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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Timeline: Have no idea. Sometime after May Linn, before the Cannibal incident. Hope you like it! R/R, please! Constructive criticism and flames welcomed! ** - Lyle's thoughts.
::EDITED & RELOADED:: A couple changes in spelling that my friends pointed out. Nothing major at all.
I'm going to include all the song credits in the final chapter, which will be one big author's note. Thanks for reading!
Portrait of a Killer
1/10
"The healthy man does not torture others-- generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers." -Carl Jung
By RRP
The dark-haired man tossed the last shovel-full of dirt into the hole, covering the still, silent body. *She really had been beautiful* He mused, regretfully, hiking back up the hill, away from the pond. *Such a loss.* It was too late to change anything now. The thrill was passing, and the same heavy feeling was settling over him. The feeling he could never place, or name. His stomach knotted painfully, as he stood atop the grassy knoll, looking down on the otherwise peaceful pond, the twilight moon silhouetting him against the sky. He gazed towards the spot he had buried her in.
*Her* The pond's bank held yet another one of his deadly secrets. *If only they knew...* He couldn't have tossed her into the water, no, that would have been breaking tradition. Someone would have found the body. Burying was, and had been, his only option for the past few years. He had tried cremating the body, once. But, without the right equipment, the burning flesh let off a stench that made him sick for days.
"Goodbye, Love. I'll be back." He whispered gently to the wind, softly waving a thumbless hand. It took all of his willpower to turn away, and not run back down the hill, and unearth her to see her one last time.
*No. You know the rules.* He reminded himself sternly. *You don't get another peek* But he would be back. He always came back. Next year, on the day he buried her, same time, same place, he would return. He would come back, to let himself remember the innocence lost every time he killed. Every time he got that welcome rush, someone like her had to pay.
Oh, he visited them all. Once a year, a single tear, he often told himself in his usual morbid cheerfulness. He had a map, with all the locations highlighted, all the names and dates. He would return, and sprinkle petals on the ground. It was part of the ceremony. Always had been, and always would be.
He reached his car, and carefully wrapped the shovel in plastic, before stowing it in the trunk. It would join the others, in the secret room. The Shed Room. Behind the secret door, in the back of his closet. It wasn't his, no, not at all. Raines built that room. It only became a convenient hiding place for his tools of torture. Shovels. Shovels, he had picked for several reasons, which he always went over on his way home. Then, if there was time, if he had been far enough away, he would listen to the radio. The Hits station was always playing good music at the wee morning hours. Morbid songs, by punk bands, that didn't really know what they were singing about. But they still hit the right chords. Like always.
*Point one, for the shovels. I wait until they're dead.* It was true. He could never bring himself to beat someone while they were still alive. The fear during the rape was enough. He had tried to beat someone once, and it didn't work. The pain replaced the fear, and made him sick. She almost got away, for by the time he had recovered and rehydrated himself, she had recovered enough to crawl, and was stupid enough to try to get away. He always waited until they were dead. Sometimes it was drugs, other times, like this one, it had been a simple cut to the throat. She was dead almost instantly.
*Point two: It's not a chain, or a batchain* He cringed, pushing back the memories of the other instruments. Chains, Mr. Bowman had used. He questioned himself often on that point. If Parker and Sydney had really seen his adoptive mother, and the shed, why didn't they deduce the obvious? Like Mr. Bowman had just locked him in a shed. He knew what really happened. How could he not? He had been there. Mr. Bowman had been beating him since he could remember. His adoptive mother didn't know, she never noticed. Never. She had abandoned him. The shed came in when Raines started 'counseling'. Raines had paid Mr. Bowman to lock him in the shed. When he had faked his death, with Jimmy's body, Raines had designed his own little torture chamber in Angel Manor, then Blue Cove. Batchain's had been Raines' creative improvement on Mr. Bowman's chain. Instead, you nailed several lengths of chain to a baseball bat. A hardcore whip was the result. Where did they think he had gone during the eighties? It certainly wasn't Vegas. How else did they assume Raines commanded such explicit, never failing, loyalty from him? But those weren't pictures he wanted to see tonight. Those weren't images he wanted to relive, ever. He pushed them away, again. Pushing the fear away, the lump it caused in his throat, the tightness in his stomach, and the headache. But the worse was the pain he couldn't push away, no matter how hard he tried. He could bury the grief, and the emotional damage for now, but the scars began to ache. The scars on his chest, back, and arms. That's why he always wore long shirts. The scars.
*Point three: I can use the shovels to bury them with. Less tools to drag around.* He smiled a little at that one, thankful Raines had never used a shovel. Point three taken and pondered, and he was still fifteen minutes from home. He turned on the radio.
This is 104 WOLR, your station for hit music! It's now top of the one o clock hour. Good luck and smooth dancing to all you early morning party goers! Don't drink and drive! And our next song is a hit from a relatively new band, known as Boxcar Racer. It's one oh two, 104 WOLR, and you're listening to I Feel So...
He turned it up a little. He hoped this one suited his mood. He wasn't ready for a happy dance party song. The thought of one made him nauseous.
Sometimes
I wish I was brave
I wish I was stronger
wish I could feel no pain
wish I was young
wish I was shy
I wish I was honest
I wish I was you not I
Cause’ I feel so mad
I feel so angry
Feel so careless
So lost confused
Feel so cheap
So used unfaithful
Lets start over
Lets start over
Sometimes I wish I was smart
I wish I made cures for
How people are
I wish I had power
I wish I could give
I wish I could change the world
For you and me
Cause’ I feel so mad
I feel so angry
Feel so careless
So lost confused
Feel so cheap
So used unfaithful
Lets start over
Lets start over
Cause’ I feel so mad
I feel so angry
Feel so careless
So lost confused
Feel so cheap
So used unfaithful
Lets start over
Lets start over
Cause’ I feel so mad
I feel so angry
Feel so careless
So lost confused, yea yea
Feel so cheap
So used unfaithful
Lets start over
Lets start over
Lets start over...
The song faded, and he smiled to himself. It fit perfectly. He would have to find it at the music store. A dance party song came on next, and his face turned slightly green, and he hurriedly flicked the radio off. He mused silently, letting the words of the song play over and over in his head. He had an excellent memory, which he regretted. He didn't want to remember most of his life, but for small things, like the song, it was nice to be able to do.
His mind drifted to making a short to-do list of things needing done, as soon as he got home. He would have to put her location on the map, and hide the shovel, and write down a few notes in his log. Nothing outstanding, just, how he felt when she died, her name, what he had liked most about her. The journal was something he had begun keeping after his first kill. He was pretty sure Raines had initiated the idea, but he had long since stopped showing the journal to Raines. Occasionally, he thought about showing it to Raines to torture the old man. After Anne was killed, murdering young girls was unacceptable in his eyes. But everything else was welcomed. Any sign of violence he exhibited was praised by Raines. Any murderous thought, any twisted plan, anything. It was Raines approval, and push to go through with the Yakuza plan that cost him his thumb. It was the only visible, physical sign of Raines' torture.
He pulled into the apartment parking lot, and parked the Viper. Climbing out of the car, he glanced around to make sure no one was watching, before he pulled the plastic-shrouded shovel out of the trunk, and hurried into the building. He took the back steps, reserved for maintenance, and forced himself to walk instead of run, to his apartment. Once inside, he turned on the front hall light, and a pale glow filled the area. He shrugged off his jacket, and dropped it on a chair as he passed. Into the bedroom, and into the closet he pushed, before stopping at the door. He stooped low, ducking through, and straightened once inside. The journey on the catwalk-like path back to the Shed Room took less than a minute, and he shuddered as he put the shovel down. He found he couldn't pull his eyes away from the shed, his vision locked on that symbolism of torture. He felt his back grow hot, and found he could hardly breathe. He turned, and fled out of the room, almost getting sick before he made it back to the closet. In the closet, he was safe. The memories didn't haunt him there. He sighed with relief, and slammed the trick door shut, before leaning against the wall and sliding to the ground. The memories always seemed to come back, full force, after a kill, and he could never figure out why. Maybe it was just the sight of blood. Either way, he hated the feeling the shed gave him. He hated the fear.
He slowly stood, using the wall for support. He still needed to write down his notes, and mark the map. He pulled the map out from under his bed, and grabbed the highlighter that was attached to it with a string. This one was closer than most. Just twenty-five minutes outside Blue Cove. With that done, he walked over to the desk, and opened the second drawer. In it sat three things. A picture of his real mother; Catherine, a picture of him and Jimmy, and the notebook. The notebook he carefully lifted, shutting the drawer. It was a tattered college rule notebook, seventy pages long. One entry was about a page, and he never used the backs of the pages. The book was about one-fourth full. He wrote her name and the date, almost without thinking. But, he paused at the place he usually wrote a short description of the whole event.
Her eyes. He wrote simply. Her almond shaped, creamy brown eyes. The way she looked at me before I brought her to the motel. Full of life. Fun. And joy.
He had to think hard before writing anything about the actual murder.
I wanted her to hurt. To hurt like I had. It wasn't fair that she should be happy. I wanted her to hurt. I wanted her to fear me. I wanted to feel important, feared, powerful. It didn't last as long this time. It grows shorter with every life I take. The first one, the feeling of power lasted weeks. Now, I'm lucky if it lasts five minutes after the burial. I just want them to notice me. To respect me. I want to feel important to someone. I was the last person she saw. I was power, in her eyes. Her eyes. By the time I was through, the creamy pale brown had turn dark, almost black with fear. They looked horrid. I didn't want them to look that way. I just wanted to feel important...
*-*-*
Mr. Lyle walked off the elevator, looking down the hall with a raised, skeptical eyebrow. What he saw almost made him drop dead in his tracks.
She stood at the mail desk, eating an apple and talking with a mail clerk. Her hair was blonde, he couldn't see her eyes yet, but it was her laugh that caught his attention. He looked at the hand holding the apple. No engagement or wedding band, so she wasn't married, or going to be. He forced himself to walk towards her, but he found his mouth suddenly dry and his knees jello-like.
"Marvin, my mail in?" He finally managed to snap, somewhat weakly. "Hello." He murmured to the girl, trying to appear uninterested, while his mind screamed, *NOTICE ME! NOTICE ME!*
"Hello. You must be Mr. Lyle," She stated calmly, tossing the remainder of the apple in the trash. Marvin quickly grabbed Lyle's mail, and handed it to him. Lyle nodded to the girl's statement.
"And your name would be?" He questioned slowly, tucking his mail under one arm, and leaning against the desk.
"Aimee." She replied simply, tossing her hair back. Lyle saw that her eyes were a striking green shade.
"What do you do here?" He asked nonchalantly, trying to figure it out before she spoke.
"Oh, I work as a SIM consultant. I'm also a counselor. Ex-Sweeper, from the Australian branch." Aimee answered, looking him straight in the eyes.
" I didn't even know we had an Australian branch. And you don't have an accent." Lyle pointed out, smirking a little.
"I was born and raised in the US. And I didn't say Centre branch. I meant Triumvirate. They have one branch on every continent, and then a few."
"Triumvirate?" Lyle asked, straightening.
"Yes. They have Sweepers too. Who do you think the Centre got the idea from?"
"Oh, um, well..." Lyle stuttered, for once in his adult life tongue-tied.
"See ya around, handsome." Aimee whispered, blowing a kiss to Lyle, and stalking off down the hall. Lyle's jaw dropped, and the poor mail clerk barely held in his laughter.
"I'll...I'll be in my office, if anyone wants me." Lyle whispered, turning and walking the opposite direction.
*-*-*
"Mr. Lyle? Miss Parker is looking for you." Aimee tapped at the office door, and Lyle jumped, startled.
"Oh, sure..." Lyle trailed off distractedly, his eyes wandering down to Aimee's chest. She walked across the room, and for a brief second, Lyle feared he might actually drool. But what she did next prevented that. Aimee gently lifted his chin with two fingers, until their eyes locked.
"Mr. Lyle. If I may remind you, a person's character, emotions, and everything that is actually important is held in the face, the rest of the body is simply a transportation unit. Now, when I'm around, I do not want to see you looking at any woman that way unless you happen to be married to her, which would be no one, at the present time. Are we clear?" Aimee spoke gently, yet forcefully. The correction coming from anyone else would have angered him, but he found that he was still tongue-tied, and could only manage to nod. Aimee took a step back, and smiled at him. "Good. As I was saying, your sister wants you. And, I would like to extend the invitation to dinner this evening."
"Uh, sure." Lyle nodded, lowering his head, and looking down at his desk.
"7:00. The Blue Rose." Aimee instructed with a small smile. "See you there." She gave a little wave, and was gone. Lyle started breathing again. How did she do that? How in the world could she demand so much power, without actually demanding? It was frustrating. His head slipped down to his desk, and his eyes shut, as he tried to think. Blue Rose. Blue Rose. Should he bring her flowers on a first date?
"Lyle!" His head snapped up so fast it gave him whiplash. He looked around, before realizing it had been his own voice growling at him.
*It's not your prom, for Pete's Sake! Get a hold of yourself!* He shook his head, to clear his mind. He forgot completely about her first message, and went back to his paper work.
"Lyle!" A voice snapped, and his head jerked up again, causing his neck muscles to vibrate painfully. Miss Parker stood there, one hand on a hip, waiting for him. He nodded, and closed a file, while forcefully reminding himself not to look at Miss Parker in any way that might seem dirty or lustful. *Remember Aimee.* His mind admonished. Why she had such an effect on him was unexplainable, but it was there. He just went with the flow.
Meanwhile, Miss Parker braced herself for his usual appreciative once-over of her legs, but he never gave it.
"Yes?" He questioned, standing up.
"Lead on Jarod." She replied, a tiny bit confused, but not showing it.
"Where?" *Please don't let it be on the other side of the country*
"Washington state."
*NOOOOOO!!!! No no no no no!*
"Take Sam with you. I think you'll be fine. I've got some personal business to attend to here." Lyle replied smoothly. Miss Parker raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, as she turned, and left. *Yes yes yes yes. She believed me! I'm not going to Washington!*
*-*-*
Aimee gave a little gasp of surprise when a hand behind her placed flowers on the table, before coming around to sit down.
"Hello. Am I late?" Lyle asked, watching her face carefully. She dropped the menu, and picked the flowers up, inhaling them deeply.
"They're beautiful! I love tulips!" She exclaimed. He grinned like a small boy, whose mother was pleased with his present of a grimy handful of dandelions.
"You do?" He asked, a hint of shyness creeping into his voice.
"Really." She confirmed, setting them down. His grin grew. She smiled at him, already seeing him for what he really was. He so much wanted approval, and no one would give it to him. "I hope you like seafood." She stated, and he nodded, with a small shrug.
"I live in Delaware. It's what we eat." They both laughed lightly, and within minutes had ordered and began talking.
"So, why did you move to Delaware, and leave Australia?" Lyle questioned, hoping it wasn't the wrong question.
"I was bored. I'd gotten my degree in psychology years earlier, and just protecting people was boring me. What about you? How'd you get to where you are now?" Lyle cringed ever so slightly, and his eyes darkened.
"I'd, I'd rather not talk about that if you don't mind." Lyle usually lied about his past, but he found her couldn't lie to Aimee. She had been so honest and upright with him. Aimee searched his his eyes for a moment, before nodded gently.
"That's fine. What would you like to talk about?" She asked, and he frowned at the tablecloth.
He, the one with the ever-ready tongue, had been foiled. What did one talk about on a normal date? He hadn't been on one is so long he couldn't remember.
"What..whatever you want to talk about." He finally stuttered. Aimee resisted the urge to smile. Tales of the one known as Mr. Lyle, and his power, had reached her ears before, and it was almost comical seeing the man stutter in her presence.
"The future. What do you see yourself doing in the future?" Aimee inquired softly, watching the man closely. Lyle took a small sip of the white wine the waiter had set in front of him.
"I'm not really sure." He admitted finally. "There are so many variables. What about you?"
"I've always dreamed of raising a family. Husband, four kids, two story house on the seaside. Maybe Maine." Aimee became dreamy eyed for a moment, staring off into space, before smiling brightly at Lyle. "What about you? Ever dream of raising a family?" He looked horrified, and Aimee was afraid that his answer would be rough, but, instead, he surprised her.
"Me? I'd, I'd love to. But I wouldn't know what to do!" Aimee laughed, and Lyle relaxed a little.
"Lyle, neither would I. I didn't grow up in the best family setting either, but I would love to find out how to do it."
"Oh." Lyle looked down at the tablecloth. Aimee saw that it was going to be up to her to push the conversation along.
"Do you like the ocean?" Lyle looked up quickly, and slowly turned his head to look out the window at the blue-gray waters, the foamy tips of waves crashing against the beach in the orange light of the setting sun.
"Yes. So seemingly endless, full of possibilities." He replied quietly. She nodded.
"Yes, but nothing is forever." Aimee replied, as the waiter set down two dishes in front of them. He looked at her sharply, searching her eyes for clues to how she would know what he considered 'his' saying. Nothing. Her eyes were full of a serious mirth, that made him want to smile and tremble at the same time.
"Yes. Nothing is forever." He agreed. "Shall we eat?"
*-*-*
Miss Parker looked up sharply as the sound of a whistle reached her ears. The whistle continued, in a jaunty tune she didn't recognize. She stalked around the desk, determined, that if some Sweeper had the nerve to whistle near her door, he'd lose his job. And if it was Sam that had that kind of nerve, so help him, he'd lose a lot more than his job. Say, his head.
"Lyle?" She exclaimed, surprised, as she watched the culprit, who continued to whistle, let himself into a storage room. He turned around sharply, and looked up at her with a grin.
"Hey, Sis." He greeted, turning back to a closet. She crept forward, for once in her life feeling genuine concern for her twin.
"Lyle, do I need to have you sedated?" She asked sharply, trying not to show her worry.
"Oh, no." He laughed. She almost jumped. Lyle, laugh? "I just had a date last night."
"Oh." She stepped back, disgusted with herself for caring. "Should I be looking in the Missing Persons ad, anytime soon?"
"No!" Lyle whirled around, suddenly becoming defensive. "It wasn't anything like that!" He growled at her.
"Lyle!" A female voice called from the end of the hall. Miss Parker watched in amazement, as her psycho brother's eyes lit up, and at the same time, he fell over one of the file boxes he had pulled out, and ended up on the floor.
"Aimee!" He exclaimed joyously. "I was just talking about you!" He announced, standing up, and brushing himself off, yet never taking his eyes away from her face.
"Really? I'm surprised to find you here." Aimee replied easily, turning to Miss Parker. "Here's my latest assessment on Jarod. I hope it's useful." Lyle looked from Aimee to Parker, and back again.
"You've met?" He asked, stepping forward.
"Aimee is our Labrat’s latest shrink." Miss Parker replied dryly. Aimee ignored the terms used, and nodded cheerfully.
"I hope this means I'll get to see more of you, Lyle. Meanwhile, I have other work to do. Call me when you find something." Aimee gave a small wave, and disappeared down the hall. Lyle stared after her, while Miss Parker watched in amusement.
"Lyle." She snapped, trying to hide the comical glint in her eyes.
"Huh? Oh, yeah." He turned back to the boxes of files he had out, and Miss Parker returned to her office, shaking her head.
Life just got weirder, and weirder.
*-*-*
Lyle watched Aimee walk down the hall, and he stared after her. He found it intensely hard to stare at the back of her head, opposed to her other anatomy, but he kept his word.
*Lyle.* The little voice in his head muttered sarcastically, while alarms went off.
*Huh?*
*Since when do you keep your word?*
*Umm...since Aimee.* He replied, playing a battle with his other self. For a brief moment, Lyle pictured himself as a cartoon character, a small angelic version of himself perched on one shoulder, and a demonic version with a pitchfork and horns on the other.
*And why does she matter? What happened to staying strong?* The little demon asked.
*I don't know why. Just shutup. I don't want to talk to you anymore.*
*Sooner or later you'll have to tell her. That's not something you just let slip. What will she think of you then?*
*I don't know. But, but...I love her.* Lyle gasped at the realization, and his jaw dropped.
"Sir? Are you okay?" A concerned Sweeper paused on his rounds, noticing the fearsome Centre Board member, standing in a hall on SL-5, jaw dropped, and unblinking. Lyle shook himself to clear his head enough to walk to his office.
*I love her!*
*-*-*
Aimee sat on the park bench, watching the small children play on the swing set. She sipped a bottled iced tea, and a book lay abandoned beside her.
"May I sit down?" A rich voice lured her out of her reverie. She looked up, startled.
"Oh. Hello, Sydney. Sure, sit down." She slid her book over, and Sydney glanced at the title.
"The Count of Monte Cristo? I haven't read that one in years. Dumas has always been a favorite of mine."
"I'm rereading it. It's one of my favorites. I love the conspiracy." Aimee admitted. "What brings you to the park?"
"I like to walk out here. It helps me relax. Actually, I was hoping I'd find you here." Sydney sat back, his eyes straying to the playground.
"Really?" Aimee sounded surprised. "Why is that?"
"I wanted to warn you. I don't know what exactly is going on, but, Aimee, I've seen far too many women fall at Lyle's hands. He's dangerous." Sydney replied in all seriousness, his eyes turning back to her, and begging her to listen.
"Thanks, Sydney, for the warning, but I've got it under control." Aimee answered sweetly. "Lyle and I...made a few...agreements." Aimee finished. She waved him closer, and whispered something in his ear. Sydney brightened.
"Really? That's wonderful! I've been rather worried about him. He needs some positive reinforcement." At that moment, Aimee's cell-phone rang.
"Hold on." She held up a finger to Sydney, and he nodded politely, as she picked up the phone.
"Aimee here. No. Can I call you back?" Aimee slipped her phone back in her pocket, and picked up her book.
"Sorry I have to end this, but, I need to return this call. Maybe we can talk again?" Aimee offered. Sydney nodded.
"That would be wonderful. I'll see you tomorrow." He stood up, and began down the path again. She jumped up, and hurried in the other direction. As soon as she was sure Sydney was out of earshot, she pulled the phone back out, and dialed.
"What is it, Jarod? No, I'm fine. No, I'm not leaving yet. I have a plan. Yes, I already talked to Sydney. I was just talking to him. No, I'm not." There was a pause. "I promise. I'll tell you." Click.
Two weeks later..
"Sis, will you join Aimee and I for dinner this evening?" Lyle asked, sticking his head through her office door. She looked up, and glared at him. Lyle's smile disappeared. "Please, Sis?" He begged.
"Fine." She snapped, looking back down towards the desk. "And I'm not sure why I'm agreeing. I haven't see you in almost two weeks."
"I know, I've been...busy." He finished, slipping into the room.
"Well," She paused. "I guess I do owe you this one. You haven't killed her yet." The comment was dry and sarcastic, but Lyle's eyes flared up just the same.
"I'm not going to!" He growled. Miss Parker raised an eyebrow.
"Look who has a temper." She retorted.
"Look who's playing the blame game." He shot back. She blinked.
"Blame game?" She asked, trying not to laugh. A grin crept across his face, and he shrugged.
"Aimee doesn't like to curse. So...I've picked up a couple sayings, I guess." Miss Parker was unable to hold back the laughter any longer, and within seconds Lyle had joined her.
"I guess this is what they call sibling bonding." He gasped, and without a second thought, both straightened immediately, and glared at each other.
But, the grins slowly crept back.
"So, where are we meeting for dinner?" Miss Parker asked, as Lyle caught his breath.
"Blue Rose, seven-o-clock." Lyle replied. She nodded.
"The Asian decor seafood restaurant?"
"That's the one." Lyle confirmed. He paused as he turned to leave. "Sis?"
"Lyle?"
"What, what do you see yourself doing in the future?"
"I'm not sure. Too many variables. Hopefully catching Jarod." She replied looking back down at her paperwork.
"Ever think about raising a family?" If the first question hadn't caught her off the hook, the second one did. She looked up sharply.
"Not really, why?" She half-asked, half-demanded. His eyes got a sort of faraway look.
"It's been on my mind." And with that, he was gone.
*-*-*
"Sis!" Lyle waved from a table with seating for four, and Miss Parker looked over from the entrance to the restaurant. Aimee sat next to him, smiling in her direction. She walked over to the table, questioning before sitting down.
"Four chairs, Lyle? Dare I ask for whom the other is for?"
"Dad." He replied simply, as she sat down. Aimee nodded to her.
"Good evening, Miss Parker. Glad you could make it." Miss Parker bit back a sharp remark, instead, forcing herself to smile back. She scanned the room with her eyes, noticing the large wooden dance floor in the center of the room, and the classical music playing softly in the back ground.
"Dad!" Lyle stood up, and Miss Parker craned her neck to see her father enter.
"Hello, son. Angel. What a surprise." Mr. Parker exclaimed, sitting down. "You must be Aimee." Aimee gave him the same smile she had given Miss Parker.
"Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Parker." She extended a hand, and he shook it warmly.
"Waiter...We'll take those menus now." Lyle waved, and the waiter nodded. Miss Parker watched Lyle's face carefully as he turned back to Aimee. Miss Parker herself didn't see what he saw in her, sure, she was beautiful, but so were many other women Lyle had been 'involved' with. But he sat there, staring at her face, his face radiating admiration and love. Aimee, on the other hand, made small talk with Mr. Parker, seemingly oblivious to his stare.
Watch out, Aimee. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing. Miss Parker warned silently. She waited for his eyes to drift downward, as she had see him do with so many other girls he passed. Yet, it never came. She thought back, carefully, and with a shock realized she hadn't seen him look at any women like that since Aimee came into the picture. She felt like bashing the girl over the head, and couldn't figure out why.
What have you done to my stupid twin brother? I liked it when he was predictable!!!
"Miss Parker?" She heard Aimee break through her thought process with a worried inquiry.
"What?" Miss Parker snapped, looking up sharply.
"The menus are here." Miss Parker realized that the waiter was standing next to her and Lyle, holding four menus in his hand. He passed them out, and stepped back.
"I'll be back in a few minutes, to see if you're ready to order."
With that, he left, and the small group of four began pouring over the menus.
It was minutes later, after they had ordered their food, that a small curtain swung back, revealing a stage just big enough for a small orchestra or jazz group. The stage was dark, and empty, and but, as Miss Parker watched, a few lights turned on, the classical music in the background faded, and a plethora of sound equipment was rolled onto the stage. A man came out, and grabbed a microphone.
"Back by popular demand, DJ Mick, the One Man Band!" A young man, with a lip ring, and white-streaked hair, moved behind the equipment and sat down. There was a small click, and the voice filled the room.
"First, I'm going to play a couple from the hit list, but I'll be taking requests later." Music filled the room, to the delight of Aimee, and the dismay of Miss Parker, it was modern.
Jingle a penny, catch a dime
"Lyle!" Aimee exclaimed. "I love this song! Dance?" She stood, and he accepted, not even paying attention to the words of the song.
Didn't have time
"I'll lead. You follow." Aimee whispered, out on the dance floor. Lyle nodded, only aware of her.
To write a decent rhyme
Grab some paper, pick up the pen
I'll tell you where
If you'll say when
"You've been practicing!" Aimee whispered in his ear, as they moved together. Lyle grinned boyishly.
"You noticed!"
No time to pause, no time to walk
Driving fast to make that last date
All my thoughts are on you
And I don't wanna be late
All I want to do is,
Dance with you
All night long
Push the button, play another song
All I want to do is
Just to dance with you
Dance with you
Until the sun comes up
Grab the espresso, drink a cup
So we won't have to stop
I wanna dance with you
Mr. Parker and Miss Parker watched with barely contained interest, as Aimee and Lyle danced, joined only by one other couple on the floor.
Toss the jacket, loosen your tie
As to how you're here
I won't ask why
Crank up the music, sing another tune
Can we dance again darling?
Maybe sometime soon.
The music fades and we're left standing
Wondering where they've gone
The party has left and we're alone
Who cares, let's play another song
Cause, all I want to do is,
Dance with you
All night long
Push the button, play another song
All I want to do is
Just to dance with you
Dance with you
Until the sun comes up
Grab the espresso, drink a cup
So we won't have to stop
I wanna dance with you
Lyle and Aimee came back to the table, winded, but grinning. Miss Parker suppressed the sudden desire to hit the nearest person with a large heavy object. Instead, she sighed. It was going to be a long, confusing night.
*-*-*
Aimee slipped her hand into Lyle's, as they walked down the beach. Both had taken their shoes off, and were carrying them in their free hand.
The sun shone brightly over the sea, climbing higher every minute, purple and pink streaks of color acting as stepladders for the yellow light.
"Aimee..." Lyle hesitated. Aimee looked up at him expectantly.
"Yes?" Lyle's stomach felt strange, but it was time to tell her the truth.
"Aimee, I'm not who you think I am." A flash of alarm claimed Aimee's face for a brief second, before she discerned his meaning.
"Tell me, then." She offered, already knowing most of the story, but also knowing that he needed to say it himself.
"I'm a horrible person." He forced the words out. "I've lost track of how many times I've killed..." He broke off, and motioned to a bench. "Can we sit down?"
"Sure." Aimee turned, and headed for the bench. They sat down, and he began again.
"I taken so many lives...I used to enjoy it, and that's what makes it worse. But...but, I want to change. And it's because of you." His eyes searched hers for acceptance, and Aimee saw the little heart-broken boy he had hid for so long.
"Me?" She feigned surprise.
"You." He confirmed. "I know I haven't known you very long, but, it's true. I want to show you something." He pulled a black, wire-bound notebook out of his jacket. It was a tattered, college-rule standard, and he handed it to her.
"This...this is the darkest part of me. And I don't want it anymore. I just wanted you to see it, and really know. Then I'm just going to toss it." Lyle lowered his eyes, and Aimee felt a pang of pity stroke her heart. He was risking rejection, to let her know who he really was. Still, she felt a slight curiousity about the notebook, and though everything inside of her was telling her to assure him, and not even open it, she did so anyway.
The first page had a name, date, and location on it. Followed by a short account of a rape and murder. She gasped. The information hit her like a punch in the stomach. She had been expecting horrible things, but nothing like this. She turned a page. The next was the same way, with a different name, date and location.
She began rapidly flipping through the book, anger building with each page. It was one-fourth-way full, then it cut off abruptly, the last entry dated just one day before she had first met him. She jumped up, hands trembling. All plans to forgive and forget had vanished, along with her calm disposistion.
"You MONSTER!" She screamed, and he cringed. She stormed off, still clutching the notebook. With a sense of relief, she realized he wasn't following her.
*-*-*
"Mr. Raines? I have something I need to give you. It's from Mr. Lyle." Aimee lied, slipping into the dim office. It was a lie, and she knew he would suffer, but she felt he deserved it. All those girls...
Raines extended a hand, and Aimee handed over the black notebook.
She left the room, feeling the deepest sense of regret she ever thought possible.
*-*-*
Aimee relaxed on the couch, and turned the radio on. The music drifted into the room, and the first words almost made her drop her coffee.
No one would love me if they knew
All the things I hide
My words fall to the floor
As tears drip through the telephone line
And the hands I've seen raised to the sky
Not waving but drowning all this time
I'll try to build the ark that they need
To float to you upon the crystal sea
Give me your hand to hold
Cause I can't stand to love alone
And love alone is not enough to hold us up
We've got to touch your robe
So swing your robe down low
Swing your robe down low
The prince of despair's been beaten
*-*-*
Lyle heard the lock click, and his head shot up.
"Hello?" No answer.
Willie came into view, Raines behind him. The last thing Lyle noticed was the black notebook. Then panic took over, as Willie wordlessly dragged him back to the shed, chains in hand.
*-*-*
But the loser still fights
*-*-*
Raines left, as Willie raised his hand to strike the first blow. Lyle felt the chain descend upon his shoulders, and the blood begin to trickle down his back. He screamed, as the chain was raised again.
*-*-*
Death's on a long leash
*-*-*
Willie's face was grim and set, as the chain was raised again over the trembling figure on the floor. It landed with a crack, and Lyle screamed again.
*make it go away...make it stop..just make it stop! MAMA! MAMA! MAKE HIM STOP HITTING ME!*
Suddenly, Lyle wasn't in the Shed Room of his apartment. He was in a cold shed, long ago, with someone else holding the chain. His Mama stood at the doorway, watching, tears falling down her face, but she made no move to help him.
"MAMA!" Lyle screamed, and Willie jumped back. But only for a second. Just for a brief second.
*make it stop! mama, help me...please...help me...*
*-*-*
Stealing my friends to the night
And everyone cries for the innocent
*-*-*
Lyle sobbed helplessly, and Willie clenched his jaw shut firmly. He was to do what Mr. Raines ordered. And nothing else.
*-*-*
You say to love the guilty, too
Aimee winced at the words, as their meaning hit hard.
And I'm surrounded by suffering and sickness
So I'm working tearing back the roof
Give me your hand to hold
Cause I can't stand to love alone
And love alone is not enough to hold us up
We've got to touch your robe
So swing your robe down low
Swing your robe down low
And the pain of the world is a burden
But it's my cross to bear
And I stumble under all the weight
I know you're Simon standing there
And I know you're standing there
Give me your hand to hold
Cause I can't stand to love alone
And love alone is not enough to hold us up
We've got to touch your robe
So swing your robe down low
::EDITED & RELOADED:: A couple changes in spelling that my friends pointed out. Nothing major at all.
I'm going to include all the song credits in the final chapter, which will be one big author's note. Thanks for reading!
1/10
"The healthy man does not torture others-- generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers." -Carl Jung
By RRP
The dark-haired man tossed the last shovel-full of dirt into the hole, covering the still, silent body. *She really had been beautiful* He mused, regretfully, hiking back up the hill, away from the pond. *Such a loss.* It was too late to change anything now. The thrill was passing, and the same heavy feeling was settling over him. The feeling he could never place, or name. His stomach knotted painfully, as he stood atop the grassy knoll, looking down on the otherwise peaceful pond, the twilight moon silhouetting him against the sky. He gazed towards the spot he had buried her in.
*Her* The pond's bank held yet another one of his deadly secrets. *If only they knew...* He couldn't have tossed her into the water, no, that would have been breaking tradition. Someone would have found the body. Burying was, and had been, his only option for the past few years. He had tried cremating the body, once. But, without the right equipment, the burning flesh let off a stench that made him sick for days.
"Goodbye, Love. I'll be back." He whispered gently to the wind, softly waving a thumbless hand. It took all of his willpower to turn away, and not run back down the hill, and unearth her to see her one last time.
*No. You know the rules.* He reminded himself sternly. *You don't get another peek* But he would be back. He always came back. Next year, on the day he buried her, same time, same place, he would return. He would come back, to let himself remember the innocence lost every time he killed. Every time he got that welcome rush, someone like her had to pay.
Oh, he visited them all. Once a year, a single tear, he often told himself in his usual morbid cheerfulness. He had a map, with all the locations highlighted, all the names and dates. He would return, and sprinkle petals on the ground. It was part of the ceremony. Always had been, and always would be.
He reached his car, and carefully wrapped the shovel in plastic, before stowing it in the trunk. It would join the others, in the secret room. The Shed Room. Behind the secret door, in the back of his closet. It wasn't his, no, not at all. Raines built that room. It only became a convenient hiding place for his tools of torture. Shovels. Shovels, he had picked for several reasons, which he always went over on his way home. Then, if there was time, if he had been far enough away, he would listen to the radio. The Hits station was always playing good music at the wee morning hours. Morbid songs, by punk bands, that didn't really know what they were singing about. But they still hit the right chords. Like always.
*Point one, for the shovels. I wait until they're dead.* It was true. He could never bring himself to beat someone while they were still alive. The fear during the rape was enough. He had tried to beat someone once, and it didn't work. The pain replaced the fear, and made him sick. She almost got away, for by the time he had recovered and rehydrated himself, she had recovered enough to crawl, and was stupid enough to try to get away. He always waited until they were dead. Sometimes it was drugs, other times, like this one, it had been a simple cut to the throat. She was dead almost instantly.
*Point two: It's not a chain, or a batchain* He cringed, pushing back the memories of the other instruments. Chains, Mr. Bowman had used. He questioned himself often on that point. If Parker and Sydney had really seen his adoptive mother, and the shed, why didn't they deduce the obvious? Like Mr. Bowman had just locked him in a shed. He knew what really happened. How could he not? He had been there. Mr. Bowman had been beating him since he could remember. His adoptive mother didn't know, she never noticed. Never. She had abandoned him. The shed came in when Raines started 'counseling'. Raines had paid Mr. Bowman to lock him in the shed. When he had faked his death, with Jimmy's body, Raines had designed his own little torture chamber in Angel Manor, then Blue Cove. Batchain's had been Raines' creative improvement on Mr. Bowman's chain. Instead, you nailed several lengths of chain to a baseball bat. A hardcore whip was the result. Where did they think he had gone during the eighties? It certainly wasn't Vegas. How else did they assume Raines commanded such explicit, never failing, loyalty from him? But those weren't pictures he wanted to see tonight. Those weren't images he wanted to relive, ever. He pushed them away, again. Pushing the fear away, the lump it caused in his throat, the tightness in his stomach, and the headache. But the worse was the pain he couldn't push away, no matter how hard he tried. He could bury the grief, and the emotional damage for now, but the scars began to ache. The scars on his chest, back, and arms. That's why he always wore long shirts. The scars.
*Point three: I can use the shovels to bury them with. Less tools to drag around.* He smiled a little at that one, thankful Raines had never used a shovel. Point three taken and pondered, and he was still fifteen minutes from home. He turned on the radio.
This is 104 WOLR, your station for hit music! It's now top of the one o clock hour. Good luck and smooth dancing to all you early morning party goers! Don't drink and drive! And our next song is a hit from a relatively new band, known as Boxcar Racer. It's one oh two, 104 WOLR, and you're listening to I Feel So...
He turned it up a little. He hoped this one suited his mood. He wasn't ready for a happy dance party song. The thought of one made him nauseous.
Sometimes
I wish I was brave
I wish I was stronger
wish I could feel no pain
wish I was young
wish I was shy
I wish I was honest
I wish I was you not I
Cause’ I feel so mad
I feel so angry
Feel so careless
So lost confused
Feel so cheap
So used unfaithful
Lets start over
Lets start over
Sometimes I wish I was smart
I wish I made cures for
How people are
I wish I had power
I wish I could give
I wish I could change the world
For you and me
Cause’ I feel so mad
I feel so angry
Feel so careless
So lost confused
Feel so cheap
So used unfaithful
Lets start over
Lets start over
Cause’ I feel so mad
I feel so angry
Feel so careless
So lost confused
Feel so cheap
So used unfaithful
Lets start over
Lets start over
Cause’ I feel so mad
I feel so angry
Feel so careless
So lost confused, yea yea
Feel so cheap
So used unfaithful
Lets start over
Lets start over
Lets start over...
The song faded, and he smiled to himself. It fit perfectly. He would have to find it at the music store. A dance party song came on next, and his face turned slightly green, and he hurriedly flicked the radio off. He mused silently, letting the words of the song play over and over in his head. He had an excellent memory, which he regretted. He didn't want to remember most of his life, but for small things, like the song, it was nice to be able to do.
His mind drifted to making a short to-do list of things needing done, as soon as he got home. He would have to put her location on the map, and hide the shovel, and write down a few notes in his log. Nothing outstanding, just, how he felt when she died, her name, what he had liked most about her. The journal was something he had begun keeping after his first kill. He was pretty sure Raines had initiated the idea, but he had long since stopped showing the journal to Raines. Occasionally, he thought about showing it to Raines to torture the old man. After Anne was killed, murdering young girls was unacceptable in his eyes. But everything else was welcomed. Any sign of violence he exhibited was praised by Raines. Any murderous thought, any twisted plan, anything. It was Raines approval, and push to go through with the Yakuza plan that cost him his thumb. It was the only visible, physical sign of Raines' torture.
He pulled into the apartment parking lot, and parked the Viper. Climbing out of the car, he glanced around to make sure no one was watching, before he pulled the plastic-shrouded shovel out of the trunk, and hurried into the building. He took the back steps, reserved for maintenance, and forced himself to walk instead of run, to his apartment. Once inside, he turned on the front hall light, and a pale glow filled the area. He shrugged off his jacket, and dropped it on a chair as he passed. Into the bedroom, and into the closet he pushed, before stopping at the door. He stooped low, ducking through, and straightened once inside. The journey on the catwalk-like path back to the Shed Room took less than a minute, and he shuddered as he put the shovel down. He found he couldn't pull his eyes away from the shed, his vision locked on that symbolism of torture. He felt his back grow hot, and found he could hardly breathe. He turned, and fled out of the room, almost getting sick before he made it back to the closet. In the closet, he was safe. The memories didn't haunt him there. He sighed with relief, and slammed the trick door shut, before leaning against the wall and sliding to the ground. The memories always seemed to come back, full force, after a kill, and he could never figure out why. Maybe it was just the sight of blood. Either way, he hated the feeling the shed gave him. He hated the fear.
He slowly stood, using the wall for support. He still needed to write down his notes, and mark the map. He pulled the map out from under his bed, and grabbed the highlighter that was attached to it with a string. This one was closer than most. Just twenty-five minutes outside Blue Cove. With that done, he walked over to the desk, and opened the second drawer. In it sat three things. A picture of his real mother; Catherine, a picture of him and Jimmy, and the notebook. The notebook he carefully lifted, shutting the drawer. It was a tattered college rule notebook, seventy pages long. One entry was about a page, and he never used the backs of the pages. The book was about one-fourth full. He wrote her name and the date, almost without thinking. But, he paused at the place he usually wrote a short description of the whole event.
Her eyes. He wrote simply. Her almond shaped, creamy brown eyes. The way she looked at me before I brought her to the motel. Full of life. Fun. And joy.
He had to think hard before writing anything about the actual murder.
I wanted her to hurt. To hurt like I had. It wasn't fair that she should be happy. I wanted her to hurt. I wanted her to fear me. I wanted to feel important, feared, powerful. It didn't last as long this time. It grows shorter with every life I take. The first one, the feeling of power lasted weeks. Now, I'm lucky if it lasts five minutes after the burial. I just want them to notice me. To respect me. I want to feel important to someone. I was the last person she saw. I was power, in her eyes. Her eyes. By the time I was through, the creamy pale brown had turn dark, almost black with fear. They looked horrid. I didn't want them to look that way. I just wanted to feel important...
Mr. Lyle walked off the elevator, looking down the hall with a raised, skeptical eyebrow. What he saw almost made him drop dead in his tracks.
She stood at the mail desk, eating an apple and talking with a mail clerk. Her hair was blonde, he couldn't see her eyes yet, but it was her laugh that caught his attention. He looked at the hand holding the apple. No engagement or wedding band, so she wasn't married, or going to be. He forced himself to walk towards her, but he found his mouth suddenly dry and his knees jello-like.
"Marvin, my mail in?" He finally managed to snap, somewhat weakly. "Hello." He murmured to the girl, trying to appear uninterested, while his mind screamed, *NOTICE ME! NOTICE ME!*
"Hello. You must be Mr. Lyle," She stated calmly, tossing the remainder of the apple in the trash. Marvin quickly grabbed Lyle's mail, and handed it to him. Lyle nodded to the girl's statement.
"And your name would be?" He questioned slowly, tucking his mail under one arm, and leaning against the desk.
"Aimee." She replied simply, tossing her hair back. Lyle saw that her eyes were a striking green shade.
"What do you do here?" He asked nonchalantly, trying to figure it out before she spoke.
"Oh, I work as a SIM consultant. I'm also a counselor. Ex-Sweeper, from the Australian branch." Aimee answered, looking him straight in the eyes.
" I didn't even know we had an Australian branch. And you don't have an accent." Lyle pointed out, smirking a little.
"I was born and raised in the US. And I didn't say Centre branch. I meant Triumvirate. They have one branch on every continent, and then a few."
"Triumvirate?" Lyle asked, straightening.
"Yes. They have Sweepers too. Who do you think the Centre got the idea from?"
"Oh, um, well..." Lyle stuttered, for once in his adult life tongue-tied.
"See ya around, handsome." Aimee whispered, blowing a kiss to Lyle, and stalking off down the hall. Lyle's jaw dropped, and the poor mail clerk barely held in his laughter.
"I'll...I'll be in my office, if anyone wants me." Lyle whispered, turning and walking the opposite direction.
"Mr. Lyle? Miss Parker is looking for you." Aimee tapped at the office door, and Lyle jumped, startled.
"Oh, sure..." Lyle trailed off distractedly, his eyes wandering down to Aimee's chest. She walked across the room, and for a brief second, Lyle feared he might actually drool. But what she did next prevented that. Aimee gently lifted his chin with two fingers, until their eyes locked.
"Mr. Lyle. If I may remind you, a person's character, emotions, and everything that is actually important is held in the face, the rest of the body is simply a transportation unit. Now, when I'm around, I do not want to see you looking at any woman that way unless you happen to be married to her, which would be no one, at the present time. Are we clear?" Aimee spoke gently, yet forcefully. The correction coming from anyone else would have angered him, but he found that he was still tongue-tied, and could only manage to nod. Aimee took a step back, and smiled at him. "Good. As I was saying, your sister wants you. And, I would like to extend the invitation to dinner this evening."
"Uh, sure." Lyle nodded, lowering his head, and looking down at his desk.
"7:00. The Blue Rose." Aimee instructed with a small smile. "See you there." She gave a little wave, and was gone. Lyle started breathing again. How did she do that? How in the world could she demand so much power, without actually demanding? It was frustrating. His head slipped down to his desk, and his eyes shut, as he tried to think. Blue Rose. Blue Rose. Should he bring her flowers on a first date?
"Lyle!" His head snapped up so fast it gave him whiplash. He looked around, before realizing it had been his own voice growling at him.
*It's not your prom, for Pete's Sake! Get a hold of yourself!* He shook his head, to clear his mind. He forgot completely about her first message, and went back to his paper work.
"Lyle!" A voice snapped, and his head jerked up again, causing his neck muscles to vibrate painfully. Miss Parker stood there, one hand on a hip, waiting for him. He nodded, and closed a file, while forcefully reminding himself not to look at Miss Parker in any way that might seem dirty or lustful. *Remember Aimee.* His mind admonished. Why she had such an effect on him was unexplainable, but it was there. He just went with the flow.
Meanwhile, Miss Parker braced herself for his usual appreciative once-over of her legs, but he never gave it.
"Yes?" He questioned, standing up.
"Lead on Jarod." She replied, a tiny bit confused, but not showing it.
"Where?" *Please don't let it be on the other side of the country*
"Washington state."
*NOOOOOO!!!! No no no no no!*
"Take Sam with you. I think you'll be fine. I've got some personal business to attend to here." Lyle replied smoothly. Miss Parker raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, as she turned, and left. *Yes yes yes yes. She believed me! I'm not going to Washington!*
Aimee gave a little gasp of surprise when a hand behind her placed flowers on the table, before coming around to sit down.
"Hello. Am I late?" Lyle asked, watching her face carefully. She dropped the menu, and picked the flowers up, inhaling them deeply.
"They're beautiful! I love tulips!" She exclaimed. He grinned like a small boy, whose mother was pleased with his present of a grimy handful of dandelions.
"You do?" He asked, a hint of shyness creeping into his voice.
"Really." She confirmed, setting them down. His grin grew. She smiled at him, already seeing him for what he really was. He so much wanted approval, and no one would give it to him. "I hope you like seafood." She stated, and he nodded, with a small shrug.
"I live in Delaware. It's what we eat." They both laughed lightly, and within minutes had ordered and began talking.
"So, why did you move to Delaware, and leave Australia?" Lyle questioned, hoping it wasn't the wrong question.
"I was bored. I'd gotten my degree in psychology years earlier, and just protecting people was boring me. What about you? How'd you get to where you are now?" Lyle cringed ever so slightly, and his eyes darkened.
"I'd, I'd rather not talk about that if you don't mind." Lyle usually lied about his past, but he found her couldn't lie to Aimee. She had been so honest and upright with him. Aimee searched his his eyes for a moment, before nodded gently.
"That's fine. What would you like to talk about?" She asked, and he frowned at the tablecloth.
He, the one with the ever-ready tongue, had been foiled. What did one talk about on a normal date? He hadn't been on one is so long he couldn't remember.
"What..whatever you want to talk about." He finally stuttered. Aimee resisted the urge to smile. Tales of the one known as Mr. Lyle, and his power, had reached her ears before, and it was almost comical seeing the man stutter in her presence.
"The future. What do you see yourself doing in the future?" Aimee inquired softly, watching the man closely. Lyle took a small sip of the white wine the waiter had set in front of him.
"I'm not really sure." He admitted finally. "There are so many variables. What about you?"
"I've always dreamed of raising a family. Husband, four kids, two story house on the seaside. Maybe Maine." Aimee became dreamy eyed for a moment, staring off into space, before smiling brightly at Lyle. "What about you? Ever dream of raising a family?" He looked horrified, and Aimee was afraid that his answer would be rough, but, instead, he surprised her.
"Me? I'd, I'd love to. But I wouldn't know what to do!" Aimee laughed, and Lyle relaxed a little.
"Lyle, neither would I. I didn't grow up in the best family setting either, but I would love to find out how to do it."
"Oh." Lyle looked down at the tablecloth. Aimee saw that it was going to be up to her to push the conversation along.
"Do you like the ocean?" Lyle looked up quickly, and slowly turned his head to look out the window at the blue-gray waters, the foamy tips of waves crashing against the beach in the orange light of the setting sun.
"Yes. So seemingly endless, full of possibilities." He replied quietly. She nodded.
"Yes, but nothing is forever." Aimee replied, as the waiter set down two dishes in front of them. He looked at her sharply, searching her eyes for clues to how she would know what he considered 'his' saying. Nothing. Her eyes were full of a serious mirth, that made him want to smile and tremble at the same time.
"Yes. Nothing is forever." He agreed. "Shall we eat?"
Miss Parker looked up sharply as the sound of a whistle reached her ears. The whistle continued, in a jaunty tune she didn't recognize. She stalked around the desk, determined, that if some Sweeper had the nerve to whistle near her door, he'd lose his job. And if it was Sam that had that kind of nerve, so help him, he'd lose a lot more than his job. Say, his head.
"Lyle?" She exclaimed, surprised, as she watched the culprit, who continued to whistle, let himself into a storage room. He turned around sharply, and looked up at her with a grin.
"Hey, Sis." He greeted, turning back to a closet. She crept forward, for once in her life feeling genuine concern for her twin.
"Lyle, do I need to have you sedated?" She asked sharply, trying not to show her worry.
"Oh, no." He laughed. She almost jumped. Lyle, laugh? "I just had a date last night."
"Oh." She stepped back, disgusted with herself for caring. "Should I be looking in the Missing Persons ad, anytime soon?"
"No!" Lyle whirled around, suddenly becoming defensive. "It wasn't anything like that!" He growled at her.
"Lyle!" A female voice called from the end of the hall. Miss Parker watched in amazement, as her psycho brother's eyes lit up, and at the same time, he fell over one of the file boxes he had pulled out, and ended up on the floor.
"Aimee!" He exclaimed joyously. "I was just talking about you!" He announced, standing up, and brushing himself off, yet never taking his eyes away from her face.
"Really? I'm surprised to find you here." Aimee replied easily, turning to Miss Parker. "Here's my latest assessment on Jarod. I hope it's useful." Lyle looked from Aimee to Parker, and back again.
"You've met?" He asked, stepping forward.
"Aimee is our Labrat’s latest shrink." Miss Parker replied dryly. Aimee ignored the terms used, and nodded cheerfully.
"I hope this means I'll get to see more of you, Lyle. Meanwhile, I have other work to do. Call me when you find something." Aimee gave a small wave, and disappeared down the hall. Lyle stared after her, while Miss Parker watched in amusement.
"Lyle." She snapped, trying to hide the comical glint in her eyes.
"Huh? Oh, yeah." He turned back to the boxes of files he had out, and Miss Parker returned to her office, shaking her head.
Life just got weirder, and weirder.
Lyle watched Aimee walk down the hall, and he stared after her. He found it intensely hard to stare at the back of her head, opposed to her other anatomy, but he kept his word.
*Lyle.* The little voice in his head muttered sarcastically, while alarms went off.
*Huh?*
*Since when do you keep your word?*
*Umm...since Aimee.* He replied, playing a battle with his other self. For a brief moment, Lyle pictured himself as a cartoon character, a small angelic version of himself perched on one shoulder, and a demonic version with a pitchfork and horns on the other.
*And why does she matter? What happened to staying strong?* The little demon asked.
*I don't know why. Just shutup. I don't want to talk to you anymore.*
*Sooner or later you'll have to tell her. That's not something you just let slip. What will she think of you then?*
*I don't know. But, but...I love her.* Lyle gasped at the realization, and his jaw dropped.
"Sir? Are you okay?" A concerned Sweeper paused on his rounds, noticing the fearsome Centre Board member, standing in a hall on SL-5, jaw dropped, and unblinking. Lyle shook himself to clear his head enough to walk to his office.
*I love her!*
Aimee sat on the park bench, watching the small children play on the swing set. She sipped a bottled iced tea, and a book lay abandoned beside her.
"May I sit down?" A rich voice lured her out of her reverie. She looked up, startled.
"Oh. Hello, Sydney. Sure, sit down." She slid her book over, and Sydney glanced at the title.
"The Count of Monte Cristo? I haven't read that one in years. Dumas has always been a favorite of mine."
"I'm rereading it. It's one of my favorites. I love the conspiracy." Aimee admitted. "What brings you to the park?"
"I like to walk out here. It helps me relax. Actually, I was hoping I'd find you here." Sydney sat back, his eyes straying to the playground.
"Really?" Aimee sounded surprised. "Why is that?"
"I wanted to warn you. I don't know what exactly is going on, but, Aimee, I've seen far too many women fall at Lyle's hands. He's dangerous." Sydney replied in all seriousness, his eyes turning back to her, and begging her to listen.
"Thanks, Sydney, for the warning, but I've got it under control." Aimee answered sweetly. "Lyle and I...made a few...agreements." Aimee finished. She waved him closer, and whispered something in his ear. Sydney brightened.
"Really? That's wonderful! I've been rather worried about him. He needs some positive reinforcement." At that moment, Aimee's cell-phone rang.
"Hold on." She held up a finger to Sydney, and he nodded politely, as she picked up the phone.
"Aimee here. No. Can I call you back?" Aimee slipped her phone back in her pocket, and picked up her book.
"Sorry I have to end this, but, I need to return this call. Maybe we can talk again?" Aimee offered. Sydney nodded.
"That would be wonderful. I'll see you tomorrow." He stood up, and began down the path again. She jumped up, and hurried in the other direction. As soon as she was sure Sydney was out of earshot, she pulled the phone back out, and dialed.
"What is it, Jarod? No, I'm fine. No, I'm not leaving yet. I have a plan. Yes, I already talked to Sydney. I was just talking to him. No, I'm not." There was a pause. "I promise. I'll tell you." Click.
Two weeks later..
"Sis, will you join Aimee and I for dinner this evening?" Lyle asked, sticking his head through her office door. She looked up, and glared at him. Lyle's smile disappeared. "Please, Sis?" He begged.
"Fine." She snapped, looking back down towards the desk. "And I'm not sure why I'm agreeing. I haven't see you in almost two weeks."
"I know, I've been...busy." He finished, slipping into the room.
"Well," She paused. "I guess I do owe you this one. You haven't killed her yet." The comment was dry and sarcastic, but Lyle's eyes flared up just the same.
"I'm not going to!" He growled. Miss Parker raised an eyebrow.
"Look who has a temper." She retorted.
"Look who's playing the blame game." He shot back. She blinked.
"Blame game?" She asked, trying not to laugh. A grin crept across his face, and he shrugged.
"Aimee doesn't like to curse. So...I've picked up a couple sayings, I guess." Miss Parker was unable to hold back the laughter any longer, and within seconds Lyle had joined her.
"I guess this is what they call sibling bonding." He gasped, and without a second thought, both straightened immediately, and glared at each other.
But, the grins slowly crept back.
"So, where are we meeting for dinner?" Miss Parker asked, as Lyle caught his breath.
"Blue Rose, seven-o-clock." Lyle replied. She nodded.
"The Asian decor seafood restaurant?"
"That's the one." Lyle confirmed. He paused as he turned to leave. "Sis?"
"Lyle?"
"What, what do you see yourself doing in the future?"
"I'm not sure. Too many variables. Hopefully catching Jarod." She replied looking back down at her paperwork.
"Ever think about raising a family?" If the first question hadn't caught her off the hook, the second one did. She looked up sharply.
"Not really, why?" She half-asked, half-demanded. His eyes got a sort of faraway look.
"It's been on my mind." And with that, he was gone.
"Sis!" Lyle waved from a table with seating for four, and Miss Parker looked over from the entrance to the restaurant. Aimee sat next to him, smiling in her direction. She walked over to the table, questioning before sitting down.
"Four chairs, Lyle? Dare I ask for whom the other is for?"
"Dad." He replied simply, as she sat down. Aimee nodded to her.
"Good evening, Miss Parker. Glad you could make it." Miss Parker bit back a sharp remark, instead, forcing herself to smile back. She scanned the room with her eyes, noticing the large wooden dance floor in the center of the room, and the classical music playing softly in the back ground.
"Dad!" Lyle stood up, and Miss Parker craned her neck to see her father enter.
"Hello, son. Angel. What a surprise." Mr. Parker exclaimed, sitting down. "You must be Aimee." Aimee gave him the same smile she had given Miss Parker.
"Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Parker." She extended a hand, and he shook it warmly.
"Waiter...We'll take those menus now." Lyle waved, and the waiter nodded. Miss Parker watched Lyle's face carefully as he turned back to Aimee. Miss Parker herself didn't see what he saw in her, sure, she was beautiful, but so were many other women Lyle had been 'involved' with. But he sat there, staring at her face, his face radiating admiration and love. Aimee, on the other hand, made small talk with Mr. Parker, seemingly oblivious to his stare.
Watch out, Aimee. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing. Miss Parker warned silently. She waited for his eyes to drift downward, as she had see him do with so many other girls he passed. Yet, it never came. She thought back, carefully, and with a shock realized she hadn't seen him look at any women like that since Aimee came into the picture. She felt like bashing the girl over the head, and couldn't figure out why.
What have you done to my stupid twin brother? I liked it when he was predictable!!!
"Miss Parker?" She heard Aimee break through her thought process with a worried inquiry.
"What?" Miss Parker snapped, looking up sharply.
"The menus are here." Miss Parker realized that the waiter was standing next to her and Lyle, holding four menus in his hand. He passed them out, and stepped back.
"I'll be back in a few minutes, to see if you're ready to order."
With that, he left, and the small group of four began pouring over the menus.
It was minutes later, after they had ordered their food, that a small curtain swung back, revealing a stage just big enough for a small orchestra or jazz group. The stage was dark, and empty, and but, as Miss Parker watched, a few lights turned on, the classical music in the background faded, and a plethora of sound equipment was rolled onto the stage. A man came out, and grabbed a microphone.
"Back by popular demand, DJ Mick, the One Man Band!" A young man, with a lip ring, and white-streaked hair, moved behind the equipment and sat down. There was a small click, and the voice filled the room.
"First, I'm going to play a couple from the hit list, but I'll be taking requests later." Music filled the room, to the delight of Aimee, and the dismay of Miss Parker, it was modern.
Jingle a penny, catch a dime
"Lyle!" Aimee exclaimed. "I love this song! Dance?" She stood, and he accepted, not even paying attention to the words of the song.
Didn't have time
"I'll lead. You follow." Aimee whispered, out on the dance floor. Lyle nodded, only aware of her.
To write a decent rhyme
Grab some paper, pick up the pen
I'll tell you where
If you'll say when
"You've been practicing!" Aimee whispered in his ear, as they moved together. Lyle grinned boyishly.
"You noticed!"
No time to pause, no time to walk
Driving fast to make that last date
All my thoughts are on you
And I don't wanna be late
All I want to do is,
Dance with you
All night long
Push the button, play another song
All I want to do is
Just to dance with you
Dance with you
Until the sun comes up
Grab the espresso, drink a cup
So we won't have to stop
I wanna dance with you
Mr. Parker and Miss Parker watched with barely contained interest, as Aimee and Lyle danced, joined only by one other couple on the floor.
Toss the jacket, loosen your tie
As to how you're here
I won't ask why
Crank up the music, sing another tune
Can we dance again darling?
Maybe sometime soon.
The music fades and we're left standing
Wondering where they've gone
The party has left and we're alone
Who cares, let's play another song
Cause, all I want to do is,
Dance with you
All night long
Push the button, play another song
All I want to do is
Just to dance with you
Dance with you
Until the sun comes up
Grab the espresso, drink a cup
So we won't have to stop
I wanna dance with you
Lyle and Aimee came back to the table, winded, but grinning. Miss Parker suppressed the sudden desire to hit the nearest person with a large heavy object. Instead, she sighed. It was going to be a long, confusing night.
Aimee slipped her hand into Lyle's, as they walked down the beach. Both had taken their shoes off, and were carrying them in their free hand.
The sun shone brightly over the sea, climbing higher every minute, purple and pink streaks of color acting as stepladders for the yellow light.
"Aimee..." Lyle hesitated. Aimee looked up at him expectantly.
"Yes?" Lyle's stomach felt strange, but it was time to tell her the truth.
"Aimee, I'm not who you think I am." A flash of alarm claimed Aimee's face for a brief second, before she discerned his meaning.
"Tell me, then." She offered, already knowing most of the story, but also knowing that he needed to say it himself.
"I'm a horrible person." He forced the words out. "I've lost track of how many times I've killed..." He broke off, and motioned to a bench. "Can we sit down?"
"Sure." Aimee turned, and headed for the bench. They sat down, and he began again.
"I taken so many lives...I used to enjoy it, and that's what makes it worse. But...but, I want to change. And it's because of you." His eyes searched hers for acceptance, and Aimee saw the little heart-broken boy he had hid for so long.
"Me?" She feigned surprise.
"You." He confirmed. "I know I haven't known you very long, but, it's true. I want to show you something." He pulled a black, wire-bound notebook out of his jacket. It was a tattered, college-rule standard, and he handed it to her.
"This...this is the darkest part of me. And I don't want it anymore. I just wanted you to see it, and really know. Then I'm just going to toss it." Lyle lowered his eyes, and Aimee felt a pang of pity stroke her heart. He was risking rejection, to let her know who he really was. Still, she felt a slight curiousity about the notebook, and though everything inside of her was telling her to assure him, and not even open it, she did so anyway.
The first page had a name, date, and location on it. Followed by a short account of a rape and murder. She gasped. The information hit her like a punch in the stomach. She had been expecting horrible things, but nothing like this. She turned a page. The next was the same way, with a different name, date and location.
She began rapidly flipping through the book, anger building with each page. It was one-fourth-way full, then it cut off abruptly, the last entry dated just one day before she had first met him. She jumped up, hands trembling. All plans to forgive and forget had vanished, along with her calm disposistion.
"You MONSTER!" She screamed, and he cringed. She stormed off, still clutching the notebook. With a sense of relief, she realized he wasn't following her.
"Mr. Raines? I have something I need to give you. It's from Mr. Lyle." Aimee lied, slipping into the dim office. It was a lie, and she knew he would suffer, but she felt he deserved it. All those girls...
Raines extended a hand, and Aimee handed over the black notebook.
She left the room, feeling the deepest sense of regret she ever thought possible.
Aimee relaxed on the couch, and turned the radio on. The music drifted into the room, and the first words almost made her drop her coffee.
No one would love me if they knew
All the things I hide
My words fall to the floor
As tears drip through the telephone line
And the hands I've seen raised to the sky
Not waving but drowning all this time
I'll try to build the ark that they need
To float to you upon the crystal sea
Give me your hand to hold
Cause I can't stand to love alone
And love alone is not enough to hold us up
We've got to touch your robe
So swing your robe down low
Swing your robe down low
The prince of despair's been beaten
Lyle heard the lock click, and his head shot up.
"Hello?" No answer.
Willie came into view, Raines behind him. The last thing Lyle noticed was the black notebook. Then panic took over, as Willie wordlessly dragged him back to the shed, chains in hand.
But the loser still fights
Raines left, as Willie raised his hand to strike the first blow. Lyle felt the chain descend upon his shoulders, and the blood begin to trickle down his back. He screamed, as the chain was raised again.
Death's on a long leash
Willie's face was grim and set, as the chain was raised again over the trembling figure on the floor. It landed with a crack, and Lyle screamed again.
*make it go away...make it stop..just make it stop! MAMA! MAMA! MAKE HIM STOP HITTING ME!*
Suddenly, Lyle wasn't in the Shed Room of his apartment. He was in a cold shed, long ago, with someone else holding the chain. His Mama stood at the doorway, watching, tears falling down her face, but she made no move to help him.
"MAMA!" Lyle screamed, and Willie jumped back. But only for a second. Just for a brief second.
*make it stop! mama, help me...please...help me...*
Stealing my friends to the night
And everyone cries for the innocent
Lyle sobbed helplessly, and Willie clenched his jaw shut firmly. He was to do what Mr. Raines ordered. And nothing else.
You say to love the guilty, too
Aimee winced at the words, as their meaning hit hard.
And I'm surrounded by suffering and sickness
So I'm working tearing back the roof
Give me your hand to hold
Cause I can't stand to love alone
And love alone is not enough to hold us up
We've got to touch your robe
So swing your robe down low
Swing your robe down low
And the pain of the world is a burden
But it's my cross to bear
And I stumble under all the weight
I know you're Simon standing there
And I know you're standing there
Give me your hand to hold
Cause I can't stand to love alone
And love alone is not enough to hold us up
We've got to touch your robe
So swing your robe down low
