She needs to see Jason Devere again, and find out once and for all the secrets of the Krimson Killer.
Thirty-Eight
Crying Wolf
The door of the Mortem Asylum lobby bursts open and icy winds roar inside, swirling around the force of nature that is Lydia Tune. She strides purposefully past the front desk, thoughts focused like a laser on one thing and one thing only.
The woman behind the desk, phone clamped between ear and shoulder, makes a half-hearted attempt with her free hand to get Lydia’s attention, but to no avail. She wrenches back the elevator grate and hits the button with a closed fist, tapping her foot impatiently as she waits for the ancient mechanism to grind into life.
Once on the second floor, Lydia heads down the now-familiar corridor towards the cavernous east wing where Jason’s cell is housed. The twisted shapes on the walls seem to feed off her energy, writhing and squirming at the very edge of her vision. She grits her teeth and ignores them. They’re not really there, she tells herself. It’s all in your mind.
“Lydia?”
Lydia is so busy ignoring her surroundings that it takes her a few seconds to register that the voice is real.
“Lydia!”
She stops, turns and walks back to the open door from where the voice came. Gretchen is standing in the middle of her office, surrounded by other doctors and looking quite exhausted.
“Gretchen?” says Lydia, alarmed. “What’s going on?”
“It’s okay,” Gretchen replies in a deliberately calm voice.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Lydia snaps. “Have you spoken to Jason? What did he say?” She eyes the other doctors in the room warily. “And who are all these people?”
“Please,” Gretchen pleads, “take a breath.”
Lydia opens her mouth to protest, but meets Gretchen’s gaze and thinks better of it. Instead she does as she’s told, takes a long, deep breath and collects her thoughts. The doctor is right, she needs to be clear-headed and in control. The dank, moist air inside the asylum leaves a wooden taste in her mouth and makes her feel ill.
“Alright,” she says finally, “I’m calm. Tell me what’s happening.”
“Well,” says Gretchen, taking Lydia’s arm as the other doctors file out of the room, chattering amongst themselves in low, conspiratorial voices, “you recall from Jason’s case notes that he was sentenced to death, but his lawyer argued insanity and he was transferred here instead?”
“Yes,” Lydia replies, “so what?”
“The governor filed a petition this morning to enforce the original sentence,” says Gretchen.
“What do you mean?” Lydia frowns at her, panic rising from within.
“Jason’s being executed. Today.”
“Today?!” Lydia grabs hold of Gretchen’s desk to steady herself.
“We were all meeting in here to discuss options, since…” Gretchen scratches her head and sighs, “well, we haven’t done this here in a while. Not in my time, anyway.”
“Can’t he appeal?” Lydia asks, her mind working through all the different ways she might be able to help, without stopping to wonder why she wants to.
“No,” says Gretchen. “His guilt was determined already. There’s nothing we can do.”
“But—”
“Lydia,” Gretchen says, firmly. “Listen to me. We still have procedures to go through and the warden won’t be here for another half an hour.” She looks meaningfully at Lydia. “So if there’s anything you need to talk to Jason about, you best do it right now.”
Lydia throws her arms around Gretchen, burying her face in the doctor’s mane of copper hair. “Thank you,” she gasps.
“Don’t thank me,” says Gretchen, pushing her away gently. “Just hurry.”
Lydia glances up at the ticking clock on the wall as she dashes from the office. Time is not her friend. Apparently, it never has been.
*
Giant ceiling fans spin slowly overhead as a uniformed guard escorts Lydia to the cell in the middle of the room. There are more guards than usual today.
“Is this really necessary?” she asks, uncomfortable in the man’s hulking presence.
“Afraid so,” grunts the guard. “Warden’s orders.”
Jason Devere sits on a metal chair facing the bars of his own personal prison. He looks up as Lydia approaches, and she sees that his eyes are pink, and his cheeks raw. He’s been crying. In his hand, something catches the light and glints silver and blue. His mother’s locket, the heart-shaped one Lydia had given to him when she first arrived.
“Time to talk, Jason,” she says coldly. There is no time for sentiment. Theirs is a business relationship now, and she is running out of time to close the deal. “Last chance.”
“What do you want to know?” he asks, in a hollow voice.
“Why did you do it?” asks Lydia.
“Christ,” Jason mutters, “you can’t let anything go, can you?”
“Tick-tock, Jason.” Lydia taps her watch.
“You know,” he says, shoulders slumped in a melancholy fashion, “I never thought it would end like this.”
“How did you imagine it would end?” asks Lydia, impatiently.
“I always imagined that I would die peacefully in my sleep,” Jason replies. He looks up at her and the wolf smile plays around his lips. “Or else go out in a blaze of glory.” He wets his lips. “How about it, Lyd? Wanna help me make it one for the road?”
“You’re disgusting,” Lydia replies.
“And you’re not?” He raises an eyebrow. “We’re all the same sort of animal.”
“If you don’t tell the truth now,” says Lydia, sternly, “then the world will think the worst of you until the end of time. Is that what you want?”
“Does it matter?” Jason shrugs.
“You made a promise,” Lydia reminds him.
“I did,” Jason concedes, nodding his head gently. “You’re right.” He gets slowly to his feet and faces her. “I’ll keep my promise to you, Lydia Tune.”
“Tell me why you killed all those people.”
Jason leans forward, looks her dead in the eye and whispers, “I didn’t.”
“You’re lying,” Lydia snaps. The nearby guard takes a step towards them.
“I’m not,” Jason whispers. “I didn’t do it.”
“Fine,” says Lydia flatly. “Have it your way. Die just another mad serial killer.” She turns to go. “Your mother will be rolling in her grave.”
“You know,” says Jason loudly, “you’ve been far meaner to me than I ever have to you.” Lydia turns and sees the look of hurt and anger on his face. “What do you think that says about you?”
“That you bring out the worst in me.” Lydia glares at him. Jason smiles a sad, hopeless smile.
“You promised me something too,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“You promised to do something for me.”
“Alright,” says Lydia, folding her arms. “Not that you’ve held up your end of the bargain, but what would you have had me do for you?”
“Listen.”
“I am listening.”
“No.” Jason shakes his head. “I want you to really listen to me, like you haven’t since you first got here.”
“I don’t understand a word you’re saying,” says Lydia with a wave of her hand. “Maybe you really are just mad.”
“You will understand soon,” says Jason, calmly. He has an odd look about him now that Lydia finds unsettling. He seems at peace. Serene. “My death will trigger events that nobody will be able to stop,” he says. A chill creeps up Lydia’s spine. “And only you will be able to make sense of them.”
“Me?” Lydia stares at him in disbelief. “Why me?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. You will have to see the truth with your own eyes.”
“Why don’t you try me?”
“I will give you the answers I promised,” says Jason, leaning against his bars and p
eering at her through strands of lank, greasy hair. “But only in death.”
“Stop speaking in riddles.”
“They’re only riddles if you’re not really listening,” Jason shoots back. “You’re a smart woman, Lydia Tune,” he smirks, “but you’re going to need to learn to think like a monster if you want your answers.” He tilts his head to the side. “If you want to live.”
“Then help me,” demands Lydia. “You’re the monster, aren’t you? Tell me how I’m supposed to figure this out!”
The heavy jangling of keys makes her look around to see a pair of guards approaching from the door.
“Looks like our time is up,” says Jason, calmly. Lydia stands and stares, dumbfounded, as the guards unlock Jason’s cage and step inside, shock batons raised. “No need, gentlemen,” he says, turning around and crossing his hands behind his back ready to be cuffed. “I’ll come quietly. Just bring pen and paper wherever it is that you’re taking me. I have a promise to keep.” They bind him tight, then half lead, half drag him from the cage. Jason keeps smiling the whole time, as if the whole thing is a joke and only he has been let in on it.
“Wait. Wait!” Lydia calls out as the guards heave him past her. “Tell me, please. Tell me what I need to know.” For a fleeting second, she is close enough to smell the wolf’s pelt, and it’s only now she notices that Jason is wearing his mother’s locket around his neck, tucked into his dirty vest. Her eyes flick from it to his face, and some unspoken message passes between them. Though she doesn’t yet know what it means.
“Stay back, miss,” grunts one of the guards, easing her away with his massive forearm.
Jason’s voice carries back to her as he’s carried away towards the door. “Good luck, Lydia Tune.”
A moment later he is gone, the heavy steel door crashing shut behind him. In fact, all of the guards have gone. Nothing left for them to do here, Lydia realises. She turns and stares at the empty cell as the fan spins slowly high above.
Thirty-Nine
Broken
Sitting alone in the Mortem reception, head bowed dejectedly, time leaches the hope from Lydia like a sandcastle gradually blowing away in the wind. She feels her very essence draining away, power fading, the warmth that had been rekindled in her heart over the past week cooling and dying.
She looks at her phone. No messages. No calls. It has been less than twelve hours since she was with Alex, yet it feels like a lifetime. She needs him now. She can’t do this alone, struggling silently to arrest the onslaught of cynicism that generates from within herself. Judgement from which she can neither run nor hide.
Footsteps on the polished floor make Lydia’s stomach turn over. She has come to like Gretchen Engel, even feel some uncharacteristic affection for her, but the doctor is the last person she wants to see when she looks up.
“Is he…?” Lydia can’t bring herself to finish the question. Gretchen nods slowly, pink patches around her eyes betraying recent tears.
“Yes,” she replies, weakly.
Lydia feels a sickness growing deep within her, and realises with surprise that it is grief. She doesn’t know Jason Devere very well. She certainly doesn’t like him. He may very well have been complicit in her assault, as well of course in the murders of over a dozen people. But the thought of him being taken to a premeditated death, the idea that she is complicit in it not only as a member of society but as an active player in the events that led to this point, makes her feel sad, and guilty, and bereaved. She remembers the kindly old woman she spoke to in the hospital just a few days ago. Lydia had promised to help. Instead here she sits, completely powerless.
“Can I see him?” asks Lydia.
“I’m sorry,” Gretchen replies. “Nobody can. Warden’s orders. His body’s to be kept under guard until they can get the incinerator lit. There’s some sort of problem. Maintenance are working on it now.” Lydia’s hate for Shade grows. “Here,” Gretchen offers her a small box; the same one Lydia had given to Jason, containing his personal effects. “He wanted you to have this back.”
“Thank you,” says Lydia, surprised, clutching the box tightly. Gretchen sits down next to her.
“Did you get what you wanted?”
Lydia shakes her head, biting her lip hard to keep the tears at bay.
“What will you do now?”
“Nothing,” Lydia replies, in a hollow voice.
“Nothing?” Gretchen asks, a note of surprise in her soft voice.
“I’m done,” Lydia says. “It’s hopeless.”
“Nothing is hopeless,” says Gretchen, laying a hand on Lydia’s arm and smiling. It would have been easy, Lydia thinks, for all of the terrible people in this godforsaken building to drain Gretchen of her empathy, her compassion. But her bedside manner is as kind and genuine as it is possible for a person to be.
“You know that’s not true,” says Lydia, forlornly. “Soon Jason is going to be gone. And what about the four patients you lost the other night? They’re gone too.”
“I haven’t given up on them,” says Gretchen, a tiny twinkle in her eye. “And you haven’t given up on Jason. I know you haven’t. Listen, I… I’ve heard your conversations with Jason, all of them.” Lydia looks up at the doctor. “And in doing so, I think, I’m starting to realise that there is more going on with his story than I initially thought. And you know there’s more to this story, don’t you? You can still help him.”
Lydia looks into Gretchen’s eyes, wanting so badly to believe what she says, but the positive words bounce off the ice core now re-crystallising around her heart. She hangs her head. “I don’t even know where to start,” she says quietly. “I have no leads, no ideas. Even Alex won’t call me back.” She sighs. “This book is dead. There’s nothing more I can do here.”
Gretchen listens patiently, considers Lydia’s words, then pats her gently on the leg and stands up. “I don’t believe that.” She starts to walk away.
“You don’t know me,” says Lydia, suddenly flaring up, her temper boiling over. Gretchen turns around, a shocked expression on her face. “I didn’t get where I am today by looking out for other people,” Lydia says, eyes blazing. “I did it by looking after myself. That’s how you make it in this world. It’s the only way to survive. Nobody wants to admit it, but that’s the brutal truth.”
Gretchen stares at her coolly, all trace of bedside manner vanished. “And how is that working out for you?” she asks. “Are you happy?”
Lydia glares at her furiously, then looks away without answering.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Lydia,” Gretchen says. “I hope you find that happiness.” She turns and walks to the elevator, and when Lydia looks up again Gretchen is gone. Probably from her life forever. After all, there’s no reason for her ever to return to this place now.
Just another person who hates me, Lydia thinks bitterly. But that doesn’t quite sit right. The words fester in her mind like an infection. Gretchen doesn’t hate her. Lydia is too adept a student of humanity to so lazily misread what just transpired. It wasn’t hate, she realises with a pang of embarrassment. It was pity. Gretchen feels sorry for her. Sorry for her selfishness, her loneliness, her arrogance, her ego. Sorry that a man is dead and all Lydia seems to care about is her book. Sorry because Gretchen knows, just as Lydia does, that her fling with Alex is destined to crash and burn because of what Lydia is. What she has allowed herself to become.
She looks down at the box in her lap. When she packed it originally, it was as a tactic. Just another piece on the game board, to try to outmanoeuvre a man she hadn’t yet met. A gift of poor intent. Lydia opens it now with trembling fingers. Inside is a photograph, creased and torn around the edges, of two young boys, Jason and Finley, with their mother and father, Evelyn and Adam. All wearing genuine smiles, happy, peaceful, content, like the family from the hotel lobby last night. Like a family should be. Lydia stares at their faces, and realises with a pang of sickness that they are all dead now. The Devere family
is gone, taking their secrets with them to the grave.
Underneath the photograph, a comb and mirror, and the silver, heart-shaped locket she had seen in Jason’s hands just yesterday. Lydia reaches for it, but can’t bring herself to touch the thing. A voice in her head is screaming that she isn’t allowed. That it isn’t right. That she has let down both mother and son, and to touch the locket would violate their memory. She snaps the box shut and jumps to her feet. She has to get out of here.
Lydia strides across the lobby in as composed a fashion as she can muster, aware of the receptionist’s eyes on her, aware of the cameras. Then as soon as she is out the door she breaks into a run, high heels skimming across the snow towards her car. The winter sky is pale blue, peaceful, completely at odds with the dark storm raging inside of her. She unlocks the car door and throws herself into the driver’s seat, slamming the keys into the ignition and stirring the engine to life with a roar. The radio blares loudly, and Lydia smashes the power button with her palm to silence it. She doesn’t want to hear her favourite songs right now. Doesn’t want to be reminded of the man who still hasn’t called her back.
Just as she feels her anger towards him boiling up, a chime rings out. It’s her phone. A message from Alex.
Forty
Heart of Darkness
Hi Lydia, meet me at Harkem House, the Devere’s old place. I have a surprise for you.
Underneath the text, a tiny marker blinks on a map square. Lydia stares at it for a moment, then re-reads the words. What was Alex doing there? Had the police found some new evidence? More bodies? Why would he invite her? Would she even be allowed on site, if it’s a crime scene? Her fingertips glide across the glass as she composes her reply.
What is it?
She doesn’t have to wait long.
You’ll see. Come quickly.
The little monster called anxiety gnaws at the already-chewed corners of her mind. Something about this seems wrong. Alex knows she doesn’t like surprises. He knows what she’s been through. He’s sworn to protect her for crying out loud. But Gretchen’s cold rebuke still rings in her ears. If Lydia wants to change, she knows, there are two things that she must do. First, honour her promises to Evelyn and Jason to unearth the truth. And second, give Alex the chance he deserves. At Harkem House, there may be a way to do both. Two birds, one stone.
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