Book 2 Interludes 3/3 Lyle and Bouvier

I will catch him. I will.
I will not rest until the Cruel Ivy Killer is behind bars.

But yes. Taking this case was the worst mistake of my life.

We didn’t know when we chose the name.
We didn’t understand exactly how fitting the moniker of “Cruel” actually was.

And God help me.

I wish I could forget it now.
—Lyle Lupin, Therapy Transcript

Lyle Lupin wasn’t a detective. He may have had the “Sleuth” calling, but he had no interest in police work. He’d refused to consult with the Prism City Police multiple times, despite the pestering from Detective Knight. His talents made him good at the job, but he much preferred to work for private clients. 

If this meeting was about the same thing as last time, he was going to throw a fit. They’d asked for his help finding the missing orange and red citizens a dozen times already. And he’d always given the same answer. Whatever it was, there was no single culprit. It was some sort of organized crime issue. Which meant every possible culprit was someone Lyle had zero interest in tangling with. Lyle had already looked at the evidence and pointed out which groups to investigate. 

The Ashers were always a possibility, if the police were insane enough to investigate them. The Inverted Prism Society had the means, but not a motive Lyle could find. Well, aside from the obvious. Then there was Refraction, and... whatever those mildly rich assholes in the yellow and green district called themselves. That was it. He could handle the last group easily enough, of course. But if it was Refraction, no one was getting hurt. And if it was the Ashers or the Society... he’d die for looking into it further than he had. Even at his category. He could maybe narrow down which it was, but not more easily than the police could. They just wanted to pin it on him when someone was found snooping. To protect their own asses.

He cared about helping people. But he couldn’t do that from the grave. And his job was finding the truth. He’d already shared everything that might’ve helped with that case. Everything unique to his talents, anyway. He wasn’t doing the grunt work for it, too. Detective Knight had his own calling for that, and he’d actually signed up for the job. Yet they continued asking Lyle for help. 

He almost ignored them this time as well... except there was always the minor possibility that it was something new. Something he actually could help with. And for the love of God, something intellectually engaging. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he refused to hear them out and someone died because of it. Especially if there was something actually interesting he could have figured out.

He waited in the briefing room and perused the files they’d left him. None were related to whatever the day's issue was, of course. The assholes just knew he’d get bored and take a look at their cases for them. Half the reason they continually pitched the same case to him was so they could do this. “Accidentally” leave some case files on the table and wait for him to solve as many as possible. Lazy pricks. It especially annoyed him that it worked. He was just so bored.

He skimmed through a file about a hedron attack outside the city. One of those selfish freelancer teams that leeched clarity from public infrastructure. All of them dead in the matter of maybe ten minutes, if the coroner was right. And with talents doing the work, she was right. It was gratifying, in a way. He’d seen what could happen when such people got greedy. People had died. Still. It was interesting. Perhaps more to him than to the police.

Yellow Hedron had raided an orange nest, and one protected by some sort of signal that drove the monsters away. All of that was strange on its own, but photos of one of the victims were what really grabbed his attention. It was easy to miss, and he couldn’t use his talent to verify it. Not without examining the body. But there were markings all along the woman’s neck and arms. Down her torso, too. Like... bruises, but vague. Like she’d been wrapped in rope, or... something more organic. Vines, maybe? Elliot, the Coroner, had caught the same marks, but couldn’t identify the cause. 

Lyle was almost certain it was a talent, though. And a talent the responsible hedron didn’t seem to have. He was almost starting to hope they’d brought him in for this case. There was definitely something strange about the deaths. But the police seemed only vaguely interested, so he realized it was a pipe dream. He’d investigate on his own, later.

“Ah, Mr. Lupin. A pleasure as always,” Detective Knight greeted. Lyle didn’t look up. He’d heard the man coming, of course. Lyle was Cyan while the room was protected with blue crystal. But the door had been open, so the footsteps had been easy to pick up from a mile away.  

“Cut the niceties, John. What did you bring me here for? The fucking leeches in the mist? They were murdered for sure, but we can probably call the killer a good Samaritan and leave it at that,” Lyle responded.

John Knight paused for a moment, then sighed. When Lyle looked up, the detective was shaking his head. “Not... exactly. Not on its own,” John denied. “Although I do find it disturbing, in light of recent developments. But I asked you to come in for a more recent case.”

Lyle narrowed his eyes. “If it’s the fucking missing persons case again, I swear to God, John. What do you want me to do, draw you a map?” he complained.

John didn’t answer. Instead, he pointed a remote at the projector screen at the other side of the room. With the press of a button, a grizzly scene appeared. Two bodies in a bloody fountain. A grown man, somewhere in his late thirties or early forties, Lyle thought. And a girl. Eighteen, maybe. The girl was the source of the blood. She’d been stabbed at least a dozen times, maybe more. Both had been left with their heads in the water, one to bleed out and the other to drown.

John clicked the button again, and new shots of the bodies appeared. This time, on the medical table, with Elliot’s notes written in the margins. Lyle had been wrong. She'd been stabbed at least twenty, maybe thirty times. While the man’s body was fairly unharmed, save a minor cut on his neck... the girl had been shredded. She’d been cleaned for the autopsy, and the wounds were far less gory than they had been in the previous picture. Yet... there were so many injuries. Even while clean and bloodless, they were grotesque. Perhaps even more so.

But that wasn’t the detail that really grabbed Lyle’s attention. No, the truly gruesome marks had been noticed by Elliot as well. Even John seemed to understand the significance, or he wouldn’t have highlighted them in his presentation.

The file hadn’t been left for Lyle to casually peruse. It was related.

“You see them, don’t you?” John asked.

Lyle swallowed. “What sort of talent made that mark?” he asked.

“Elliot thinks it’s some kind of ivy. It looks like smooth rope at first, but there are indications that small leaves have left an imprint in a few places as well. Only where whatever bound the victims was stationary for some time,” John answered.

Lyle opened the folder in front of him and looked at the same marks on the final victim’s body. It was unmistakably the same. Which had terrifying implications.

“Are there any others?” Lyle asked. 

“Not yet. But... we think there will be,” John answered.

This was definitely an interesting case. It was also a frightening one. But unlike the disappearances... they really did need Lyle for it. This was the first time he’d seen something like this outside of fiction. And it was practically what his calling had been made for. “A serial killer?” Lyle asked.

“We’re not sure yet. Could be a contract thing. Could be something else. But... we think it’s a possibility. We’re calling him The Cruel Ivy Killer,” John confirmed.

Abel Bouvier and Violet Asher had one thing in common.

One thing that was nearly identical about them, in fact.

Both were capable of unparalleled evil.
And neither genuinely thought they were a bad person.
—Vernon Vale, Personal Interview

“She killed one of my assets, sir. I had a student watching her. That’s all. Just watching. And she murdered the poor girl. This has gone too far. I’m pulling the plug!” Abel shouted into the phone.

Everything had spiraled well out of hand. Using an Asher against the rest of the family was clearly insane. He’d known, to a degree. He’d read the reports. It was likely that Violet had killed others on the way to the academy. He agreed with his sponsors. It was worth it. The end justified the means. The Ashers represented such a colossal threat that a few lives were simply worth the price. But... this was different. He’d known Merryl. He’d forced her into the job. Based on a lie. The debt collector who was after her had died, after all. Merryl had time to pay it back on her own before a new one was sent. But Abel had let her believe the danger was still real.

Because he needed the asset.

And Violet Asher had brutally murdered the girl. He wouldn’t sit back and allow it. Not anymore. Not now that the blood was on his hands.  And he absolutely wouldn’t protect the girl. He didn’t care about the fucking Society. Not if that was what they wanted. 

The voice on the other end was silent for too long, and Abel spoke again. “I’m serious. I won’t protect her. I’m not even sure I can. She is going to do this again. I can only deny the police access to Academy grounds for so long. Maybe three months? Four, if I’m lucky? Even that might cost me my position, if public outcry is violent enough. And you want me to do this to protect a cold-blooded killer?” he asked.

Still, the voice was silent. Bouvier understood what was at stake. He always had, on some level. And he’d compartmentalized. The deaths of the past were distant. But these? The murder of two people he’d spoken to? One he’d been in charge of protecting? It had suddenly become real. Not just the larger stakes, but the smaller ones he’d been ignoring. He was also losing power and influence already. What he was being asked to do. It was sickening. And it would lose him all the leverage he’d spent his life working toward. He’d be replaced, and the Ashers would have more power than ever.

“Mr. Bouvier. You seem to have forgotten the mission,” the man on the phone whispered.

“I haven’t, I just—” Abel started, but the voice didn’t wait.

“If you are no longer an asset, you are a liability. Do what you are told, or we will share your own crimes with the police. I am certain they’d be interested in your personal relationship with the two victims. With all of the evidence we have against you, well. Let’s just say keeping the police off academy grounds is in your best interest.”

The threat was cold and calm. Abel wanted to scream. Violet couldn’t be controlled, especially not with their methods. The more they protected her, the more blood they got on their hands. But they were right. He could withstand a lot of scrutiny. He had assets who would keep him out of jail—for a while, at least. But with everything the Society knew? He wouldn’t just lose his job. He’d spend the rest of his life in a crystal cell. Maybe even as a collared lancer. 

He clenched his fist and tried one last time. “I am serious. Four months is the absolute most time I can buy, anyway. We can’t do anything in four months. She won’t even make it out of Category Orange, much less earn Cyan’s trust,” he insisted.

“Try,” they dismissed. “I have a feeling she’ll meet whatever goals you set for her. However insane. Consider four months the deadline for both of you. This isn’t a game, Mr. Bouvier. We will stop the Ashers, or we will all burn together. And this is the best chance we’ve ever had at learning the rest of the truth,” they said.

Abel curled his lip in and strangled his response. He was stuck. He couldn’t stop picturing Merryl. The girl he’d sent to die. And Violet. The girl who’d promised to kill him. The same girl who’d managed to kill a Category Green while at degree one of Category Orange. It was possible she’d actually be his end, if he wasn’t careful. 

But she’d almost definitely do it if he lost all his resources. He had no choice. He had to comply. He had to keep Violet safe from the law as long as he could. And he had to push her past human limits to advance through Category Orange. She’d never make yellow in four months. Not even at her rate of growth. It was impossible. But he had to try. Or it was all over. 

Maybe... maybe he could stop her from killing, at least, in the meantime.

Before he surrendered completely, however, he had to make one last attempt to change his sponsor’s mind. “What makes us any different from the Ashers?” he asked. It was a question he’d considered and dismissed a hundred times in the past few years. As he made darker and darker choices. As he controlled and manipulated students to keep them in the school. As he blackmailed, and lied, and ruined lives. But he’d always convinced himself it was worth it. The children he trained became adult lancers, and they made the world a better place. And stopping the Ashers... but. He’d strong-armed Merryl, and the girl had died hours later. It was one of the hardest deaths to process. “If we protect Violet. Inoculate her from the consequences of monstrous actions. What makes us any different than the Asher family?”

The voice on the phone scoffed. “What kind of question is that?” the man asked. “What makes us different? Maybe it’s the fact that we didn’t end the fucking world. And if that’s not enough, maybe it’s the fact that we aren’t currently trying to do it again.”