Book 3: Chapter 37 - A Long-Distance Relationship

The problem with investigating crimes, after the apocalypse, is simple.

Everyone has fuckass magic powers now.

Closed-room mystery?
Nope, magic powers.

Perfect alibi? Yeah, I’m gonna go with magic powers on this one.

Oh, magic powers have never been able to do that before?
Gee, I wonder if it’s different this time because they are magic fucking powers.

The killer wasn’t caught on camera?
You guessed it, it’s because of their magic powers.

This job is absolute bullshit.
—Detective Samantha Perez

Demetri was smug, if anything. He sat across the table from his handler and looked at the two cards in his hand. A seven and a two, which gave him a two-pair. Far from a bad hand, but not nearly good enough to beat his opponent. He was fairly certain the woman was cheating somehow. She was green, compared to his red. Whether with a talent or just her attributes, it wouldn't be hard. And she'd beaten him in every single hand so far.

And he didn't give a single fuck. He was having a good time. It was the middle of the night, and he should’ve been asleep. But he was enjoying freedom too much. He'd really accepted that he was going to die. But he wasn't. He was entirely in the clear.

For all the terror and panic of his experience in the red district, he clearly felt perfectly safe now. He’d been hopeless during his time spent locked in a storage unit. He’d had a bucket for waste and far too little food. The girl who’d captured him was a notorious serial killer, and his employer obviously had no interest in saving him. That was honestly sort of expected when he took a shady job from Cyan Asher.

But Demetri was in witness protection now. He was somewhere in the blue district, and he had a home to match. The girl who’d captured him wouldn’t know where he was, and Cyan wouldn’t care. He hadn’t shared the name of his employer this time, so he wouldn’t be on a violet’s bad side. Instead, he was in perhaps the most luxurious home he’d ever visited, if only because blue crystal was more secure than most other options. And it would look strange if they covered a small home with something so valuable, even in a relatively large city like Prism.

He’d always been resilient. He needed to be. It was probably why he’d been picked for the job in the first place. He could admit to himself that he’d panicked before. There was no denying that. But that was all over. He was told the killer had already been identified, in fact. A girl who matched his description exactly. And he’d only been in protection for a day.

He’d be going to see her in a lineup as soon as they made an arrest, and he was fairly certain it would be her. It wouldn’t be too hard to find a Chromatic student with pink hair and an illusion or mind-altering talent. Assuming the police hadn’t just skipped some of those details to make an easy arrest, it would be hard to find the wrong person.

He was relieved, but he’d also miss the safe house. He didn’t even have to do his own shopping there. He was still eating soup, since he’d been left several days without food and his stomach was easily upset. But it was surprisingly good soup.

He made it out alive, and he was fucking fine. He had nothing to worry about. Or, there was the name the boy who’d saved him said. Violet Asher. But the killer hadn’t shared her actual name, so Demetri declined to repeat that claim. He didn’t know the boy’s motives, and he wasn’t going to fuck everything up by pointing his fingers at an Asher. If this Violet girl matched his description, so be it. But his testimony was distinct enough that he didn't need a name. And if the kid was wrong, it would fuck everything up.

All in all, Demetri was happy to enjoy a brief vacation after a really shitty couple of weeks.

“I said I call,” Officer Thompson repeated.

Demetri blinked. “Right, sorry. I was reliving the horrors of my time with the Cruel Ivy Killer,” he replied with a shudder.

“So another terrible hand, then?” she intoned.

“It was really traumatic,” Demetri insisted.

“I'm sure,” Thompson replied with a roll of her eyes. “But don't worry. There's not a single schoolgirl in this dining room. I triple-checked. Just you and two cards you refuse to show me.”

“Always a relief,” Demetri sighed. “Although I have to admit, the cards are causing some flashbacks to that container. I think it might be best to drop things here.”

Thompson offered an unamused stare. “The cards are causing flashbacks? Or you bet the last of your chips, and now you're trying to back out?” she accused.

“No, really!” Demetri insisted. “The entire time I was stuck there, I never beat her at poker.”

Despite herself, Thompson cracked a smile. “Did you ever actually play poker with her? The Cruel Ivy Killer?” she asked.

“No,” Demetri admitted. “Which meant I never won. And it's frankly unkind of you to make me relive that.”

“Just flip the cards, jackass,” Thompson ordered.

Demetri, totally defeated, laid his hand face-up on the table. Thompson was already smiling, and he didn't need to see her cards to know he'd lost. “Ah, fair enough. Let's see them, then,” he sighed.

She had a frankly unprofessional grin as she put her own cards down. She had a seven and a five herself, which wasn't all that far from Demetri’s hand. Or, it wouldn't have been, if there weren't two other fives on the table. As it was, that gave her a full house. Much more than she'd need to beat a two-pair.

“I'll be taking these, then,” she replied with a smirk. She pulled all the chips in the center of the table toward herself, leaving Demetri with nothing at all. “Sorry, bud. Just trying to replace your old trauma with something fresh.”

“I don't think that's a psychologically sound method of therapy,” Demetri complained.

“I'm a cop, not a therapist. We have an... alternate school of thought,” she boasted.

“Well, you should have mentioned that earlier. I would have tried a different strategy. Told different bluffs. Now that I am properly informed, I'll do much better. Come on, deal another hand,” Demetri ordered.

“You're out of chips. You have nothing left to bet,” Thompson pointed out.

“The chips are made of plastic, and I started broke. We can just redistribute them?” Demetri pointed out.

“No. I won these, and they are mine,” Thompson insisted.

“I can bet my undying loyalty?” Demetri offered.

Thompson looked him up and down, rolled her eyes again, and started packing up the cards. “You've got nothing I need, little red. Sorry, but I'll pass,” she dismissed.

Demetri sighed. It was a nice house. But it was boring. “Movie, then?” he tried.

Thompson shook her head. “I'm on duty. Can't get too distracted. And this isn't a date,” she denied.

“The killer never watched a movie with me, either,” he complained. “Truly, it's like I never left her deadly clutches.”

“You're probably the least lucky of her victims,” Thompson deadpanned. “Maybe you should just get some rest instead. I'd bet they'll have you back on the train to officially ID the girl tomorrow. Or within the week at the latest. It might be a good idea to take it easy until then. And it's pretty late.”

Demetri wanted to point out that watching a movie was getting some rest. Or to explain that he couldn't sleep. Because, as much as he joked around, it was a bit hard to close his eyes and pretend everything was normal. It was easy when he was talking. But lying alone in the dark was a different story.

He couldn't do any of that, however. Because his hands were shaking, and his body was seizing. He could feel every muscle tense up at once, and his mouth started to foam as his lungs filled with blood. Red dropped from his eyes, and pain blossomed over his skin like he'd been submerged in the feeling.

Thompson dropped the cards and tried to catch Demetri as he fell from his seat, but it was obviously too late. Everything was blurry. One eye refused to open, and his throat felt like acid was burning holes through it. He couldn’t control his body, and each sharp and random movement felt like something was tearing. Thompson was doing something he didn’t understand. Trying to make him vomit, maybe? He could see her hands close to his body, but he couldn’t actually feel them making contact.

He didn't understand what was happening. He just knew it hurt, and he couldn't speak.

Then he understood nothing at all.

Lyle turned the screen off. This was the fourth time he'd watched the recording of Demetri's death. The one witness they had. It made him feel sick. It seemed to confirm that Koral was the killer. Why else would a murderer go out of their way to eliminate him? His testimony had to be true.

But the confirmation created more questions than it answered.

How the absolute fuck had she found him, and how did she poison him when she did? The food he’d been served had been tested ahead of time, and the leftovers were tested again. There was nothing in them but chicken broth and finely chopped veggies. Demetri’s blood had been tested the day before as well. He’d had a full physical, in fact. The only thing wrong with him was malnutrition and dehydration. There was no poison of any kind in his system.

The only thing that made sense was some sort of talent. Koral Kiln was a Surgeon, so she could’ve had something like that. But neither of her listed talents matched. Much like neither of them matched the talent Demetri had described when he was captured. That could have been a hallucinogenic substance, he supposed.

Or it could be the talent from a Dream Eater, or even a Therapist.

Lyle had a short list of students and teachers with illusion or mind-altering talents, but John wasn’t interested in that. His so-called partner just wanted to make a single arrest and ignore anyone else involved. Even though it was almost certain that the “Cruel Ivy Killer” was a group rather than an individual. Bouvier remained the obvious suspect, though. The man had several talents which could achieve the described effect. Shepard was likely as well. Controlling perception was his entire job. The only other person of mild interest on his list was a girl on Violet Asher’s fireteam, but that was a stretch.

Lyle needed to get that idea out of his head. Violet was weeks away last night. There was zero chance she’d personally poisoned Demetri. She could’ve been involved in the group, but she definitely hadn’t been the killer this time. Lyle had never heard of a talent with such precise targeting from so far away.

“Mr. Lupin?” an officer said, prompting Lyle to look up at his door.

“Yes?” he asked. He had a headache, and he really didn’t want to deal with John at the moment. He knew he’d have to. Demetri’s death meant they lacked a witness, and all they had was circumstantial evidence. A personality disorder and some train records. They couldn’t make an arrest with that. Detective Knight would be in a sour mood all day.

“Mr. Cook is here, as you requested,” the man answered. Lyle felt an entirely different weight fall off his shoulders. He didn’t want to talk to the kid who’d sent him after an Asher. But it was part of his job.

“Ah. Thank you,” Lyle replied as earnestly as he could. “Show him in.”

“Of course, sir,” the officer responded.

Lyle rubbed his temples as he waited. Maybe John would actually help him with real leads now. The therapist was a good one. He couldn’t figure out what exactly connected all of the victims, but there was one thing that connected a lot of them. It wasn’t always easy to find, since they weren’t necessarily mentioned by name. But the Cruel Ivy Killer’s victims were mentioned in Shepard’s care transcripts at an alarmingly high rate. Considering the therapist himself was technically the only person who should’ve had access to all of them, that was pretty damning.

Then again, the records he was searching through had been anonymously sent to John. So either Caleb did that himself, or someone else had access to them. Either way, the connection was undeniable. And he was certain he’d find more if he kept digging. Bouvier and Shepard really were looking more and more likely as possible ringleaders in this whole thing.

Lyle just wished he could stop his mind from returning to Violet Asher.

He was trying so hard to write the girl off as a suspect. And her distance from Demetri’s murder was helping in that effort. Especially since, really, only Koral could benefit from killing the man who put her at the top of the suspect list...

Unless the killer knew he wouldn’t pick Koral out of a lineup.

He sighed. This was why he needed to speak to Chase Cook again.

“Mr. Lupin? What’s going on? Why was I released?” the boy in question asked.

Lyle looked up again to see the clearly terrified kid, holding one arm like he was afraid he’d get hurt. That was it. That was why he couldn’t get Violet’s name out of his head. The kind of fear this child wore on his very skin like a tattoo... Lyle couldn’t just brush it off. It wasn’t a lie. It was part of him. Lyle just hoped it was directing him to give the wrong name.

“You haven’t technically committed any crime,” Lyle answered. “You made an accurate police report when you said the killer was at the hotel. The result of that report can’t legally be pinned on you, since we can’t prove intent, and the chief isn’t interested in pursuing charges. I’ll be frank. He doesn’t want to lend credence to your claims about Violet Asher. The department has another suspect in mind, and they are determined not to undermine that.”

Chase stood completely still for a second. Then he hobbled forward, found the chair on the opposite side of Lyle’s desk, and sat down. He buried his face in his hands. “She knew this would happen. She fucking knew.”

“What do you mean?” Lyle asked.

Chase didn’t look up. But he did answer. “She always knows what I’ll do. No matter what it is. Whether it’s comply or refuse. It always turns out to be what she wanted all along. How does she do that? Why? What happened? Didn’t Demetri see her?” Chase complained.

Lyle frowned. He reread Chase’s statement in his mind. Then he pulled out a file and started flipping through it. This caught Chase’s attention, and the boy finally glanced up to see what was happening.

“What? You don’t remember?” Chase asked.

“I can’t discuss our witness at this time. I’m sorry,” Lyle responded. “The best I can tell you is his testimony didn’t line up with yours, and it led us to an unrelated suspect.”

“Of course it didn’t. She knew I would let him go, after all. That’s why she sent me there. She set me up again. Like she always fucking does. Fuck. She wanted me to betray her. And now? She’s going to kill me for doing it,” he moaned.

Lyle found what he was looking for. The rental slip for the unit. It had a fake name on it, so that wasn’t helpful. But there was one detail he wanted to check. That being the rental dates. No one ever knew how someone would respond to everything. What Chase was saying was impossible. But if Lyle was going to entertain the Violet theory, there was one explanation, and the expiration date lined up with it. If Chase hadn’t let Demetri go and had brought him to the police? The rental would have expired the same night. And the police still would have found him. The difference would have been a matter of hours.

That was how an illusion like that was created. If every choice was wrong, it was easy to make it look like every choice was predicted. It was time for Lyle to admit it to himself. He was going to at least include Violet in his investigation. Demetri’s murder while she was on a mission meant the police department never would. She’d be crossed off their list of suspects permanently. But Lyle had to admit it only made him more curious. Demetri was meant to be discovered today, no matter what Chase did. And Koral wouldn’t want that if she’d intended for Chase to name the wrong suspect. She’d have waited.

While John would make sure Violet’s name never came up again... Lyle was willing to consider one possibility. Both girls had regular meetings with Caleb Shepard.

“You said Violet's earliest crimes were before she arrived in Prism City,” Lyle said, holding a pen to his mouth as he thought. “But would you say her behavior changed at all after she started therapy?”