![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
intheheartTitle: Motive
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Aaron has a problem, or, what does one do after accidentally framing one's sister for murder?
Date: 2015
AU: Sociopathic Besties
Notes: Direct sequel to Rules. Maria Corlioni belongs to the Polyfaceted gang.
WARNING for sociopathy.
His father came to get him at the camp, the next day.
Aaron had been expecting, at most, a phone call to tell him what had happened. His father's actual presence was somewhat unexpected. The grim look on his face, though, was not.
"Aaron," his father said, and hugged him, which was rather startling. He wasn't big on physical contact, and his father knew that, so... he must think this was more affecting than Aaron had previously thought.
He'd better amp up the shock, he decided, and made his eyes wide and his expression worried. "What is it? Dad?" he asked, trying to sound frightened.
He must have succeeded; his father's face got grimmer. "Aaron... there's no easy way to say this. Lars is dead."
Shock, surprise, the beginnings of grief. It was so easy to fake he almost got bored. "He's... he's dead? How? When?"
His father looked at him, face closed, then said, "Last night. He was... they think he was murdered, Aaron."
Aaron let his face go on faking shock and grief, but inwardly he was frowning. His father wasn't a hard man, he was a gentle man, a good one. He shouldn't be this... locked down, when delivering this kind of news. He should be gentler, more sympathetic. Instead, Aaron saw a man barely containing his own fury.
Uneasiness stirred in the pit of his stomach. Had his father somehow found out...?
"There's more," he said, before he could stop himself. "Isn't there?"
His father closed his eyes, bowed his head. When he looked up Aaron could just see the grief and a terrible fear alive in his eyes, behind the frozen mask of his face. "They think Ivy did it."
For half a second, Aaron couldn't breathe.
"Ivy?" he managed, at last. His sister? The little redheaded skinny thing with a temper like a match, quick to flame and quicker to die out? "She didn't. She couldn't."
Even if he hadn't done it, he wouldn't have believed that. Ivy wasn't strong enough, for one thing. She could lift the crowbar pretty easily, but Aaron doubted she could swing it that hard, let alone beat a man to death with it. Besides, Ivy didn't... hate enough. You had to hate a lot to beat someone to death.
Aaron knew that for certain. No one hated like he did.
"She didn't," he said, again.
His father smiled, a tiny, barely-there smile, but a smile. "I'm glad you believe her," he said. "So do we, of course, but the evidence..." He stopped, then shook his head. "We've got to go. Come on."
His time in the passenger's seat on the tricky, slippery drive home was spent mostly in silence. His father drove with a frown between his eyebrows and a fierce concentration on the road that refused all conversation. Not that Aaron tried. He had other things to think about.
Like that damned evidence. What evidence? He hadn't left any evidence, besides the inevitable results of his activities. He was good at this, damn it, and what tricks he hadn't already learned, Maria had taught him. There was no evidence.
He supposed that the blow angles and blood spatter patterns and such could be used to construct a rough physical outline, but... damn it, he was much taller than his sister. Ivy was short, though she didn't seem it, and he was three inches over six feet. He'd assumed that the cops would figure out that much-- but then again, these were cops.
"Dad," he said, when they got onto the cleared highway finally, headed back towards New York. "Dad, what did you mean, evidence?"
His father glanced at him, looking rather startled, then sighed. "You know your sister. She... well, when Summer came home crying, we were all worried, you know how it is. Ivy got angry, too. Very angry. It seems she went to Lars's apartment yesterday morning and screamed at him, and... and a lot of people heard her. And Gina worked late last night, so... no one knows where she was."
Aaron stared at his father. For a moment the words simply did not make sense. Ivy had done what?
She'd given them a motive, the cold part of him replied. That was the stupidest fucking thing in the world to do, but it was what she had done. She'd gone and handed the damn cops a gift-wrapped motive on a silver platter, and she hadn't even had the sense to construct a basic fucking alibi.
"But she didn't kill him," was all he could think to say. "Ivy didn't kill Lars."
"Of course not," his father said, misinterpreting that as a request for reassurance rather than a statement of absolute fact. "You know your sister. She'd never actually hurt anyone physically. I have no doubt that she just... tried to make him feel bad, and that when she left he was fine. But the timing..." He sighed again. "You understand that it looks very bad."
Fantastic. Ivy had handed them a motive, and he'd gone and framed his own sister for murder. Accidentally, but that was no excuse.
His brain was overclocking now, as he tried to find a way out. "Has she been arrested?"
That earned him a sharp look, but his father evidently decided that it was a reasonable question, because he said, "No. Not yet. But she's in for questioning. Gina's with her."
Gina. That was good. Gina was smart. She wouldn't let Ivy say anything stupid and possibly dig herself in deeper. Still, Ivy's mother would be better... "What about Gail?"
That terrible grief and fear spasmed across his father's face again. "Home, with Summer. She's... not taking this well."
By she, he must mean Summer, since as far as Aaron knew his stepmother didn't have any particular feelings about Lars. That... didn't make any sense, to him. Lars had hurt Summer, badly. Badly enough that she'd cried herself to sleep, and cried to him on the phone. Summer should be happy about this. He'd done her a favor, for heaven's sake.
Oh, well. She'd feel better about it soon, he was sure.
"I'm sorry for her," he said, and meant it, although he and his father were not talking about the same thing. "Will she... do you think she'll be all right?"
"Maybe," his father said. "In time. It will help when we prove that Ivy didn't do it, I'm sure."
Oh, yes, and Aaron intended to see that happened soon. Not by turning himself in, of course, but... well, he'd see to it. Probably by framing someone else. He'd have to talk to Maria, of course, get her advice, and for that he'd need to tell her what he'd done, which he was not looking forward to but had been planning on anyway. Maria would understand, though, even if she thought him stupid for it. And she'd help, would have ideas as to how. Maybe planting evidence...
The question, of course, was who.
His mind flicked back, fastened on something Ivy had said. "That fucking bitch Madison," she'd said, and meant that Madison was at least as responsible for what had happened to Summer as Lars. Madison, with whom Lars had had an acrimonious and probably equally noisy breakup not three days before he died.
Madison.
Now there was a thought.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Aaron has a problem, or, what does one do after accidentally framing one's sister for murder?
Date: 2015
AU: Sociopathic Besties
Notes: Direct sequel to Rules. Maria Corlioni belongs to the Polyfaceted gang.
WARNING for sociopathy.
His father came to get him at the camp, the next day.
Aaron had been expecting, at most, a phone call to tell him what had happened. His father's actual presence was somewhat unexpected. The grim look on his face, though, was not.
"Aaron," his father said, and hugged him, which was rather startling. He wasn't big on physical contact, and his father knew that, so... he must think this was more affecting than Aaron had previously thought.
He'd better amp up the shock, he decided, and made his eyes wide and his expression worried. "What is it? Dad?" he asked, trying to sound frightened.
He must have succeeded; his father's face got grimmer. "Aaron... there's no easy way to say this. Lars is dead."
Shock, surprise, the beginnings of grief. It was so easy to fake he almost got bored. "He's... he's dead? How? When?"
His father looked at him, face closed, then said, "Last night. He was... they think he was murdered, Aaron."
Aaron let his face go on faking shock and grief, but inwardly he was frowning. His father wasn't a hard man, he was a gentle man, a good one. He shouldn't be this... locked down, when delivering this kind of news. He should be gentler, more sympathetic. Instead, Aaron saw a man barely containing his own fury.
Uneasiness stirred in the pit of his stomach. Had his father somehow found out...?
"There's more," he said, before he could stop himself. "Isn't there?"
His father closed his eyes, bowed his head. When he looked up Aaron could just see the grief and a terrible fear alive in his eyes, behind the frozen mask of his face. "They think Ivy did it."
For half a second, Aaron couldn't breathe.
"Ivy?" he managed, at last. His sister? The little redheaded skinny thing with a temper like a match, quick to flame and quicker to die out? "She didn't. She couldn't."
Even if he hadn't done it, he wouldn't have believed that. Ivy wasn't strong enough, for one thing. She could lift the crowbar pretty easily, but Aaron doubted she could swing it that hard, let alone beat a man to death with it. Besides, Ivy didn't... hate enough. You had to hate a lot to beat someone to death.
Aaron knew that for certain. No one hated like he did.
"She didn't," he said, again.
His father smiled, a tiny, barely-there smile, but a smile. "I'm glad you believe her," he said. "So do we, of course, but the evidence..." He stopped, then shook his head. "We've got to go. Come on."
His time in the passenger's seat on the tricky, slippery drive home was spent mostly in silence. His father drove with a frown between his eyebrows and a fierce concentration on the road that refused all conversation. Not that Aaron tried. He had other things to think about.
Like that damned evidence. What evidence? He hadn't left any evidence, besides the inevitable results of his activities. He was good at this, damn it, and what tricks he hadn't already learned, Maria had taught him. There was no evidence.
He supposed that the blow angles and blood spatter patterns and such could be used to construct a rough physical outline, but... damn it, he was much taller than his sister. Ivy was short, though she didn't seem it, and he was three inches over six feet. He'd assumed that the cops would figure out that much-- but then again, these were cops.
"Dad," he said, when they got onto the cleared highway finally, headed back towards New York. "Dad, what did you mean, evidence?"
His father glanced at him, looking rather startled, then sighed. "You know your sister. She... well, when Summer came home crying, we were all worried, you know how it is. Ivy got angry, too. Very angry. It seems she went to Lars's apartment yesterday morning and screamed at him, and... and a lot of people heard her. And Gina worked late last night, so... no one knows where she was."
Aaron stared at his father. For a moment the words simply did not make sense. Ivy had done what?
She'd given them a motive, the cold part of him replied. That was the stupidest fucking thing in the world to do, but it was what she had done. She'd gone and handed the damn cops a gift-wrapped motive on a silver platter, and she hadn't even had the sense to construct a basic fucking alibi.
"But she didn't kill him," was all he could think to say. "Ivy didn't kill Lars."
"Of course not," his father said, misinterpreting that as a request for reassurance rather than a statement of absolute fact. "You know your sister. She'd never actually hurt anyone physically. I have no doubt that she just... tried to make him feel bad, and that when she left he was fine. But the timing..." He sighed again. "You understand that it looks very bad."
Fantastic. Ivy had handed them a motive, and he'd gone and framed his own sister for murder. Accidentally, but that was no excuse.
His brain was overclocking now, as he tried to find a way out. "Has she been arrested?"
That earned him a sharp look, but his father evidently decided that it was a reasonable question, because he said, "No. Not yet. But she's in for questioning. Gina's with her."
Gina. That was good. Gina was smart. She wouldn't let Ivy say anything stupid and possibly dig herself in deeper. Still, Ivy's mother would be better... "What about Gail?"
That terrible grief and fear spasmed across his father's face again. "Home, with Summer. She's... not taking this well."
By she, he must mean Summer, since as far as Aaron knew his stepmother didn't have any particular feelings about Lars. That... didn't make any sense, to him. Lars had hurt Summer, badly. Badly enough that she'd cried herself to sleep, and cried to him on the phone. Summer should be happy about this. He'd done her a favor, for heaven's sake.
Oh, well. She'd feel better about it soon, he was sure.
"I'm sorry for her," he said, and meant it, although he and his father were not talking about the same thing. "Will she... do you think she'll be all right?"
"Maybe," his father said. "In time. It will help when we prove that Ivy didn't do it, I'm sure."
Oh, yes, and Aaron intended to see that happened soon. Not by turning himself in, of course, but... well, he'd see to it. Probably by framing someone else. He'd have to talk to Maria, of course, get her advice, and for that he'd need to tell her what he'd done, which he was not looking forward to but had been planning on anyway. Maria would understand, though, even if she thought him stupid for it. And she'd help, would have ideas as to how. Maybe planting evidence...
The question, of course, was who.
His mind flicked back, fastened on something Ivy had said. "That fucking bitch Madison," she'd said, and meant that Madison was at least as responsible for what had happened to Summer as Lars. Madison, with whom Lars had had an acrimonious and probably equally noisy breakup not three days before he died.
Madison.
Now there was a thought.
