Alex Frost Meets The Killer

by Mortimer Jackson

  Chapter 8

  Lost

  When it was fast approaching the hour of four in the afternoon, Alex found herself once again on Lord Henry Combermere’s doorstep. She didn’t bother with knocking the door, just invited herself in. What caught her eyes right as she walked past the entryway was the sight of scratches running along the decaying hardwood floor. They weren’t there before. As she studied it more closely, she saw a short nail coming out, painted in bright red.

  There were six deep scratches travelling on the floor, a long trail of claw marks. Wooden shreds lay in their wake, and the place they’d come from was just as rotten and vile as floor’s outer layer.

  Alex followed the trail of nails until it led her down to a poorly lit basement, a part of Lord Combermere’s house she’d never seen before.

  The sun was still in its afternoon state, leaving the world outside clearly visible and exposed. The same could not have been said of Lord Combermere’s home. His curtains were closed, the fabric so thick and heavy that scarcely any light managed its way in. And when there were scratches on the floor leading down to a dank basement with a light bulb that didn’t work, bad vibes ensued.

  Regardless, Alex dared to venture forth, into the blackness that awaited her down the bottom of the stairs, not knowing what she would find or what she should expect.

  She trailed downwards, hands on the walls since there were no guard rails. When she reached the bottom step, she noticed a ceiling lamp that emitted a fervent yellow light more than a few meters from where she stood. Like daylight at the end of a long tunnel. She went towards it, mindful of her every step. Judging by the vast distance between her and the luminescence, it was clear that the basement was significant in size.

  As she came closer and closer, not only did the light get brighter, but the presence of something else entered her ears.

  “Help,” faint, but present.

  A few steps forward, and everything was revealed. A large table big enough to fit a full grown adult, and on top of it, a young woman with short hair and a yellow dress with red polka dots. The ceiling light flashed directly over her body, illuminating what she wore, and her blackened eyes covered with water.

  “Help me,” her voice croaking, but clearer.

  She was bound together by rope, her wrists and ankles stretching past her joints. There were bruises all over her shoulders and knees. Even if Alex did manage to break the woman free, she was too injured to walk. Wildly reminiscent of the cat she saved a few days earlier.

  “I knew you would be here,” came a second voice, one that immediately set the woman on edge.

  “Please get me out of here,” the woman begged Alex. She too recognized the voice.

  “So I took the liberty of preparing you a gift,” Lord Combermere went on. “What do you think?”

  “Who is she?” asked Alex, staring down the woman’s eyes. Alex cleared the tears that fell down the side of her face with her finger. She held the water up to the light. It had a salty smell.

  “She is Marissa Hartly, a college student. This is her first time in Suburnia. I’m sorry to say she won’t be leaving with fond memories.”

  Alex gently brushed away the woman’s hair.

  “Why do you do this?”

  Lord Combermere stepped out of the shadows, clad in the same black tuxedo he wore the first time she’d met him.

  “It soothes me,” was what Lord Combermere said. “Something that by now you’re familiar with.”

  “I can’t kill,” replied Alex, though she spoke as if it were an objective truth, and not a decision brought about by emotion or morals.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not a feasible hobby. Too many risks. The chance of anyone getting away with it for very long is slim. Tommy’s death alone has already brought me enough police attention. If I keep doing this, it would only be a matter of time until they begin to suspect me. And I’d rather not be thrown in prison.”

  “I’ve been doing this since I was your age,” Lord Combermere made his rebuttal. “I’ve learned from my many years of mistakes. And as you can see, I haven’t been arrested.”

  “Luck.”

  “No,” he answered back as though insulted. “Four, five, maybe even six times might have been luck. But you can’t kill as many as I have without being smart. I can do what I do, and well enough.”

  “Maybe you really can get away with it. But I can’t.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “What do you want from me, exactly?”

  “Nothing,” said Combermere. “Just a chance to change your mind. I can teach you my methods. I can become your mentor. If you let me, I can show you how to hunt and never, ever get caught.”

  “Why?”

  Alex spun around, met her parents’ killer square in the eye.

  “You killed my mother and father. When I saw you, I knew who you were. I recognized you, and you knew it too. Yet you risked me telling the truth to the police. Why?”

  Lord Combermere’s confident stature broke. He hunched forward, let his shoulders drag. He walked with what seemed to be tiredness weighing him down.

  “I thought that you would. But I had to take a chance, to be sure if you were what I thought you were. You have no idea how long I’ve gone wondering if there were others like me. Someone else, born without-”

  “A soul,” Alex completed.

  Lord Combermere lit up. “Precisely.”

  In that shared moment of identity, Lord Henry Combermere and one Alexandra Frost began to see each other as something more than soulless beings trapped inside human bodies. They came to understand at that exact same moment that though they were outcasts of society, they were not alone. And from that came a spark of kinship, understood yet for two people who lived entirely hollow lives, indescribable. A portion of their empty hearts came together like two long-lost puzzle pieces, connecting together after so many years of separation. The bond that reached out to them was nothing short of surreal.

  “Be my apprentice, Alexandra Frost, and I will teach you everything you will need to know.”

  She didn’t even take the time to think it over. The answer hung above her head, clear, obvious.

  “I accept.”

  “Good. Then enjoy your gift.”

  And just like that, Lord Combermere pulled a freshly sharpened dagger from his sleeve, presented it to Alex just as a stranger gives candy to a child. Alex observed the ornately-crafted knife, the twisted hilt, and a golden lion’s face with its jaws wide open, separating the handle from the knife’s ricasso. It was heavier than it appeared.

  Alex clasped it tight within her fingers, and she brought the knife down to the woman’s chest, plunged it in as far as it could go. The woman didn’t die immediately. Much like Tommy Hargrave, she struggled, moaned, shrieked. But in due time, reality settled in. She wasn’t going to get out, knew that nothing she did would change the fact. The woman looked up at the yellow light above her, let death take its toll. The scent of blood permeated the basement, and the woman’s tone began to lighten slightly.

  And once more, the adrenaline rush climbed onto her nerves. For the second time, Alex felt alive. The experience was a dance of ecstasy. And this time it was longer, more potent. She closed her eyes and embraced the blood in the air.

  Alex removed the knife from the woman’s chest, wiped it clean on her yellow dress. She handed it to Lord Combermere’s expecting hand.

  “Good,” said Lord Combermere. “First lesson. Your victims can never be people that you know. No known associates, peers, and especially not personal enemies. Your first kill was, to put it mildly, sloppy. In more ways than I care to count.”

  “You chose someone with a relation to your friend. If the police had any measure of intelligence, then either you or your friend would have become immediate suspects. But since Suburnia has a record for being the most incompetent police district in all of Great Britain, it’s unlikely they would even t
hink to suspect you.”

  The last portion, Alex took in with a bit of relief.

  “However,” Combermere carried onwards. “That does not excuse the fact that it was poorly executed.”

  “I guess that’s why I’m here,” Alex said. “To learn.”

  “Lesson number two. Everything you do must go as planned. No surprises. That means learning what you need to know about who you select.”

  “Learning? Learning what?”

  “Everything, if you can. Names of friends, family, how often they keep in contact, where they work. Their strengths, their weaknesses. But most importantly, their daily schedule. What they do at what hours, for how long, and what they do afterwards. All these things will help you devise a plan.”

  “You plan all your kills?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But when you killed my parents, that couldn’t have been planned. They’re always at work in the afternoon. You had no way of knowing they were going to be home at that hour.”

  Lord Combermere rose his frail, bare head. “I planned to kill your parents next. I found all I needed on them prior to that day. But when I realized that they were home that on weekday, I saw it as an opportunity. Impatience took me. I was so sure that I wouldn’t get caught. It completely escaped my mind that they even had a daughter. Age has a very damning effect on the mind. But never mind that. You have the advantage of knowing first-hand the consequences of not planning appropriately. You also have your youth. I, on the other hand, am deteriorating faster than I can think. All I can do is instruct for as long as I’m still alive.”

  Lord Combermere gandered at his wrinkly hands. “With my approaching age, I’m not going to be able kill any longer. But you can.” He paused. “Should you choose to accept it, I have a little homework assignment for you.”

  “Homework?” Alex, in her infinitely cold, soulless mind had to draw back an emotionless chuckle at the idea that Lord Combermere’s lessons could be taught just like any normal class. With lectures, homework, exams and all.

  “That’s right. Tonight, when you go back home with your aunt, I want you to find a subject of your own. Don’t do anything. Just scout. Look for possible choices. Report back to me, and then I’ll help you hunt.”

  Alex was never one to get particularly riled up over homework. In most cases, all that homework ever was was a review of things she’d already learned during lectures and reading textbooks (though she had to admit that on occasions they did help her on tests). Still, by and large it was not much more than a mindless activity for accumulating grades. But at this, she almost felt a slight tinge of excitement.