Chapter Text
The smell of cheap coffee mixed heavily with that of moisture caused by days of incessant rain. Daunting sound of keyboard keys saturated the room with an endless clattering. Blinking screens, phones ringing in the background, and a couple of sleepy editors cursing a jammed-up printer.
The usual atmosphere of the Roseville Gazette. Although it seemed denser that morning.
Danny Johnson - Jed Olsen, according to his laminated accreditation- walked between the desks with an almost casual pace. His smile was like a warm, charming mask. Always roading between the stalls while greeting his colleagues with harmless familiarity.
As if he had been working there for a decade.
He left the main hall behind and passed the still almost empty rotunda of the lobby. Of course, he greeted Nancy - the receptionist - praising her outgoing sense of fashion one more time. Then, he went into the dining room. No one turned to see him. They were too busy feeding their gloomy start of the week with something that looked more tar than coffee.
Danny didn’t notice them either. His attention was focused on finding a specific face.
ꫂ Ah. There she is.
A woman was standing by a coffee machine, serving herself a cup with a trembling hand. She was wearing a navy-blue turtleneck sweater made of expensive silk. Sleeves rolled up carelessly, and hair gathered in a loose braid that let fluffy jet strands fall on her rosy cheeks. Wide pants girded but not too much at a sharp waist. Her fingers were those of a meticulous lady. Or perhaps one who no longer allowed herself to be distracted.
Thin. With short clean nails.
Danny stopped nearby, pretending to look for some not too dirty bowl. He observed the slight gesture of pain as she tilted her head to the left - instinctively away from his presence, since he was still out of her sight. He saw it clearly. A new bruise under her hairline. Subtle and skilfully camouflaged with makeup - but not enough to go completely unnoticed.
It was the third beating she tried to hide that week.
No one else seemed to notice.
He did.
And that had stirred his entrails in such a delectably ghoulish way. At least, enough to attract his attention without thinking of ripping her guts or watching her bleed out. Danny also knew he would eventually succumb to those fantasies sooner or later, of course. Nevertheless, and in the meantime, she would be an entertaining starter for his magnificent purpose at Roseville.
-Bad coffee or worse day? - he asked in a light tone, approaching to her side.
He did not force contact. Did not want to scare her either - not yet. The woman barely turned her head, a little upset by the interruption. Her hazel eyes studied him in a second, as people do with someone new to whom they still don’t decide if it’s worth memorizing.
— Both. - She replied softly. Not a smile.
ꫂ I like that. That passive resistance. That lack of need to please.
Danny wriggled like a serpent shadow around Jed, sizzling sweet dark promises in their feverish mind.
“She does not pretend to be nice to us. Does not want to be seen either.”
His own words were suffocated in his mind by another twisted laugh, also his.
ꫂ Well, then she has made a lousy effort. I always see everything.
— Jed Olsen - He said, offering his hand. His voice was gentle, temperate.
One more piece in his costume.
She blinked, slightly confused. Had her dryness not made it clear that she preferred to enjoy her pathetic breakfast alone? She waited for him to get the hint, but it didn’t turn out to be the case. The woman left the cup to one side, leaning delicately on the ledge that vibrated to the sound of the coffee Danny was pretending to brew. She sighed almost with apathy but ended up accepting.
—Clara Rose Whitmore — she answered, accepting it with unexpected firmness.
Danny tilted his head with measured curiosity. Of course, he already knew who she was. Middle daughter of one of the richest families in Pennsylvania. Married to California’s Attorney General – William Evans Whitmore. One of the most respected chief publishers in Roseville, and responsible that everything that happened in that small town ended up having a much worthier repercussion than a slum like that one deserved.
In short, the catapult his stories needed to reach stardom.
Danny’s crooning materialized in Jed’s reliable smile, perfect teeth that accompanied a sincere compliment.
— I read some of your editorials. Must admit I am fascinated by the way you unmercifully dissect local politics.
Clara did not flinch. Did not respond to what for her were banal flattery from someone who tried to get her attention- surely to achieve something in return given her apparently more than privileged social position.
A woman who should feel lucky to have a good husband, a well-off home and an important job.
The thought became bitter in her mouth. She bit her lip lividly before answering.
— I’m not very good at being diplomatic. - She murmured, drinking once more from her cup.
— Of course. Honesty is more elegant, isn't it?. - He said, without letting go.
A pause. Clara frowned. Not out of discomfort, but quite the opposite. And that puzzled her. She looked at him again, this time more attentively. As if something in his tone had alerted her.
Danny noticed it immediately. He was madly infatuated by her perception.
She grabbed her coffee and walked a couple of steps to one of the long tables where the employees had breakfast. Didn’t expect him to follow her, though the way her eyes looked directly at his made him realize she trusted he would.
— You’re new to the crime section, aren’t you? - She asked then, sitting down.
ꫂ Subtle, yet brazen.
— Yes. I like to write about what others avoid looking at. The shadows. The ghosts. - He said with a smirk.
Clara looked at him a second longer. The guy had something strange. She couldn’t tell what. He seemed charming, yes, but also... too charming. Like a puppet who has well-rehearsed his gestures. But that also looked like a facade. The man who was now in front of her smiled with his teeth, but not his lips. He blinked and Clara felt he was only doing it to distract her. An unnatural sensation ran through her body, almost as if warning her to move away from him.
"God, girl, you’re delusional." She told herself.
She remembered the women' whispers in the toilets the day he arrived. He had conquered them all with a "Good morning, ladies" by no means original - although it was a breath of fresh air among so much deep small-town masculinity.
They remained like that, sharing the silence, a few more minutes. The tension broke when a reporter called to Clara from the door of the huge dining room. She didn’t even turn around. She just kept her eye on Jed.
— Good. Well... - She cooed, standing up and raising her cup as a toast before starting to walk away - ... Welcome to Roseville, Jed Olsen.
Danny’s gaze helplessly followed her, noticing the stiffness in her gait. The effort she made to walk straight. He realized her bruises were in more than one place. Not only on the skin. She reminded him of himself – a very long time ago. The conversation they had just had was repeating in a loop in his head. Vicious thoughts ravaged his subconscious and plunged him into a craving that was very familiar to him. But he would have to wait. His next victim was not yet ready to hit the big time.
He reclined on his chair, and stared at the steamy remains Clara had left in her cup - a few centimeters away from his.
Then, he thought of her body under his firm grip.
How would she bleed for him?
He froze as he imagined her moans choked by feeling his knive about to tear her snowy flesh. Envisioning himself reopening each and every one of her scars to mark her as his perfect muse while she screamed his name and begged him not to stop. Biting with rage her carved neck until ripping the precious skin. Her sweet face contorted by an expression of delusional dread to discover who he really was. A pleasure so immeasurable as to cloud her gaze while he savored her tears.
But all that was to anticipate events. Danny turned on himself, with the back of his hand hiding the macabre grimace his lips drew as he was betrayed by such erotic thoughts. Suddenly, his mind brought him the memory of a song.
<< Rosie, oh Rosie
I'd paint your face for all the world to see
Rosie, oh Rosie
I'd like to paint your face eternally >>
ꫂ Yeah, that’s much better. Ours. Our dearest Rosie.
The word formed itself in his mind. He savoured it as if it were a unique delicacy. He wouldn’t say it yet.
Not like Jed.
She was already his story. One that would surpass all the others.