The Critic

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Marian Walter was a brutal critic, yet a peculiar one. She was not a critic of literature, or the cinema, nor was she the critic of music. Marian Walter was a critic of beauty.  Not of others, rather of her own self. She peered at her face in the mirror, so close to the glass that it fogged beneath her mint-flavored breath, scrutinizing the skin, dreading that spot or pimple or mole that would make her pull her hair out in fright. She was late for a date and she had to look perfect. Perfect, she thought. Yes, must be perfect. 4

She put on a heap of foundation, smoothed her curls one last time and than slipped into a simple, black dress with an elegant star-studded backdrop. She put on a pair of open-toed shoes and quickly kissing a poster of Martinus Beijerinck, her lifelong idol, started the engine of her white Sudan and drove off. While driving she sifted through her purse, making sure she had everything she needed for a date. A packet of condoms, her Refreshia makeup kit, a scalpel, a syringe, two small collecting tubes filled with a thick, viscous liquid and a .357 Magnum revolver, her beloved Colt Python.5

Wonderful, she thought. 6

It was a blind date, although she had already sneaked a glance at him as he went from his uptown apartment to work. Tyler was a strapping, young man, younger than she had perceived, but dashing, with wavy golden hair and a tall slender swimmer’s build. They had decided to meet at dinner in Le Palais, a crowded French restaurant at Last Rose. It was a romantic place and Marian felt a burning desire to be courted.7

I do deserve it. 8

He was a proper gentleman, waiting for her by the door, wearing a white casual shirt and brown corduroy pants. He smiled at her as she parked her car and strode forward to open her door. She was privately delighted at the formality. It made her feel, after such a long length, a lady. Am I falling in love with him? 9

They sat for a while, making small talk, breaking the ice and finally the waiter came to take their order. 10

“Beef Casserole, please and tossed string-pea salad” Marian said, eyes on Tyler’s face. She had been here more than fifty times before, all blind dates, at least for the men. Terrible as she thought the French were, she loved their food. 11

“The same as the Lady, please,” her date said. “Ah, and white wine?” 12

“That would be lovely, Tyler,” Marian whispered, still not lifting her eyes. She stared into the deep blue-green pools, drowning into their depths. They were lively. Lusty. Full of that virgin innocence. She wondered how that innocence would be stolen away. 13

“So, Marian, what do you do?” said Tyler. 14

“I – I’m a virologist,” said Marian. “I study viruses at Siscpol Laboratories, currently; I’m actually heading a research project.”15

“So, what’s it about?” said Tyler. 16

“Well – we mutate viruses to find immunities to various diseases,” Marian lied. It was far from the truth. The Disva Project was nothing about finding immunities from viruses; rather it was about creating viruses. A specific virus. Seven years ago, just after Marian had done a double major in Virology, she had been shipped to an American base in Haiti. She had been briefed then about her role in a research project. She would be working in a project to discover and create a new species of virus, one that had no immunities. It was to be called Weapon V, a new tactic of the American Government to tackle the continuously rising terrorist threats. Weapon V would be hailed as the worst epidemic in the history of mankind. It would be quietly slipped into the Afghan borders, where it would spread like wildfire, killing everyone and everything. 17

“Help cleanse the land, heal it,” the government agent had said. 18

While some had scorned and been mortified, and subsequently put down, Marian had taken up the project boldly, and was paid handsomely, almost 50 grand a month. She had worked to the bone for this project, let it consume her life; obsess her until she did nothing except for the sake of this project. She knew she was doing something for the greater good. Something that would make a difference. 19

“What about you?” she asked Tyler.20

“I currently do research work but – well, ever heard about Brine Hunt – yeah, the actor, well he’s starting a new show and I – I want to be a part of it,” said Tyler, almost bursting with excitement. So young, Marian thought. Still counting the offers that life had to offer. Silly boy. “I’ve just done my majors in Marine Biology – I like a bit of adventure you know, I say you should always do something with a passion, no matter the pay. It’s all about living, you know?”21

“Of course,” she nodded. They had a lovely dinner. They talked well into the night. Tyler had so much to say, she was enthralled by the way he talked. They discussed politics, life, books, movies, music, science, a serial killer that had been on the loose, about George Bush and his antics, about Oprah Winfrey and nearly everything. 22

Dessert was simple mousse, his: chocolate and hers: strawberry. Then, he paid the bill and they went out. 23

As they entered into the fresh, cool breeze, he pecked her cheek. 24

Marian blushed. I love him, she realized. Of course love was only an obstacle in duty, a hedge that she would jump over. 25

They drove her Sudan to his apartment, chatting happily all the way. Marian was consumed by his love for life and living. It made the daunting task ahead even more enticing. 26

The intimacy between them was ecstatic. Marian could not keep her hands off him, and vice versa. They kissed on the first step and by the last; Tyler’s shirt was already off. His apartment was small and manly, with simple necessities and posters of musicians and sportsmen. It had a musky smell. She reveled in it. They made love till three in the morning.27

“That was wonderful,” said Tyler, chest heaving up and down. He lay beneath her while she played lightly with his skin, tracing little circles and semi-circles. 28

“It was, wasn’t it,” said Marian. She reached by the bedside and got her purse. Enough play. It was time to act. She quickly filled the syringe with the liquid and in one swipe, plunged it into his arm. He let out a loud yell, jerking forward, only sticking the needle further in. 29

He looked at her in shock, pupils wide with astonishment. She smiled. The virus took effect. His body writhed in pain, twisting and turning, as though his body was being shocked with thousands of volts of electricity. It racked his limbs. 30

Froth developed at his mouth, bluish foam that flawed his perfect looks. 31

She stabbed at him once more, this time within the eyes. The needle sliced through quickly, making a squishy sound as blood pooled into his sockets. Once. Twice. Thrice. She stabbed again and again. 32

He was dead within minutes. 33

Shit, she thought. Another failure. They had created the virus, only it killed too fast. They needed a slow-killer. It was assure that the virus would spread. Of course, the Lab tried it on mice, and since they died within seconds, it was back to the drawing board. But that was not enough. Those idiots never realized. They needed to try it on humans. So Marian Walter did it for them. It was her duty. This project dictated her life and it needed to be perfect. 34

She took out the gun and shot five bullets into Tyler’s head, not flinching even once. 35

“I hope you get that job, hon,” she said to Tyler’s dead body. She kissed him. 36

Then, put some sheets into a corner and lit them on fire. 37

She got dressed. 38

And left – thought not before critiquing herself in the mirror once more. 39

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Davis Hong had never felt bitterer in his life. He spat at the ground. It had been two weeks since Tyler Wazby had been burnt in his apartment and it was another file in the Cold Case. This was the twentieth killing in Lewis County under his watch. The tenth ever since he had taken over the case. The victims: male. Post-mortem revealed some pretty funny things. A weird virus was being used on these people. Bullshit, thought Davis. To Davis, it was a plain kill-after-pleasure. Five shots to the head, sometimes even more. Never less.43

Probably some fucked up bitch’s work. He thought of Aileen Wuornos. Women serial killers could be just as worse. 44

But these killings did not seem to be the works of someone insane. They were immaculate. The arson completely obliterated most details. Things that were left were never of any use. 45

He had been working on this case for six months. Some of the murders had leaked to the press, but he had been trying his best to keep a lid on this. It would be blown way out of proportion. He sat in his office thinking and fuming over his own incompetence. 46

The door of his office opened and a familiar face entered. Jack was an old friend, his partner in the force for ten years. The men were more like brothers than friends. 47

“Brooding?” said Jack with a laugh. 48

“This is getting to my head, man,” groaned Davis. 49

“Come on, bro, you can’t let this kill you,” said Jack. “The Commissioner knows the details, he ain’t blaming you either. This is just one bitch that ain’t getting’ tame.” 50

“Speaking of women, you – you talked to your wife,” said Davis. Weeks before, Jack had convinced him to see people. His wife had set Davis up with a friend of hers. 51

“Oh, yeah, you are set for the night, bro,” said Jack. “Get laid!” He cackled like a maniac. It was like him. He had always known his pleasures, Jack had. 52

“Great,” said Davis. He looked forward to it. 53

“She’s a looker, man, hot babe!”54

“Great,”55

“She’ll meet you at La Palais, 8 sharp,”56

“What’s her name?”57

“Oh – Marian Walter.” 58