Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1) (2 page)

“
How can the police afford
a reward like that?”

“
You have no idea the kind
of figures drawn to this case, people with deep pockets… The
victims’ families are hungry for justice, or more
appropriately,
retribution
.”

And you’re going to feed
this killer to them
, Vivian thought. The
fog of her thoughts scattered at his husky voice.

“
Scholarship opportunities
lie within your reach. The only thing hanging over your head is a
brief criminal record. And I can expunge that. Your freedom is
hanging by a thread, and it all comes down to whether you say ‘yes’
or ‘no.’”

Vivian almost felt like the recipient
of a perverse wedding proposal. Her composure melted away in face
of the looming choice. Her heart fluttered like a sparrow thrashing
to break free. While they wouldn’t exchange vows or diamond rings,
they would almost certainly forge an alliance for better or worse,
in sickness and in hell. They would become more intimate than most
couples. After all, what could be more intimate than delving into
the realm of a serial killer together?

Vivian looked down at the numerous
crime reports sprawled before her and her gaze swung back to
Nikolai. He outstretched his hand in a tempting gesture that would
dissolve a year’s worth of crimes.

How could she resist?

* * *

Vivian basked in the caressing
downpour outside the office. If not for her amoral past, she
wouldn’t be standing in this alleyway, pondering her uncertain
future.

Vivian had always dreamt of obtaining
her license as a registered nurse, but that future seemed shrouded
in the distance. She had spent countless nights poring over anatomy
charts and medical journals. Ironically, she didn’t want to know
any more about anatomy now, having seen far too much skin in her
profession. Her second year of college was financed by collecting
tips at a strip club, scraping together what little she
could.

Discouragement came in the form of a
letter that arrived one summer evening, informing her she failed to
meet expectations for the nursing program. Vivian immediately
crumpled up the letter and screamed into her pillow, devastated by
the blow.

What now? Would she spend another year
trapped in basic courses before administrators reviewed her
application? She should be complaining to her boyfriend about how
her professors scheduled all their exams at the same time, while he
plants a consoling kiss on her cheek.

That boyfriend was a fantasy. Her
parents may as well have faded into another dimension,
too.

Vivian closed her eyes as the rain
misted her eyelashes, mercifully disguising her tears. She would
likely never reunite with her mother and father under pleasant
circumstances. They were revolted when they learned how she
financed her education.

Her father discovered a wad of cash in
her jacket, triggering an explosion of events that played out like
a pile-up collision. He accused her of dishonoring their family and
threatened to pull her from college. His threats escalated to
include talk of a rehabilitation program. The idea of being
transported across the Czech Republic for a special sex victims
program horrified her. She would be isolated from family and
friends, monitored like an inmate in an institution.

Her parents arranged for social
workers to collect her the next day like an animal in need of
euthanasia. That night, Vivian pictured the uniformed men who would
come for her, their hands outstretched to take her away. Like any
cornered animal, she scavenged her belongings and fled into the
night. Her escape was paved with the scarlet fog of neon lights,
leading her to the gentlemen’s club that had altered her life in so
many ways.

The manager reluctantly agreed to let
her lodge at the establishment, providing her with a room no larger
than a closet. However, her paycheck continually shrank over the
following weeks. When Vivian confronted her boss about the cuts, he
tallied up the cost to “housing expenses.”

After a month of holing up, Vivian
stepped foot outside the club with a new level of initiative. She
would operate by her own rules. She carved a niche for herself in
the alleys of Prague, treating her customers to whatever they
desired—within certain limitations.

Perhaps it was no coincidence she
specialized in “pain and pleasure.” It was conceivably her only way
to express the frustration and contempt that festered within.
Sometimes she didn’t hold back when a man solicited her for
domination. Guilt mingled with pleasure when she hurt the
disgusting males who viewed her as a toy.

Her medical future seemed to slip
further away with every exchange of cash that passed from a man’s
hands into hers. Instead of healing others, she was inflicting
pain.

Adding to her sensational list of
offenses, she had nearly committed murder two months ago. She had
crossed the line with one customer, a line that manifested itself
in yellow police tape stretched across the alley. She could still
picture the blood freshly splashed across the pavement, but as hard
as she tried, she couldn’t remember the source of the red
river.

The next thing she recalled were icy
handcuffs sinking their fangs into her wrists. Before she knew it,
she was babbling for mercy in front of Nikolai, promising to do
anything to avoid prosecution.

He served his judgment in a
chilling ultimatum she wouldn’t dare refuse:
Become a criminal informant or share a cell with other
felons.
Vivian lunged at the opportunity to
stay afloat the court system. Even the prospect of working
alongside a homicide detective seemed a viable
alternative.

Consider this your
community service
, he so eloquently
said.

One glance at Vivian was enough to
confuse her with any ordinary inhabitant of the streets, certainly
not a criminal informant. A waterfall of red hair rippled down her
back, streaked with cherry black highlights. Flora, angels, and
ancient script were inked into her flesh.

Vivian boasted a petite face worthy of
gracing magazines, not these desolate alleys. She was blessed with
an exotic level of beauty, although she often regarded it as a
curse. She clearly saw the way men viewed her, their eyes
flickering from her body to her face. They would study her from
afar, peeping at her eyes, wondering if her face was asymmetrically
set just right.

To fifty percent of the world, she was
just a body to fulfill their lust, not a person to be
loved.

She sighed in exasperation. Love was
just a figment anyway, something invented by romantic films,
novels, and American Valentine’s card companies. For all the
healing power of love, more than half of marriages imploded in
divorce.

Besides, what kind of man would take
her as his bride now?

She glanced down at her bare midriff.
An hourglass-shaped birthmark glistened on her belly, earning her
the title of Red Widow. Her vicious behavior toward her male
recipients no doubt contributed to the notorious
moniker.

Vivian piqued every eye that fell upon
her, taunting men who knew she would fulfill their most wicked
fantasies.

In the end, she knew Nikolai was not
one of these men. Despite slapping handcuffs on her, he blessed her
with a sliver of mercy. She knew that he was risking his own career
for her sake, ignoring proper protocol.

And Vivian intended to prove she was
worth the investment. Her slender hand burrowed into her pocket and
retrieved a silver key. The cold steel seemed to pulsate between
her fingers as the rain continued its mourning.

This key leads to the manor
on the corner of Francouzká and Hvězdová,
Nikolai’s voice echoed in her mind.
You’ll know what to do when you arrive.

TWO

The gnarled gates creaked open to
reveal the dark splendor within.

From the crystalline lake to a marble
gazebo laced with ivy, there was beauty to be found in every crook
and crevice. Vivian’s head swiveled back and forth across an army
of statues; angels, demons, headless torsos, even lions petrified
in mid-roar.

The crowning jewel of the estate lay
just beyond the petal-strewn path. Vivian gawked at the chateau
that reigned over this twisted dreamscape. Her toes tingled in
anticipation as they followed the cobbled path.

Vivian could hardly believe she was
approaching the Vesely Manor. She skipped past the structure
numerous times during her childhood, constantly wondering what
lurked beyond the confines of those archaic doors. Even now they
seemed so far away, reluctant to bare their secrets.

According to rumors, the neo-Gothic
manor fell into the possession of an eccentric heiress who
neglected every aspect of the estate. That is, except for the
gardens. Tending to the flowers was her sole passion in life,
pouring more of herself into the gardens than her very own
children. While the old-fashioned bleeding-hearts and
chrysanthemums would never perpetuate her genes, she would always
be eternalized in those petals as they bloomed to fruition every
spring.

After she passed away, a Romanian gang
infiltrated the quaint haunt and began to traffic drugs and
women.

Their secret industry continued
uninterrupted for several years until the police swept in and
silenced the operation. The manor had since been relinquished to
the cruel hands of time. Sturdy chains sealed the gates, and the
double doors were bolted shut.

Until now.

Vivian twisted the key and the doors
hurled open. For perhaps the first time in twenty years, light
sliced through the entrance, engraving Vivian’s shadow across the
antechamber.

Not even the mice that scurried
frenetically could distract her from the view.

“
Bless you, Nikolai,” she
whispered, feeling a tear tug at the corner of her eye. To go from
living in an apartment to virtually inheriting a manor inspired all
sorts of dizzying pleasures in her brain. It didn’t matter that
decades of disrepair marred the interior. Everything inside now
belonged to her.

Swallowing her hesitation, she
ascended the spiral staircase. With every step she climbed, she
felt as though she was leaving the mortal world behind. She could
see a lake beyond the window, christened the “Sea of Fire.” It was
aptly named, its mirror-like surface painted with the blush of city
lights.

She didn’t even realize it existed
until now, discretely tucked behind the chateau.

The city winked back at her from a
distance as she strolled down one of many Gothic halls. Somehow she
knew she would find solace at the end of this passage.

Vivian finally bolted the door shut
behind her. A newfound sense of security embraced her. She felt
transported to another time and place detached from reality. An
intoxicating cocktail of cyberpunk, Victorian, and noir influences
bedecked her bedroom. It was an aesthetic style adopted throughout
Prague, permeating the dance clubs, cathedrals, and universities.
Even the government institutions could not resist indulging in
Victorian culture à la dystopia. Some might say Prague evolved
differently than the rest of the Czech Republic, bringing its own
unique scourge of problems and challenges.

Do psychotic killers rank among those
problems? Vivian silently asked. She dropped her key next to the
untouched folder on the table.

She hesitated to pry open the folder
Nikolai left, wondering what horrors it concealed. A prepaid phone
was included with her new home, courtesy of Nikolai. A text message
gleamed on the screen, begging her to respond.

She smiled and glanced away. Let him
grow accustomed to waiting on her. Her eyes roamed over the
centerpiece phonograph set against the backdrop of an ornate
mirror. The record player itself was crowned with a remarkable
statue of a woman. Her lifeless eyes gazed out the window with
refined dignity.

Vivian followed its hypnotic stare to
a sight that took her breath away. Beyond the window, the streets
pulsed acidically like veins innervating the city.

Her attention drifted once more to the
folder gathering dust on the table. Vivian was not well acquainted
with the details of this case, but that was bound to change in the
next few minutes. As far as she knew, a killer had emerged from the
urban jungle and wreaked devastation on three women’s
lives.

Yet they needn’t fear any further
assault. Their flesh could no longer feel pain in the city morgue,
although they would be exposed to indignities under the scalpel.
Adding to the overall sense of danger, wealthy figures had wormed
their way into this investigation. And in the midst of it all,
Vivian was just a pawn to be wielded with precision.

She ran her fingers along the needle
of the record player. A quiet piano tinkled forth like the melody
of a forlorn creek.

At last, she pried open the
folder with a flip of her wrist. Instead of feasting her eyes on
autopsy reports, several newspapers were splayed before her.
Nothing quite like devouring salacious crime stories before nodding
off to sleep.
So Nikolai expects me to
blindly pursue leads until I stumble upon a
revelation
, she thought
.
Skipping past the latest financial
crisis, Vivian’s gaze fell on the ominous headline.