Amelia.
"Take your time," Graham said. He was not being impatient but his words brought me back to the situation.
"They were both about my height, male," I said. "They were athletically built, not quite like a track star but toned enough." In an extra bit of daring, I said as much as I could before the raising of an eyebrow would turn into outright scoffing. "And their skin was almost greyish."
"Excuse me?" the detective said, the scoff threatening to spill over.
"What I mean is that they looked like they don't spend much time in the sun and are malnourished or something," I corrected. "Not healthy looking if you get what I mean."
He nodded as if he did. I suspected that his mind had jumped straight to drug addicts with visions of two guys on PCP. I didn't correct him.
"We might need to speak to you again," he said as he looked down at a form in front of him. "I see you have given us your name and mobile but your address is for Hastings. Where are you staying in York?"
"I haven't figured that out yet," I said.
He looked agitated by this information, yet he was a level-headed man and did not direct his frustration directly at me. "Would you mind staying in the station until you have made other arrangements?" he said. "I can't make you stay but given the severity of these crimes, it would really help us out."
I nodded. "I can stay for a while, but I've got a date tomorrow that I can't miss."
Graham looked me over. "You got a date looking like that?" he said. Despite the harshness of his comment, he looked at me as though he pitied me.
More than anything, it was the pity that bothered me. "I can be very charming," I replied, trying not to reverse my good fortunes by insulting the man in charge.
He forced a smile as he picked up the folder and stood. "Well, thank you for your help," he said.
"Wait," I called, daring to take one advantage of his good nature. "Why was the victim wearing a tunic with the crest of York on it?"
His brow furrowed and he frowned. "What are you talking about?" he asked and then began to flip through the folder. "There is nothing about that in the police reports and that is the kind of thing they would mention, kid," he said.
Scanning the pages of the report, he seemed to confirm his memory. "Yes. Here it is," he said. "The victim was a male in his late thirties, wearing a Manchester United jersey and jeans." He looked up at me, no longer frowning but his brow still creased slightly. "Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?"
I shook my head. "No," I said. "I must have imagined it with all the shock. I was just at a Renaissance fair yesterday."
Graham seemed satisfied with my answer and gave a firm nod of parting before leaving the room.
I was beginning to question my own sanity about the Myyga. Maybe they really were just human psychopaths and I had imagined the pointed faces and the body turning to ash. I comforted myself with the thought, though I failed to set myself completely at ease. After all, no one had seen anyone, human or otherwise, near the body on Blake Street. I even began to wonder if maybe I really was the killer.
That worry changed quickly.
York was in the height of tourist season. All the inns and hotels were fully booked for weeks. Detective Graham took pity on me after hours of trying to find a place to stay.
His wife's little brother did security at one of the colleges on the university campus. They had some empty rooms and he would let me stay there so long as I paid the required fees. I was just thanking Graham for the help when the station turned into chaos.
A new call had come in. There had been two more murders. Two bodies found together. Detective Graham ran out the front door of the station.
I wasn't sure they were related to the cases I had seen until I heard the dispatcher chatting with one of the Bobbies who had stayed behind. The Bobby was a young, dark-haired man. He looked like he had volunteered to stay at the station just to chat up the young and fit blond. He leaned on the counter and let his eyes wander as they talked.
"Weirdest serial killer I've ever heard of," she said.
The bobby asked, "Holes over the hearts?"
She nodded before adding, "But this time there were two piles of ash, one next to each body. What kind of killer leaves a card like that?"
Hearing this, my limbs weakened and tingled uncomfortably as my blood turned cold and raced back to my heart. It pounded harder to accommodate the stress of the influx.
Were the two new deaths what made you realize the Myyga were real?
It definitely made me realize I wasn't completely insane.
What made you realize the Myyga were real?
What happened after my date. No one could have denied it after seeing that.
Before that, I was confused, curious, and feeling a little mad.
Just before leaving the police station, I heard someone mention the murders were on Coppergate. I resisted the urge to go to the new crime scene myself. It would have been a quick walk if I had chosen to make it but I decided to focus upon my original reason for coming to York.
Before heading down to the university campus to take advantage of the offered accommodation, I walked back into the part of town with the biggest cluster of shops. Within half an hour, I was walking to the university with new and, most importantly, clean clothes as well as other much needed items. They included a toothbrush.
Detective Graham's brother-in-law was just a young guy but he was eager to do his job. He had short dark hair that seemed needlessly gelled flat. At first, he seemed a bit daft but he got me set up in my room fast enough and left me alone.
The room was in the graduate residences overlooking a small, stagnant lake. It had a bed and washroom which made it exactly what I needed.
I sat down on the narrow bed and leaned forward onto my knees, trying to decide what to do until I saw Amelia the next day.
Only 24 hours previously, I had been in Hastings and in that short time there had been four murders by the Myyga. Knowing there was more than one, I considered the possibility of there being swarms. I hadn't been harmed yet but that could have been luck.
I decided to stay inside until I left for the Shambles the next day. I ordered a pizza from the campus pizzeria and settled in for a long and boring night of playing solitaire on my phone.
The next day, I cleaned up completely, binned my top hat and velour jacket, and pulled on jeans and a white t-shirt for my date.
I arrived at the Shambles a few minutes early and easily got a table in the tea room. Though Amelia had been everything I had wanted up to this point, her choice of venue was less than ideal. It was a quaint place with tiny china thimbles and tea cups in glass display cases. Everything about it was intolerably cute and it lacked the enticing smells of Betty's. The aroma of tea was heavy in the room but the pastries were cold and there was a mustiness that could not be ignored even with a cup of tea right under one's nose.
A few minutes later, I heard the door open and looked up to see her scanning the room. She looked right at me but didn't move. I waved at her. Apparently, she hadn't recognized me. She gave a start when she realized who was waving at her.
Trying to impress her, I stood when she approached and greeted her warmly.
"Sorry," she said, "You look so different without that stupid hat."
I laughed and we sat down and ordered.
She looked better than ever. Her long auburn hair waved in large curls around her face and she was wearing the slightest bit of make-up. She didn't need it. Her pink V-neck blouse teased me with cleavage. I forced myself to look at her face.
She asked me what I did for a living. I lied and said I was training to become a barrister. She was studying astrophysics. She was perfect.
We talked for an hour, though the conversation had died off several times only to be restarted. It felt like she was holding back, which annoyed me, but I didn't want to drive her away either, so I took it.
Then, she stood up and said good-bye. It was so sudden that I just stared at h
er for a moment. Once I managed to come back to myself, I asked, "Where are you going?"
She looked me right in the eyes. She was unafraid of the confrontation. "You seemed like an interesting guy," she said, "But you really aren't my type. It wouldn't be fair to drag this out. I'm flattered you liked me but I think it's best if I leave now."
I couldn't believe it. She was giving up so easily. I went to so much trouble to get this chance and she just arbitrarily changed her mind.
"What about me doesn't meet your expectations?" I asked.
She let out a heavy sigh before asking, "Can't we just leave it as it is and not get into it?"
"No," I said, getting angrier, which apparently showed.
She stared right at me again. "Fine, if you want to be that way about it," she said. "Yesterday you're behaviour intrigued me because you claimed to like me and were chatting me up while simultaneously being a prat. I thought maybe there was more going on with you, something good. Instead, you seem more to be the prat who has to try too hard to be nice. I'm not interested in assholes. Good-bye, Oliver."
"What if I weren't an asshole?" I asked at the same time she was turning away from me.
She didn't even look back. "Good-bye, Oliver," she said with more venom before leaving the shop.
I threw some coins on the table to cover our order and ran after her. I looked both ways down the dark and narrow Shambles. She was gone.
I swore at myself, wanting to punch a hole in a wall. I didn't even know how I had cocked that up so badly. As I fumed, a patch