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The rain had lessened, streaking slowly down the train car window. Alvin watched it gloomily. The one time he tried to do something right it fell through. Jin probably hated his guts, and right now, he was sort of on the same page as she was.
He popped a small blue pill into his mouth.
Well, if he really had nothing better to do, he could probably go to the police headquarters downtown or back up to Scab’s End to slink around Lavenza’s apartment a little longer.

________________

Kaylee Freck could hardly believe her good luck. She had managed to get Jim out of the house, and he was now driving her out to get a coffee. Life was simply grand.
Jim’s car was a few years old, a simple green model T. He even opened the door for her, murmuring out a simple, “Luh-luh-ladies first?”
Kaylee was absolutely flattered by this whole turn of events, but was still slightly worried. Their date didn’t have a chaperone, and although this was a much more enlightened age and all, such a thing should be done properly! A chaperone still should be present, irregardless of circumstance. What on earth would happen if the paper got ahold of this?
Jim kept his right hand on the wheel of his , while his left elbow braced on the window, propping his head up. He looked rundown and exhausted. Maybe he shouldn’t be going out at all. He looked like he was already dead, for crying out loud!

“Do we need a chaperone?” asked Kaylee, hesitantly.
Jim hummed. “Probably. Buh-buh-buh-but I won’t tuh-tuh-tuh-tell if you don’t.”
Kaylee felt a blush rising in her face. “Don’t get fresh with me, Mr. Jekyll!” she said, looking out the window and hoping he wouldn’t comment on her reaction.
“That’s ‘Doctor’ tuh-tuh-to you, Miss Freck,” said Jim, capping it with a leery grin.
She giggled, crossing her ankles under the plush seat of the model T. “What on earth’s gotten into you?” she asked, glancing over at him.
Jim blushed, jaw working, trying to get through his stutter.
“Suh-suh-suh-science, my dear. Pure, unadulterated science.”

_________________

Alvin ducked under the police tape at Lavenza’s apartment. His head was starting to throb, which was never a good sign. It usually meant he had taken too many Tryptophan pills in too short a time, but maybe it was just due to the whole situation.
Dried blood still stained the walls and floor in thin, drippy lines. Alvin couldn’t shake the feeling he was missing something very important, and forced himself to look past the gore that surrounded him. What was missing? Something was wrong. Eyes burrowing into the wallpaper, the thought surfaced like a pocket of swamp gas, silvery and sudden.
No photographs. No pictures, no records, and hardly any books.
“She didn’t live here,” murmured Alvin to the empty apartment. “She was hiding out.”
But from who? Or what?

Wandering over to the bookshelf, he glanced over the few books Elizabeth had. There were lengthy science-fiction claptrap, books on religion, and a slim novel. Alvin carefully selected it. “The Catastrophes of Catharine?” asked Alvin of the empty apartment, disgusted. The Catastrophes of Catharine was notably horrendous, with practically paper characters, obvious plot twists, and random exclamatory sentences. What sloppy writing. You couldn’t just put an exclamation point anywhere!
Flipping open The Catastrophes of Catharine, Alvin noticed an scrawled inscription on the flyleaf.

My dearest, Darling Elizabeth,
I thought you might enjoy this. It is one of my personal favorites.
With much love,
Your cousin,
Victor.

Alvin gagged loudly, remembering the conversation he had with Constantine about the two cousins. It couldn’t be true, could it? Besides, why on earth would Victor Frankenstein care about The Catastrophes of Catherine? Turning the abnormally thick pages, he failed to notice anything suspicious other than the author’s near-fetish for using the word ‘zestfully’ as many times as possible. However, maybe Kaylee would get something out of it that he wouldn’t. If not, well, a free novel would cheer her up.

___________________________

Jim had taken the two of them out to a small little coffee shop not far from his house.
“Really good lattés,” he explained sheepishly.
Kaylee shrugged, and ran to the café from the car to avoid getting soaked.

The inside of the shop was cozy, stuffed with tatty armchairs and little footstools like bloated mushrooms. The walls were painted a dark orange, with the floor tiled in dark purple. Coffee grounds permeated the air, along with the strange heavy tang of lemon disinfectant.
The door behind Kaylee opened again, with Jim awkwardly shuffling in to stand in beside her. “Cuh-cuh-coffee?” he asked, hopefully, then followed it with, “I have money.”
“The three words that stick straight to a woman’s heart, Jim dear. Black with two sugars, please.”

Leaving Jim to get the coffee, Kaylee threw herself down as gracefully as she possibly could into the nearest empty armchair. She was debating throwing her feet up over the arm when a voice interrupted her.
“Excuse me, babyface. You with him?” asked a man who was sitting at the window, nursing a tall black coffee. “Indeed I am, buster. If you’re looking for an advance, hate to tell you, but beat it,” said Kaylee, idly waving him off.
“Begging your pardon, honey, but I’m not after you. Jim’s not an easy hit with the ladies, you know,” he said.
“Banana oil. He’s casanova incarnate. And you are?” asked Kaylee, looking over at him. He sported a large brown handlebar mustache, a truly walrus-like tuft, with clear blue eyes. “John Utterson. Friend of your friend. Who, I seem to notice, is lacking the proper chaperone for you two. I could keep an eye on you two, if you’d be so inclined?” he asked, tipping Kaylee a wink. She sighed. “Whatever floats your boat, mister.”

Jim brought the coffees, and made tense conversation with Mr. Utterson. Kaylee sipped hers, finding it to be dosed with a healthy amount of brandy. Well, if it was in coffee, it couldn’t possibly hurt. Actually, it was quite good.
“I don’t like you shutting yourself up in that house, James. It’s not good for you,” said Mr. Utterson. Jim shook his head resolutely. “It’s muh-muh-muh-my business what I do, John. Bee-bee-besides, I’m vuh-hery close to a breakthrough,” he protested, nursing his coffee.
“What kind of breakthrough?” asked John.
“If I cuh-cuh-could tell you, I would. Tuh-tuh-too many eyes here.”
John hooked his thumb at Jim. “Snagged an open-faced sure-fire winner here, girl.”
Kaylee smiled. “Don’t I know it.”

Jim’s blush ran in patterns over his psoriasis-pocked skin, and he grinned like a goof.
“Marry that girl, Jim, you’re not getting another one,” remarked Mr. Utterson, taking a hearty swig of his own coffee.
Jim nearly jumped out of his own skin, looking everywhere but at Kaylee. “We’re not, I mean, we’re not officially?” he said, trying to find the right words to use.
Utterson turned his attention to Kaylee, who merely shrugged. He made a dismissive hand gesture, and Kaylee took another sip of coffee.