Saxon’s Distortion by C.A. Rene
Saxon
I sit up in bed with a groan, feeling around for my phone, and trying to swallow through the sandpit in my throat. How long have I been out? My fingers finally connect with the phone’s smooth surface, bringing it in front of my face. The screen blinks on and I groan again at the bright light’s intrusion. Nineteen hours. I’ve been dead to the world for nineteen hours. My bladder is threatening to explode, my throat is dry, and my lips are cracked, all perks of an insomniac crash.
While pissing out a river, I open my phone to the plethora of messages and missed calls. Mom asks if I’ve been sleeping, she receives a tooth emoji by accident, fuck it, that’s a good answer, and then I go to the next message. Dad asks for me to call him when I wake up and he gets a quick thumbs up. Dahlia tells me she’s left Ginger Ale by my bed, and I realize she’s the only one in this world who actually loves me. Okay, that was extreme, but whatever. Amelia asks me to call her ASAP and my thumb accidentally sends her a bikini emoji, again rolling with it.
Then the final message is from Uncle Emmett and it’s an ominous one, ‘get to the station.’ It was only sent two hours ago. I send him back a thumbs up and stand in front of the sink to brush my teeth. My face looks tired even though I’ve just been out for almost a whole day. My light green eyes have slight bags under them, and I lean in closer to inspect them. My eyelashes are thick and black just like Mom’s, but they make my eyes look so feminine sometimes, especially the way they naturally curl toward my brows. The splattering of freckles I have across my nose seems to become more prominent as I get older, or my skin is growing pale from lack of sun. My mouth is plump and overly big for my face, another feature from my mother but that’s it. The rest is my father. I have the same deep dimples as him, the nose, the eyes, and if my hair was long and dreaded, we’d be practically twins.
I don’t have time to shower, my manly musk will have to do, and instead quickly get dressed. Good thing my teeth are brushed, unless I want a new way to kill people. Death by halitosis, I kind of like the sound of that.
It’s a good start to the day when I have no toothpaste splatter on my sweater. Waking up from a crash makes me feel like a whole new person, completely refreshed and ready to adult my way through the day. Maybe I’ll groom tonight, I brush my fingers along the scruff on my chin and then pull out my track pants, looking at my pubic hair. Yeah, I definitely need grooming.
It’s spring here in Whitsborough, which means, it could be sunny one day and then snow the next. I open the front door and see it’s sunny but with a slight breeze. Fuck it, I’m taking out the Ducati. It’s been a long ass winter and I’m itching to have her purr between my legs. I grab my helmet from the hall closet and Mom’s office door opens.
“Taking that demon on two wheels?” she rolls her eyes and I grin wide.
“Yes.”
“What was with the fucking tooth emoji?” She raises her brow.
“Sorry I was taking a leak and hit the wrong key.”
“Jesus,” she mutters and shakes her head. “Where are you off to?”
“Your brother has summoned me to the station, I’m either being handcuffed or stuffed in a cell with a big, dicked fucker. Do you want to hear about which one I’d enjoy more? Ya know, in case you and Uncle Emmett want to bet some more?”
A bright smile shines from her face and she slaps a hand to her knee as she laughs, “that little bitch ratted me out. So? Who’s getting the money?” I swear she’s worse with age.
“Me.” I shake my head and walk to the door, “I’ll stick my dick where I please.”
The door opens just as she screams, “not animals, Saxon! That’s a crime!”
“Jesus.” I mutter and close the door behind me. Thankfully, we don’t have close neighbours who can hear us because I’d become the weird guy who also fucks animals.
I pull out my phone and call Dad as I’m opening the garage door. He picks up on the second ring.
“Did you thumbs-up me earlier?”
“Uh, yeah?” this odd for him, did he drink at lunch?
“That’s fucking rude, I shit on your mother when she pulls that shit.”
“Well, sounds like a fitting punishment,” I whistle, “do you make her clean it up too?”
“Jesus.” He mutters, echoing my earlier sentiment.
“He can’t help you two, that one’s out of his jurisdiction. You should try Satan.”
“I don’t know what I did to deserve your mother and her demon spawn,” he growls, and I snicker. “When are you in New York again?”
“Next week.” I place my helmet on the bike, “I have a head meeting to sit in on.”
“Still after Three?” He asks.
“Yep.” Letting him in on too much could be dangerous, not to mention having him implicated, but I’m glad for his support. “Why? What do you need in New York?”
“There’s a car I’ve been eyeing, and the seller finally dropped the price. Could you pass by and take a look at it?”
“Sure,” I shrug.
“Thanks, son. I’ll see you later.”
The call ends and the phone is zipped and secured in my pocket. I need to get to the station; Uncle Emmett either has new information, or there’s been another attack, neither of which can be put off.
The ride to the station is way too fucking short. The route was too fucking short; I don’t want to get off my bike. But I do, and head into the station bringing my fifteen-hundred-dollar helmet with me. Whitsborough is fucked up enough to have someone steal it off my bike. No one can be trusted in this town.
The police station is quiet, and I nod to the receptionist on my way past her desk. She’s in her late thirties and I’ve noticed her eyeing me a lot lately. Her cheeks blush whenever I pay her any attention and I like knowing a look from me can have the blood rushing through those vessels at a rapid speed. Fucking powerful.
I head to Uncle Emmett’s office and open the door.
“I know, babe.” He looks up at me and gives me a nod, “talk to Adri and we’ll figure it out. Saxon just got here,” he smiles, “your Uncle Travis says hi.”
“Hey.” I nod and sit in the chair at the desk.
“I’ll see you when I get home,” he continues. “Okay, I love you, too.”
Their relationship interests me the most, a lot of relationships interest me, but theirs is so unique. They’re married, all three of them and somehow, it works. They all love each other too, it’s not like Carmelo and Cameron loving the same girl. Uncle Emmett and Uncle Travis love each other as much as they love Aunt Adri. It’s really fucking cool.
“You wanted to see me?” I ask as he puts his phone down.
“We had another attempt last night.” He answers gravely and I lean forward, my elbows on my knees.
“What happened?”
“A freshman was leaving the library at nine-thirty, an hour before closing, and was dragged behind the building.” He also leans forward, “she said she thought she saw another person while she was struggling.”
“Two of them?” Shit, this is getting more and more interesting. Like real time Sherlock Holmes.
“Yeah, she got away.”
“What did she see?” I pull out a small pad of paper and a pen from my pocket.
“Nothing of importance, but she said she was sure the person that nabbed her was a man.”
“Yeah, that’s the obvious part, but what’s really surprising is the second person. No descriptions?” I press the tip of my pen on the paper.
“She said it was too quick and it was dark.”
“Fuck,” I close the notebook and stick it back in my pocket. “I’m gonna head over there.” I get up from my seat.
“Okay,” he nods. “Let me know what you hear.”
He’s agreeing to me nosing around because I’m a civilian he can trust, and people will be more inclined to speak to me rather than someone in uniform. Also, he knows I won’t sugar coat or skim details, I live for the details regardless of the outcome. I’m not out here saving feelings, I’m trying to save people, and therefore they can continue on with their feelings. I’m back on the Ducati and I get to have a nice long drive into Toronto, I just hope it doesn’t fucking rain.
The university’s campus seems gloomier today, people aren’t stopping to chat about mundane things such as dates or food, and no one is loitering around in groups. It gives off an energy that’s detached and empty. There’s also a dark cloud looming over the building and fear is heavy in the air. It would be a lie if I said I didn’t enjoy it, that it doesn’t pull a reaction from me, because it does and I’m more at home in its atmosphere.
“Sax?” I turn to find Amelia. “I got your text.”
“I need to speak to your girlfriend.”
“What?” Her mouth drops. “She’s not my girlfriend, we’re just acquaintances!”
“What’s her name?”
“Cordelia, but Saxon,” she cuts me off as I start for the library, “she’s a nervous person. You will freak her out.”
“I’m here to help, Amelia.” I push by her, “I’m not a fucking cop and I’m not here to intimidate anyone. Don’t you want this to stop?”
“Of course, I do!” She chases behind me, “how can you ask that?”
I circle on her abruptly and she crashes into my chest, her hands grabbing my waist for support. “Because right now you sound more concerned for this Cordelia than you do about the girls who have a literal target on their backs.”
Her lips purse but she says nothing because even though I’m harsh, what I’m saying is true.
“Okay,” she exhales, “but I’m coming with you.”
I shrug and turn around, walking toward the library.
“Have you been working out?”
I give her a look over my shoulder and notice her checking out my ass, “aren’t you into pussy though?”
She gasps and her cheeks stain pink, so fucking powerful. “Yes! What? I can’t check out a friend’s body?”
“It’s a little weird, but go ahead though.” I continue walking. “Let me know when you want to take it for a test run.”
“Ew, Saxon.” It sounds like she was aiming for disgust, but it comes out more like a question.
I open the library door and see a few students sitting around at the tables, mostly male save for a few females sitting between them. There’s a lady sitting at the front desk, and I swallow a chuckle at the large glasses perched on her pert nose, they have the beaded string hanging at the ends, wrapping around her head.
Her brown hair is pulled back into a bun and her skin is pale, like it never sees sunlight. She looks about forty and I’m once again intrigued by Amelia and her tastes. I stand at the desk and wait, she’s so engrossed in her book, she doesn’t even notice. I give Amelia a look and she shrugs at me with a smile. Cordelia has a lanyard around her neck with an ID card showing her name and picture, and she’s wearing a floral sundress, flirty.
I clear my throat and she doesn’t even budge, just keeps on nibbling at her bottom lip while she turns the page of her book.
“Look Cordelia,” I say as My elbows drop on the counter. She nearly leaps off her seat in shock and I’m rendered speechless by the light blue of her eyes. The lightest blue I have ever seen in an eye colour. “I’ve been standing here for long enough to notice you’ve missed a button on that dress this morning,” My finger points out the ripple in her top, “and you have a bit of crumbs on the corner of your mouth, carrot muffin?”
She drops her book onto the desk and stands quickly, wiping the crumbs from her mouth. “How’d you know that?” She sounds like a little girl, and I realize my first assumption of her age could be wrong, she sounds closer to early thirties.
“Cordelia,” Amelia cuts in with a huff, “this is my friend Saxon. He’s here to talk about the things happening on campus.”
“The rapes,” I correct Amelia, “be specific.”
“Are you a cop?” Cordelia’s eyes narrow and I can almost taste her mistrust.
“Are you growing plants here or something?”
“Saxon,” Amelia groans at my side but I keep my eyes on Cordelia’s unique ones.
Finally, her grin breaks out and it transforms her whole face. The lines at the corners of her eyes grow deeper and she has a deep dimple in her right cheek.
“No plants here.” She shakes her head.
“Pity,” I pout, “I’m not a cop, we could’ve had a good evening if you did.”
She snorts and sits back down. “What did you want to know?”
“Who do you think did it?” My fingers drum on the counter.
“Saxon, how would she know-” I cut Amelia off by raising my hand.
“There’s a few people who could fit the bill,” Cordelia nods, “but obviously, I don’t know anything for sure.”
“I’m sure you know many things.” I nod and pull out my notepad, “names.”
“Brandon Cornell, Peter Gibson, Angelo Firenze, and Jack Taylor.”
The final name has me looking up and into Cordelia’s eyes. “Is that all?”
“Cordelia!” Amelia growls over the counter, “you can’t accuse people of wrongdoing when you have no proof.”
“Is that all?” I repeat, ignoring Amelia as Cordelia and I stare at each other. Her eyes are mesmerizing, and I can’t help but want to cut them out and slip them in my pocket.
“Yes,” she nods slowly, “for now.”
“Tell me more about Jack.” His name is pressed deep into the paper, the hatred evident in each stroke.
“Saxon,” Amelia puts her hand on my arm. “He’s had nothing to do with Brian for a while now.”
“Only because Brian was in the hospital for so long,” I lean on the desk and brush Amelia’s hand off my arm, looking solely at Cordelia. “What makes you suspect Jack?”
“He has this look about him, dark and kind of evil.”
“Cordelia.” Amelia hisses and I round on her quickly.
“You had no problem talking shit about almost every girl in our high school, my sister included at one time. Take several seats and come down off that ice pedestal you’re standing on, it’s melting rapidly, Melly.” She blinks through her shock at my words and her eyes begin to fill up, but it doesn’t make it any less truthful. If her feelings are hurt, she needs to toughen up. This holier-than-thou attitude doesn’t sit right with me because it’s fucking fake.
I turn back to Cordelia and wave her on to continue, but her eyes are on Amelia, pity lining those ice blues. “Look,” I lean in again, “Amelia has tough skin, I’ve said worse. This act of hers is just that, an act, and I believe it’s for your benefit.”
“Asshole.” Amelia hisses from beside me.
“She’s ruthless for the people she loves and she’s a judgmental bitch, it’s why I enjoy her presence because unlike how she’s acting now, she’s usually brutally honest.”
“I like him,” Cordelia says, her smile widening. Not many people do when they hear me speak so it’s a pleasant surprise, she’s also different in how she thinks.
“Yeah, so do I.” Amelia grumbles.
“Back to Jack,” Impatience bleeds through my tone. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this, anything that would bring me back into Brian Cox’s orbit, and here it is, dangling right in front of me.
“He watches people,” Cordelia pauses, “no,” she corrects herself, “he watches the women in this hungry, dark, leering way and it has never sat right with me.”
“I like intuition because most times, it’s using our instincts and observations to come to certain conclusions. It means you’re watching people enough to gain certain perspectives on their behaviours.” I write down everything she’s said, “does he have a routine for coming to the library and has he been here on any of the nights when the attacks happened?”
“That’s the weird part,” she lowers her voice, “he came the nights before each attack.”
I write that down with a nod, “tell me more about the others.” To be honest, I write down what she finds suspicious about each of them and I’ll pass that information on, but they don’t strike my interest like Jack Taylor does.
“Thank you, Cordelia.”, “I’ll be in touch.”
“Do you come here? I mean… Do you attend the university?” She asks, and I grin at her sudden interest in me.
“He’s too smart for any such closed-minded facility and would prefer to use his genius in other ways as opposed to a classroom setting under a seemingly Hitler rule… did I get that right?” Amelia asks, and I slow clap.
“Perfectly.”
“Well, you’re welcome back here any time if you have any other questions,” Cordelia says, and a blush works over her cheeks.
I give her a nod in thanks and brush by Amelia, heading back outside. It doesn’t take long before she’s running up behind me and calling my name.
“Are you even going to look into the others, or just focus on Jack?” She asks as I face her.
“What did you gather from everything a vital witness just told us?”
“She’s not a witness, Saxon. She didn’t see the rapes happen.” She huffs.
“Amelia, I don’t want to insult your intelligence, so please, take this as just an observation, don’t hear it like I’m a friend who’s picking on you.” She rolls her eyes and I continue, “a witness is someone who’s been in and around the scene, either before, during, or after. Someone who frequents the area and sees the people there and someone who has an eye for detail and catches inconsistencies. Cordelia is very much a witness and a star one at that.” I wave the notebook and turn away.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble again.” She persists as she continues to chase after me. “Saxon, I don’t want you chasing these guys down and them hurting you again.”
“Does the ass you were checking out on the way in there look like it gets kicked anymore?” I grin at her and pull my helmet on.
“Saxon, I don’t want you to put your uncle in a position to have to arrest you, or your mom having to cover it up.” She means well and her connection to my family means she cares about us.
“Trust me, Amelia. None of that will happen.”
“But when you get mad, Saxon…” she trails off.
Yes, people end up in the hospital. Her worry is understandable, but I don’t really care to stick around and hear it. She’s not my guardian, she’s just a close friend I talk to every now and then.
I get on the bike and start it up, revving it loudly until she steps away. Her mouth opens, her lips forming my name, but the sound of the engine drowns her out. I lift my hand and speed by her, leaving her with a final message.
Saxon Greene takes care of himself.
“Jack Taylor.” Uncle Emmett whistles, “and you got all of this from one meeting with the librarian? Did you show her your dick or something?”
“I was direct and honest. The police should try that tactic, maybe there wouldn’t be so many civilian deaths and hatred for the system. Just a start.”
“Tell me about it.” He exhales and I can see the exhaustion on his face and in his posture.
“Uncle Emmett, you know this town isn’t just yours to save, you need rest, and you need to be able to take care of your family. How many hours have you put in this week?”
“Too many.” His hand flexes around the cup of coffee on his desk. “It’s these rapes and the memories it’s bringing back to the people who lived here in your grandfather’s time. He was a serial rapist, and no one caught him, regardless of the DNA tests administered.”
To this day, no one knows outside of the family about Robert Greene—my paternal grandfather—being the Whitsborough Rapist. We’ve kept it locked up tight to protect our name and reputations. It would’ve been different if he were still alive and living under all their noses. Mom killed him though and that was the punishment he received. Our family knows it’s resolved but the people of Whitsborough don't know.
“They call here all day demanding we don’t drop the ball like police chief Moore Senior did and then his son after him.” His fist clenches, and his jaw tightens.
Those names evoke anger inside of me, too. Police chief Moore was the one who harassed my Uncle Travis, killed Carmelo’s father, and to top it off, he’s Uncle Tommy’s biological father. Any evil you uncover in Whitsborough, somehow has our family stamp on it.
“We won’t,” he needs assurance. “I’ll get some more info.” Once a promise is made, I stick to it, not wanting to let anyone down.
“I appreciate your help, Saxon.” He takes a sip of his coffee, “God knows I need it.”
Whitsborough police aren’t useless, they’re just not properly trained in crimes of a larger scale. You get caught for drag racing or pissing in public, they got it covered. But you kill someone or rape someone, and well, they look like little cockroaches scurrying when the lights come on. Since my family took over cleansing the underlying issues in Whitsborough, the townsfolk have been living easy, but with this on such a public scale, Black Slaughter can’t do its job. It has to look legit.
“I’m leaving on Sunday to New York,” I tell him, “That’s three days to see if I can find out a bit more about our guys.”
“I spoke to Carmelo last night, he said you’re going there to sit in on the Head meeting. Are you taking down Three?”
“Yes.” My answer is clipped to avoid him being implicated, too.
He nods and brushes his finger against his top lip. “Does Carmelo have a plan for Three’s region afterward?”
“Not my part of the job,” I shrug.
“I’m sure Carmelo has it all figured out. “He should have it figured out, but again, not my problem. I’m the exterminator, killing the pests is my job, not the clean up afterward.
“I’m out,” I stand, “I’ve got some detective work to do.”
“Thank you again, Saxon.” He smiles, “I really appreciate it.”