8. Scarlet Truths
Scarlet Truths
Lucien stood next to the trunk of his car, covered head to toe in black sweats and an equally black sweater, looking every bit like a reaper sent to pick up souls. Only the scythe was missing.
Rub, rub, rub. He was meticulously scrubbing away at a dark liquid which clung to the beige fabric. Everything the sponge touched fizzed to life.
“Wa-what are you c-cleaning?”
Head in the trunk, he asked. “In need for confirmation, dear?”
Kate glanced out over her surroundings. Evening was falling and there was only the light of the porch to ward off the darkness. Bile rose up in her throat, ready to spill over the frost-laden floor.
Lucien popped out of the car. His eyes roaming over the slight slump in her shoulders from where she stood, leaning against the porch railing. “Don’t ask if you don’t want to know.” He cast her an amused glance. “You sure had your fun though, huh?”
Tripping the alarm, flipping him the finger. All she could do was stare at the ease with which he cleaned the car. Without the slightest tremble in his hands, only a frown lining his forehead as he scrubbed away at a particularly difficult spot.
“What did they do?”
He looked at her, surprised by the question. “Who did what exactly?”
Kate cleared her throat, trying and failing to swallow the lump forming in her throat. “The person you’ve killed.”
“People.” He crawled out of the car, drying his hands on a rag. “Plural. A couple known for doing particularly… dark things. More so than I do, to be honest.”
“What, really?”
“Yes.” Lucien braced a hand on the car, leisurely leaning against the gleaming black surface. His head tilted in question, one green eye glittering in the soft glow of the lights. “Why so surprised? Is it okay to you when they deserved it?”
She bit her lip. Discussing morality with a man whose job was ending lives. Perfectly sensible.
“I don’t know.” An icy wind blasted through her clothes. She shivered, burying deeper into her own sweater.
Lucien nodded, pleased with her frank honesty. “A lot of people deserve it, Kate. More than you know. In fact, if it were written across people’s faces, we wouldn’t be walking the streets anymore.”
She huffed. “Same goes for you… if it were written on your face, I’d take a nice big loop around you.” Goddammit, she wasn’t able to keep her mouth shut or polite around this man.
She watched as a grin slowly spread across his face.
“Spirited, aren’t you?”
Kate let the question pass her by. “So, is there a code? Does everyone deserve it? Or is anyone up for grabs?”
The wind lifted, carrying their voices over the hush of the clearing.
With a nonchalant swing, he tossed the rag into the bucket. The water sloshed over the edge, becoming one with the icy carpet. “That is a good question.” He thought deeply. “I believe that everyone walking this Earth is guilty of some crime. So yes, in a way, we all have it coming.”
She couldn’t help asking, “What was the reason with me? How did you make it sound… right?” It didn’t matter and yet a part of her wanted to know. For if there was a code. Why aim death at the girl sitting at the Christmas table?
“You let them.”
“I what?” The blood drained from her face.
He held her gaze tightly. “You let them break you, use you even. And yes, there have been times when I’ve told myself, the person would be better off. In a way, there is always justification. If one needs it.”
Her breath hitched, who was he to speak on what she had or hadn’t done? He’d had what? A file with the name Kate on it twisted between his fingers?
Don’t let him get into your mind!
She pushed down the frustration ready to spill over, twisting the question back onto him. “So you don’t need it, a reason?”
“It depends. Did you never fantasize it? Dream of it even?”
“What’s that?”
He fixed her with a stare. “Taking matter into your own hands.”
She had. Many times. But she wouldn’t hand him the leverage of twisting what he did into something akin to right or wrong.
Her chin lifted. “No, I’m not a killer.” Right at that moment, the wind cut through the trees and howled its song. It sent up a flurry of snow to dance between them. Beautiful and haunting. Normally she’d sit at the window to enjoy it, now it only set her already firing nerves on edge.
Lucien pushed off the car with ease. “You’re deluding yourself, everyone has a killer inside of them.”
She shook her head but her eyes danced to the snow falling around them. “Guess that’s where you’re wrong.”
“Agree to disagree.” A shit-eating grin formed on his face as he stalked closer to her.
The smell of iron bit into her nose, spilling down the back of her tongue. Contaminating her as he advanced. Radiating the smell of death.
But she held her ground.
A glint of respect flickered in his eyes. “Stubborn. I wonder.” He leaned in. “Why are you so much more comfortable arguing with me than you were with your parents?”
So he had seen. Had already been in that puppet house during the Christmas spectacle. When her foster mother had… gone over the limits.
Lucien didn’t give her space to think, shrinking into her personal space. She clenched a hand, hiding the tremble within. “Makes one curious.” He whispered.
She wanted to spit in his face, push him away and curse him out. But her limbs froze up in front of him. “You’ve got guts, girl, I admire that.” With that he turned, picking up the sponge to continue his scrubbing.
Kate’s focus fell on the open trunk, him bent below it. If she threw the trunk down hard enough… would it break his spine?
Lucien half-turned in the back of the car, searching her gaze. A weird expression crossed his face… almost like awe.
“I recognize that look. Wanna know why?” He parked himself butt first in the trunk, legs swinging through the air. “It’s the same look I get when I think about a kill.”
So that was why he was looking like a happy clown. They could talk about right and wrong all day. When it came down to it, he loved inflicting pain.
Kate shuddered, but it wasn’t from the cold.
From the corner of her eye… blood dripped onto the glistening ice. “Shouldn’t you be cleaning that up?”
“Worried I’ll get caught, sweetheart?”
“Nope.” She crossed her arms. “Sooner rather than later.”
“Can’t blame you, sweetheart.”
Oh, if only she had the chance to rip that grin off his face. She whirled around before acting on that imagination, letting her feet take her to the house.
“Won’t happen though.”
She stopped in her tracks. “How’s that?”
“Well, for one, police aren’t saints.”
Her throat bobbed. He couldn’t possibly mea—
“Let’s just say the police around these parts aren’t very interested in my coming and going.”
Bluff… he had to be twisting the truth. Maybe one was in his pocket, but a whole police station? Never.
“Also.” He gestured to the pool of blood. “Snow melts, it fades away. There won’t be much to find unless, for whatever reason, a sample is taken in the near future.”
She pried her eyes off the scarlet jackpot. Sample… DNA… Police.
Keep him busy.
“What about the car though? There is bound to be DNA left behind?”
Pride glistened in his eyes. She swore he liked it, this back and forth of theirs. Someone to share his ways with, without the risk of exposure. So far, one thing was clear. Whatever his plans were, she would be getting out of here. In a casket or on her feet.
“Of course that leaves traces. Thank God for hydrogen peroxide.”
“I’m happy for you, Lucien.” Kate crossed her arms, as if they could somehow protect her from the truths shared, and turned to enter the silent house.
“Wait.”
She shifted. Seeing Lucien push past the car, ending up by the rows of roses flanking the driveway. She glanced around the hedge, seeing him peering in between the roses. They had long since withered and died, submitted to winter’s grasp. Although… what was he…
A single black rose stood tall, circled by its succumbed brethren. With a snap, he plucked the rose. A pang of regret shot through her stomach. Why cut something still brimming with such vigor, which was so strongly ignoring the inevitable?
Apparently not bothered by such thoughts, he fished out his pocket knife. Making quick work of trimming thorn by thorn away from the small stalk, he stopped in front of her.
She’d been wrong. It wasn’t black… not entirely, streaks of white mingled with the dark leaves. Almost like… yin and yang.
Her killer held a place for art in his cold heart.
Or for you.
She shook the thought away. No way in hell.
He raised a hand, palm out.
Kate flinched slightly. But her body… it was paralyzed. She could only watch as he reached out slowly, carefully, to… slip the stem over her ear. Her breath hitched, the only sign her shivering body allowed.
He stepped back, admiring his work with a firm nod.
“It suits you.” Another one of his winks followed, the movement less…
teasing and more tentative. “For all your denial, you know I’m right.
There is a killer within you. I felt it crawling underneath that skin of yours.
” Another step back, allowing air to slip in between them.
“Nothing to be ashamed of.” He smiled at her, standing there like a statue of ice.
“Maybe best to head inside, before you start mirroring the scenery.” He chuckled.
Whirling around to finish cleaning his ride.
Kate spun around, leaving sunken footsteps in the snow. She raced up the stairs to the house. Hand tight on the rose pressing behind her ear.