Scarlet Ice: Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE: OVER COFFEE.

* Dear reader

This is a sort of lame chapter name I know, but it's intentional. And Ivy's character was made to depressed sounding and strange. She's sort of your heroine with 'issues' The second chapter will come soon, or I might just fuse it into this one.

M.Morose

A single cloud floated slowly above the neighbourhood. Vast, fleecy and white as the crested foam of a sea-wave, it sailed through the air, seemingly conscious of its own grandeur. A lone girl stood out in her yard, considering the cloud in a continuous trance. Illuminated by the sun were her sharp features; her chin-length ebony hair, and blue eyes that seemed plunge deeper than oceans. High cheekbones graced this face, enveloped in creamy, pale skin with an ample, thin mouth. Ivy Stolhov was transfixed on the sky until a single raindrop hit her small forehead. Sure enough, thousands of its tiny comrades began to follow, as they invaded the earth in blinding sheets.

Retiring to the inside of the house, Ivy sought the warmth that was eluding her outside at her fireplace. Her sense of surreal wonder melted away with the cold, and she began to remember why she had ventured outside in the first place. Somehow, the simple adventure of checking her mail had turned into staring at the sky. Ivy shook her head. Losing herself at her age was more of an absurd habit than a momentary happening. Deep inside her mind, she chided herself. How could a University student be so easily distracted and expect to survive in the world? Her hasty temper was another thing to overcome, as she frequently and venomously lashed out at her chatty, bubbly house-mate. The girl in question was padding down the stairs urgently, fastening her dressing gown.

"Ivy! Ivy, look!" Vivian said in a scared voice, as she grabbed the remote and switched the news on, "An e-mail was sent to us from the university,"

Ivy turned towards the bright screen and her jaw dropped. The beautiful, lush campus was in focus, but a bright yellow police tape cordoned off a large area. The nasal, monotone voice of a reporter explained the scene.

"...the latest from the university, that the murder victim could not be one of their students, however, the body is in such a grisly state, identification is pending...'

"Murder? How are they so sure it can't be a stu-" Vivian began, but Ivy cut across her with a sharp hiss as they both stared at the television.

"...this is a picture an anonymous student has captured of the corpse. We will warn you, this picture is highly graphic and may not be suitable for younger viewers..."

A large, slightly blurred picture eclipsed the reporter. Both girls cringed, and Ivy felt faintly nauseated. The corpse was bloodied and battered, with strips of haggard flesh hanging off exposed bone. The head, arms and one leg were completely ripped off, and a sickly yellow marrow seeped out in chunks among the blood and leaves.

"The official report has come in, the M.E. says that, the injuries besides the victim's head being ripped off were inflicted while the victim was alive. Without even dental records the body may not be identified..."

Vivian took off the television, looking slightly green in the face. Her long chocolate hair had been hastily scooped back and her dark eyes were wide and horrified.

"Needless to say, we have no classes today," she fumbled in a small voice, but Ivy was not listening. She had taken her keys and was out the door.

Ivy sat in the front seat of her car, breathing heavily. Her head pounded in a fierce, vindictive rhythm, flashing images before her inner eyes. The pungent odour of burning flesh enveloped her,and the burnt and cracked skin of her father was all she could see. His wild, pleading screams filled her ears.

He was killed only a few months ago, deep in the quiet suburbs of Leehampton. Ivy had been there, hiding in the bathroom as a blaze gutted the building. She remembered being strapped to a gurney, her eyes uplifted, waiting for the firefighters to pull her father out of the building. All that was rescued was a charred body. She had been hysterical after they told her it was her father, and she had to be sedated.

After she was released from the hospital, she was thrust into mandatory therapy. Ivy had withstood it, feeling like a caged animal. Her only solace had been her lab work, feeling the rush of being important and being constantly occupied and now it was postponed.

Shaking away her thoughts, she turned on her radio to the loudest heavy metal thrashing she could find. With a severe blunting feeling in her ears, she started the car, and drove into town.

***

On account of illegal speed, Ivy was at her favourite coffee house in under fifteen minutes. She parked in an adjacent lot, and walked in limply. Ordering an Earl Grey tea, she sat huddled in a small corner, surveying the room. Small vistas of bight flowers and clambering vines grew up on the red brick walls, and the frosted fixtures gave an air of comfort.

Her tea arrived shortly, and Ivy occupied herself with mixing milk and sugar into it. She picked up the small metallic jug and tipped it slightly to ease in a small amount of milk. Nothing came out. She could hear the sloshing inside the vessel, so it was not empty. Ivy cautiously tipped it further, feeling annoyed. A dry chuckle sounded beside her. She turned to her left and, smiling down at her, was a young waiter.

"It's a new jug we've gotten, there's a button under the handle." he smiled with a thick Irish accent, "I've seen you perform here before," he went on, gesturing towards the pictures of Ivy's band performing in the cafe months before. Sure enough, the most recent was a large, showy picture of the band, with Ivy at the forefront, guitar in hand.

"That was a long time ago," Ivy said, staring at him, "I'm not doing that any more." The boy was a bit older than Ivy's nineteen years, but his face had a boyish softness still. He had a shoulder length mullet-like haircut, with a dark side swept fringe over his face. His khol rimmed eyes were coloured steely grey, warmed by hints of green and his slightly upturned nose gave an air of pleasant imperfection to his alabaster pale visage.

"You were good, really. You screamed like a man," the boy smiled, his eyes crinkling.

Ivy felt an involuntary smile curve her lips. "You know how to compliment a girl, huh?"

"Well only a vocalist in a metal band takes that as s compliment." he added, "So why did you stop singing?"

Ivy's smile slipped off her face. "My dad died." Instantly, though, she regretted it. Ivy was well versed in the danger of tainting a good new friendship just because she moped around about her father.

"But away from that, what's your name? Mine is Ivy Stolhov." she added hastily.

"I'm Sean, Sean McKinnon," he answered, "I'm sorry about your father, I didn't know."

"Don't beat yourself up about it. I should apologize for being so blunt. My therapist said that I shouldn't bring up his death if it pained me too much."

"Therapist?" Sean asked, surprised. Ivy groaned. She had put her foot in it again.

"Never mind, that I had to see one, because I was in the fire where he was killed." she explained, and to her intense relief, his face relaxed into a smile again.

"That sounds rough. I've been in a fire as well," Sean said reassuringly, "I was never the same after,"

Ivy beamed at him as he lapsed into silence. Finally, she had found someone who would not press the grisly details out of her. He may have ulterior motives in mind, but he would work.

"Let's get away from the talk of singed things," Sean put in playfully, "I get off in fifteen minutes, and I can show you a good guitar exhibit near here. No offense, but you look like a middle-aged single parent, hun."

Ivy laughed. "Thanks, Sean, I guess I could use a good distraction."

"Well then I'd better get back to work," he said, eying his supervisor, "So I'll be serving coffee like a good boy."

He walked away briskly, then he froze as two burly-looking men walked past the cafe. One of them had a severely low buzz-haircut and the other was shaved bald. The bald one leered inside at Sean, while the one with the buzz-cut made a swift, violent gesture. Ivy surveyed the scene quietly, and watched Sean turn his back to the men, as if he hadn't seen them.

***