Chapter 5
The Virgin Alex
Most of us are born with the innate ability to tell when something is right, and when something is wrong. As human beings, we know what acts are to be considered moral, and what acts, immoral. Typically, participating in activities that promote life and peace are considered moral, while acts such as flinging mice in a dungeon are considered immoral.
If Alex Frost was like most of us, she would not have even contemplated the idea that was running loose inside her head. But as either fate, destiny, God, or Ringo Starr would have it, the protagonist of our tale had no moral compass to guide her through what was good, evil, moral, immoral. And so all throughout last night, Alex conceived, contemplated, planned, and prepared for the impending crime she was about to commit. Come morning, before the sun was up, she was.
At precisely three o’clock, she snuck out of bed, took Aunt Melanie’s car keys, and tip-toed out the front door. With her was a cutting knife she’d acquired from the knife cabinet in the kitchen, a tool with which to fulfill her devilish deed.
She made it down to the ground level of the apartment parking lot, where residents and visitors alike kept their vehicles during their stay at Wiscott Avenue. After scanning through the lot of parked cars and motorcycles, she saw Aunt Melanie’s Suzuki Vitara at its designated spot. She opened the front door of the vehicle and climbed inside.
Despite not having a license, Alex was well-learned in the sacred ways of driving a car. For that, she had her caring father to thank.
There was once a time during Alex’s fifteenth year when her father took the time off from his weekend to teach her how to drive. It was something he decided to do because he knew that sooner or later he would have to anyway, but more importantly because it was one of the few ways he knew to connect with his emotionless daughter. During one dry afternoon, when the weather was safe to drive, father Jason Frost took Alex to an empty lot, where there was more than ample space for his ill-experienced daughter to crudely steer the wheels of his expensive but financially replaceable BMW.
At first, the daughter without a soul struggled with the controls, struggled with navigation, and she nearly smashed against a wall. While her father shared the same concerns that a father sitting next to an inexperienced daughter would have, he couldn’t deny the bit of joy he felt over seeing his girl, ever-so-cold and calculated, fumble over something as simple as operating a car. For the father of the girl without a soul, there was gratification to be found in such a thing. Whenever she asked him questions, he would experience a warm sensation in the pit of his stomach.
Mr. Frost enjoyed every second of the experience, especially since it was an experience short-lived. Within that same afternoon, Alex Frost mastered every aspect of driving a car, and he had nothing left to teach on the matter.
Given that Alex had the necessary talent to drive, she avoided having twelve or so things wrong with her plan, and came down to only two. One, was that she’d only driven an automatic gear shift, and Aunt Melanie’s Suzuki Vitara had a manual transmission. Second and more important, was that never before had she driven Aunt Melanie’s second-hand, first generation car.
When she started the engine, she was surprised to find out just how much effort it took simply to take it out of the parking lot. Wear and tear had made the machine unsynced and hard to maneuver. The pedals on Aunt Melanie’s Vitara were loose, taking much more pressure to accelerate and brake than it should have. However, as the drive was at least an hour away, she knew she would have more than a bit of back roads driving ahead of her to adjust. And so as she set off to her hometown of Suburnia, adjust she did.
The roads were simple enough. Alex took to the same streets and crossings that Aunt Melanie made when she drove her to and fro from Suburnia to Pleasant Grove. She was careful to obey the street traffic and speed signs precisely to the letter. After all the time she had spent last night planning the moments ahead, it would have been a shame for it all to fall apart on account of a law-abiding policeman, and on account of her not having a driver’s license.
She reached a long stretch of road where the speed limit was 65 mph. In spite of her unquestioning obedience to her traffic overlords, 65 mph, which seemed fine for her, was apparently not for everyone else that was on her tail. Cars of various types, brands, and sizes swept to lanes beside her only to soon show up in front, passing her by at least 20 extra miles per hour. This seemed to be a very popular trend for those driving behind her.
Alex decided to maintain her speed in spite of the many cars that began to systematically cut in front of her. The last thing she wanted was to anger the traffic overlords of Great Britain. However, it occurred to her also that often more important than the speed limit was the flow of traffic. If she wanted to fit in with the rest of the cars, avoid standing out for being too slow, she was going to have to speed up. After all, wasn’t that who the police looked for? People that stood out?
Warily, she stepped on the pedal, stiffened control of the wheel, shifted her attention from the road to the speed dial as it climbed to 70, 80, and finally, 85. The longer she drove, the more natural it came to her. In amazingly short time she mastered her control of the steering wheel. Her turns were on point without being too drastic or too slow. Her steering was so smooth it was as though she was gliding over the road rather than running on it.
The time on the dashboard read 4:42. If the hunter was going to catch up to its prey, she was going to have to hurry.