards her. “Lydia, you know I would never hurt you.”
“I know…” She looks down again.
“Then why don’t you trust me?”
“It’s not about that!” Lydia protests, clearly frustrated.
“Then what is it about?” Alex demands, his eyes blazing.
“I…” Lydia turns away quickly to hide her watery eyes from him. “I can’t do this right now, Alex, I’m sorry. It’s too much.”
Alex doesn’t answer, and Lydia can’t bring herself to turn around and see the look she imagines on his face. Instead she walks to the edge of the terrace again and stares at the giant Christmas tree. A week ago, it would have stirred feelings of hatred in her, but now it symbolises something different. A glimmer of something undefined, something that could be joy or tragedy depending on whether or not she can be brave and face up to her fears.
“I’m sorry,” says a soft voice in her ear as she feels Alex’s strong hands on her arms. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that.”
“It’s okay…” she replies, turning to the side.
“I’m not asking you to give up your whole life or anything like that,” says Alex, “just… think about staying a while, that’s all.”
Lydia looks into his eyes, big and brown and full of hope, and her icy heart melts. “Okay,” she says gently, “I’ll think about it.”
“Promise?” Alex cracks a grin.
“I promise!” Lydia can’t help but laugh at him. “Just give me a little time, okay?”
“Okay.”
Suddenly an explosion of colour fills the air around them as the hundreds of lights wound around the tree burst into life. Reds, greens, blues, pinks, and a giant golden angel shining bright at the very top. The cheers of the crowd in the square below drift up to the terrace, followed a moment later by the singing of carollers.
“What do you think?” asks Alex, sliding his arm around Lydia as she turns to face the scene.
“I love it,” she says quietly, entranced by the display, rainbow lights glittering in her eyes.
“But I thought you hated Christmas,” he teases.
“People can change,” Lydia replies, turning to grin at him. He beams happily at her, then looks back to the tree.
“You know,” he says, “I’m not really a religious guy. But Christmas… I mean it just has a way of lifting people’s spirits, you know? Like when the snow falls just right, when the lights glow bright, when the bells are ringing and people are singing, it’s just…”
“Magic,” Lydia finishes for him.
“Exactly.”
Lydia pauses. “You planned that little speech, didn’t you?”
“No!”
She peers at him accusingly.
“Okay fine,” Alex admits. “But you have to admit, it was a good speech.”
“It was,” she replies, holding back a smirk.
“So…” he says, “did you think about it yet?”
“Think about what?”
“Staying.”
“Oh god!” Lydia cringes.
“I’m just saying,” says Alex, “this can’t be our last night together. It just can’t be.”
“Well,” Lydia replies thoughtfully, wandering over to the table. “Just in case it is, I guess I should give you your Christmas present now.”
“You got me a present?” asks Alex, following her. Lydia snaps a twig of mistletoe from the centrepiece and holds it above her head, a wicked glint in her eye. “Damn, Lyd…” Alex breathes. “You are a tease.”
“I know,” she whispers, leaning in for the kiss. This time it feels more comfortable, like slipping into a warm bed. And when it ends, they remain locked in a tight embrace, two hearts beating together as one, as the fairy lights twinkle, and the carols drift from far below up into a starry sky.
Thirty-Six
No Rest for the Wicked
The mattress welcomes Lydia like a delicious, giant marshmallow as she flops onto it, utterly exhausted. Running through her head, the last song playing in the car on the way back to the hotel, ‘Mr Sandman’ by Nan Vernon, one of her favourites from Alex’s Christmas gift. Lydia loved this version because of its darker and edgier tones compared to the original. More elegant. More beautiful. She mumbles along with the words as she rolls over and kicks off her high heels, clumsily.
She wonders if Alex is lying on his bed right now thinking about her. Will she be the last thing on his mind before he goes to sleep tonight? The thought makes her giddy, but also scared. She wasn’t kidding up on the roof of the police station; she really isn’t sure whether this is something she can do. Something she’s even capable of.
Outside the window, snow has begun to fall again. Beyond the drifting snowflakes, Lydia thinks she catches sight of something flitting by in the darkness. A bird maybe, or a bat. Some creature whose nature would never be subject to the uncertainty hers now was. Predators don’t go soft.
Her thoughts turn to Gretchen. Did she make it to the staff Christmas party? Probably not, especially after the drama with Shade today. Lydia imagines the doctor looking in on her sleeping children, her pale face vivid in the glow of a night light. She imagines the warden too, starched pyjamas and a stiff nightcap, celebrating his little victory. Would he really follow through on his threat to torture her? It’s just one of the many reasons why her doubts about staying in Decanten a moment longer than necessary, are still eating away at her.
Her heart feels heavy with the weight of the biggest decision she has ever made, maybe will ever make. Alex’s face appears in her mind’s eye, that cheeky grin playing about his lips, those big, brown eyes gazing back at her adoringly, and she feels sleep begin to overtake her.
As it does, in the shadowy corners of her imagination, another figure lurks. A feral creature, a wicked thing with sinister intentions. It is watching her, but she cannot see it clearly. Not yet. Soon.
Just a few miles away, Jason Devere lies on his bed, in his cell, staring up at the window high above. Crisp winter air whistles through the old building and he can taste it on the tip of his tongue, something at once fresh and ancient, light and dark, good and evil. Tomorrow is the day. The final chapter is about to begin.
Thirty-Seven
A Change in Plans
An ethereal presence creeps slowly over Lydia’s sleeping face, gently warming her pale skin, coaxing her consciousness back from the depths of a dream. Sunlight. Eyes still closed, she stretches her arms and legs, muscles groaning and joints cracking. Then she lies still again, an unfamiliar satisfaction flowing through her body from head to toe. It is pleasant. Peaceful. She savours it for a few long, lazy minutes.
Finally, she turns her head to look at the clock. Nine thirty-three. Earlier than her alarm, yet she feels completely rested and full of energy. What witchcraft is this? She reaches for her phone and the screen lights up. A message from Alex, timestamped exactly seven o’clock. He must have work this morning. She swipes to read it.
TURN ON THE NEWS. URGENT.
Lydia sits up sharply, her heart racing. What on earth could be so important to her at seven in the morning? She jumps out of bed, crosses to the television and turns it on. The local news station shows a reporter speaking to the camera outside of a familiar-looking building. The police station from last night, she realises with a start. It looks different in the daytime. ‘BREAKING’ says the ticker scrolling across the bottom of the screen. ‘BODIES OF KRIMS
ON KILLER’S FINAL VICTIMS FOUND.’
“… names not being released at this time,” says the reporter. “But police confirm that the bodies bear the identifying hallmarks of serial killer Jason Devere, who is behind bars at Mortem Asylum. All eight bodies were discovered in a storage facility in the warehouse district of Decanten.”
Lydia stares at the screen. Can this be a coincidence? These poor people have been missing for years; now she shows up sniffing around the case and suddenly the bodies are found?
“My locker’s the next one down,” says a short, round man wearing camouflage pants and a white T-shirt. “I was just grabbing my gear to go fishing when I smelt something real nasty that definitely wasn’t me. So I called the manager and he called the police, and here we are.”
Lydia frowns as the stranger’s pale blue eyes stare at her from the television screen. Many things about this turn of events are troubling her, yet none of them explain the peculiar feeling of panic now causing her heart to race. She picks up her phone again. But who will she call first? Alex? Gretchen? What will she say? She drops the phone onto the bed. Think, she commands herself. This changes things, but how?
The answer comes to her in a flash. There’s only one person who can tell her for sure what happened to those people, and he has promised her the truth. Lydia knows something is wrong about this situation. She knows that she is playing her opponent’s game now. But there is nothing else for it at this point.
Face of Evil Page 21