Serpent's Deceit (Entry 023)

 

I stare up at the grey-brown house before me. The house seems to stare back at me. This house has seen so many things, and yet it looks the exact same as it did when I was five years old. How? One incident and I am already losing myself. How to be as strong as this house?

Well, saying the house has not changed at all might not be exactly true because, though the look is still the same, the environment has definitely changed. The yellow tape, the uniformed officers, the police cars, the serious noises coming from the walkie-talkies have changed the atmosphere so much that the party from last night feels like a fever dream now.  

Someone comes out of the front door, and my eyes go to them. It is Hunter, followed by an officer. He looks…exactly as shitty as me. Dishevelled and broken. Like our whole world has turned upside down.

We stare at each other, sharing a long silent moment. I cannot move forward despite wanting to. I am already standing on the edge of the tape. He decides to take the initiative to step forward. Now we are standing before each other, the tape separating us like a border dividing two countries. I glance at the officer through the corner of my eye. He is keeping a keen eye on us.

I look back at Hunter, and I see it in his eyes. He is breaking inside; if not, it is already done. I want to hug him so badly and cry on his shoulder. But this simple task is now impossible. 

I do not know if he is aware of it but extends his hand anyway. And the officer barks just in time, as if he has been waiting for this exact moment, “Not now!”

Hunter glares at him but decides to keep his hands down and his mouth shut. Then he turns to me with the same vulnerable look in his eyes. After a brief eye contact, he nods once curtly before turning around and walking towards one of the waiting police cars. I watch as he gets in, along with the police officer, and the car drives off.

I stare off at the empty road after the car turns the corner. Then I watch the cops running around, everyone busy with their own work. It is regular work for them. They do not feel the same way as I do. They do not feel the same heaviness as I do. They do not feel the heavy weight of sorrow in them. They do not feel anything. No one here feels anything for her.

I lost my Ray. Oh God! I lost my best friend.

I feel the wave of sadness crush me again as a sob escapes my mouth. I bury my face in my palms. 

“Good morning, Miss Tulip,” says someone from behind me and the voice alone is enough to chill me to the bone. That is Richard. Why is he here?

I take a deep breath to compose myself before turning around. I am right. He is here with his gang, which obviously includes his son and the bodyguard. They are all dressed in formal attire, all black, as if they are about to attend a funeral. I swallow my sadness.

“We heard about your loss and were deeply saddened by the news. On behalf of all of us, I would like to express our deepest condolences. We can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. Please know that our thoughts and prayers are with you during this difficult time,” Richard ends his speech with his hand on his chest, and all three of them bow to me.

I just stand there, staring at them dumbfounded. Is this a joke to them?

My eyes go to Alfie. He is still bowing, but his head is up, eyes locking with mine. I do not fucking know what to feel about him anymore. 

In the interrogation, I have omitted a lot of things deliberately. One of the things was that I suspect him very much. Well, not only suspect; I actually believe that it is him. There is no evidence to me that proves that he killed Ray. That means there is no clear reason for me to believe that he has done it, except for the fact that he is involved in gang violence and threatening people, he is her boyfriend that I did not know about, and he was present at the party last night. Well, that is a lot of evidence, actually, but none of them is directly involved in her murder. But I just know it is him.

The realisation makes me see red. Before I end up doing something I regret, I turn on my heels and start leaving. Will they let me leave peacefully? Obviously, no. The head of the Goddamn gang speaks as I have taken two steps, “I understand that you might be grieving, but that was quite rude to ignore us.”

The audacity of this man never fails to irritate me. They have something to do with her death; now I am more sure of it. The way he is behaving and talking is very fake. If Alfie is really her boyfriend, should he not be grieving too in some sort of way? I have not seen an ounce of anything of that sort in his eyes.

“I need space,” I say, as naturally as I can, without turning back. But obviously, Richard does not bother to listen.

“Of course. But before that, my son here wants to have a little chitchat with you. Do you think you will spare him a few minutes?”

I turn around this time, giving ‘his son’ a look. He is staring at me with an unwavering gaze. Like his father and the bodyguard, he is also wearing black. His attire looks the same as what he usually wears; the only difference is the colour. Draped in a long black coat, with an equally black shirt and black pants, he is finally the portrait of the Grim Reaper. He has his hands tucked in his pants’ pockets, and I am pretty sure that his gun is tucked into his waist under the coat. 

Interesting how he has an innocent façade and how his father is portraying him just like that. Why are they behaving in this way all of a sudden? What do they want from me? 

Should I agree? Do I even have a choice not to agree?

I feel an urge to test it. “Later. I need to go home now.”

“He can drop you off,” Richard speaks up even before I finish my sentence. My eyebrows furrow automatically. What is actually happening here? Why is he so insistent on tagging Alfie along with me?

“Why do you want me to be with him so badly?” I ask directly because fearing them is not working in my favour anyway. Richard laughs at my question. “I don't. He does.”

“It doesn't look like that to me.” I keep my eyes trained on Richard while I say the next thing, “If he really did, he would have said so.”

Before Richard can reply, his son does, “So you would agree if I ask you to give me a few minutes to talk with you, Carino?”

Surprising enough is to admit that hearing his voice for the first time since they have stepped before me makes me tremble a little. Yes, even I am surprised by my own reaction. What have I felt? Fear? Anger? Or something else? I do not know.

I look back at him this time. He is standing with the same posture; the only difference is the challenge in his eyes. 

I turn around and start walking again, not before throwing over my shoulder, “Walk with me. 5 minutes.”

I do not have any idea why I have done it. They have been insisting, but they have not held me at gunpoint yet. So, I still might have a way out of there.

After taking two or three steps, I feel him matching my pace. I do not hear him walking exactly. An effective skill for someone with a gun, possibly a killer. 

We walk side by side silently for a few minutes. His father has been so insistent that he has something to tell me, and here he is keeping his mouth shut. My patience is running thin with each passing silent second. Does he even have anything to say? What is his deal?

I also keep my eyes open for the surroundings. Who knows, he might just take me somewhere dangerous in the name of talking?

When I am lost in thoughts of what possible dangers he can lead me to, he finally breaks the silence by just calling my name, “Tulip?”

This is the second time he has called me by my name. Do not ask me why I am keeping a count of that. Even I do not know.

I do not respond to him. But he gets the cue to continue. And he asks the most random question known to mankind, “What is madness to you?”

“What?” I almost bark at him, half in annoyance and half in confusion. Because let's be real, what kind of question is that?

I snap my head at him at the same time, and he shrugs, staring ahead and not meeting my gaze. “You heard me.”

The frown automatically comes on my brows as I stare at him. His slick black hair is brushed back to perfection. It is so perfect that not one strand is out of line. That pure perfection is irking me. Honestly, everything about him is irritating me at this point. I do not know why I am still here with him.

“Why are you asking me that?”

He turns his head to me this time, a slight smile playing on his lips as if he is finding my annoyance amusing. “Why aren't you just answering?”

I respond instantly, as if it has been ready on my tongue, “Because I'm quite sure you aren't here, wasting both my and your time, to ask me what madness is.”

In response to that, he just stares at me with that same annoying expression. He is starting to test my patience at this point. I match his gaze with a glaring one. It goes on for I do not know how long. Somewhere in between, he mumbles, “Hm, got me.”

What is with that look? I realise that he is not just looking like he is amused by my expression. There is something else there too.

I look away. The thing about people like him is that the less you see, the better. 

“What is it that you were dying to talk to me about?” I ask next as we round the corner. I am very tempted to look back at this point to see if Richard and Leo are still there. But I decide to resist the urge. 

“What did Ray tell you?” he asks, without beating around the bush for once. My eyes go to his shoes to see what he is wearing. It is just a formal shoe. Is it the shoe, or does he just walk like that? He is seriously making no sound while I am walking with loud, slippery sounds with each step. It might be because I am wearing slippers two sizes bigger than mine.

“About what?” I inquire, this time staring at my own shoes. They are Dax’s, actually. The shirt I am wearing is his too. I could not find anything of what I was wearing last night in his house. With a belt, I am making his shirt work somewhat like a mini dress.

His next question brings my attention back to the conversation. “What was the last conversation you had with her?”

“Why are you asking me?”

He lets out an exaggerated breath. “You know, you can answer my questions without throwing back another question.”

“You know, I'm not bound to answer your questions.” Yeah, I am not sure why I am even arguing with him.

“But you will.” He sounds unnaturally sure. I look back at him. He is staring back but this time, he has his hand that is on my side, at his waist. His coat has slid back and….he has his gun tucked in there. So, I have been right. He has his gun exactly where I have thought he would, and he is once again threatening me with it.

I don't know why, but the situation makes me laugh. I laugh so hard that tears start forming in my eyes. I notice his eyes widening slightly at my weird expression, but he quickly composes himself. I do not know why; the sight of his gun this time is not making me fearful. I honestly feel nothing more than that the situation is quite hilarious. I think losing my best friend is pushing me to be mad. Oh, I get the answer to his question now, I think. 

I double over, laughing. I have a high hope for myself that I will be the definition of madness within the next 48 or 72 hours. 

“I think I found the answer to your question,” I tell him after the laughter dies down and I wipe the tears in the corners of my eyes.

He has moved his hand down now, hiding the metal weapon inside his coat again. One of his eyebrows shoots upwards. “About madness? Tell me.”

I think for a second before flashing my teeth at him. I start rhyming, tilting my head left and right in rhythm. “Magic, madness, heaven, and sin.”

Dumbfounded, he gives me a once-over. Not sure what to do with me, he brings his hand to his face and then pulls it back down. Then he asks, “What has gotten into you?”

“Murder,” I chirp, my grin widening to a point that I am sure it is looking uncanny. I lean closer to him and mumble like a chant, “My best friend's murder.”

He nods with careful eyes trained on me, obviously still not getting what is going on. However, it looks like he is about to give up. “Well, if you're feeling….not like having it, then we can talk later.”

“Nope.” I shake my head like a drunk person as I take a step forward. He leans backwards slightly, not stepping back physically. But I see it, the subtlety of fear of the unknown. I lean towards him more. “You want to talk. So, we're gonna talk right now. You wanna know what Ray told me? She said you would kill her one day. Satisfied?”

His confused expression instantly turns into a suspicious one. The perfectly arched brows knit together as his lips press into a thin line. A second later, he responds, “She didn’t say that.”

I shrug, turning around abruptly to start walking again. “If you know it, why are you asking me?”

“I don’t know exactly what she said, but that is definitely not it.” It is his confidence that is getting on my nerves now. 

“Why do you know it?” I ask him the most obvious question. After it leaves my mouth, I realise the mistake. I think I have just boosted his confidence and ego.

And I am right. His lips pull up into a proud grin. Before he can reply, I wave my hand dismissively. “Forget I said that. You're wrong. She said that. And there are other things she said as well. I will tell you those under one condition.”

His eyes glint with amusement, as if to say, “Are you even in a position to give me conditions?” But he lifts his chin up in a gesture to hear my condition.

So I bring my condition to the surface. “Why did you kill her?”

He does not look surprised at the question. But the amusement is gone from his face. He looks at me with a neutral expression; the sunlight glints in his iris at a perfect angle. He asks me, “Why are you sure that it's me who killed her?”

I shrug. “I just know.”

“And what you know is wrong. I did not kill Rachel,” he says sternly. I have never heard him use that tone. Not even when he was in Dax's house, not when he was telling me the amount of money on the phone and not when he was receiving the money. So, I am left surprised for a moment by his sure tone. Maybe I am even confused about my intuition.

But I have never had such a strong intuition. I am so sure that I am not wrong. Just because he is speaking in a dominating way does not mean that he is telling the truth. He is the prince of Nidhraxis. It is not his first homicide. Definitely not his first time deceiving someone.

“What's that?” I ask about the bandage at the base of his neck that is peeking from his shirt collar whenever he moves his head to the other side. I have been noticing it since he started walking with me. It is on my side of his neck, after all.

His hand travels to that exact place. His eyes light up again as if he has been waiting for me to ask him this exact question. I see it so clearly in his expression, yet he acts like he is surprised that I have noticed it.

“This? I got a new tattoo. Wanna guess what it is?”

I should have said ‘no’ or shaken my head in negative. But I have a feeling he will not listen anyway. So I just stare at him, waiting for him to fill the silence. 

And he does. “It's the same thing I gifted you.” He then rips off the bandage.

He is right. It is the same ‘thing’ he has gifted me. A circular tattoo which is mainly a big tulip followed by a veiny, thick stem that starts from underneath the petals and rounds back to the top, just like that gift. Why has he done a tattoo of that? 

I am still not sure what that ‘thing’ was. And on top of that, I have lost it. Sad, I know.  But I do not remember exactly when I lost it. On top of that, Ray's house is closed off. So, I cannot just go in there to search for it either. 

As if hearing my thoughts, he inquires, “By the way, where's it?”

I feign innocence. “Where's what?”

He taps on his new tattoo. I shrug nonchalantly. “It is somewhere.”

He stares at me with that annoying side-smile for a long moment, before sliding his hand inside his coat. “It's this one, no?” And then he pulls out his hand, palm open before my eyes. The matte black box stares at me, red lining winking in the sunlight.

I stare back at it, frozen, trying to decipher how the hell it has landed back in his hands. I have lost it, yes, but surely not in a place where he will get it back. The memory of how he gave me the gift flashes in my mind, and I shiver. Is that event gonna repeat?

What a weird thought! I wrap my arms around myself and glare up at him. “Why do you have it?”

He laughs, enjoying my discomfort. “Maybe because you're not a responsible owner.”

He steps forward, and I almost instinctively step back. From the look of him, he is definitely enjoying this. He raises his hands in surrender, the box bound to his right palm with his thumb. With a laugh, he says, “I haven't even done anything. Why are you so defensive?”

What is there to laugh about? I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Your history with me isn't so good.”

His eyes twinkle again. “Your history with me will be so much better from now on.”

Before I get to understand what that means, he clicks the box open, bringing my attention back to it. “I believe you didn't get the time to understand what this is?”

I do not want to humiliate myself any further. So, I decide to keep my mouth shut. He does not mind my silence as he starts to reveal the mystery of the tulip. 

In the sunlight, the colour of the tulip looks more on the reddish side. But it is not exactly like a natural red tulip. While the flower is very eye-catching, the stem looks just as bad. It is almost like the colour of fungi on spoiled food and looks like that too. I scrunch up my nose as he touches the stem.

He probably has seen my expression as I hear him chuckle again. “It's hurtful to see you staring at my gift with such disgust, you know.”

I do not say anything this time either. I am just too interested in seeing what this thing is.

A click sound reaches my ear, and I see the end of the stem that has gone underneath the flower has detached from the flower. There's a small magnet or metal disk underneath it. 

Alfie explains, “If you still don't get it, it's a choker. You can wear it as a bracelet too by shortening the length.” He shows how to shorten it, basically by slightly pulling or pushing the middle of the stem. He adds, “But the most interesting feature is-”

He pushes a fingertip in between the petals, at the centre exactly. There is no sound this time, but when he pulls out the finger, I see blood dribbling out of his fingertip. It makes me frown. As I try to peer inside, a shiny object comes out swiftly. It has a sharp blade, the size of half a finger. 

The realisation dawns upon me. It is a secret weapon that Alfie has gifted me. 

I open my mouth, but he makes a noise before I say anything. I look up to find him pressing his index finger on his lips, gesturing to me to not say anything and winks. My frown deepens. 

“You will bleed every time you open it,” He remarks poetically, taking the bloodied fingertip in his mouth and sucking it. That is a simple action, but I suddenly feel uncomfortable seeing it. I look away.

“Now that you understand the value of it, keep it on you.” He drops the box, and it lands on my palm. The stem is still detached, and the blade is still out, as if taunting me to press my finger on it. I look up to find Alfie already stepping back.

“I gotta go now. But don't worry. I still didn't get the answer to my question. I will come back for that.” And with that, he bows at the waist before turning around and walking away. I stare at him as he walks away, not realising yet that he has given me a more valuable thing than the weapon. His DNA on the blade.