Chapter 3

“What is your name, good doctor?” The question seemed random. It seemed that it broke a cadence that this scene had been following. Magnum Opus leaned in a little closer, “Please, grant us that much? We’ve been answering so many questions you’ve presented.”

The man knew there was a calculative reason why this being would want to know, what the reason was though he wouldn’t know quite yet. Given the rapport he had been building with her though he decided to answer her question, though not without a little prying on her part, “I am PhD. Fremont. You know this.”

Magnum Opus rolled her eyes and shrugged back into her chair, “Your full name old man.” There was a rare show of aggravation, slight as it was but not lost to the doctor.

He chuckled in a way a grandfather would watching his grandchild complain, “Marcus Salem Fremont.” He finally said as he studied the woman across from him. Her cold grin returned.

“Ah, warrior of peace and freedom? A strong name for a man. Good name, your parents put thought into it.” She nodded slightly as she spoke, her usual emotionless guards by now were lowered. She felt a familiarity in this man, he spoke like someone who could see through any ruse. PhD. Fremont shook his head, “No, I was named by the Sisters at the orphanage. My parents have always been strangers to me, I wouldn’t know if I had ever passed them on the street in my life.”

Her grin dropped and her tone became neutral. Magnum Opus was wont to admit, but even she and Birdy could empathize. Neither entity knew anything about their life before, Jester for Birdy, and Maestro for Magnum Opus.

It was cold, it was dark, there was a metered dripping on her head every eleven minutes. She was bound to a chair, a blind fold over her eyes but the rest of her flesh exposed to the elements of this place. Where was she? How did she get here? She tried to speak but no voice came out.

“You’re awake.” The voice was digitized, human in origin but disguised to mask any possible recognition. “You won’t be able to speak for some time yet.”

The woman tugged at the binds that held her down, no give was found. She tried to wiggle to and fro, back and forth, the chair was too heavy or bolted to the ground.

“Don’t struggle.” The voice spoke again. It sounded more like a threat than it did a command. This caused a feeling of rage within the girl, rage and a desperation to get free. She couldn’t remember anything before waking up to the dripping water, but there was something ingrained within, a drive, one thought, one word, ‘Survive’. At any cost she was going to survive. Whatever this man thought he would get by with, she was going to survive.

In another interviewing room, Jester Lazlo sat with his court appointed public defender. The guy was a nervous, quiet type, nothing like the killer he was appointed to defend. Lazlo was silently writing on a scrap piece of paper as the two waited for the detectives to walk in.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” The defender, Mr. Steele, asked.

Jester nodded, “If it takes death off the table, yeah.” That wasn’t his only goal with this, but Mr. Steele said it would be a good start to give the lawmen something. With the evidence of at least five murders against him, and possibly more being processed currently, anything he had to leverage for his life should be used.

Finally a detective and a uniformed officer came in and sat opposite the two. Once settled in their seats, Jester slid the paper along the cold metal table to the detective. The man picked it up to read twelve names. He knew the names to belong to twelve missing women along the same trail other victims of the Monster of the Lakes killings had been found.

Mr. Steele cleared his throat then spoke, “My client is willing to reveal the locations of the named victims in exchange for having the death penalty removed entirely.”

“It would have been more but those are just the names I can remember.” Jester muttered in a cold, otherwise inconvenienced tone.