Alex Frost Meets The Killer

by Mortimer Jackson

  Chapter 6

  Look Through The Seeing Eye

  For sixteen long and fruitful years

  There lived a girl named Alex Frost

  Unlike her fellow Elsinore peers

  She was a human being, morally lost

  Neither good nor bad had any meaning

  She had been born devoid of feeling

  So when her parents died on a fateful day

  About three months away from May

  Alex didn’t worry nor did she cry

  She sought their killer

  To find out why

  His name was Lord Henry Combermere

  He resided in a lonely tower

  The people below regarded him with fear

  Any who mentioned his name did so with a cower

  But as Alex waited on his rotten doorsteps

  There was not an ounce of agitation

  No trepidation, no consternation

  Only the expectation

  That if he hadn’t killed her before

  Her life, he would allow

  And with that she waited for what was in store

  Behind the note that told, “Come see me now”

  In Suburnia, the phrase It’s always greener on the other side is one seldom understood by its upper crest citizens. Because in Suburnia, everything that was meant to be green was. All equally so, and so much to the point that if things were any greener, they’d be an altogether different color.

  To the poor and the middle class who on occasion have to resort to such activities as saving money, the notion of things being greener on the other side is one that makes ample amount of sense. This is because people who can’t afford to hire gardeners are forced to tend to their lawns entirely on their own (if you can believe it), and some of them don’t even use professional grade growth stimulants (these people exist I assure you). In these places, a neighbor’s yard would always look greener than those surrounding his (or hers) because he (or she) would take good care of it on a daily basis while his (or her) neighbor, for whatever reason, wouldn’t. Therefore, a lazy man with no concern for the well-being of his own front yard would complain that the grass is always greener on the other side because while his neighbors watched over their lawns, he would do nothing about his. Or a man who tends to his lawn might say that the grass is greener on the other side when he finds his neighbor donating more time and labor to keep his side of the grass as green as green can be.

  But up in the desolate hill where Lord Henry Combermere presided, nothing could have been greener, because there was nothing green on the other side to begin with. The grass was dead, yellow, and dry. The only surrounding life forms were the scavengers that circled high above the tall house, and even they seemed weak and on the verge of collapse.

  The outside of the Combermere estate was colored in pitch black. Pieces of wood crumpled around the farthest edges of its foundations. Some of the windows had glass missing, but it was impossible to see beyond it due to the heavy black curtains blocking the view inside. The unkempt nature of the home gave an ebb of abandonment. And in a great many ways, it was. For in much the same way, no one had attended to the home’s much needed repairs, nor cared for the well being of the surrounding greenery. The years of cold neglect had aged the Combermere estate horribly.

  When Alex pushed the call button beside the door, it didn’t seem to do anything. Not only was the button incredibly stiff, but the other side was completely silent, and nobody responded.

  She tapped on the front door with her knuckle. As it barely touched the surface, the door creaked slightly ajar.

  “Hello?” she called inside. But no response.

  “Hello?” she tried once more. Still nothing.

  Alex stepped inside, pushed the door farther away. Loud creaks came from the hinges until the door stopped against a wall. Her first step inside was on hardwood floor riddled with dust. As a matter of fact, the further along she went, the more dust she found lying about in the Combermere estate. All except on certain areas of the walls that once housed portraits. There, the dust hadn’t yet seeped in, leaving box-shaped areas whiter than the rest of the walls.

  The tower’s relative emptiness gave the illusion of being larger than it actually was. Aside from a few commodes decorated on the hallway, large vases with dead flowers, there were tables and shelves stacked with lots and lots of old books. A great number of them had to do with law, both civil and criminal. The rest were of either anthropological subject matters, or those related with psychology.

  She observed the various titles that ran along the spines of each piece of literature. She recalled that Lord Combermere had been a lawyer at one point in time. So it was only appropriate that he had more than several shelves in his study of almost every conceivable topic regarding British law. Yet as a result, the study felt like less like a private study and more like an archive. A place where people went to check out reference books for possible research.

  Being a curious girl by nature, Alex wanted to read them all for the sole purpose of learning things she didn’t already know. If Alex could have been said to have any genuine connection with anything, it would have had to have been with books. For inside the pages of literature lied something that Alex had always had a crave for; knowledge. However, as of the moment, books were her least pressing concern. The knowledge she sought wasn’t one that was written in any book except the one before you, dear reader. This very book detailing the life of Alex Frost. And how odd would it have been for our girl without a soul to stumble across a copy? That would only raise so many questions about existentialism I don’t even want to ask.

  After a few minutes searching the first floor of the tall building, Alex started to doubt that he was even home in the first place.

  “Hello?”

  Dead silence.

  Alex came upon a stairwell that went five floors up. As she climbed up the flights, her feet gave the wooden treads a loud squeak. One that echoed around the shallow, elevating halls. The stairs formed a steady circle, making it so that by the time she reached the sixth floor, her head was fuzzy and disoriented.

  Alex made her way around, cautiously, silently. However, with the way that the floor scratched and screeched, she might as well have been singing as she walked.

  The floor that had the most amount of lights was also the highest. Sun came in through the glass windows of the sixth floor, and even though they were all infested with gunk and mildew, they revealed almost every nook and cranny in the area.

  She wandered along the narrow corridors, stopped when she found a large room with a wall composed entirely of glass and wooden grids. There, the outside luminance shone extensively. The floorboards glowed under a bright yellow aura. As she came closer, the scenery outside revealed an unmitigated view of Suburnia. Every corner of the town’s border had become visible to her naked eyes. From where she stood, Alex could even see her own neighborhood, her own home. Though from this distance, it was hard to make out solid details.

  Directly beside the wall-sized window was a telescope, its outer body composed of golden brass. It stood on tripod legs, its optical tube facing downwards.

  “You came.”

  Alex spun around instinctively. There, standing by the entryway of the room from where she had just come, was a figure whose pale features were only accentuated by the sun’s glare. The glint on his monocle made him appear half man, half sun god.

  She made him out clearer now than she did when he was standing over her dead parents. His nose was long and pointy, and there sat a mole atop the left corner of his lip as black as night. A long, dark overcoat covered his arms while gloves covered his hands. Enclosed in his right palm was the handle of a short, triangular knife, its serrated blade glistening shamelessly.

  “Why?” Lord Combermere asked, interested, but cautious.

  “You helped me. Why?”

  “I asked first,” he shot, faking frustration as he spoke. She could tell right as h
e added the inflection on his voice that his tone was manufactured. She’d heard people speak with disgruntled voices many times before. His delivery was a barely passable imitation. This brought her to the conclusion that he was trying to intimidate her, to scare her. Maybe to test and see if she was what he expected. The more that Alex questioned his actions, the more Lord Combermere was starting to seem a skeptical, perhaps suspicious man.

  “I came here, because I wanted some answers. Starting with why you killed my parents.”

  Alex didn’t bother masking her indifference as she said this. To people of the normal variety, her tone would have been considered strange and bereft of humanity. But to the bald man in front of her, it was an important step at disarming him. She had to let him know that she was what he thought she was, and not something else. He was holding onto the knife because he wasn’t entirely sure he could trust her yet. It was a test. And like all tests, this one had a condition. If she satisfied him, he would allow her to live, possibly answer her deep-seated questions while he was at it. If she said anything to set him on edge, then chances were high that along with her parents, he would have soon killed her too.

  “And I helped you, because I have a feeling that you and I have something in common.”

  Alex didn’t deny it, nor did she think it wise to do so even if she disagreed.

  “I’ve been curious about you ever since three days ago,” Lord Combermere continued. By three days ago, he had obviously meant the day since he murdered her mother and father. “I saw you kill that boy,” he tapped his telescope twice, the gesture telling her This is how I saw you kill that boy. “Absolutely sloppy work. Did you even know who he was?”

  “Tommy Hargrave,” she replied after she briefly considered denying it.

  “Son of Jonas Hargave. You’re in big trouble if he ever finds out.”

  “You know him?”

  “Of course I know him. He and I used to work at the same law firm before he moved on to become criminal prosecutor for the state.” He paused. “Absolutely ruthless man. Tell me. Why did you kill his son?”

  “Amy,” was all she let out. But rather than satisfy his inquisitive mood, it left Lord Combermere confused. Alex took in a deep breath before she spoke again.

  “Tommy Hargrave hurt someone I know. She was going to tell the police. I couldn’t let her, because I knew that if she did, Tommy’s father would have destroyed her life.”

  Lord Combermere simpered, somehow as though he were pleased.

  “You are right. Jonas Hargrave is a very powerful man. And he would have done anything within that power to stop the truth from getting out. For that boy, he would have turned the earth, and destroyed anyone that stood in his way. He has, too. You did your friend a great benefit. But that’s not why you killed him.”

  Alex considered how exactly she was going to put it all in words. “I wanted to know how it would feel,” was how she started. The rest spoke itself.

  At the end of telling him how she’d felt after seeing her first dead body, the sensations that coursed through her as she killed her first human being, Lord Combermere was two things. Surprised, and satisfied.

  “So, you liked it?”

  Alex, who had never liked anything before in her life, hesitated to answer. But surely enough she did, and did so with a single nod.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why do I...” but she couldn’t finish the thought.

  “You mean, why do you like it?” He approached her, hid the knife inside the overcoat’s pocket. “You like it, because it’s in your nature.” He ran his gloved hand along her cheeks. “For too long, you’ve been conditioned to wear that mask. And now, after all this time, you’re finally growing up, taking control of everything around you.” He pointed his hand to the enormous window before them. “The world is your oyster, and you can do whatever you want to it no matter what it is. That first kill is just a taste of many more to come.”

  It sounded absurd. But after she clenched her mind on the notion, held it in place long enough, somehow, sense began to eek out. It was true that Alex had conditioned herself to be something that she wasn’t for the sole purpose of society. What was hard to believe was the idea that the desire to kill was in her nature, something given to her since birth. Was Lord Combermere the same way?

  “Is that why you killed my parents?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Are you?”

  Lord Combermere dropped the formality, and with it, the artificial grin that had been plastered on his face.

  “No. I suppose not.”

  “Why didn’t,” she started, and with a bit of delay, “You kill me?”

  “The same reason you didn’t report me to the police when you had the chance. So that we both could have this moment.” He looked out the window, pointed at the residences of Suburnia through the glass pane.” I suppose that like everybody down there you know full well who I am.”

  “That’s right. I do.”

  “And you, I suppose, are Alexandra Frost. I’ve been reading your name a lot in the newspapers lately.”

  “How long have you been doing this?” Alex, without knowing it, reverted the conversation back to Lord Combermere.

  He turned his body, looked her square in the eye. “Ever since I was your age.”

  “And you haven’t been caught,” Alex observed.

  “I’ve had years to guide me,” he said. “To perfect what I do. With a bit of instinct, I’ve been able to evade capture and suspicion for all this time. Unfortunately, I am getting old.” He needn’t point to his face to prove the point. But he did so regardless, solely for the purpose of emphasis. “Nowadays, what I do gets harder and harder each week. Your parents was my worst performance thus far. It’s only bound to get worse.”

  “So why don’t you stop?”

  “I can’t. And soon you’ll find, neither can you.”

  But Alex rejected the idea. “You don’t know me to say for sure.”

  “I wouldn’t presume to think so,” Lord Combermere replied. “But after all those years existing without emotion and finally having your first taste of it, would you truly deny yourself the chance to feel alive?”

  Alex had to admit at least to herself that not only had she enjoyed killing Tommy Hargrave, but she was also beginning to miss the experience. Even though it happened only earlier in the day, the sensations had already left her, and she was left secretly craving for more.

  But Alex was nothing if not inhumanly smart. She knew that to act upon her inhibitions would only guarantee that sooner or later, she would get caught, and she could be thrown into a place where not only would she not be allowed the opportunity to feel alive, but she wouldn’t have a chance at anything else save for living alone in a tiny white room. That was something she knew well enough to avoid.

  “Trust me Alexandra. You’re going to want more.” Then he smiled only slightly, as though a funny thought entered his mind.

  “But if you prove me wrong, then you’ll have impressed me.”

  “And if I don’t?” she asked, though more for the sake of hearing what he had to say, and not because she was interested in continuing to do the things he did.

  “If you can’t contain the urge, then I suggest you see me the day after tomorrow. I want us both to make sure that the next time you decide to kill, you do a better job of it. Until then, our business here is done. If I don’t see you again, then rest assured our paths will have no reason to cross again. I want you to take the time to think it over for yourself. In the mean time, I’m sure you know your way out.”

  The man turned his back on her, twiddled with his telescope. She left his six story home, making her way down the circular flight of stairs and out the way she came.

  She hurried down the hill of Lord Combermere’s estate, hoping that she hadn’t spent too much time there already. She turned to a row of Suburnian houses, went up Carlson road until she found Aunt Melanie’s Suzuki Vitara parked along the curb.
She entered through the front passenger door while Aunt Melanie was deeply focused on her newspaper crossword puzzles.

  “Hey Aunt Melanie,” Alex said.

  “Hey, Alex,” she responded, trying out her nephew’s shortened name for the very first time. “So, you went to see your friend?”

  “Amy? Yeah. She’s still feeling bad about what happened.”

  That was the lie. The fact, was that as far as she could attest to it, Alex and Amy weren’t yet on speaking terms. They hadn’t seen or heard from each other since last night when Amy ordered her out of her house. An overreaction, Alex felt. One that she would soon regret come Monday morning. Not because Alex would apologize or make any gesture at earning back her trust. Instead, it would be because Alex, the Elsinore girl without a soul, was still the best friend that Amy had ever had. And Amy, who often needed people more than they needed her, wasn’t going to throw away her most important friendship no matter what.

  Still, it was important to lie to her Aunt Melanie because she couldn’t possibly have admitted to having visited Lord Combermere. Aunt Melanie didn’t live anywhere near Suburnia anymore, and she personally knew nothing of the man, but she’d heard stories from the people that did. And even though Aunt Melanie had been under the impression that Lord Combermere was just one of the town’s many unfounded fairy tales, and not an actual man, Alex found no reason to disprove her notion. And because the rest of the town was consumed with unmitigated paranoia when it came to all things Combermere, it was best not to let anyone know that she’d met him twice already in a single week.

  Aunt Melanie glanced over at the school uniform that Alex had been wearing for at least three days in a row.

  “Do you have other clothes?” she asked.

  “I have them at my house.”

  “We can’t go there. C’mon, I’ll take you shopping, and we’ll get you some extra clothes.”

  Aunt Melanie had a point. It really had been three days since she’d changed into anything else other than her school uniform. Because of this, she still had not showered for the simple fact that she had nothing to change into afterwards.

  “Thanks,” said Alex.

  “Not a problem.”