Wolfsong
Chapter One
Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the book Regina's Song, and I'm not making any money from this fic
Summary: More murders take place in Seattle. They look very much like the ones Twinkie (Regina or Renata) committed, and when Mark and the others find out that she escaped from the convent, that only seems to confirm their suspicions. A woman on Mark's college course seems to know more about the murders than she's letting on, but things get even more complicated when she and Mark start getting close to each other
Author's Note: Grr... I hate plot bunnies! This one kept on gnawing at my mind until I finally gave in and decided to write the first chapter. I felt that the best way of doing this fic would be by writing it from Mark's point of view, like in the book, but I don't write from the first person point of view very often, so I'd like people to tell me if it works or not, please
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The first I heard of the murder was on Monday morning.
It was the first day of the course I was teaching after the summer break. Another new day. A lot of new faces fresh out of school. Most of them wouldn't be cut out for the course. Hopefully, I'd be able to weed out all of the weak ones during the first week, leaving me with the best ones. The ones who would be really willing to work.
I woke up before my alarm went off, and switched it off before it could ring.
I got out of bed, feeling unusually bright and wide awake, and ran through my notes to check that I had everything for the first day of class. Not that there was a lot to do on the first day. Just a short talk, give out first assignment, and then leave.
I had a quick shave and a shower, then got dressed and went downstairs and into the kitchen.
The girls were already in the kitchen. By the girls, I mean Sylvia, Trish, and Erika, who pretty much run the entire household. Us guys get to do all of the hard labour - fixing things, putting up shelves, and so on.
Erika gave me a cup of coffee as soon as I walked into the kitchen, and then pointed to the door. "Out," she ordered. "We can't cook with you boys always under our feet."
"Go and join the others in the living room," Trish put in. "They're watching the news or something like that."
"Ok, babe," I replied. I walked into the living room, to find Charlie and James sitting on the sofa, apparently glued to the television set.
"Something interesting on?" I asked dryly when they didn't acknowledge my presence.
James finally tore his eyes away from the screen, though Charlie still watched. "Oh, yeah, there's something interesting going on," he answered. "There's been a murder."
"So what?" I shrugged, also taking a seat. "It's terrible and all... But hardly worth this level of fascination."
James met my gaze. "The reporters are talking about Joan the Ripper," he told me.
It took a couple of moments for what James had just said to sink in. When it did, I shook my head. "No way," I said. "That's impossible."
Charlie finally looked at me. "Yeah, we know," he responded. "It couldn't have been Renata, because she's at that convent."
I exchanged a glance with James. Only he and I knew of James' theory that Renata was in fact Regina. That Renata had been the one who was raped and murdered.
Regina had supposedly been the dominant twin, the one who would have gone looking for a telephone when the car the twins were in broke down. But Regina and Renata had swapped identities so often that, according to James, it was quite possible that they swapped dominance along with their identities. Their hair ribbons. Red for Regina and blue for Renata.
It didn't really matter which twin had been murdered, though. Especially not now. Twinkie had been in a mental hospital after the death of her twin, and had supposedly recovered... Only, she hadn't really. As soon as she had come here, she had started murdering men. Not just any men, either. Men with records of rape, or attempted rape, against women.
Of course, no one suspected Twinkie of being the murderer. How could they? She seemed fine. Sure, she had bad days, and days where she seemed to relapse, but that was normal for a recovering mentally ill person.
It was partly my fault that the police discovered that Twinkie was Joan the Ripper. I put the facts together, and realised that it was Twinkie a short time before she killed the person who had murdered her sister. I tried to get to her to stop her from killing him, but I lost her in the fog.
I'd been up late every night watching Mary's house, where Twinkie was staying, in order to try and prove her innocence. I figured that if Joan the Ripper had struck, and Twinkie hadn't left the house, then that would mean that she was definitely not the killer.
Only, it turned out that Twinkie was the killer.
Because I'd been so tired, it didn't occur to me to take the purse containing the evidence of Twinkie's guilt away from her when she sheltered in Father O'Donnell's church. It didn't occur to me, and so, when she ended up in the hospital, the truth of the matter had come out.
Things were just starting to die down with the whole Joan the Ripper thing. Now, this new murder threatened to bring it all to the surface again. I could only be thankful that the press didn't know where Twinkie was. I was sure that the mother superior of the Sisters of Hope convent wouldn't be very impressed with press turning up on her doorstep.
The news report finished, and Charlie switched off the television. We sat in silence for a while. Then, I asked, "Do the girls know about this?"
Both Charlie and James shook their heads.
"Well, then, we'd probably better tell them this," I commented. "If there's a killer out there, it's probably going to be a copycat killer... But the murders might not be restricted to just men this time. We need to warn the girls to be careful."
"Why don't we go down to the Green Lantern Tavern this evening after college?" Charlie suggested. "We could see if Bob has any information about the killing, and how similar it is to the ones Renata committed."
I grinned at that. "Your brother's probably going to be expecting us," I noted. "Considering how often we turned up with the last lot of murders."
At just that moment, the girls came in to tell us that breakfast was ready. We all moved into the dining room.
While we were eating, Charlie and James filled Erika, Sylvia, and Trish in on the news report they had just seen. I didn't say anything as I had only caught the tail end of it.
Once they had finished, Trish frowned. "Maybe you'd better call up Father O'Donnell to check that Renata is all right," she told me.
"But she probably will be," I objected. "There's no reason to think that she won't be. And then Father O'Donnell will just think that I'm making a fuss about nothing."
Trish said nothing, merely stared hard at me.
"You'd better do what she says," James said. "You don't want to get on the wrong side of the people who feed us, after all."
"Yeah, that's right," Erika put in, grinning at me.
I gave her a flat, unfriendly stare. Then, I sighed. "All right," I muttered. "I'll ring him now. But I still think that it'll be a waste of time." I didn't move out of my seat.
"Do you need a reminder of where the phone is?" Sylvia asked sweetly.
Deciding to ignore that comment, I walked into the living room, picked up the phone, and dialed Father O's number.
Father O'Donnell answered on the first ring. "Hello, Father O'Donnell speaking."
"Hey, Father O, it's me, Mark," I said.
"Mark! I'm glad you called," Father O'Donnell responded, the relief in his voice obvious. "I was just about to call you."
Uh-oh. That didn't sound very good. I gripped the phone tighter until my knuckles turned white, and tried to force my voice to remain calm. "What's up?"
"Well, it's about Renata..." Father O'Donnell began.
My knees felt weak, and I had to sit down before I fell down. I knew it! Something had happened to her.
"She's gone," Father O'Donnell went on.
"Gone? What do you mean, gone?" I asked stupidly.
"She managed to get out of the convent," Father O'Donnell answered after a moment's hesitation. "I thought that I should ring you and let you know."
"I'm glad you did," I responded. "Did you see the news story that was on just a few minutes ago? There's been another murder, and the press are talking about Joan the Ripper. I gather that it's similar to the killings Twinkie did."
Father O'Donnell was silent for so long that I wondered if he had been cut off. Finally, he said, "You'd better let your friend on the police force know that Renata has escaped, then. She could easily be involved in this murder."
"That's extremely unlikely," I argued. "There would be no reason for her to be. She already killed the person who murdered her sister."
"I know," Father O'Donnell replied. "But you'd still better tell the police. If this murder is anything like the ones Renata committed, the police are going to immediately come up with her name as a suspect."
"I know," I sighed. "I'll tell Bob. We're probably going to be seeing him tonight. We as in me, Charlie, and James. Thank you for letting me know, Father O."
"It's all right, Mark." There was a pause, then, "I'm sure that this is the work of a copycat killer, Mark. I don't want Renata to be the murderer any more than you do."
There was a click as Father O disconnected the call. I stared at the receiver for a while, then replaced it in its cradle before returning to the dining room to let the others know what I had found out.
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I stood at the front of the classroom, and watched the students file in. There was a lot of talking and laughing going on, probably from the not-so-serious ones, mainly the suck-ups.
There was one girl who made immediate eye-contact with me, clearly sizing me up. She had coffee-coloured skin with thick black hair pulled into a ponytail and hazel eyes. Her nose was a little too big, and she looked only slightly younger than I was. She was dressed in casual clothes and carried a backpack slung over one shoulder.
I returned her stare until she broke eye contact and looked down, a small smile playing around her lips. I had to wonder if she was a suck-up, or if she was really here to keep her nose to the grindstone and get the best possible grade.
When everyone was seated, with the usual amount of shuffling and people all but tripping over each other, I told them to pass their enrollment cards to the front.
This group wasn't any different from the many others that I've taught. It took them at least ten minutes to find their enrollment cards. Some things never change.
I handed out the course syllabus, and then gave them the whole 'speech' about the course. When I had finished, most of them, including the girl who had stared at me when she came in, looked rather surprised if not shocked. Giving them the assignment on 'What I did over the summer' elicited more than a few groans.
When they all got up to leave, I grabbed my things, planning to make a quick getaway. It didn't really work, though. The black girl, who I found out was called Lyra Wilson, came over to me and asked if she could talk to me.
She didn't say anything until everyone else had gone, by which time I was beginning to feel more than a little fed-up.
"Miss Wilson, can I help you?" I asked with a slight trace of impatience.
"Is it absolutely necessary to do a paper on 'What I did over the summer'?" Lyra asked after a moment. "What I mean is, could I do it on something else? Like, for example, 'What I hope to gain from this course'?"
I inwardly groaned. Great. Someone expecting special treatment. Not a complete surprise. I held Lyra's gaze. "Miss Wilson, if you refuse to do the work, then this is obviously not the course for you."
Lyra blinked at that, then frowned. "But... It's not that I don't want to do the work," she protested. "I'd just rather not do a paper on that particular subject."
"You cannot pick and choose what subject you do your paper on," I told her. "If you think that you can, then you clearly shouldn't be here."
If looks could kill, I would have dropped dead right then. Lyra stormed out of the classroom, muttering what I thought were swear words under her breath.
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I apologise for the summary of the book... It was easier for me to do it that way