Lockwoods key

Chapter 4

Chrissy kept glaring at him, trying to mentally persuade him to leave. That tactic rarely worked however, and right now it was doing nothing. Instead she was forced to sit there and listen as he rambled more and more excuses for what had happened. It did give her titbits of information however. Fittes had infiltrated the company successfully, and the division had begun. She was curious to know why Lucy had thought to sell her out to the papers, but maintained a passive face instead of asking. She almost felt sorry for the boy sitting beside her. Here he was trying to clear up someone else's mess, trying to save his families company because some idiot got greedy.

"How much did she get for the story?" She asked. In the right hands it would have been worth thousands, but Lockwood and Co. had only uncovered a small part so far. The folder she had stuffed into a hole in a mattress would be a gold- mine currently if the story became popular.

"£500. She's kept £200 for herself and put the rest towards the company."

"How generous."

Lockwood flinched at her bitter tone, that nagging feeling of guilt that made him want to gag rising again.

"It's my fault. I'd complained about finances a few days before. I know it does nothing but I'll happily give you the £500, even more if you want."

"Why are you so desperate to pay me off? You could be happily rolling in your wealth and yet here you are trying to appease someone you don't even know."

"Because... I know what it's like. To have a fragile piece of yourself exposed for the world to see, to judge and comment on without your consent."

Chrissy tilted her head, glare softening a little. She turned away, staring off into the fire, allowing Lockwood to get a better look at her. He'd imagined someone who looked harsh and cruel, like Godwin or Penelope. Once her expression had softened however that coldness disappeared too, features soft and girlish with a gentle hook of her nose and curve of her fuller bottom lip. If she smiled, he wondered, would she have dimples or laughter lines?

"Donald and Celia Lockwood. I remember the story." 

He sighed, it had felt like years since someone had actually spoken their names and not just whispered it in a rumour.

"It was a long time ago now. But I remember how it felt. The looks in people's eyes as you walked by, the fear and loneliness. It took a long time for it to stop."

"I guessed it would. I don't know if it'll ever stop for me. Maybe they'll toss me in a cell or burn me like a source. I know which one I'd prefer."

Lockwood knew too, but he couldn't bring himself to say aloud.
"It's all true ya know, everything in the paper. That's the worst bit. I can't complain that they exaggerated or over- emphasised anything. Because the truth was more than enough. Bloody hell they don't even have the whole truth yet and it's already enough to cause an outcry."

Without meaning too his eyes flicked to her back- still shrouded in a faded red blanket- as part of the article popped into his head.

"You want to see it?" She challenged, the glare coming back as she leaned away slightly.

"Not if you don't want to show me." He said, finally meeting her stare with his own. Pulling up the sleeve of his jacket he revealed the print of pure white on his arm, a misshapen circle emitting five thin long scars that wrapped around him. "I know it isn't the same, but this is what happened when my sister died. She became possessed and grabbed me while she was dragged into... somewhere."

"You are trying to be relatable to me so you can persuade me not to harm Lucy, aren't you."

A sigh escaped him.

"Only half true. I want to help you-"

"I don't need help. What I need is to make her suffer."

"You will not go near her." Lockwood declared. Chrissy stood up, towering over him. His hand immediately went to the hilt of his rapier, but before he could grab the smooth metal he was pushed away, hand pinned to the mattress by her foot. A weight dropped onto him, knocking the air out of him as he fell flat onto his back, a knee digging into his chest. 

"Listen here Lockwood." The girl hissed, lip curling back to reveal unusually sharp canines, "I've listened to your excuses and sob story, so now you have to listen to me. You do not get to dictate how I should or shouldn't react. I spent years rebuilding my life, working on myself to get away from my past only to have some bitch bring it all back up for some money. I'm homeless, alone and on the run. I'll never get my life back now so the least I should be able to do is inflict some temporary pain on the person who ruined mine for eternity. Do you have any idea what I'll be remembered as? EH?"

"A victim of-"

"A monster, Lockwood! I will be remembered as the thing that hid in cellars, basements, that was locked away because not even devil worshippers could stand me! I will become the thing that lives in closets and lurks in alleys!"

His eyes widened as drops of salty water began to splatter on his face, her face shadowed by the curtain of silvery hair. Despite how his lungs were burning he let go of the flare he had snuck out of his coat pocket, allowing it to roll away from his reach.

"I'm sorry Christine, I truly am. But please. I will do anything. Do not hurt my team- mates."

"I thought you guys were talking, not fucking!" A gravelly voice called out, followed by a chorus of laughs. As if a bubble had popped Chrissy suddenly retracted from the boy below her, turning away so her back was to him.

"Get out." Was all she said, voice steady but shoulders shaking slightly. Inhaling deeply Lockwood sat back up, standing wordlessly and walking away. There was that warmth again suddenly, cutting through the icy anger that was freezing him. 

He looked back.

Once more he was met with that amber gaze. Once more she turned her back to him, leaving him cold again. 

This wasn't over he knew, but for now their opposing intentions were set, neither willing to budge.