The female officer, who had just returned with a concerned expression, understood the emotional toll a traumatic event like this could take on someone so young. Her voice was soft, almost motherly, as she spoke to Lucas. "Lucas, I know this is overwhelming, and it's not a good idea for you to be here alone tonight. Staying with a friend might help you feel a bit better."
Before Lucas could respond, Dimitri interjected almost to quickly, "Yes, of course. He can stay with me."
The words hung in the air, causing a cold shiver to run down Lucas's spine. The thought of spending the night at Dimitri's, where every glance and gesture could be a calculated move, made him inwardly recoil. Dimitri's unsettling presence had always made him uneasy, and now, with the officer suggesting he stay under the same roof, the anxiety twisted in his gut like a knife.
Yet, with the officer standing before him, her gaze filled with genuine concern and empathy, Lucas knew he had no real choice. He nodded slowly, feigning reluctance, even as his mind raced with the possibilities of what the night at Dimitri's might entail.
"Thank you," Lucas finally said, his voice shaky but controlled, "I appreciate it."
The officer smiled warmly, her relief palpable as she gently patted Lucas's shoulder. "You'll be safe there, Lucas. Just take it one step at a time."
As the body of Mrs. Morton was carefully loaded into the ambulance, the once chaotic scene began to quiet down. The flashing lights reflected off the polished surfaces of the Morton residence, casting an eerie glow over the surroundings. Dimitri remained close, his presence both a comfort and a threat to Lucas. He was aware of the dangerous game he was playing—one wrong move, and everything could unravel.
As Lucas turned to follow Dimitri, his gaze caught the detective who was standing in the middle of the room. The man was watching him closely, his eyes narrowed slightly as if assessing every movement, every nuance of Lucas's behavior. The detective's expression was unreadable, a mask of professional detachment, but Lucas could feel the intensity behind it. The scrutiny made his skin prickle with unease, reminding him that his performance needed to be flawless.
Lucas offered the detective a brief, tremulous smile, playing the role of the heartbroken boy to perfection. The detective's gaze lingered a moment longer before he finally nodded, almost imperceptibly, and turned away. Lucas let out a slow breath before turning back.
Dimitri led Lucas through the darkened yard, the path between the two houses lit only by the dim streetlights. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain on the horizon. Lucas could feel Dimitri's eyes on him, watching every step he took. It made his skin prickle , but he kept his expression neutral.
They reached Dimitri's front door, which opened with a quiet creak. The house was silent, almost eerily so, as if it were holding its breath in anticipation of Lucas's arrival.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, the atmosphere in Dimitri's house shifted, becoming thick and oppressive. The silence was heavy, almost suffocating. He felt Dimitri's gaze on him, studying his every move, every breath. The tension was unbearable, and Lucas knew he couldn't keep up the act any longer.
Without warning, he grabbed Dimitri by the collar and slammed him against the wall with a force that rattled the picture frames. The sudden aggression took Dimitri by surprise, his eyes widening as he stared up at Lucas, who towered over him, his face twisted with barely contained rage.
"What the hell was that back there?" Lucas hissed, his voice low and venomous. His grip tightened on Dimitri's shirt, pulling him closer. "Why did you come to the house? Why did you act like you cared? Hugging me in front of everyone—what kind of sick game are you playing?"
Dimitri blinked, his expression shifting to one of feigned confusion. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes wide and innocent, as if he genuinely didn't understand what Lucas was saying. "Lucas, I don't know what you mean," Dimitri said softly, his voice laced with false sincerity. "I was just trying to help—"
"Shut up!" Lucas snarled, his voice raw with fury. Dimitri's calm demeanor, his pretended ignorance—it was all too much. The way he acted as if he were the victim, as if Lucas's anger was irrational, pushed him over the edge. "Don't play dumb with me, Dimitri. You think I don't see through you? You think I don't know what you're doing?"
Dimitri maintained his infuriatingly calm and innocent facade. "I really don't, Lucas. Why would I—"
The rest of Dimitri's sentence was cut off as Lucas's fist slammed into his stomach. The punch was swift and brutal, fueled by months of pent-up anger. Dimitri doubled over, the air rushing out of him in a pained gasp. For the first time, the mask of calm slipped, replaced by a flicker of shock and pain.
Lucas stood over him, breathing heavily, his fists still clenched, watching as Dimitri struggled to regain his composure. The satisfaction of seeing Dimitri finally react, finally show some kind of vulnerability, was fleeting. But Lucas wasn't done yet.
"Why did you go to the house?" Lucas demanded, his voice shaking with a mix of rage and something he refused to acknowledge as fear. "Why did you pretend like you cared, like you actually gave a damn about me? Do you get off on this? Messing with people's heads, making them think you're on their side?"
Dimitri slowly straightened, his face pale, but his eyes still held that infuriating calmness, as if even this moment of violence hadn't completely rattled him. "Lucas," he whispered, his voice strained from the impact, "I was just trying to be there for you. Isn't that what friends do?"
"Friends?" Lucas spat, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. "We were never and will never be friends. So why, Dimitri? Why put on this act? What do you get out of it?"
Dimitri's gaze locked onto Lucas's, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Maybe I just didn't want you to feel alone," he said quietly, his voice softer now, almost sincere. "Maybe I thought, just for a moment, that you needed someone. Even if it was me."
Lucas's scowl deepened, but before he could respond, Dimitri turned and walked away, leaving Lucas standing alone in the hallway, his knuckles throbbing from the punch. The pain was nothing compared to the seething fury still churning inside him. He watched Dimitri disappear down the hallway, a dark resolve settling in his chest. If Dimitri wanted a game, Lucas would play—but on his own terms. And next time, he wouldn't be holding back.
Lucas spent the next few minutes unmoving as he tried to get a grip of himself .At the same time that was when the Bennet's appeared behind him a mask of sympathy etched onto their faces
Their presence, though intended to be comforting, felt unsettling to Lucas. They approached him with expressions of sympathy, their voices soft and filled with the expected condolences.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, dear," Mrs. Bennet said, her voice warm but tinged with an undertone Lucas couldn't quite place. "It must be so difficult for you."
Lucas forced a tremulous smile, his eyes lowered as if he were struggling to hold back tears. "Thank you," he said softly. "It's been… overwhelming."
As he offered his gratitude, Lucas couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was off. There was a subtle but disturbing change in Mrs. Bennet that gnawed at him.
The most striking difference lay in her eyes. The Mrs. Bennet he remembered had eyes that were warm and expressive, with a gentle crinkle at the corners when she smiled. Now, her eyes seemed unnaturally still, like dark, reflective pools devoid of the usual human warmth. They were a shade too deep, too dark, and held an unsettling, almost lifeless quality.
Her smile, which had once radiated kindness and genuine empathy, now appeared too perfect, almost mechanical. The curves of her lips were perfectly symmetrical, with no hint of the natural asymmetry or the creases that time and emotion usually bring. It was a smile that lacked the spontaneity of human emotion, appearing instead as if it were carefully staged.
Mrs. Bennet's hands, which Lucas had always remembered as showing signs of age—slight wrinkles, and a few blemishes—now looked unnaturally smooth. The skin was unnaturally taut, with nails that seemed almost too perfectly shaped and polished. There was no sign of the usual wear and tear that came with age or daily life. Her hands moved with an unnaturally fluid grace, as if they were too practiced, too deliberate.
Her voice, though still soft and sympathetic, carried a strange undertone. It was slightly too smooth, lacking the natural fluctuations and imperfections that made speech sound genuine. It felt rehearsed, as if she were trying too hard to sound comforting.
Even her overall demeanor seemed off. The warmth that had once characterized her presence now felt like a facade, replaced by an almost oppressive chill. Her movements were too calculated, her gestures too precise, and there was an eerie stillness in the way she carried herself, as if she were trying to mimic the warmth and kindness she used to exude but falling short.
Every detail, from the fixed, unnatural smile to the perfectly smooth hands and the strangely still eyes, pointed to a profound and disturbing change. Lucas could not ignore the growing sense of dread as he tried to reconcile the familiar face with the unsettling new presence that stood before him.
As Lucas continued to scrutinize Mrs. Bennet's unsettling new appearance, his own confusion and unease were palpable. His attention to detail was sharp, but he was still piecing together the dissonance between her current presence and his memories of her. He was deeply unsettled but maintained a veneer of composure.
Mr. Bennet, however, was visibly disturbed. He was sweating slightly, his forehead glistening with beads of perspiration as he glanced nervously at the corner of the room where Dimitri stood. Dimitri's gaze was intense and fixed solely on Mr. Bennet, conveying a clear, silent message: if Mr. Bennet didn't take action or address the situation swiftly, there would be serious consequences.
The tension in the room heightened as Mr. Bennet's discomfort grew more apparent. His eyes darted back and forth between Dimitri and Lucas, his usual calm demeanor slipping. The pressure from Dimitri's watchful stare was making Mr. Bennet's anxiety more pronounced, and he struggled to mask his growing fear.
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice as he spoke to Lucas, his words coming out strained. "Lucas, I hope you're managing alright. It's quite a lot to take in, I'm sure."
Lucas, though slightly confused by Mr. Bennet's nervousness, responded with a polite nod. "I'm handling it. It's just… everything feels so surreal."
Mr. Bennet's anxiety was high as he tried to keep his composure. He subtly shifted closer to Lucas, attempting to redirect the conversation and regain control. "I understand," Mr. Bennet said, forcing a reassuring smile. "Perhaps it would be best if you took some time to settle in. We're here to help you through this."
Mr. Bennet, still trying to regain his composure, gestured towards a door at the end of the hallway. "Lucas, why don't you settle into the guest room? It's just down the hall and should be quite comfortable. It might help you to have some time to yourself."
Mrs. Bennet, who had been observing the interaction with a strained smile, added, "And I'll prepare a quick meal for you. It's the least we can do after everything you've been through." Her voice was warm, though Lucas could sense an undercurrent of tension in her tone.
Lucas gave a polite nod, his unease momentarily overshadowed by the practicalities of the situation. "Thank you," he replied, trying to sound appreciative despite his inner confusion. "I'd appreciate that."
As he moved toward the guest room, the unsettling feeling about Mrs. Bennet's altered appearance lingered in the back of his mind. He cast a final glance over his shoulder at Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Bennet, who were now engaged in a hushed conversation.