The Lazarev Files: Original Sin
Chapter One
by Jonas Hyde
“Lazarev…” I answered the phone after its fifth ring, half hoping it had already gone to voicemail. I normally would have tried to ignore it, but whoever it was just wasn’t getting the hint. They had been calling every minute, on the minute, and the vibrating battery against the weathered wood end table was just too much.
“Kat, you awake?” the nasally voice on the other end of the line spoke with eager impatience.
“Do I sound awake?” I retorted back roughly as I rolled over and tried to make out the time. My eyes were having trouble focusing, and I didn’t know if it was just the contrast of the red led light on the alarm clock in the blackened room, or if it had something to do with the empty fifth of Jack that was lying next to me. “What time is it?”
“Its 3:30, you’ve gotta…”
“In the morning?” I interrupted, now getting a bit short because of the pounding headache that was quickly setting in.
There was a slight pause on the other end before the voice responded with concern, “Um no… its the afternoon Kat. You ok? You need me to come over?”
I laughed to myself at the question, careful not to echo it out loud. Karl Sandberg was a sweet kid, but that was the problem, he was a bit too sweet, and I didn’t want to be the one to corrupt him. Normally I’d go for his type; tall, lean, and fresh out of college. I liked the younger boys, but there was something about him. Something innocent, and seeing as how it was the only innocent thing in my world, I didn’t want to taint it. Besides, he was a damn good assistant, and I didn’t want to complicate things. I knew he wanted more, he could never hide his nervousness very well. I decided the day I hired him I’d let him keep up the chase, but that would be all. No reason to dash his hopes, besides, it made him work a bit harder.
“No, I’m ok. It was just a late night,” I said as I pushed myself up, forcing my shoulders against the cold, stiff, headboard. I leaned over toward the end table and fumbled around for my pack of Turkish Royales. “So what’s up?” I mumbled as I clicked the head of my lucky pig lighter that shot a flame out of its ass.
“Well, you told me to call you if something came up.”
“And I take it something has?” I questioned as I grabbed the bottle lying beside me, hoping for a lost swig lingering at the bottom. Unfortunately, any whiskey that may have remained seemed to have dripped out onto the wrinkled sheets of my bed. The darkened room reeked of a distillery, and the distinct scent of Camel tobacco only seemed to enhance the aroma.
“Ya, I just got it over the scanner. Seems there was another murder.”
“Is it our guy?”
“It sounds like it could be. Forensics are on their way now.”
Glancing over again at the clock, my eyes were now in full focus, though my head was still a bit cloudy. “Alright, text me the addy and meet me there in a couple of hours. I want to give them time to finish.” Besides, I thought to myself, I really needed to get cleaned up.
“Sounds good,” Karl replied. “You sure you don’t need me to come over? Maybe we can go get dinner first?” he added with a forced confidence.
“You’re sweet luv, but I have an errand to run. I’ll see you there about 6.”
With that, I flipped my phone shut and tossed it on the bed beside me. After taking one long, last drag off my cigarette, I flicked the butt into the empty bottle and threw off the covers. The chill of the room engulfed my bare skin as I swung my legs off the left side of the bed. Sitting on the edge, I leaned over with my head in my hands and my elbows pressed against my thighs, and took a deep breath. After willing myself to fight through the oncoming hangover, I slowly stood up and made my way across the small room and over toward the heavily draped window.
I placed my hand on the thick cloth curtain, and pulled it to the side. I half expected to be blinded by the afternoon sun, but instead, it was just another overcast day. Fall time in Denver sucks… its like winter time most everywhere else. Say what you want about the city, but I hate the cold. And during this time of year, late October, cold seems to be a daily occurrence. The snow season generally starts in late September and can run all the way to March. That’s a lot of snow. I left this town a long time ago, hoping I’d never have to come back. Hope only takes you to places you don’t want to go apparently.
Scoffing at the thought, I turned around and made my way to the adjacent bathroom. Its a small space, this motel room, but the price was right and I was on a budget. Besides, I didn’t plan on spending much time here. Get in and get out, only resting when I needed to either lock myself away, or get a reboot. Last night I needed both. Fortunately for me, crime never sleeps.
I know it sounds a bit cliché, but its true. I can attest to it. Every year almost two million violent crimes take place, with a large amount of them going unsolved. That means there are over five thousand violent crimes a day in America, and I’m not talking drunk drivers, hazing mishaps, or burglaries gone bad. No. I’m talking things like pre-meditated homicides and serial rapes. Then there are the crazy cases. The type of crime the average person doesn’t hear about. Crime so depraved, the shock and awe would be too much for the public to handle. Occasionally, such crimes make it to the masses. If the papers get a hold of them, they can grip a nation. But even then, the media usually only gets half the story. Son of Sam, World Trade Center, Columbine… you’ve probably heard of them all, but you likely don’t know the truth. You’ve only gotten half the story. Me, I get the other half.
My name is Ania Katherine Lazarev, but my friends call me Kat. Hell, I guess my enemies call me Kat too, but the line between friends and enemies is always a hazy one anyways. Upon meeting me, most people are usually surprised. I’m 5′4″ tall, and have a naturally athletic body. I like to eat, love to drink, and never touch the gym. I’m of Russian descent, easily notable by my jet black hair and defined features.
As I splash some cool water on my face, I gaze at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I’m hot. I know it, others let me know it, and I use it to my advantage. I’m far from what you would call a girly girl, and those that underestimate me always get burned. All of these are good traits for my line of work. You might have heard of me, I wrote that book, Footsteps of A Serial Killer: The Life and Times of Johnny Righteous. For those that don’t know, I suggest you Google it.
Johnny Righteous was a serial killer, a grade-a psychopath who thought he was cleansing the world with his killings. He traveled around the country, slaughtering people at random. Well, to the rest of us it seemed random. But to Johnny Righteous, he had a purpose. Anyone God ‘told’ him to cleanse, he did so… permanently. As sick as he was though, he was my claim to fame. It took the law nearly fifteen months to find Johnny, but it only took me eight.
Once I found him, I followed him. That was short lived as he quickly realized I was on his tail. He later told me God told him I was watching him, which made the whole damn thing even creepier. But whether he spoke to God or not you’ll have to decide for yourself. So go buy my book.
He approached me one day, and for only the second time in my life, I was actually scared. I thought I was going to be his next victim. After telling me God alerted him to my presence, he went on to add that this time, his message was different. He had made it a point not to kill me. At that moment, a relationship was formed. He took me as a willing hostage. He wanted someone to document his every move, and I needed insight into his world. I didn’t let on that I wanted to be there, but I didn’t exactly try to escape either. He wasn’t the fish I was looking for, but he at least would put me in the right pond.
So for the next seven months, I trailed Johnny around the US. I documented his every move, and his every kill. I’d like to say it was the hardest time in my life, but it wasn’t.
In the aftermath of his arrest, I nearly went to jail as an accomplice. It took some convincing that I wasn’t with Johnny willingly. Hell, most people still don’t believe me. The families of those he killed after I started trailing him all blamed me for the deaths of their loved ones more than Johnny himself. I can’t say I totally blame them, which is why I have so much trouble sleeping at night. In the end, my hostage story stuck, a story Johnny backed all the way to the electric chair. Who says killers and thieves don’t have honor? He was a depraved murderer, but that psycho covered for me to the very end.
After being cleared of all charges, it took all of two seconds for my phone to start blazing. This publisher and that studio all wanted my story… or rather, Johnny’s story. Either way you look at it, we are forever linked. I might have gotten the book deal, but Johnny got his freedom. All he wanted was to serve his God’s purpose and return to him. Me, I have the visions of seven months of murder etched into my brain. And like I said, that was only the second worst time of my life.
The book hit it huge, and ever since, my publisher has been looking for sequel to cash in on. The opportunity for me was golden. I got to continue the search that led me to Johnny in the first place, and they get first dibs on another guaranteed best seller. Of course, its all been on their dime. At first they sprung for Hilton’s, but as time passed, I got relegated to places like the Queen Ann here, which trust me, is far from the posh that its royal name would suggest.
So now here I am, back in Denver. I never thought I’d return, but sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
