Imre - POV (E4)

He expected the outcome of this night to be much different than how it’s going.

He doesn’t like surprises of this kind. The familial kind. It was already bad enough to have to sit through the victim’s family interviews with all the crying and emotions. Now he has to sit here and take care of this messy of a woman because their child doesn’t seem so inclined to.

He knows his inner thoughts make him sound heartless. Other people would have more empathy for those who have lost a loved one, grief is a powerful thing. He’s felt it.

But he just can’t seem to care about the grief of others. Especially when it’s an obstacle in his path. He would rather shake the person to their senses. He looks at them. Or shake them into reacting in a way where they leave their trauma at the door.

It’s not like he doesn’t know what it’s like to have bad parents. But he’s able to push past that. He can keep his anger and his hatred in a box within his mind and open it at convenience. Is it too much to ask for everyone else to do the same?

He watches them look through their mother’s things. Perhaps this is the first time they ever had the chance, Mrs. Crown has a… reputation. That’s as nicely as Imre can put it. He’s heard the other town mothers and their unsolicited opinions about her parenting.

His mother felt differently though. She always tried to defend Mrs. Crown whenever the subject came up in her old tea parties. She would say things such as: “it’s hard being a wife to a man like that” and “some women don’t want that many kids.”

When he was a child he used to not understand why his mother was like that. She was the kindest person he had ever met. Hardly ever had a bad word to say about anyone, even his father and he gave her plenty of motives. Imre felt that the world didn’t deserve that kind of grace.

Now he still doesn’t understand it but he envies it. There are times when he wishes he could see the goodness in people that she does. Not view everyone as either a target or a tool. Could let emotion dictate his logic every once in a while. Or maybe he just hates his father enough to not want to share any traits with him.

But those moments are few and far between. He has encountered nothing that can compete against the thrill of seeing someone fall under his spell. Perhaps it’s an addiction.

He looks at them again, sees the agitation on their face. How they cope with it. He can tell they aren’t doing that well. This investigation is taking a toll on them and each day they seem to be sinking beneath the weight of its enormity. He knows it’s his fault.

But he would do it again if he had to. He can’t let one person get in the way of something this important. And if he’s right, they will be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams.

As Imre was lamenting the debt in his evening plans Lorcan came in with the first aid kit. Imre didn’t even bother to ask them if they wanted to heal their mother and Lorcan would faint.

He knew that he was biased. Not everyone had an amazing mother but he couldn’t lie to himself that it did bother him that they seem so unwilling to help their mother in this state. Mrs. Crown inspires pity in him and he rarely feels it.

It must be hard to lose a child. If anyone is proof of unconditional love it is Mrs. Crown with Orla.

He finished bandaging up her wound quickly and was about to suggest continuing with their initial course of action when Mrs. Crown began stirring and for a second it irritated him because he didn’t want to anymore delays.

December loomed ever closer.

But then he heard her. “Orla.” That name opened up another pathway within his mind and he felt his lips quirk.

When she reaches for them Imre nearly grins. He can’t deny he isn’t impressed when they react so quickly to the pretence. He’d never admit this but he is gaining more respect for them as time goes on. He values efficiency.

Is it a paradox that insanity breeds it within the youngest Crown?

Imre focuses on the scene at hand. He can obsess over his colleague later.

And he does it at the most fortunate moment.

Yasmine Mir.

As they get up and walk to stand in between him and Lorcan, Imre smirks. He almost feels giddy. A way to intice Nia just fell into his lap and he didn’t have to do anything.

Perhaps God does exist.

•••••

“What do either of you know of Nia’s mother?” he asks.

“That she was a bit,” Lorcan makes a swirl with his finger near his temple.

“Well, yes,” he replies and looks at them.

They shrug. “I think I saw her like one time when I was 4. Nia never talked to be about her.”

“With me neither. But that could work to our advantage,” he claims.

They look confused and suspicious. It thrilled and annoyed him when they didn’t trust him.

“How?”

“Nia wants to know. Regardless of what she claims she has never gotten over her mother leaving her. Parental wounds cut deep,” he responds.

“What if she does know and just didn’t want to tell by one?” they ask.

He considers this. “That could very well be true. But it’s a risk we have to take, it’s the only true lead we have.”

They don’t look convinced. He finds the urge to shake them again. If only their insanity was linked to psychopathy.

Lorcan yawns. “Yeah whatever let’s do this shit tomorrow I’m tired as fuck.”

Lorcan gave him a look while the other one wasn’t looking. He knows that Lorcan wants to talk about Nia. He knows he’s nervous about her. If he’s too nervous he could tell the others everything.

He doesn’t want to consider what he would have to do to stop Lorcan if it were what he needed.