Alex Frost Meets The Killer

by Mortimer Jackson

  ***

  When Aunt Melanie picked Alex up by the empty Elsinore campus, it was six in the evening. When they drove back, it was seven. After they cooked and ate dinner, it was eight. When Aunt Melanie told Alex to go to bed, it was nine. When Aunt Melanie left her apartment to once more participate in her nightly excursions, it was ten. When Alex snuck out from Aunt Melanie’s sofa bed, prepared for her own late night activities, and left the house with a backpack of equipment, it was eleven.

  Alex Frost’s backpack, which usually contained nothing but academic-oriented materials, had been emptied, refilled with what Lord Combermere had referred to as the necessary tools of the trade. A sharpened knife, a long line of rope (though this was used depending on circumstance), a full bottle of chloroform (also depending on circumstance), and ample rolls of duct tape. Lord Combermere gave her a lock pick set, brand new. Before she left, he taught her enough to know how the mechanism of a door worked, and how a lock pick was to be used to gain entry to secret places.

  Alex went out dressed in long pants, a full sleeve shirt, and a pair of sneakers appropriately named for how conventional they were for sneaking in. This makes one wonder if the man who invented the sneakers did so with the intent of sneaking in mind. Perhaps sneaking into places he shouldn’t have been, or sneaking on his pool boy, to find out if he was as long suspected, having an affair with his wife.

  Alex also kept a pair of dark leather gloves, and an equally dark winter cap that covered all but her eyes. But she wouldn’t wear those now. Being caught in public dressed in such an irregular fashion would only attract attention. For now, she was in blending in with the crowd mode. And even though it was a late eleven o’clock, Pleasant Grove nevertheless had many a people roaming about. Unlike in Suburnia, this place quite obviously didn’t have a curfew law. Either that, or the people that roamed the streets late at nights simply had no other place to go. Whatever the case may be, it was good for the reason that unlike in Suburnia, a person taking a late night walk didn’t stand out. She looked no more peculiar than everyone else that was up and about. Unfortunately, this also meant that one had to be extra mindful of witnesses when conducting such socially unaccepted activities.

  Roaming the streets onto the quieter neighborhoods where rows upon rows of low income houses presided, Alex kept an open eye for her next would-be prey. The effort took no time at all. As soon as she reached Inglewood Street, glancing over at every cheap, undesirable house she came across, there was one in particular that stood out. This was for two specific reasons. One, was that the house in front of her, painted lime green (for whatever reason), was near the end of the street, in between two abandoned houses listed for sale. That paved way for privacy, something that all killers (or so she believed) enjoyed.

  The second reason that the tiny, unkempt house seemed perfect, was because it looked small enough to house one, not more than two bedrooms. An old, beat up sedan sat parked on the driveway, and through the gateway of the home’s window came revealed the only human being inhabiting the home. A pot-bellied man watching television, slouched on his couch as he occasionally ate from a bowl of popcorn. Every light inside the house was off save for the sporadic luminance from the man’s television set. He lived alone, isolated. And in Lord Combermere’s book, that made him perfect.

  Alex did just as Lord Combermere instructed. She stayed in the distance, watched him through his open window in order to assess his routine. She waited outside long enough for her left foot to fall asleep before her, came to learn after much waiting that two in the morning was the approximate time in which he finally shut off the television as well as any other indoor light inside his house.

  At that point in time, Alex had already been spying for several hours, and it would have been a sound idea to go back and sleep. But to do so would have meant leaving empty-handed. And she hardly thought it would have worth the effort of sneaking out at night only to have accomplished standing outside a man’s home. Besides, there were still a few other things to be learned about her soon-to-be victim. For one, his name.

  She checked the digital clock on her cell phone. The night was still relatively young, all things considered. Aunt Melanie wasn’t likely to be back at the apartment until four in the morning.

  Good, Alex thought. Because ready or not, she was going in.

  She covered her head with the winter cap. Creeping around the perimeter of the house, Alex searched for any available openings from which to make her entrance. Interesting to note was the fact that she hardly had to look. The doors were locked (front and back), but the windows were left wide open. The choice was obvious enough.

  Right as she made her way inside, the first thing she came upon was a desk with envelopes; all of which were bills, bills, and more bills. They were addressed to a Mr. Robert Savage. The first envelope on the stack came from the local utilities company, another from his car insurance provider, and a third claimed that he had just recently inherited a few thousand pounds from a recently deceased relative by the name of Joe Kerr, and that before he was allowed the money, he had to pay a few lawyer-related release fees first.

  At least now I know his name, she told herself. Next, to get a closer look.

  It was slightly challenging to see where she was going. Alex thought it would have been wise to have packed a flashlight. On the other hand, to have used it here in such a small space might have raised the suspicion of her prey. And if it did, it would have also given away her location. Fortunately for Alex, she was able to traverse well enough on her own for the simple fact that she had more than her fair share of vitamins in her system, better enabling her to see in the dark. A benefit of not having a soul was that she was nil-picky about the flavor of the things she ate. Taste never entered into the equation of her own personal diet because she had no way of tasting. As a result, Alex Frost might as well have been the poster child for healthy nutrition.

  Her mental health on the other hand, was not likely something that others would want to adopt.

  With help from his incessant snores, Alex was able to find Robert Savage’s bedroom. As she leaned in for a better look at him, Robert Savage wasn’t any more attractive up close than he was from the distance. In fact, he looked slightly worse.

  Standing right beside her subject, Alex wanted very much just to kill him right then and there. The opportunity was perfect. The crave to kill began beating inside her chest, demanding that she put an end to his life. It would have been so very easy to give in. To kill for the momentary ability to feel.

  Alex didn’t, however. All in good time. Killing him now would have been premature, especially since Lord Combermere wasn’t around to guide her. For now, she’d gotten what she needed. And for the time being, that would have to do.

  Once she was satisfied, Alex doubled back to Aunt Melanie’s apartment. She decided that she would do as Lord Combermere had instructed, which was to wait and find out as much about her soon-to-be victim as she could before making the final decision. The price of this was inevitably going to be time. She would have to be patient before she hunted. But as a reward, Lord Combermere had assured her that patience, more than anything else, would guarantee unmitigated success, and that she would never get caught. Patience, precision, prowess, Lord Combermere’s three Ps for the everyday killer.

  Alex was five minutes away from Aunt Melanie’s apartment when she caught sight of a strange commotion in a dark alleyway. A brutish man with thick arms and a bald head was punching and kicking something. He was dressed in a light brown trench coat with a fedora hat to cover his waxed head, and a pair of shades to cover his eyes. Whatever he was punching at left bruises on his fat knuckles. Whatever he was kicking at made his knees sore.

  Being the ever-curious girl that she was, immune to fear and terror, Alex approached the man, but unraveled her backpack for the cutting knife she’d packed inside. Just in case. As she came closer, meters away, the bald man’s full figure became known, a
nd the thing he’d been assaulting, not a thing at all. But a person, an aunt. Alex’s aunt. She was covered in blood.

  Alex had only been able to recognize her from the clothes she wore. Her face was as red as her hair.

  “Aunt Melanie?” Alex uttered before she could even think. This brought on the attention of the bald man.

  “Who’re you?” he growled at her like a feral beast.

  “Why are you harming her?”

  Convinced that Aunt Melanie wouldn’t go anywhere, he dropped her to the ground. She fell with a thud, and she didn’t move.

  “Well lookie what we have here,” The bald man taunted her with a perverse stare. “I’m sorry? Did you ask me why I’m harming this poor woman?”

  Alex didn’t take the time to repeat herself. She observed the bald man approaching her, contemplating his movement.

  “Come here, and I’ll tell you why,” he offered. With slow, steady steps he approached her, bringing his hands in front.

  “C’mon girl. Let me just whisper it in your ear.” Two steps closer. “Don’t be afraid of me. I promise I am not going to bite. Well, not much.” The man gave out a haughty laugh. His mouth came apart, revealed a set of crooked, bucked teeth.

  She calculated the man’s every step, thinking of the appropriate time to bring out the knife that was hiding behind her back.

  “The only thing I would like more than hurting a grown woman,” he told her. “Is hurting a sweet, little girl like you.”

  Then like a lion, the bald man rushed at her, fingers hanging out like talons. While dashing towards her, she could see his predatory smile brighten with anticipation. It was a smile so decrepit, so eerie that it would have easily scared the life out of any sane human being. But not our Alex Frost.

  Within a short amount of time, possibly a millionth of a second, his expression turned upside down at the sight of Alex’s knife. The blade was angled at precisely where his heart was going to be in a less than half a second. He would have stopped himself, moaned No, begged forgiveness, but the element of surprise had robbed him of the opportunity. He hadn’t the time to tell his feet to stop from moving. As he landed on the knife, his heart froze. The tip of the blade went in four inches deep. The pain of it all left him stunned, unable to react.

  As if she hadn’t done enough, Alex twisted the knife. A rage of stimuli rattled his nerves, transferred his life energy onto hers. The bald man gasped in agony. Alex absorbed his drastic flash of misery, turned it into something happier for herself. In the seconds after he died, she smiled.

  Once he faded away, the full weight of his body became realized. She pulled the knife from his heart before he fell. He landed belly-first onto the cold, hard alley. She took the bald (now dead) man’s fedora hat, brushed a few flecks of dirt from the brim. It was too big, at least twice the size of Alex’s head.

  She let it drop on the paved floor that was oozing crimson. She turned her attention to Aunt Melanie, who was leaning her back against a brick wall. Eyes closed, face soaked with her own blood. She thought to try and wake her up. But before Alex could even nudge her on the shoulder, a reason not to came her way.

  She’d been unconscious the whole time. Something that Alex hadn’t considered, but now that she did, was coming to be grateful for. It would have been hard for Alex to explain why she was roaming the streets at two in the morning. Harder yet, that she’d killed a man in cold blood.

  Alex was supposed to be asleep in Aunt Melanie’s apartment. There would be no way of explaining the bald (now dead) man, other than by saying that she killed him. And that, Lord Combermere was sure to mention, wouldn’t have done her any good. Attention was the absolute last thing she needed, especially from the police. Even a kill in self-defense would have been enough to uncover the first kill she’d made. The one that the Suburnia police were still in the middle of investigating.

  Knowing what next to do, Alex first placed two of her own fingers on Aunt Melanie’s neck. She’d been very badly injured, but was still alive.

  There was a pay phone directly across the street. Alex plopped a few coins from her pocket into the machine before picking up the receiver. The voice of a young woman came on the other line, asking Alex what her emergency was.

  “Help,” Alex begged in her best impression of an Indian accent, which, all things considered, sounded more believable than she thought it would.

  “Calm down,” the woman on the other end. “Tell me where you are, and what your emergency is.”

  “Come quick,” Indian accent. “A woman has been beaten and a man’s been stabbed. The location is 7101 Kova Street, right by Wiscott Avenue. Hurry.”

  Alex hung up the phone, and as fast as she could, she hurried back to Aunt Melanie’s apartment before she could be caught by witnesses or the approaching civil servants that were on their way. Successfully, she reached the seventh floor of the apartment complex unnoticed. After dropping the bag on the floor, Alex threw herself on Aunt Melanie’s sofa bed, and treated herself to some much-needed sleep.