Book 3: Chapter 11 - Dramatic Irony

I understand the point of the districts.
But isn’t it all just an illusion?

Anyone who wants to make a living has to spend their life
visiting higher districts than their category.
Anyone who lives in these districts can
almost certainly bypass the walls in one way or another.

Privacy for the lower categories is a lie.
It’s as simple as that.

This is, frankly, a terrible system.
And Prism is the only city which uses it.

Surely there is something better.
—Citizen Complaint at Prism City Council Session

Abel Bouvier was late, but Lyle didn’t mind. He had enough on his mind to occupy him for the rest of the year. Whatever precious few minutes he was granted by the headmaster’s tardiness were welcome.

He spread his files out across the table, unworried about passersby. He was a cyan in the blue district, so he wasn’t going to manage any secrets regardless. As such, he hadn’t brought anything particularly classified. Just enough information to keep the wheels of his mind turning. The waitress dropped his smoothie off, and actually didn't even glance at his work. That was a pleasant surprise, even if it was an unnecessary courtesy. 

“Thanks,” he murmured. 

“Totally!” the chipper girl responded. “Just call if you need anything!” 

Lyle sniffed and offered a curt nod, but returned his focus to his files. 

Pearl Garnet had arranged this meeting. Because Lyle had been right. Her daughter was connected to every other corpse still waiting in the police morgue. The mortician hadn't managed much for the poor girl. Her mangled remains were grotesque to behold. Ethereal red thread would be its only decoration. But it was crowned with such the moment Lyle activated his talent. 

Like smoke from incense, scarlet had drifted from the corpse of broken Gemma Garnet. It bloomed as it found every object in the room with an immediate connection to it. And there were many. A man—crushed to death in a gym. The desk worker who should have saved him—found electrocuted by a damaged breaker. A drowned man and a bleeding schoolgirl, discovered in the same fountain.

Bodies in bags he couldn't identify from afar. All kept fresh, the coroner's talent preventing decay. 

And Gemma Garnet had a vibrant connection to each. She'd definitely been killed by the same person. This was as significant a discovery as the gym deaths. Gemma further proved the killer had been active before any ivy markings had shown up. And even earlier than the dead debt collector. Lyle couldn't help but wonder exactly how far back these kills went.

Gemma was the earliest he could find, but that didn't make her the first. He was just glad she'd been rich. As crass as the thought was, it had helped. Pearl was already upset with Chromatic Academy, and this news turned the woman from furious to flammable. She was going to burn Chromatic down to find her daughter's killer. Which was exactly what Lyle needed. 

Lyle didn't know what form the pressure had taken. Whether it was financial, political, or illegal. But Pearl had earned him a meeting with Bouvier. The man who was, knowingly or otherwise, protecting the Cruel Ivy Killer. 

And the man who was at least half an hour late.

Lyle took a sip from his drink, vaguely lamenting his inability to enjoy it. The smoothie was good. A chocolate, hazelnut, and peanut butter mix with a shot of beet juice. And its sweet flavor was entirely wasted on him. It had been his favorite once, but everything had tasted like soil since he’d started this investigation.

He browsed through the bulletin transcripts he'd brought about one of the more recent deaths. A random street vendor in the green district. He wished he'd brought the full file on the death, but that would have included classified details. There was less evidence than there should have been. As usual. The alley had been too clean for… well, an alley. Some talent had picked up everything in the area. 

But something about it bugged him. Callous as it might’ve been to think, this man had been far too insignificant. At least when compared to most other victims. And, unlike other less notable murders, this one was nowhere near another death. Usually, if someone like this was killed, it was obviously a necessary step in killing someone more impactful. But this death... it was brutal, and brutally random. 

John didn't think the killer made mistakes. He thought the murderer was cold and emotionless. That every single move was part of some larger puzzle they had to solve. Lyle wasn't so certain. There was likely some truth to it, of course. At least the last bit. Lyle didn't buy the first part at all. Emotionless killers were a trope for the movies, not real life. John might’ve had the killer pegged as some kind of psychopath. But Lyle didn't jump to conclusions.

So, while some sort of design seemed obvious, Lyle didn't think this was part of it. No. This felt more... he didn't know how to describe it. It was gore, and gray matter, and senseless death. And the only word that made any sense of it? Tantrum. This murder felt like a temper tantrum. Like the killer had broken a toy to spite themselves and everyone around them. This one hadn’t been calculated. This one had been the murderer’s equivalent of stomping their feet because they didn’t get their way. That was Lyle’s theory, anyway. He wished he could know for certain. Because that would beg the question. Exactly what had triggered it? They didn’t like the food, or something more significant?

“Mr. Lupin, was it?” a beleaguered man asked, drawing Lyle's attention back to the real world. Lyle looked up to find a stranger with a tweed blazer and the heaviest eyes he’d ever seen.

“Mr. Bouvier?” Lyle responded. The question was more of a line from a social script than an actual inquiry. Lyle recognized the fatigue strangling this man like a noose. It was the same burden Lyle himself was fighting every day. The oppressive responsibility of the Cruel Ivy Killer. It was unmistakable. He couldn’t literally confirm it, since Red Threads of Fate didn’t work on the living. But he shared a connection with this man’s struggle, even if it was distorted on one end. He wondered what that meant, exactly. Did this man know who the killer was? Or was he being manipulated somehow? 

Lyle shuddered at the implications. Abel Bouvier wasn’t an insignificant man. The blue district wasn’t actually home to that many in the category. There were more employees commuting from lower districts than actual residents. And of the blue citizens of the district, Abel was likely the only one at degree ten. A single degree away from violet. Which meant there was only one group of people who could meaningfully have any leverage against him.

So Lyle really hoped it was something he hadn’t thought of. He could handle cyan citizens. He could even handle blue, if he had to. The police had procedures and special containment measures for that. But he was basically fucked if the person behind all the death was somehow in the highest category.

“I’m sorry to say that’s correct,” Mr. Bouvier said, taking his seat across the cluttered table. “Call me Abel, if you don’t mind.”

The comfortable cafe was ruined by the unspoken tension as the two men sat across from each other. Abel was there because he had no choice. Lyle was there to all but accuse him of murder. Both men knew this, and neither was looking at the other fondly. So Lyle decided to skip the pleasantries.

“Alright, Abel. Fine. Call me Lyle. Neither of us wants to be here, so let’s just get this out of the way. To start with, please. Please, God. Tell me the killer isn’t violet,” Lyle begged. 

Bouvier had a face of stone, and he remained loudly silent. Lyle didn’t like that at all, but he hoped it was an incredulous quiet rather than a shocked one. 

“We both know the precautions to keep violets out of the lower districts are little more than a promise in a paper bag. As much as I don’t want to entertain the idea, I know it’s possible. I don’t think it’s likely, for a number of reasons. But it’s the only explanation I can come up with for the way you are protecting a murderer. The only moderately favorable one, I mean,” Lyle added.

Still, Bouvier was silent, although the tension did seem to dissolve slightly with the clarification. Lyle wondered if that was because he was close with the blackmail theory, or because he was far. It was difficult to read the headmaster. Hell, Lyle probably wouldn’t even know if one of the Dream Eater’s talents had been used on him. If that happened, Lyle wouldn’t have any idea when he was being lied to. At least, not until he made it back to the station and had his mind cleaned of any clarity-based influences. He could be reasonably certain Abel wouldn’t try that, however. It would only work in Lyle’s favor if Abel broke the law so brazenly. It might even be what finally got Lyle on campus.

“I do not know who the Cruel Ivy Killer is,” Abel finally said. His voice was calm and slow, entirely unwavering. It almost felt practiced. Lyle furrowed his brow and watched the stony face in front of him.

“Here’s your usual, Mr. Bouvier!” the waitress greeted, breaking the awkward silence with a surprisingly... pink smoothie that was covered in whipped cream. The man hadn’t ordered anything, but this had been made the moment he’d stepped inside. Lyle had picked the smoothie joint, so that was a bit surprising. But he supposed there weren’t as many options in smaller districts. Invictus Shakes could very well have been the only place that sold drinks like this.

“Thank you, Miss Lockwood,” Abel replied with a sigh. The waitress did a polite curtsy, then left the table to continue with her duties. Abel waited until she was outside the clarity-created privacy their table promised, then rubbed his temples.

Lyle blinked, but shook his head and pushed forward. “If you don’t know who the killer is, why are you working so hard to protect them?” Lyle pushed.

“I am working hard to protect everyone,” Abel snapped. “I don’t care about some trivial criminal in one single city. Do you understand that? My concerns aren’t so mundane as yours!”

“Mundane?” Lyle asked. “Abel, people are dying. Children are dying. In our streets. In their own homes. The people of this city aren’t safe to live their lives, and you’re protecting the killer! How is that mundane?”

“From the perspective of someone used to the safety I provide? I’m sure it’s not. But Mr. Lupin. I am responsible for far more than one city. I hold all of humanity on my back. If I cannot keep my school running smoothly, a few murders will be the least of your worries. Without my lancers, this entire farce of a society falls apart. You understand? I am responsible for the illusion of safety in this city! You are worried about a few deaths, but if I slip—if my lancers slip—all of you die. Every soul in this and every other city. So yes. Compared to mine, your concerns are mundane. And I don't care if protecting my lancers ruins your little investigation,” Bouvier lectured.

His words were technically true, but the man was simplifying a far more complex issue. “Spare me the theatrics,” Lyle groaned. “We all know how important the lancers are. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to stomach speaking to you at all, considering how you keep them at your school. But a society that protects monsters isn’t any society at all.”

“Easy to say when you’ve never had to experience the alternative,” Abel quipped. “But keep pushing, and maybe you’ll find out exactly how hollow that claim is.”

Lyle was growing irritated. “Yes, I get it. You’re very important. But you’re failing to explain the connection here,” he pointed out.

Abel glared. “What connection would that be?” he asked.

“That’s what I want to know. All I am asking is for the ability to investigate these crimes, even if it is on your campus. I’m not going to shut Chromatic down. I’m not going to try to arrest all of your students. So wax on about how important you and the lancers are all you want. But stopping the Cruel Ivy Killer isn’t going to hurt your school in any way. In fact, it will keep your lancers safe. You have let the police onto school grounds in the past. What makes this killer so different? Is this literal serial killer really so important that Chromatic will collapse if I catch them? Help me understand!” Lyle begged.

“Things aren’t so simple as that,” Bouvier intoned. “You have no idea what’s at stake here, and you wouldn’t understand if I explained. Listen. I met you today as a courtesy, because I do respect that you are trying to do something good. But only so I could tell you this. You need to drop this. This matters more than you, and it matters more than the Cruel Ivy Killer, alright? Let this go.”

There was an urgency in Abel’s voice that Lyle didn’t like. He was starting to think his first guess was right. But he shook his head. “No. No, you’re here because—as important as you are—the pressure is building, and you are not all-powerful. You came today because complying with this request would ease that, just a little. Because showing up, even with no intention of helping me, buys you time. You showed up because you know I’m making it on that campus, and you can’t stop it,” Lyle challenged.

Bouvier sniffed, then crossed his arms. “If that’s what you want to believe, there is nothing I can do about that. But it won’t change my mind, either,” he said.

“It should,” Lyle tried. “I don’t know if there is something else you are hiding. Something you’re worried the police will discover if they investigate the staff too thoroughly. If you aren’t actively protecting the killer, that’s the only other explanation I can come up with. But if you are, then fine. Let me on campus. Just me. Do that, and I swear I will only investigate the murders. Nothing else. The pressure will let up, and you’ll never have to worry about a bunch of cops stampeding through your campus. I find my killer, you protect your school. That’s what I want to offer. That’s why I pushed for a meeting.”

Bouvier paused as if to consider, then sighed and shook his head. “I can’t do that. I’m sorry. Find your killer. Do what you need to do. But I must insist you keep your investigation away from my students and my school,” he answered. “If that’s all, I’ll be taking my leave now.” He stood, picking up the blended drink he’d failed to touch as he did.

“At least two of your students are dead, Abel. Two. Not just Merryl Hatheway. Gemma Garnet, too. Your lancers are dying, and they are going to continue dying. And powerful students are going to be pulled from your classes. The same way Jade Garnet has been. The law be damned. Powerful families are going to start pushing back. If you want to protect your students. Please. Just... give me something. Anything,” Lyle pleaded.

Able paused and gave Lyle the weary look of a collapsing willow after a storm. “I can’t let you on campus. But fine. You were on the right track at the start. The person responsible for all of this death... the killer. The killer is Violet. That’s all I can say. I’m sorry.” And with that, Abel Bouvier left Lyle alone.