Page 4 of Antihero (Tregam’s Fractured Souls #3)

Chapter three

T he Wraith of White Rock struck again last night.

Fred Whitloc—another man in his late fifties—found garrotted in his bed.

This news circulates, even to the asylum, since Whitloc used to be deputy mayor of the island some two decades ago.

The Wraith sure seems interested in high-profile types.

I shove any interest in the story deep, deep down.

This isn’t for me. I’d thought to isolate myself from all of this.

But, as it turns out, there are killers everywhere you go.

Once I find myself lingering in the dining hall after dinner, ear tuned to conversations floating around about the attack—how he was naked, the window was open, a possible forced entry but no clear sign of him trying to get away—I realise I need to remove myself.

I throw on a pair of sweatpants and a singlet, and go for a run. No clear direction in mind. I end up in Kidswal anyway, huffing and soaked from a mixture of sweat and the wet-air feel of the low cloud hanging over the island. But at least I’m no longer thinking about the damned Wraith.

When I spot Paige, the self-preserving part of me nearly does an about-face before she sees me.

However all the other, less-preserving parts make me approach her as she lingers outside a shop window.

Since I’ve never seen her in anything but bleached cleaning whites, I falter at the sight of her now.

Her hair is down, glossy and wavy, almost to her waist, cascading over the turned-down hood of her oversized jacket.

The first thing my mind does is imagine what it would be like to run my fingers through that hair, or grab it just a little too roughly. I push that image away, cursing myself.

The things I'm feeling for her are definitely not just some weird fetish I didn't know I had for cleaners then. How problematic.

While I'm considering whether I've come too close to back away without her noticing now, Paige tilts her head, sees me, and does a double take. She turns to face me, smiling widely. "John! I didn't know you came down here."

"Yeah, I don't, really. I'm just running."

Her lips curve. "You sure seem to exercise a lot," she comments, then seems to remember she's seen me shirtless, and blushes.

Dragging my hand back through my hair, I push the damp locks back from my face and force my gaze aside, lest she think I'm staring. "It’s like meditation for me… and there's not much else to do," I admit.

With a laugh, hugging the three books she’s carrying to her chest, she says, "I suppose that’s true."

I gesture at the books. "Besides reading."

Glancing down at her haul, she smiles. "Oh, yes, I've read them all, though. Just revisiting some favourites."

"Can I see?" I ask, stepping within reach. Paige frowns, as though surprised, but hands them over.

Glancing at the titles, I hold two in one hand, the Count of Monte Cristo and And Then There Were None . "I guess these are suitable."

Frowning, she asks quickly, "What do you mean?"

"Just that they're set on islands."

"Oh," she breathes, then smiles.

Glancing at the other, Zodiac, my smile strains. A book about a serial killer, great . I hand them back. "I better be getting back before curfew," I say, stepping back.

"It’s good to see you outside of there," Paige says, meeting my eye again.

Nodding in answer, I make to leave. She's already turned away when I make myself stop, face her, and ask, "Would you want to see me again?

Outside the castle? Maybe, around…" I gesture, now glancing around at the pointedly dead and dreary street, and suddenly wonder what on Earth I'm offering; I end with, "… er, here?"

But Paige beams, like she’s been awaiting this question, rather than dreading it. "Yes! I'd really like that."

***

If I knew her number, I'd call and cancel. What was I thinking? She's sweet, and I'm… I don't need to go into what I am.

But I won't stand her up. I'm not that much of a monster.

We planned to meet in the square behind the main street of Kidswal.

A small expanse of mosaic tiles arranged in an expanding circle, bordered by the more popular shops.

There's a fountain in the middle that never seems to be switched on, and a couple of trees on the edge.

Their leaves are long gone this late in autumn, so the branches are optimistically strewn with fairy lights instead.

I'm waiting less than a minute before she approaches me. The sun is still up, though casting a watery orange glow, the temperature dropping rapidly. She’s wearing a pale blue beanie over her loose hair, and the same large jacket that I saw her in yesterday, which reaches her thighs.

"Hungry?" Paige asks. Her cheeks are slightly reddened, and her hands are deep in her pockets as though she's already cold.

I look at the warm light of the only restaurant that’s open. "Sure."

Paige must sense my hesitation, because she tilts her head. "Unless you'd like to go for a walk instead? The sun is setting soon."

Finding myself releived not to have to sit amid the hum of voices and clatter, I smile and gesture her to lead. I've become too used to quiet, isolation.

We climb up to the moors by the west cliff, where the moss is deep and soft, sometimes sinking me as much as half a foot with each step, and sometimes disguising a sharp rock an inch down.

It’s my favourite place on this island, with a view of the sun as it sets over the mainland; low enough to briefly burn through some of the fog.

Being here on a date feels nice, almost normal. It helps me forget.

But I lie. And lie. And lie.

“What happened to your hands?”

I resist balling my hands into fists to hide the too-smooth pads of my fingers, the red scars like spilled liquid that wrap over my palm.

Should’ve kept my gloves on. I burned my hands while I was trying to burn the face off my partner because I thought he killed my sister, while the true answer, was not going to work.

“I spilled cooking oil on my hands. When I was younger.” I’m sitting on a large boulder, grown over with that thick, soft lichen so completely that no sight of the rock underneath remains.

The place smells of rich earth. “You’ve always been on this island?

" I ask, trying again to divert the conversation back to her.

She's been too curious for it to work so far.

Paige skips up to the boulder. Her boots, with their fluffy tops, near-disappear into the earthy green ground with each step. "I came here when I was very young. I don't remember much from before that."

"Your family is here?" I ask, watching her.

Her eyes flicker to me for a moment. "They were."

There it is, that something I've seen in her before. Maybe it’s the thing that’s drawing me to her, as screwed up as I am. Some undefinable sadness in her eyes, under the sweet demeanour. Something that warns not to be pressed.

I don't know if I should press, so I don't.

"You?" Paige comes to sit next to me, her hip almost brushing mine as she sways and playfully nudges my shoulder with hers—although with the height difference, this pretty much results in her brushing my bicep. "Here to start a family?"

Laughing, I shake my head. "Not quite."

"Good."

I raise an eyebrow. "Is it?"

"Well," she muses, leaning back on her hands and swinging her legs. The back of her boots thump softly on each mossy impact. "I can't have children." Paige spots my confused frown and manages a weak smile. "Just a medical thing."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be! I don't think I like kids that much, anyway.

" Paige tilts her head away. Her next words tumble out awkwardly, like she's embarrassed to have alluded to the possibility we might one day do anything that could make babies.

"Maybe that’s too much for a first date.

I just like to get that information out there early.

Wouldn't want to waste your time if you're set on dadhood. "

I look at her for long enough that she’s forced to meet my eyes. "You're not wasting my time," I say, and the smile that grows on her face in response is warm enough to burn away some of the ice over my heart.

The light is dim as we descend back into town, the rocks slick. Until now, Paige has been nimble on the uneven ground, not slipping once. So, when she takes my arm as though to steady herself, I feel a treacherous warm glow spread through my chest, one to match her warmth seeping through my jacket.

It's going well until we get back into town. The restaurant is closing, and my curfew is due soon. Paige picks up a newspaper left on a table, looking for the movie schedule for our next date. Which, she told me, had to be somewhere warmer.

The death of the former deputy is on the front page as I turn to face her. "Bit of a local haunting, huh? The Wraith?"

She peeks at what I'm talking about, then opens back to the movie’s page somewhere in the middle. "Oh yeah, for a bit over a year now. He's got some agenda alright, who knows what."

"She," I say absently.

Frowning up at me, Paige asks, "What?"

"I, uh, I think it’s a woman."

Shaking her head once, the newspaper lowers. "Female serial killers are very rare." What would she say if she found out that I was related to one of the worst of them? If she found out that I, myself… "Why would you think that?" Paige prompts.