13 Murders

A Beautiful Homicidal Maniac

CHAPTER TEN

A BEAUTIFUL HOMICIDAL MANIAC

Jason and I walk home together. He has his hands in his pockets, his eyes set on the street in front of us. There is only ten meters maximum front Xavier and Amelia’s front door to mine, but he takes his time walking. After Xavier had left the table it hadn’t been long before everyone had scoffed their food down with guilt and left, and although I wanted to check if Xavier was okay, as far as everyone else was concerned I wasn’t so close to him. I make a mental note to check in tomorrow. I look over at Jason, who has a content look on his face. He looks warm, in his brown coat and woolen scarf, perfectly dressed for the winter evening. I purse my lips together. I want to say something, break the ice, but I’m afraid he’ll see right through me.

 Right into my bones and my darkest secrets.

 I shiver at the thought.

 “Are you cold?” He asks. Now that I think of it, I am. I had chosen the most Liz-looking thing in Elizabeth Falcon’s wardrobe, and it had happened to be a long-sleeved black polar neck and a short black pencil skirt. I look up at him and smile.

 “I’ll manage, we’re almost inside anyway.” I say in reply. He shakes his head and slides off his jacket, stopping on the curb in front of my house.

 “My mum always told me to offer a lady my jacket, no matter how close to home we are.” He says with a smile. I narrow my eyes at him, try to se if maybe I can see into his bones and darkest secrets. All I find is a handsome face and a faultless smile.  I smile at him and slip the jacket over my shoulders. We walk another few steps up my driveway and onto the grass in front of my house, then onto the porch. We stop at the front door. Once again it feels almost first date-ish. Except this time, instead of policeman and dead boyfriends occupying my mind, I have the smallest concern for a friend, and a tingly feeling growing inside of me.

 “So um, I’ll see you around then.” I dismiss the feeling. Elizabeth Falcon is here for one reason, and that is to kill Mathew Franklin, not to play boyfriend-girlfriend with my neighbour.  

 “Yeah.” I don’t want to believe it, but he sounds a little disappointed. He waves goodbye briefly, shoves his hands in his pockets and walks away, across the street, and into his house. Only when he shuts the door to I make my way inside.

 I change into my pajamas- pants and a singlet- and crawl into bed emotionally exhausted. Sleep, unlike normal, is restless. I begin to feel sorry for Grace, remembering our conversations about insomnia. Then I feel worse, because it reminds me of all those things said about her tonight. Any chances I had of sleeping dissipates.

 It is two o’clock when I stop staring blankly at the ceiling and decide to make myself some tea. I don’t even bother to turn the lights on. After spending those few months in prison the dark has become more of a friend than daylight. I burn my fingers on the kettle, those the hard edges of my scarred fingertips are used to pain and don’t sting for more than a few minutes. I go back upstairs, lie down in bed, sleep doesn’t come. All I can do is stare out the window. I decide to go outside. Too lazy to grab anything else, I slide on Jason’s coat.

 I lean against the railings of the porch and take in the icy evening air. My lungs ache from the cold almost immediately. I breathe once. Twice. Three times. I’m ready to go back inside, but then I hear something shuffle. I look around and spot a figure, sitting on the curb in front of Amelia and Xavier’s house. At first I feel myself tingle with fear. But then I see it. I trail of smoke drifting from the figure.

 Xavier.

 The frosty grass crunches under my bare feet as I make my way over to him. I sit beside him. He acknowledges my presence by handing me his pipe. I inhale and a puff of smoke escapes my lips. I hand it back to him.

 “I thought you didn’t smoke.” He says, turning his head to look at me.

 “Yeah, but after tonight I’m not sure what my morals are anymore.” I admit. It’s true. I could’ve said something. Xavier was the only one who reacted, the only one willing to stay honest. He was looking after his own kind. I wasn’t.

 “I was the one that did the wrong thing Lizzie. Morals aren’t valid anymore. Not here, not while we’re in this game.”

 “Game?”

 “Survival, Liz. The game is survival.” He puffs on his pipe slowly. I’m not sure what to say. Instead I just look out onto the mass of tar before me and count the individual pebbles on the curb. I get bored very quickly.

 “Why are you out here? Couldn’t you sleep?” I ask. Xavier puts the pipe on the grass and stretches out his legs. I hug my knees close to my chest.

 “I can’t do it, in that house, that bed… not next to Amelia, I couldn’t do that- to her or myself.” He says quietly. His face is solemn.

 “Are you scared? Scared you-you’ll… you know,”

 “Hurt her? Terrified. Every second I spend with her feels like a second too long. I don’t want to come back to me one day and find her hurt, or worse. I don’t want that, that would be too much...”

 “You don’t want to sleep next to her because of it?”

 “Yes... besides I couldn’t do it to myself. It would feel too… real, I’d think it was true…”

 “You love her.” It’s more of a statement than a question. He looks shocked at first, but realization soon floods his face. He pauses, searching for something to say.

 “I think she’s beautiful.” He admits, a glossy expression clouding his eyes. 

 “She’s a homicidal maniac.”

“She’s a beautiful homicidal maniac.”

 “Is that some kind of taste you have?”

 “Nope. Not always, I don’t like you.” I open my mouth in false dispbelief and watch as his forlorn expression is replaced with a smile.

 “What? I am offended! I’m beautiful!” I mock.

 “You’re a serial killer.”

 “I’m a beautiful serial killer.” I banter playfully. He just chuckles and puffs on the pipe.

 “But you’re not Amelia…” He says to himself, twisting the pipe in his hands as he examines the smoke escaping from his mouth.