Page 39 of Vermilion Desire

Scarletta skillfully ignores Cal, but she can’t ignore the touch I have on her. “That illness starts as a gift; your right hemisphere is used for creativity. People called you a genius, and you became the world’s best pianist. Idée Fixe Syndrome isn’t diagnosable at birth, and once you hit puberty, symptoms will start to show, but they won’t be obvious.”

She takes a blank piece of paper from the prosecutor and a marker to color the sheet with black ink. She starts with the corner and slowly makes it to the one-forth mark of the paper.

“Nausea, headaches, temperamental outbursts—and, oh, let’s not forget that one specific concentrated area where you just think and think and think until you become obsessed.”

She stops coloring and taps the pungent marker on the blacken spots. Braxton’s eyes narrow, twitching and fingers curling within his palm to maintain the sense of control.

“If I was a betting woman, which I’m not because Uncle Cal would have me for dinner, but if I was, I’d say that the first distinctive symptom would be your left leg became rigid at age seventeen or so.”

His eyes flash, shock and bewilderment happening at the same time.

She claps her hands. “Oh, I’m right. You thought it might be just the way you slept, or you stood up too quickly after something kicked off your adrenaline. Maybe it was the moment you finished your piano performance that you realized your foot couldn’t be lifted off the pedal.”

Braxton inhales a sharp breath. Now I understand why Scarletta had dedicated her free time to watching his performances online. I didn’t have any reason to be jealous; she was doing more in-depth research than any police work I have seen.

“Yikes, I’m right again.” Scarletta looks down, coloring another line of the blank paper.

I prepare my body for any reactive response from Braxton as his own body posture begins to subtly change to a threatening one.

“This illness would make you see everything as imperfect, and you want to fix it, but it only affects the things you love the most, and that is your ability to play the piano. Little by little, it affected everything in your life, and everyone thought you had OCD.”

It’s surreal watching Scarletta break apart Braxton’s façade; the crackling perfection starts to show the ugly side of humanity. The fear, the hatred, and corrupt survival instinct filling in the cracks on his face.

“I don’t know what that poor girl did wrong to incite your royal highness’ wrath, but you used Ms. Addison as a punching bag.” She shakes her head in pity. To Braxton or to Addison, no one truly knows.

Scarletta doesn’t let the defense lawyer put in one word when she shushes him rudely. “I do know that in your fit of blind rage over imperfection, you had killed her, but you couldn’t carry her because every time you would come back from that adrenaline, you can’t use the left side of your body.”

“You had to drag her, and it’s what left those confusing drag marks. You could only use one arm to pull her, and you had to tow your leg too.”

The way she is unraveling the crime scene makes a lot more sense than what we had concluded at first. There was not another person there or a group; it was all Braxton’s doing. We thought the drag streaks are from another accomplice after Braxton had tired out after carrying Addison.

“You have no leverage, sour egg. There is no second person.” Only Scarletta would throw in an insult to kick an already down man.

“Thank you, Miss. You have given us a great defense against the murder case.” His lawyer thinks this is the best time to share his thoughts.

“Really?” She put her hand up to her lips, gasping as the grin on the man’s face widen. “Insanity defense requires a mental breakdown.”

The defense lawyer begins his extravagant explanation. “You have said it yourself; my client was in a fit of rage because in his eyes, the woman was not perfect, and he was trying to satisfy his pain. That is ground for me to sway the jury and I will have more than enough experts to prove my voice.”

“You—!” Cal snarls, but he got held back by the prosecutor.

Scarletta drops her hand down to mine and caresses my scarred knuckles. “You obviously have never looked into the newest findings as of yet.”

“I will have time to review my court material, and my assistant will come and collect it from you.” The lawyer’s cocky confidence is annoying, and I want to knock his white teeth out.

Scarletta explains, and once again, I’m amazed at this wonderful woman who has my heart in her tiny little hands. “During a fit, those with Idée Fixe Syndrome have the clearest mindset because Mr. Berkshire’s attention is focused—honed in on the need to fix it, to fix the imperfection.

She grins toothily at me first and then shows her teeth to Braxton, who is about to explode in anger. “He will plan because he’s a perfectionist, and every little thing has to go according to his plan.”

“I’m sure you’ll go back to your office, look at the newest finding that has been tested repeatedly with different specimens and challenged by hierarchy of scientifically proven rules, and see that your insanity defense will make it to court,” she concludes dramatically, not ashamed of her melodramatic act of painting the whole story.

“But of course, it is possible that he’s a rare case since he’s a rich boy.” Scarletta shrugs, lips downturn.

“Scarletta, leave the boy some pride.” Cal snorts behind his hand.

She mentions another statement as added volatility to Braxton’s defense. “The prosecutor’s side will have renowned scientists and doctors that will trump yours in credibility and charm.”

“Or,” She stops coloring on the sheet as she leaves on a small triangle white. “You could sign the plea deal for life in prison, but you’d probably die in prison before you can get out. Reasons are unknown, and I rather not explore them. Or you could just get the death penalty right now.”

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