Page 28 of So Savage (Faith Bold #21)

Lillian sat bolt upright, hands folded primly in her lap, eyes wide, lips pressed in a thin line. She was naturally pale, but what little color she possessed had drained entirely from her face as she watched the tv.

“The most sensational trial in the nation has gained a salacious new twist,” the anchor—who looked more plastic than person to Lillian—informed her audience. “Dr. Franklin West—the alleged Copycat Killer who most believe has surpassed his inspiration, the infamous Donkey Killer, Jethro Trammell—has long been a subject of fascination for people, but for some, he’s the subject of a very different kind of fascination.

“Sources in the FBI’s Philadelphia Field Office have told Channel Eleven that a number of women have sent love letters to the alleged killer. Some of these letters include macabre promises to murder people in West’s name. A few even go into detail of how they would plan to murder others to honor West’s legacy. Several of them specifically name famed FBI Special Agent Faith Bold as a target. As many of you know, Faith Bold’s efforts contributed significantly to the identification and eventual capture of West, and during his trial, it came to light that West had developed an obsession with the femme fatale Agent Bold.”

Femme fatale? Femme fatale ? That cow? She was pretty enough, Lillian supposed, but femme fatale? Come on. She wasn’t at all Frank’s type. Frank wasn’t flirting with her, he was taunting her. He enjoyed hurting her, he didn’t fantasize about her in a romantic way.

“What’s even more shocking is the recent discovery that West has been returning some of these letters, referring to the hybristophiles with terms of endearment and even going so far as to suggest that they might enjoy a romantic relationship when he is freed.”

Lillian gasped. Some color came back to her cheeks to rest in flecks on her forehead and points just above her cheekbones. Frank? Had written them back ?

But… he hadn’t written her back.

She listened in shock as the anchor read some of the letters that Frank had written. The language in them was flowery and silly—clearly a private joke on Frank’s part and not to be taken seriously. But still… he hadn’t written Lillian back.

He had to know that she was different. He had to know that she wasn’t like them. She wasn’t just some bored tramp obsessed with death. She was an artist seeking to worship the master. No, even better. She sought to surpass him. He had inspired her to overtake him just as Trammell had inspired Frank. Why would he waste time teasing these whores but not even send her a single letter to tell her that he saw her, that he knew her, that he wanted…

But did he see her? Of course he did. He had to have seen her. They made eye contact. He… she…

She reached for the remote and turned the television off, then folded her hands in her lap again. It was clear now. She had been a very silly girl. Of course, he hadn't seen her. Why would he have seen her? She had tried to seduce him with a dress and makeup and by teasing her hair. She had literally been inspired by the memory of how she lost her virginity.

Frank wasn’t a high school student. He wasn’t some boy that Lillian was trying to use to check a box on the list of “things to do to become an adult.” He was an artist. He didn’t want to see another dolled-up slut. He wanted to see art.

“Oh, I’ll give him art,” she said. “I’ll give him art like he’s never seen.”

She got to her feet and headed to the shower. She felt slimy after watching that news special.

But the slime would wash away. She would fix this. She would show West that there was only one woman worth his attention. It wasn’t those hyper… hubris… whatever they were. It certainly wasn’t that hoity-toity goody-two-shoes definitely-not-femme-fatale Faith Bold.

No, it was her. Lillian Martin. The Messenger Killer. The third Messiah walking in the footsteps of Jethro Trammell and Franklin West.

As the warm water cascaded over her body, she felt herself relax. This was only a minor setback. It wasn’t the end of the world. She would fix it, and when she did, West and everyone else would know the truth.

“He’ll see,” she reassured herself. “They’ll all see.”

She left the shower, toweled off, and ordered a pizza for dinner. She turned the TV on and switched the news off. She'd seen enough of that. She'd rent a movie tonight and decompress.

Then, in the morning, she would find a way to get Faith Bold’s attention. Something big. Something shocking. Something she couldn’t ignore. A message that she would have no choice but to respond to.