The Chemistry of Death

Chapter 8

Ziggy finished his quick circuit of the office and returned to his desk. Everyone was out to lunch. He had the place to himself.

He settled in his chair and placed both palms flat against the top of his antique desk. He’d paid a fortune for it during the recent move, but it was worth it for times like these. He giggled in anticipation, then pressed an unassuming rosette on the left side of the desk, above the drawers.

With a small click, the rosette swung open like a tiny door to reveal a hidden compartment. This wasn’t the only secret hidden away in this antique desk, but it was his favorite. He took a long, trembling breath to draw out the moment.

Then he slipped his index and middle fingers inside the tiny slot. It was a little compartment, barely large enough to hold a pen or a single well-folded document. Or a tube of lipstick.

His questing fingers found the object and stroked it in the dark. He pulled it out into the light, cradling the slick tube in his palms. He imagined he could smell the red lipstick, but he knew he couldn’t, not until he opened it. The cool, black surface warmed in his palm as he held it, and he savored its slight weight.

She’d held it. She’d stroked it against her lips for the last time when they were alone together in the tunnel. Her full lips had gleamed with a velvety sheen.

Fingers trembling with excitement, he drew off the slick top. Sunlight winked against the silver shaft that encased the precious red lipstick. The light dazzled his eyes.

With excruciating slowness, he turned the bottom until brilliant red lipstick crested the silver tube. The distinctive smell of 999 exploded into the air. He drew the scent deep inside himself, letting it pull him back to her last luscious moments.

Delicate hands cupping her elbows, she’d stood in front of him as balanced as a dancer. The silver dress skimmed her shivering form. The headlights of the oncoming train shone on her slender body like a spotlight. She was a star, but she performed only for him.

Her giant, dark eyes looked helplessly into his. Even now he couldn’t see their color. Blue? Brown? It didn’t matter. They were black pools of despair. She stood motionless in the light. She didn’t shy from her fate. She almost begged for it.

He’d done that. He’d made her yearn for the train to end her misery. He’d brought her to the explosive release she needed. He had freed her.

He breathed harder. The sound reminded him of the sighing wheeze of the train’s door, the last moment he’d be alone with her before the driver came out, before the passengers would know what had happened. It was the last moment of their shared secret before she would be swept away from the world, and he’d be left alone with his bliss.

A faint vibration trilled up through the soles of his shoes and yanked him back into the sunlit office. Someone was in the building. Someone was walking toward him. His eyes snapped open.

He capped the lipstick, almost dropping it on the carpet in his frantic hurry. Somehow, he managed to toss it back into its hidey hole. He barely had time to close the rosette before Miss Evans appeared in the hallway. She knocked on his door.

He tapped the computer mouse with his elbow so the screensaver would disappear.

“I brought you a sandwich,” she called.

“Thank you,” he said through gritted teeth. Sandra’s moment was ruined. He’d have to go back down into the tunnels and get another lipstick.

Miss Evans walked into his office hesitantly, graceful legs stuttering like a fawn’s, not sure if the bright world was safe.

She was right to be afraid. He was a wolf, and her world was dangerous. He imagined a wolf tearing out her trembling throat. But the thought cheered him only a little.

“A Reuben, like you asked for.” She stopped a few paces from his desk, stretched her graceful arm out as far as she could, and dropped the sandwich on the edge.

With a quick nod, she turned and hurried out of the room as if she were barely holding back her panic. She carried another lunch bag. She had probably intended to eat at her desk, but she didn’t even pause, instead rushing straight for the elevator. She was afraid, but she didn’t know why. The cold winds of fall had changed him, and she couldn’t understand.

He bit savagely into the sandwich, barely tasting the pastrami and sauerkraut of her peace offering. He hadn’t wanted the food. He’d wanted the moment. Sandra, staring at him from the tracks, gleaming red lips practically thanking him. Her last words “good-bye.” Words now ruined.

He probably had another half hour of alone time, but it didn’t matter. He closed his eyes and ran through his catalogue of women. Sandra was useless. But what about Rita? She was the first in the pair, Sandra the second.

Rita had worn a siren red dress and black shoes. Her blond hair was spiked and threaded with orange highlights like a cockatoo. She hadn’t been as classy as Sandra, nor as rich, but she’d been at her own crossroads of doubt and despair. And she’d been rich enough to afford Christian Dior lipstick.

He’d go down into the tunnels after work and switch out the lipsticks before bed time. He drummed his fingers on the desk. He could evade any other person in the tunnels. No one knew the twists and turns and hidden rooms better than he. But Tesla had brought a dog down there, and he couldn’t hide from the dog. A dog could track him by smell.

Months had passed since he’d let the man and his dog move down below. He could no longer let them get in his way. He took another bite of the sandwich, rolling the meat around on his tongue. He had to take back his tunnels.

Starting tonight. With Rita.