The Wicked Ones

9. I guess fun time is over

Elisabeth opened the door only to witness a scene of disaster. Though the curtains were drawn, the rough light of the London morning revealed enough of the loft for the woman to see the litter near the coffee table, the cigarette butts laying on the floor and the seemingly passed out corpse of James Morningstar on a sofa with music blasting all the way through the room, bouncing from one wall to the other. The sound seemed possessed by an unstoppable echo and created an odd atmosphere, the kind only comparable to a late evening in the 20's, at the bar of a hidden speakeasy. The whole thing was quite melodramatic, had life been in black in white and had she been wearing a long cocktail dress, the detective would have thought herself in an old film-noir. She sighed and silently set down her bag on the floor next to the door.

"You know, as good as the music is, you can't drown yourself in songs."

The man nearly somersaulted onto his feet in surprise.

"How did you get in ?"

She held up her lock pick tool, eyebrow raised and a dainty smirk at her lips.

"I've gotten pretty good at this."

"I teach you how to pick locks and that's what you use it for..."

Unconcerned and unmoved by his comments she walked to the bay window and opened the dark curtains in a grand movement. Elisabeth turned to face the room in all its glory. Well, glory was quite a big word and the room didn't exactly live up to it... In a second she took all the scene in : an empty glass of wine next to the couch, a half consumed packet of cigarettes resting on a pillow, actually... The man had a cigarette in hand at that very moment and was nonchalantly spouting smoke in the air, she grimaced in disgust and opened a window.

"Put that cigarette out. And put a shirt on goddammit."

"What are you doing here Blythe ?"

She walked over to him and grabbed the cigarette right out of his hand, glaring at him. All her worry had vanished and the residue energy was fuelling her anger. At this very instant she hated him. Gad she hated him. Barely paying him any attention she walked around the room, picking up all the trash he'd left after himself over the past few days.

"Seriously Blythe what are you doing here ?"

He sat up. Without even turning to look at him, Lis threw a hoodie that he'd abandoned on the floor which he hurried to put on.

"Blythe are you not going to answer ?"

She threw all rubbish in a garbage can that had been knocked out at the edge of the kitchen and dropped it by the threshold, knowing she'd take it out when leaving.

"Lis seriously why are you not talking to me..."

"Sit down James."

"Well now I'm scared," he dropped himself back onto the couch, "you barely ever call me James. And your tone is terrifying. Is this what it feels like to be interrogate by you ?"

"I'm worried about you."

He laughed, but the laugh was tense, like he held it in slightly, worried.

"Worried ? What for ?"

"James..."

"I mean, it's cute that you care."

"James this is not a joke, I am very serious."

She'd raised her voice more than usual. This was odd. This whole conversation was odd. He settled down on the couch and rested his forehead against his hands, carefully avoiding her eyes.

"Fine, then let's have a serious conversation. Why would you worry ?"

"James... You have terrible sleeping schedules, you smoke more than ever and..." She gestured to the wine glass, sitting pathetically next to the couch, "apparently you drink too now... Which is just delightful."