Tabloid Trix Chapter 36
Jim and Trixie's apartment…
Aidan peered through the doorway, expecting to find a crowd of people comforting Jim. Instead, he found a dimly lit apartment and a tall man leaning against a window, his shoulders slumped. He debated briefly whether or not he should intrude, and was about to turn away when Jim pivoted and looked directly at him.
"I'm sorry Jim," Aidan said, a note of apology in his voice. "I didn't mean to intrude."
"It's okay, Aidan. Is there… is there any news out there?" He couldn't help the defeated tone in his voice. It always seemed Trixie had nine lives. But even nine lives ran out sometimes. And that was what he feared the most; that she was on the last of her nine lives.
"Actually there is, Jim. There is news. I'm surprised nobody came in here to speak to you. Apparently LoJack picked up the whereabouts of the taxi. Those two detectives, dumb and dumber, went to the scene. It was picked up in an alleyway down in Alphabet City."
"Great. Wonderful. I'm just her husband. Was… was Trixie inside?"
"If it makes you feel any better, nobody made an announcement out there, either. I just happened to be skulking in the hallway and overheard the detectives. From what I was able to gather, I don't think Trixie was there."
Jim sank down on the couch, burying his face in his hands. After rubbing at his temples he looked up Aidan. "And you were coming over here because…"
"Because, because I don't know, Jim. Maybe because this is Trixie's apartment. Maybe because I just wanted to be close to her things. Believe me, I know she's yours. But you know what she's like and it's kind of hard to get over her." Aidan sent up a quick prayer that Jim wouldn't get up and sock him one in the mouth.
Just for a moment, Jim contemplated doing just that. But as he looked into the grey-green eyes of his rival for Trixie's affections, he could see the same misery that must be reflected in his own emerald ones. A small smile tilted the corner of his mouth. Trixie would love this, the two men in her life, usually at odds with each other, sitting down in a deserted apartment and commiserating.
Fate was a bitch sometimes.
The alleyway in Alphabet City…
Levi and Dhannie were staring straight into the clouded eyes of Bastian, the missing taxi driver. "He's alive! Get the EMTs over here right away!" Lee was elated. It wasn't Trixie's body, and the taxi driver might be able to provide a clue. Anything. Any thing right now.
"Use gloves when you're touching that duct tape. There might be latent prints on it." The detective stood off to one side while the EMTs worked on Bastian, peeling the tape carefully off his mouth and his dreadlocks.
"His pulse is a bit thready. His oxygen saturation is also a bit low. Let's get a mask on this guy and start a bag of Ringer's." The man's pupils were dilated, so he obviously was drugged in some way. "You are going tobe okay, man. Just relax. We got you now."
"Do you think he will be able to talk? I really need to ask him some questions." Dhannie hated to do it but the quicker they got answers, the faster they may be able to find Trixie before it was too late.
Bastian heard the men talking and was trying, with difficulty, to follow the thread of the conversation. He was safe. Safe. Tears sprang to his dark brown eyes. He was alive, living and breathing; if he could, he would have fallen to the ground on his knees and sent up a fervent thank you to Heaven.
An Indian man loomed over him, his voice gentle. "Can you talk?" he asked. "I am Detective Dhanraj Jayaram. Do you know who did this to you?"
Bastian shook his head; gestured for the oxygen mask to be removed. "It was just a fare," his voice was hoarse and gravelly, not at all like the musical lilt that was his tone.
"You picked him up in front of the Locard Society Building. It was after you dropped off Trixie Frayne," Dhannie prompted.
"Yes." He began to cough, and took another deep gulp of the oxygen. "It was strange. I never pick up fares there." His eyes widened. "Trixie! Did one of my other drivers pick her up?"
Dhannie's eyes slid over to someone out of the range of Bastian's vision. Choosing to ignore the question, he continued his interrogation. "Bastian, do you remember where the address was the fare asked to you drive him to?"
"Sure, mon. It was bad, really bad. In the South Bronx. I… I asked the dude if it was a right address. I mean hell, he looked so normal. He gave me some story about his company buying a building there or something." Bastian closed his eyes, his voice fading.
"What happened when you got to the address?" Dhannie hated to do it, he hated to press the obviously sick man, but they needed answers and they needed them now.
"I think he tried to pretend that there was some mistake. He got out of the taxi and the next thing I know he was yanking open the door and I felt the sting of the needle."
"Do you think he would recognize this man if you saw him again? Would you be able to work with the sketch artist?"
" , mon. Yeah." A light sweat had broken out on Bastian's forehead. Dhannie motioned to the EMTs to take him away. He wouldn't be any good to them if he expired now because of whatever was in that syringe.
"This perp thinks he's a smart guy. He left behind a lot of stuff, including a living witness. What the hell do you think is going on here, Dhannie?" Levi was frustrated.
Dhannie leaned against the taxi, looking very relaxed. To those who knew him the best, the posture would reveal the signs of that exceptional intelligence kicking into high gear. "He is a smart guy, Lee. We've got a lot of clues here, but not one of them is telling us where Trixie is. And not one of them is telling us where he took her or what he wants with her."
Back at Jim and Trixie's…
Aidan sat across from Jim on the loveseat. To be honest, he really would've loved to have Jim for a friend if he hadn't married Trixie. The other man looked so miserable that he attempted a little small talk in order to break the suffocating silence.
"Do you mind if I ask you a question, Jim?" He really did want to know something. And of course, it was about Trixie.
"Knock yourself out, man."
"Is it true that you pulled a gun on Trixie when you first met? I mean, the guys back in Sleepyside told me this wild story about Trixie and Honey breaking into some old mansion that burned down a long time ago. I thought they were all pulling my leg. Now I'm just wondering if it was all the truth."
A ghost of a smile flitted across Jim's lips. He stared down at his hands, remembering the feel of the shotgun in his hands as he pointed it at the two girls so many years ago. "It's absolutely, positively, without a doubt, true."
Aidan had to laugh. "I can't believe that you would ever, at any time, pull a gun on Trixie."
"I didn't know her then. All I knew was, I was a runaway staying in my uncle's old decrepit mansion, when Trixie and Honey broke in. My first thought was that my stepfather had found me, and was going to drag me back to his crappy little farm. I looked up and saw her and nothing has ever been the same."
"Well, I guess that's the stuff legends are made of. You know, I just want to tell you that everybody in high school warned me that Trixie belonged to you. I just couldn't believe that you would let someone so beautiful and so much fun be available without staking an official claim. I guess I sort of figured if you were really serious about her, she'd be wearing your high school ring or something."
"For your information, Aidan, I gave my Trixie an engagement ring when she was 13 and I was 15." For a moment, Jim was lost in the memory of a snow bank, crystals sparkling across sandy eyelashes, and the relief he felt that she wasn't really in love with his cousin – and the chagrin when she rudely informed him she wouldn't marry him if he were the last man on earth.
"I'm sure there's more to this story than…"
A soft knock interrupted whatever Aidan was going to say. A tall woman with a cap of short dark hair was framed in the doorway. As both men looked at her, Lissa gave voice to the urgent question that may mean the difference between life and death for Trixie Belden Frayne.
"Which one of you is James Winthrop Frayne the second?"
5 Beekman…
When she tried to get up, her head began pounding and a wave of dizziness pressed her back against the pillows. Tears rose unbidden into her pretty eyes, now dulled by the headache and whatever drug he had administered to her. A bottle of water sat tantalizingly on the nightstand, and she wanted nothing so much as to reach over and drink deeply.
But it was probably drugged, too. When she skimmed Will's files on the Dollmaker, most of the early victims had no marks on them except for where it was assumed he had restrained them. There were no puncture marks or any other indication that a drug was administered to them by force. There were no defensive wounds either. That left one other supposition; that they were ingesting the drugs in their food or drink. She needed to keep her wits about her. No matter how much her mouth tasted like cotton, she wouldn't drink or eat anything he may bring her.
In the silence of the room, she heard the snick of the door unlocking. She closed her eyes and waited, cursing the fact she was still as weak as a newborn kitten, and there was nothing around her to use as a weapon.
The excitement in him was almost at maniacal levels. He pulled it off. He finally got his hands on almost – Becky. She was every bit the living and breathing incarnation of that long-ago Christmas present. Everything he worked for, everything Becky wanted was going to come true.
He pulled at some of the wispy curtain shrouding the bed away from its side, and sat on the mattress. Oh, almost – Becky could try to fool him, but he knew she was awake. Becky was in a different spot on the bed. He briefly wondered if Becky had tried to make friends with her human vessel.
"What do you think of her, Becky? Isn't she just perfect?" The man's voice rang out in the room, for a surreal moment Trixie wondered if he was speaking to her. A moment later, she realized he was speaking to the doll, because after a short pause he continued the conversation.
"I know you're jealous of her hair, Becky. But soon it's going to be your hair. Your hair, your skin, your beating heart. You never have to be broken and disfigured again."
She wanted to scream. She was in a bed that was not her own, in a room that was decked out for a bride, with that crazy man talking to a doll who he thinks was responding to him. She and Honey had been in a lot of adventures, dealt with a lot of criminals and even had a few dealings with people that were not quite there, like Diana's fake uncle.
But she never had to deal with a psychopath before. That was something beyond her experience, and she needed to figure out a way to keep him away from her and to keep herself alive.
Back at Jim and Trixie's…
The woman walked into the apartment without invitation. She flipped open her wallet and said precisely, "Lissa Ann Thorne. Interpol."
Both Jim and Aidan stood, the same thought crossing their minds. Only Jim spoke it aloud.
"I'm James Frayne. Is this about Trixie? Do you have any additional information? Why on earth is Interpol involved?"
"Do you mind if I sit down? I do have some information. I need you to listen, and listen well. Is it all right if I speak in front of him?" She hooked a thumb over to where Aidan was standing.
Impatient, Jim's voice was brusque as he answered. "Look, lady, I don't care if you get a bullhorn, smash the window, and broadcast it to the world at large. If you have any information about my wife I want to know it now." He stuck his hands in his pocket, to better keep himself from going over there and just shaking it out of her.
"All right. I need you to be quiet and just listen to what I have to say. I know who has Trixie, I know why he took her, and I know what he wants to do with her. I've been tracking him for years."
The woman who introduced herself as Lissa Ann Thorne continued in her soft voice, almost speaking to herself. "I know who he is and what he is, because he's my brother."
5 Beekman…
"You can stop pretending you're asleep, almost – Becky." The man put his hand on Trixie's calf. "I know you're not. Becky knows you're not." His voice was almost sing-songy when he spoke to her.
She couldn't let him know how repulsed she was by his touch. She didn't move, didn't pull back, even though a shudder snaked up her spine. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes to look at her captor.
He was not what she expected, she thought in shock. She hadn't really gotten a good look at him in the taxi and now she took the time to study him. She almost anticipated a sort of Charles Manson clone, with wild eyes and a look of madness about him. Instead what she saw was a fairly good-looking man, someone you would pass in the street and not give a second thought to.
Except for the eyes.
His eyes were almost colorless, frightening. Deep inside of them, she could almost see the flame of madness igniting. It wasn't an overt craziness, but a deep-seated insanity that was even more terrifying. He smiled at her, an even, white smile that spoke of careful dental maintenance. He extended his hand to her, his nails clean and manicured. "Hello, almost – Becky. We are going to be great friends. And lovers too. You'll have everything you ever wanted, and then some." He took her limp hand in his. His fingers felt cool against her overheated skin.
"I need to introduce myself. My name is Hunter. You may be familiar with my name. I am quite well known in some circles. Hunter. Hunter Lavigne."
Back at Jim and Trixie's…
Jim was out of his seat in a shot, pinning this Thorne lady to the chair. "What do you mean, your brother has my wife? If you know this, why come here? Why not go to the police?" He gave her a little shake.
Aidan stationed himself behind Lissa's chair, placing a strong hand on Jim's shoulder. In a quiet, but firm voice, he tried to defuse Jim's temper. "Jim. Back off. Let the lady have her say." He gave her a stern look. "After she says her piece, then we'll decide who we should contact."
Jim bit his bottom lip so hard he nearly drew blood. Reluctantly releasing her, he stepped back and growled, "Okay lady. Let's hear what you have to say. And make it snappy, or else I'll get Hulk in here and have him turn you over to the police, Interpol or no Interpol."
Lissa rubbed her arms, sure tomorrow that she would have bruises. She couldn't blame the man, though. He was obviously concerned with his young wife and it was eating him up on the inside. Clearing her throat, she spoke the words out loud that she wanted to say for so long.
"It's a long story, long and horrible. There was always something strange about my brother from the day he was born. I'm a few years older than he is. My mother never saw it, but my father and I did. She was just thrilled that he was a genius. At first, my dad and I wrote off his strangeness as a consequence of his high intelligence. You know, the stereotypical eccentric genius." She pinched the bridge of her nose, and closed her eyes.
"My brother became, God this is so hard to say, fascinated by a doll that I got for one Christmas. I thought the doll was creepy. But he was simply entranced by it. The doll's name was Rebecca Jonsson. Becky. Becky from Minnesota."
The color drained from Jim's face. "Don't tell me. She had curly blonde hair, big blue eyes and an apron with blue rick rack on it."
Lissa nodded, not even wondering how Jim came by this information. "My dad and I always suspected my brother was behind the disappearance of a number of family pets in our neighborhood, including our own. But we could never prove anything. And my mother wouldn't even listen to us. Anyway, when my brother was about 12 years old or so, my father caught him using the doll for sexual purposes. He was always precocious. My father was so pissed, he took Becky and burned her, and made my brother watch. I know for a fact he went back and got Becky's remains." Cold. She was so cold. She wondered if she would ever be warm again.
"A few years later, I was out, you know, doing some teenage girl thing, and my brother was supposed to be away at computer camp. There was a fire and both my parents died. The authorities believed I died in the fire also. I believe my brother set that fire. It was too hot, too intense. And he inherited everything afterwards."
"How did you become involved in Interpol?" Aidan asked. If it wasn't for the fact that Trixie was missing and in the hands of a dangerous psychopath, this would be a pretty damn good adventure.
"My dad, bless his heart, had won the lotto – one of those big jackpots. Over the years, he created, I don't know, an escape plan and a new identity for me. He always said my brother would someday go after them. When dad won the lottery, my brother saw a way to get revenge on them and get rich at the same time. My dad hid a locker in a tree near our property. When I got home and saw that fire, I knew. I retrieved documents and clothes my dad secreted. The next day, I became Lissa Ann Thorne, and was on my way to France. I haven't been back since."
"This all sounds like some bad fan fiction," Jim said. "If you know all this, why didn't you go to the police or your superiors at Interpol? You might have saved some lives."
A fleeting pain flashed in her eyes. "Because they wouldn't believe me. My real name is Jody Lavigne. The last name may sound familiar to you. My brother is Hunter Lavigne, billionaire philanthropist and monster."
5 Beekman…
My name is Hunter. Hunter Lavigne.
The words danced dizzily in Trixie's head. After that pronouncement, he had taken Becky to another part of the room and was talking softly to her. It was quite eerie, lying helplessly in bed, listening to him talk to a doll, and pause as if he was listening to her reply.
She had heard of Hunter Lavigne. What person hadn't? The eccentric billionaire genius and philanthropist, rarely photographed but widely respected. God, it was the perfect cover. Who would suspect a man revered by so many to be a serial killer?
What had Will said? If only she could remember. She cast her mind back to the file she skimmed at Locard, trying to picture the contents in the same way she tried to memorize crime scenes. Just for a moment, she thought back to the challenge she issued to Jim shortly after they met. He couldn't describe what his mother was wearing at all. Honey showed him up by describing the outfit right down to Maddie's shoes and earrings. Her lips curved up in a gentle smile as she remembered the challenge Jim issued back, and the inability of Schoolgirl Shamuses, Incorporated to describe a car. She certainly learned a lesson that day!
Yes. There it was. Will had said that the perpetrator was decompensating. His mask of sanity was slipping. He couldn't hazard a guess as to what had happened to cause such a drastic change, but Trixie could.
Becky was falling apart. Literally. Most of her head was bald, with only a few golden curls still attached. The fabric of her body was brittle; Trixie had seen the same brittleness in the old dresses in the trunks she, Honey and Diana had investigated in Mrs. Vanderpoel's attic. The fabric would soon be crumbling.
One of Becky's legs was haphazardly sewn on. She's dying. In his mind, Becky is dying. And he thinks somehow, somehow she and Becky were interchangeable.
It all sounded too crazy. A single tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. Jim must be out of his mind with worry. How could they put this all together, when only she had all the pieces?
She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, and made a vow.
She'd kill him if she had to. She didn't know how, she didn't know with what, but if it came down to survival, she would return to Jim by fair means or foul.
With her resolution firmly in place, Trixie began to plot her escape.
A/N: My undying gratitude to my ever-vigilant editors, Mylee, Cindy, Jo and Jenny!
In the next few weeks I am going to be switching over my website to an easier method of posting stories, which is why the Smushsisters are publishing my latest updates. Unfortunately, the links will be kind of wonky until that is complete. I beg your patience while this occurs.
Kisses and hugs to Jo and Jenny. Jo is practically designing all the pages herself and Jenny is providing valuable feedback and assistance while we plot the new look.