* * *
Back at the Combermere residence, Alex held Lord Combermere by his arm and accompanied him to his room all the way up the sixth floor. She realized as she opened the door to his quarters that this was the first time she’d seen his room. It was just as black and emotionless as all the other rooms in the house. Not surprising, considering how little he cared about cosmetics.
Alex helped Lord Combermere to his bed.
“Are you alright?”
“I’ll be fine,” said Lord Combermere. His frail skin leaked beads of sweat. His muscles tensed, and his mouth was dry.
“I’ll get you some water.”
“Years ago, this never would have happened.”
Alex wiped his sweat with a towel on the nightstand. She went to one of the many bathrooms on the sixth floor and fetched Lord Combermere a glass of water from the sink.
“This will help.”
She brought the full glass to his unchapped lips. Lord Combermere drank the cold tap water, raised the glass to his head until none was left. His monocle no longer covered his left eye. Instead it was lying right beside him on his bed. When he was done with it, Alex placed the now-empty glass of water on the nightstand, where she saw something spark her curious mind.
A picture frame, lying with its backing board to her face. She picked it up, turned it around.
“That’s my family,” Lord Combermere mumbled in a low, exhausted voice. “Well, before they left me at least.”
“You never told me you had a family,” Alex replied. And if she had the capacity to gasp, she certainly would have done so upon seeing the picture.
It was a black and white photograph, and based on the wrinkles around the edge, taken a long time ago. A young woman stood facing the camera. By the light tone on her hair, it was clear she was a blonde. Beside her was a young Lord Combermere in a much more vibrant, youthful body. He didn’t have a monocle, and unlike the way he dressed nowadays, he didn’t have a coat nor did he even have long sleeves. He was dressed for summer; with shorts, running shoes, and a colorful checkered t-shirt. Standing one-sixth their height was a young boy with a mushroom hair and his father’s smile.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“It didn’t occur to me to mention them. Besides, they’re long gone anyway.”
Alex sat with one leg on Lord Combermere’s bed, silently contemplating what that could have meant.
“And no. I didn’t kill them.”
“Oh.”
“For my entire life I pretended I was a normal person. Someone who could understand love, hate, the capacity for emotional connection. I tried so hard, eventually I thought that getting married would bring me to life. Elizabeth,” he indicated. “The woman in the picture. She genuinely loved me at one point. I remember thinking to myself that of all the lies, making someone believe that I loved them was by far my biggest. She felt so much for me, while everything I said and did were nothing but façades. Two years later, once we had our own child, things changed. Eventually she stopped caring about me. When she told me that she no longer loved me, that she was going to take my son Micah and leave for Barcelona, it was I in the end, who found myself lost. I thought I knew everything there was to know about her.”
“Your son. Was he anything like you?”
“No. He had, has, a soul, just like his mother. I could see it in his eyes the day he was born; we have nothing in common.”
“Do you miss him?”
Lord Combermere gandered at the ceiling.
“I used to think I did. But now, I realize that’s not what it was at all.”
“What was it then?”
“Please,” Lord Combermere waved the question away with his hand. “Let’s save this for another time. Now I must sleep, as I presume you should too.”
“You’re right.”
“The day after tomorrow, we will go out for another hunt.”
“So soon?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve already planned everything. All you have to do is follow my instructions. Hopefully things will go more successfully.”
Alex didn’t know what to say. While she did want to make up for the night’s blunder, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that going out for a second kill so soon after was in any way discretionary or advisable.
“I don’t think I’m ready,” she protested mildly.
To that, Lord Combermere gently reassured her. “Trust me. You’re ready.”
Alex picked herself up from Lord Combermere’s bedside, closed his bedroom door as she left.
Of what she had previously read about Lord Combermere (which, admittedly, wasn’t much to begin with), there had never been any mention of a family. It struck her as odd that no one had ever mentioned it before. More than likely, that was because his life as family man had taken place long, long ago, and had passed the collective memories of all the journalists and reporters that sought to antagonize the outcast that he had now become.
Possible. But also unlikely.
Regardless, with the revelation of Lord Combermere’s past, Alex couldn’t help but think of her present. She’d always known in the back of her mind that her charade of normalcy would only last for so long. That there would come a time when she could no longer keep up her humanity act.
Now she learned that even if she could, there was no guarantee that any of it would matter. If Lord Combermere’s experience was indication of anything, it was that even relationships that went for years could come to an untimely end. Even if Alex remained a loyal friend to Amy and those around her, there was no guaranteeing it would last, that they wouldn’t shun her out no matter what she did. As time changes, so do people. Was it wise for her to continue being a friend of the normal, or was she better off seeking the company of those that were more like her?