Paradise Harbour chapter 10

Chapter Ten

That night Cecilia and I went to the Ferry Cafe for the second time. We were anticipating the performance of the red-haired woman from the advertising poster. Her voice was smooth and beautiful, and she gracefully moved around the small stage. All the attention was on her.

“And the oceans have parted For me and you,

Like a heavenly guidance Just for us two.

“I see I was dreaming, It was a beautiful dream,

“But now you are leaving. I thought it was forever. Why are you going?

My body can’t shake the fever.

“Is this a disease Whose name is loneliness?

Forgetfulness Who am I? Who am I?”

The sad songs she sang constantly reminded me of the secrets I knew about Paradise Harbour and my own nightmares. The singer’s soothing voice and alluring movements, along with the lulling sounds of the instruments, did nothing to calm my mind.

Things only got worse after the performance was over. As we rose to leave, Mitch Stochild approached us. He introduced himself to me with a big smile. I managed to treat him cordially.

“You two look lovely together, and you obviously love the jazz here. Isn’t it amazing?” He turned to me. “And what do you do, Luc?”

“I’m a private investigator, and I love the jazz here; it’s absolutely wonderful.” “Well, you certainly have come to the right town to ply your trade. Have you

heard of the Night Hawk?”

“Yes, it’s, uh...very disturbing.” I understood why animals had a fight-or-flight instinct.

“Yes, and I recently got news about a friend of mine falling victim to this savage killer.” Mitch shook his head. “Hey, we should cheer up. There are a lot of wonderful

things out there. Humans are the greatest creation in the universe.” Mitch proceeded to order a few drinks. “Sit down, sit down. We play by our own rules in this café, as you noticed,” he added.

“It seems that a lot of this town plays by its own rules,” I observed.

Mitch was unperturbed. “That’s what makes our town so special. A great mix of people and beliefs, all together. It’s a new age, true progress. We don’t discriminate...well, at least most of us here don’t.”

“The Night Hawk doesn’t either, I suppose.”

A scowl fleetingly crossed Mitch’s face, but he quickly turned all smiles and said he had to leave. “I hope we can talk sometime,” he said to me as he made a slight bow in Cecelia’s direction. She beamed at him.

That night I still did not ask Cecilia to come inside. Even though she had nothing to do with my investigation and it wasn’t immoral or illegal, I felt I shouldn’t.

I ended up going to Bill’s diner after parting ways with her. I sat down and ordered coffee. Then Jackson Thormund stormed in as if he had been watching for me. He approached quickly, his eyes shining as he pushed three hundred dollars into my hands.

“You really outdid yourself! I sure underestimated you!” he chortled. “Those bastards! You really did a number on them. I got an early look at the newspaper story. I love that touch with that moron’s eyes...hahaha. Ahhh, well enjoy your coffee, brother, enjoy!”

He jumped up and left after that astonishing speech.

I sat there realizing that now I could possibly gain the reputation of being strongly associated with the KKK, and this could bring me under suspicion by Willems. I suppose it was a good thing I had approached Haster and Marie since they had the police department under their control, and I could guess that they didn’t mind Thormund. Surely they had dealings with him. I puzzled over Aranxa’s notes. I realized she had mentioned other people from the university, especially Doctor Ambigo, as a good friend. I had to speak with him. She also mentioned meeting Father Brannahan and a priest named Smith, feeling down and afraid and getting a blessing and visiting the church a few times, as well as feeding the poor. I had to go back to the church and talk to both of those men.

Bill came back to my table as I was lost in thought. “Well, some friend you made.”

“He’s not my friend.”

“Well, he sure thinks so! But don’t worry, Luc.” “Impossible not to worry.”

“More tea?” “Yes, please.”

My stomach growled, and I recognized I needed food, not just coffee. I ordered some rye bread with butter and cheese and eggs.

The last few patrons left the diner, and I was the only person sitting in the eatery. I watched the street outside. It was, as usual, dimly lit and deserted. Occasionally I saw

a cat, but as I focused on the street, I could just make out a man in a white coat standing against a wall, with a hat pulled low over his face, and I knew he was watching me. Bill brought my food, and I turned to thank him. When I looked out the window again, no one was there. Were my eyes playing tricks on me? No. I was certain he was the same man I had seen on the train. What did it mean? Who was he?

I let out a long breath. The “one day at a time” philosophy was difficult to live by in my situation—I had to think and calculate. I was investigating very dangerous people and was putting myself in the sights of deadly individuals.

“You’ve been having a rough night?” asked Bill as he took my plates.

“I suppose. But that’s just how it is.”

“My wife is sick—I’ve been having a tough time too. My mind just can’t be at ease.” He shook his head sadly.

“I’m sorry, Bill. I hope she gets better soon.” “Well, hope dies last, does it not?”

Back at my apartment, I found a new note from Mercedes summoning me for an update. She also noted that Allard was coming into the city with more men, and she assured me that he still had faith in me and that I was the prime investigator in the case.

This night I once again dreamed of an underwater city inhabited by horrific creatures.

In the morning, I decided to leave very early and walk to see Mercedes.

As I was walking through the streets, which weren’t quite awake yet, I heard the sound of a harmonica playing and saw a man standing with his back to me. Charlie? It couldn’t be, not after what I had witnessed on the island. It was a different type of tune from those Charlie used to play, and I circled around and looked at the man. It was indeed the new face I had seen on the island. The man looked perfectly normal—there was no way to tell this was not his original visage. I approached him, and he smiled.

“Hello, Charlie.”

The man stopped playing. “I’m sorry, sir, you must be confused. My name is

Tom.”

As I stood there in silence, something deep inside me woke up, something

primal. A deep rage boiled up in me, rage against the cult and also toward this man, although it wasn’t his fault; he was a victim.

My judgment was clouded. Perhaps the things I’d witnessed were turning me toward violence to solve these riddles. Still, I asked the man to come with me, saying I’d pay him well for a little private concert. He followed me into an alley lined with abandoned buildings. I took him into a small backyard with brick walls and indicated that he could stand against a wall and play for me. He did as I asked, looking a little confused, and as he lifted the harmonica to his lips, I took out my revolver and shot the man twice in the chest.

There was an incredulous look in his eyes as he collapsed. I felt my rage calming as I watched the life fade from his body. Then the face seemed to go soft and almost melt. I knew what would happen. I dreaded doing it, but I pulled at the skin on the face,

and it came off in my hand. There lay Charlie, dead. Murdered by me, or by both the cult and me.

So the face and the ritual were meant to stay only on the living. But how this information was worth this man’s life, even if it was a fake life, escaped me now that my insane rage had subsided. I felt tears well in my eyes as I looked at Charlie one more time and said a quick prayer, then I ran out of there before anyone could find me next to the body.

I sat on a bench just a few blocks away from The Hook Hotel and watched as the town came alive in the bright cool morning. I wanted to be as calm as possible before updating Mercedes, and I had to keep the information about what I had just done hidden.

When Mercedes welcomed me in, looking as beautiful as ever and wearing an elegant red dress, I immediately heard music and remembered that I was going to buy a phonograph myself. I took out my notebook and wrote a reminder. I had too much on my mind to remember such things.

We once again sat across from each other, and I told her what I had learned, leaving out certain things that I deemed could spell trouble for me, such as what I had done with Kasp and to Charlie. She was shocked about the cult leader’s abilities and the creature.

“How do you know about the new facial features being ‘conditioned’ to the person’s life energy?” she asked, puzzlement creasing her lovely brow.

“I discussed it with an expert in this matter,” I answered, lying through my teeth.

She seemed satisfied with this and went on to tell me when Allard Van Dausen would arrive and that I would be meeting with him in person.

I left, nervous about my impending meeting with Dausen. I needed to increase the pace of my work even more. I made my way toward the church to speak with the priests. Then I’d have to find Dr. Ambigo and talk to him.

As I neared the church, Father Brannahan and another priest were talking to some homeless folks right on the street as they set up some tables. Father Brannahan smiled and greeted me when he saw me approaching. “Luc, very nice to see you again. How have you been feeling?”

“Is there a more private spot we can talk?”

He showed me into a small abandoned home, and there we sat on two old wooden chairs. The place was terribly dusty. I had not noticed during our previous meeting how worn and wrinkled the hands of Father Brannahan were. This man did not just act like a saint but worked like one as well.

“What worries you? The Lord is always ready to aid you.”

“Father...the woman I’m looking for, Aranxa, she received a blessing from you as well. Do you remember anything about her?”

The priest’s face showed concern. “Oh yes, poor thing, she was not in a good state. She was very depressed, sad, spoke of horrible, unbelievable things. Her mind was affected by Satan. It was sad. I did my best, but she never returned.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“She said that people who were monsters were after her and that there were people who were not real people. I didn’t understand her too well, but I let the Lord do the work. Whatever happened was her life path.” He shook his head.

“Father, you meet a lot of people who are existing at the margins of society. Have you ever heard things like this before?”

A sad, faraway look came into the priest’s eyes. “The mental illness that afflicted Aranxa has afflicted others here from time to time.” He shook his head. “I try to help these people, but most of them are itinerants. They leave, and I never see them again.”

I sat in silence for a moment. So was it the cult after all? Mitch Stochild? That would explain why Father Brannahan’s acquaintances “disappeared.” Or maybe they were itinerants. What had Aranxa found out, and how? How could I learn more? Would I have to become Stochild’s friend or spy on him every night?

I thanked the kind priest and went on my way to the university, but I wasn’t sure if I could do much by gleaning information from outside the cult. I would have to get inside. The idea sickened and frightened me.

My mind was racing as I went through various scenarios in my head. Logic told me that Aranxa was no longer alive, but my gut feeling didn’t agree, and I felt I was close. Never before had my intuition let me down, but this case was special.

I reached the university during a class change. Many students were walking in and out, police were there questioning people, and there were more security guards than usual.

Of course! The newspaper had announced what had happened to Kramik! I hoped this would not interfere with me finding Ambigo quickly. I entered the hall and saw Sara at the desk again. She looked extremely tired, slumping at her desk and sporting large circles under her eyes.

“Hi, Sara. I don’t want to bother you much, but could you please direct me towards Doctor Ambigo’s office?”

She wrote something on a piece of paper. “I’m not supposed to do this, but he hasn’t been in for a while, and some are very worried.” She glanced up at me meaningfully. “You know...ah…what happened here...so this is his address.”

“Thank you very much. I’ll go there immediately.” I left with a feeling of foreboding. I managed to find a cab since Ambigo’s home was a part of the town I hadn’t yet explored, and time was of the essence.

The cab stopped about six blocks away from where I had it marked on my map, and I looked at the young driver with a question in my eyes.

“Ah, sorry, mister, you’re not from around here. This part of town was flooded, and it hasn’t recovered since it’s lower than the rest of the city and close to the water. The streets are mostly flooded here, with the exception of a few spots that are unreachable by car. Everyone who still lives here uses either the boardwalks they built along most of the buildings or boats.”

Well, that was surprising. I thanked the driver and paid him.

I walked a bit further and saw what he was talking about. Indeed, all the streets ahead looked like small canals. I found where the wooden boardwalk began. It was

creaky and poorly put together, probably in a hurry, and undoubtedly most of the rich in this city did not care to help, nor did the politicians owned by those very people. I picked my way carefully, expecting the boards to break any moment.

As I continued along this narrow, strange path, the scenery changed. There were many more red brick row houses, and often I saw signs for theaters or gentlemen’s clubs, which all seemed to be closed down.

I finally saw another person. He was sitting on a bridge connecting two blocks, wearing old tattered clothes and fishing. He seemed young, but his face was rough, most likely because of life circumstances.

“Are there a lot of fish here?”

He slowly turned his head toward me and stared at me silently. The longer this went on, the more awkward I felt. His sad eyes seemed empty of meaning, and he seemed to search for a reason to speak but then chose not to as he turned his gaze back to the dark waters below.

I was unsurprised. I continued on the path, but then I came to a place where it had broken. There was a small rowboat attached to the end of the structure, with a very long rope connecting to the other side, so it could go back and forth if pulled. There were two oars inside. I slowly and carefully got in. As I began to row, I heard something splash in the water nearby. I felt goosebumps crawl on my skin, a bad feeling.

I looked back, and the bridge was a bit far away now, and the man was still there in the same position. Suddenly something pushed the boat from underneath, and it rocked violently as I saw something break the surface of the water, but then it was gone again. I continued to row, but now in a frantic fashion as my heart raced. I jumped onto the boardwalk as quickly as I could once I reached the other side. I pulled my revolver and watched the water but saw nothing moving. I kept my revolver in my hand as I continued my walk. I saw the sign for Striker Street, and I double-checked the address. I turned to my right and found the row house with the number I was looking for.

The door was slightly open. My heart beat faster again, and a feeling of dread flooded me. This was never a good sign. I knocked several times anyway and waited. There was no answer. I opened the door and called out for Dr. Ambigo. Nothing.

I entered the house and flipped the light switch. The lights did not work, although there was enough daylight coming through the windows to see well. As I entered the main room, I saw a trail of blood leading into a small office room on the right side. I took a deep breath and blew all the air out, and then entered the office.

In the center of the room lay the man I had seen arguing with Kramik on one of my first days in the city. I bent down to examine the body.

Ambigo had a curved knife stuck in his chest, and his eyes were missing. As I got closer and examined the knife, I saw that it had engraved images of tentacles on it. The cult had killed Ambigo, and they hated him so much that they hadn’t even put any effort into changing him. Or, perhaps with Kramik being dead, they had tried to make Ambigo do the scientific parts of their evil deeds, and he had refused. That had to be it. If he was a brave man with honor and convictions—I remembered that he’d been polite

to me even when angry—that was surely it. Sometimes this was how the good ones ended up. I shook my head, covered the body with a throw that was draped on the sofa, and searched the house.

I riffled through all the papers in the office, searching for any mention of Aranxa. I yanked open all the desk drawers and felt all around them. I was rewarded when I located a small notebook tucked inside a tiny shelf built under the center drawer. Written on the front was the word “Faces.” I tucked it inside my coat and left.

It was just as nerve-wracking coming back out of the neighborhood as it had been going in, but I managed to stay in one piece. Once outside, I had to walk for a long time before I saw any cars or cabs. As I stepped into the street to hail one, a car stopped next to me. In it sat Mitch Stochild.

“Luc! Lovely to see you like this. Please come and sit. Join me for an early dinner.

My chefs are making their seafood specials today!”

That had to be one of the last things I wanted to do. “Oh well, I—”

“No, no, no, don’t get humble on me. Come on, get in. I’d love to have your company. You will enjoy this food, I guarantee it.”

I got into the car with Mitch and his chauffeur, whose face looked distinctly fishlike, and we moved on.

“Yes, Luc, Mike is an ugly one...hideous.” “Oh, no, I—”

“He’s deaf. He won’t hear us. He can read lips, but not while his eyes are on the road.” Stochild laughed mirthlessly. “So, what were you doing in this part of town?”

“Part of my investigation.”

Stochild frowned thoughtfully. Was this an act? “I’m sorry, I heard a bit about your investigation from either you or someone else, but I don’t recall what you are looking for. Can you remind me?”

“I’m trying to locate a missing woman.”

“Ah, that’s rough in this city. Well, we are almost there.”

The car passed through an imposing pair of gates and went up a hill, where stood a mansion overlooking the ocean. We got out, and I admired the spectacular view. Mitch smiled and waved for me to follow him into the enormous house.

It had heavy white Corinthian columns at the front and large green double doors. The handles of the doors were metal and together made the shape of an octopus. My eye twitched as I did my best to show no reaction and smiled at Mitch.

It was even more amazing and impressive inside. The ceiling was very tall, with a large, beautiful crystal chandelier lighting the generous entry. I looked at the mural painted on the ceiling. It was a depiction of a giant squid taking down a ship during a storm in the ocean, and on the cliffs nearby was a house similar to this one.

“You like the art?” asked Mitch.

“Oh, yes, very...interesting...original.”

“I love the sea, with its mysteries. It is ancient, timeless.” “God’s wonderful creation.”

Mitch did not reply to that comment, as it seemed to bother him. From my point of view, he was a demon worshiper, so it made sense that the mention of God did not bring him any joy.

He invited me into the next room. The fireplace in it was lit, and beautifully upholstered red chairs and a table were close by. “Not the traditional dining spot, but I prefer this room for my meals. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. This room is also stunning.”

In the corner of the room stood a statue of a woman with two tentacles instead of arms. On the wall near me hung a large portrait of a man in a grey suit with a clean- shaven face and a very serious expression.

“My father never did learn to smile,” Mitch laughed, and as he did, the servant, who was referred to as Sid, brought us wine, water, and some rolls with sliced cheese on the side. Mitch gestured for me to sit. “Enjoy our little appetizers before the seafood, Mr. Nistage.”

I almost asked if I could bless the food to test his nerves but chose not to. After all, I needed to get close to him.

I tried the rolls, and the bread was soft and homemade, and with sweet butter melting on top, they were the most delicious rolls I had ever tasted. I took a bite of the cheese, and it was equally delicious. The wine was slightly sweet and also of very high quality.

“I see by your expression that you are enjoying the food already.” Mitch smiled at me as he downed the wine in his glass.

“Yes, it’s amazing.”

It was hard not to be distracted by the excellent food, and I had to remind myself whose company I was in and why.

“My chef, Christopher, is a master. I found him in England, working at a port restaurant. He was the best find during my travels around Europe.”

“I’m glad you have invited me to experience it.”

Mitch sat back in his chair and popped a square of cheese into his mouth. “So, Luc,” he said, swallowing. “How long have you been doing investigative work?”

“Just a few years, actually.” I sipped more wine and felt the warmth of the fire. I was less tense now.

“But in just a few years, you’ve managed to do well, I assume? I heard your client is Allard Van Dausen.”

I shrugged, acting nonchalant. “Perhaps I’m just fortunate. I did well in some missing persons cases, with quick results.”

“And how have your results here been so far?”

“I’m making some breakthroughs.” Sid filled our wine glasses again.

Mitch smiled. It looked genuine. “I hope you find who you are searching for. Life is very mysterious. If you search for something with all your energy, sometimes it finds you or is drawn to you.” Was it my imagination, or was there a warning in his words?

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am right, but the result is not always good.”

Chills ran down my spine, and I struggled to keep my expression neutral. Stochild was such a charismatic man. It made sense that he could lead this cult.

Brainwashing required an individual to seem inspirational, charismatic, and even kind.

Now Sid removed our dishes, and another servant appeared with new dishes filled with seafood. Shrimp, fish, crab, and calamari—octopus. Mitch grinned widely.

I tried the shrimp and fish first and wasn’t disappointed. Chef Christopher was indeed a genius. I avoided the octopus but ate the crab next, and the meat melted in my mouth.

“Luc, in your line of work, danger is a big factor. How do you deal with fear?” Mitch looked at me quizzically.

Again, I tried for nonchalance. “I allow it in. If I repress it too much, then in a critical situation, it can paralyze me. But experiencing it often and knowing it well, I feel more capable when things get rough.”

“Hmm, that’s an interesting view.” He cracked a crab claw with a small device made for eating seafood and used a pick to pull out the meat. “Of course, people who have mental issues feel no sense of fear at all. Just a sense of brutality. They lack other emotions as well. No pity for others, for instance. Don’t you think this Night Hawk is such a person?”

I nodded. “I think you’re right that he’s an intelligent madman.”

“Intelligent...or simply a force of nature. The identity of the Night Hawk may not be such a secret to some in this city, but perhaps... Eh...never mind. Are you enjoying your meal?”

“It’s the best I’ve had. Can’t remember ever eating better seafood than this.” “Good. You are an interesting man, Luc. Genuine, not corrupt.”

He was praising me, and I had to stay on guard. Mitch was possibly my biggest nemesis in this city and clearly a very dangerous person, and I certainly did not want to be his friend.

“What do you think evil is, Luc?” he asked suddenly.

I chose my words carefully. “Evil is to do terrible harm to another person and to keep repeating these acts without an effort to improve.”

Mitch inclined his head. “And what if these acts improve society?” “For me, nothing can trump individual liberty and life.”

“Ah...like the Founding Fathers. You are a man of strong principles. We both would make good generals, with very different views, though. Well, Luc, I must attend to business now,” he said, placing his napkin on the table. “But thank you for the company. My driver shall take you to your home now.”

I thanked him and left the mansion with the deaf driver.

That night Cecelia and I met at the Ferry Café. There were two performers: Phillipa, an attractive French woman in her thirties with a soft, low voice, and Leonora, a young American woman with big black eyes and curly black hair, her voice as rich as a cup of coffee laced with brandy. Together they sang a smooth and silky duet, which put the whole audience at ease and created a peaceful and relaxing atmosphere, almost enchanting. Everyone was drinking, sitting back, and dreaming with their eyes open.

“She came to the ocean, The waves were so high. The light of the lighthouse Signaled, ‘It’s time.’

She felt all alone

With the big world revolving.

She put on a mask To hide all the hurting,

‘You must come with me,’ Whispered the prince of the sea. ‘Why not come with me?’ Asked the voice from the deep.

She then felt a prompting, An unstinting urge.

Her mask was made solid. None could tell it was forged.

She lay by the dark water And smiled at the prince Within the deep ocean Great powers agreed.

‘You must come with me,’ Whispered the prince of the sea, ‘Why not come with me?’ Asked the voice from the deep

She stood by the lighthouse, And knew all was false.

She tore up the mask, And took a deep breath.

The light in the distance Told her to have faith,

And the strongest of all things, To feel the Lord’s grace.”

I paid close attention to the lyrics, unlike most of the other patrons. These two ladies were telling tales of something or someone close to their hearts, and there was more to these words than fiction and fantasy. I looked over at Cecilia and was surprised

to see her eyes filled with tears. Perhaps something inside of her was moved by this song—a beautiful song, indeed.

I saw Mitch there, but he greeted us briefly and left swiftly. As Cecelia and I walked outside, hand in hand, I made up my mind to invite her in tonight, but again, it was not meant to be.

As we got strolled nearer our street late that night, we heard horrible screams not too far from Thormund’s mansion. “Run,” I told Cecelia, shoving her toward home. “Get inside, and lock your doors and windows.” She nodded, her eyes wide with fear, and I watched her dart down the street. I pulled out my revolver and ran toward the sounds.

I could no longer hear the screams. As I rounded a corner, in the distance, I saw a few flashlights and what seemed to be a large group of people. I cautiously headed that way, walking very fast. As I got closer, out of the dark came out a familiar face.

“Luc! Our hero!” It was Jackson Thormund, and I instantly smelled trouble.

“Come, come! You will love this!”

As he pulled me towards the group of men, to my horror, I saw that they had two young colored men and one white man tied up, with their mouths covered with rough fabric gags. The Klansmen were dragging them somewhere towards the hilly area of the city, closer to the ocean.

“That bastard,” Jackson pointed at the white man. “He tried to fight us when we came for those two. Well, he can join them now.”

My blood chilled as my heart began to pound uncontrollably with rage and terror as I finally saw where they were headed. There were several thick, tall wooden posts driven into the ground there, with black chains attached. Below each one was a pile of dry wood. No, God! Please! I could not watch this horror!

“Hey, what’s with the crazy face? Don’t get too excited now. I know you did a number on them at Kramik’s, but tonight you can just watch,” said Jackson, slapping me on the back.

I stood shaking and unable to speak. There was nothing, nothing I could do to protect those three men. There were too many Klan members present, and quite a few had weapons.

They chained the three men to the posts. Several of the Klan members approached with torches.

God, please, please let them feel no pain, I prayed silently. Tears streamed down my face as the evildoers threw the torches onto the woodpiles and lit the men on fire. My senses became dull as my vision blurred, and I could barely hear anything. I turned and ran.

Once my senses returned, I found myself sitting by a brick wall. My head was throbbing. The Klan members were all gone, and only Jackson stood over me.

“I told you not to get too excited. You missed most of the show. Whaddaya mean, running off? I know you’re not yellow, but some of my men aren’t as tolerant as I am. I saved ya this time. If you act less crazy, next time, I’ll let you torch them.” He gave me a grim look and walked away.

Guilt and a sense of uselessness washed over me. I would die before allowing a “next time.” I got up, and instead of going home, I headed to Kasp Nudd’s place. I wanted to kill the Klan members, even if it cost me my life or the investigation.

My head continued throbbing as I walked into the rundown neighborhood again and passed through a dark alley. A trash can behind me rattled, and I started, drawing my revolver with a wobbling arm. It was just two street cats pillaging it. Their eyes lit up in the dark, and one hissed at me.

As I turned at the end of the second alley, intersected by a street, I saw a man in a white suit. My heart skipped a beat, and as I stepped forward, I heard a noise to my right. I looked that way and then quickly turned back to see the man, but as before, he was gone. I focused my attention on the strange noise on the right.

A weak streetlamp barely illuminated a brick wall, and I could see the shadow of creeping tentacles. Adrenaline rushed through my veins as I ran like lightning to Nudd’s place. I banged on his door, and the moment he opened it, I fell inside, completely exhausted in every way.

I once again woke up, but this this time lying in a bed. It was early morning. The bed was small, and my feet were hanging off the end. I could see a window and several bookshelves. I felt my head. It was wrapped in bandages.

“Ah, the sleeping prince. Who bumped you on the head this time?” Kasp’s voice came from behind the shelves, and his face peeked around them.

“Hey, it’s just the first time...and I fell. I passed out. Here...sit for a moment.” Kasp sat down next to me, and I told him the whole story and then my plan. “So...this is not your job, nor your business, but you decided to be some sort of

vigilante. Okay...I like it.” He patted me on the shoulder and left for a minute, then reappeared with some equipment and a very nice rifle. “I have two handguns, this rifle, and my knife. Is your revolver all you got?”

“No, I have other weapons at my apartment. I’m thinking another revolver and a shotgun.”

“Good, good...we’ll have to go at night, very late, kill as many as we can with knives, and shoot the rest. And you know the chance of making it out alive is pretty small, right?” Nudd’s brows were raised in question.

“I will do this no matter what.” My voice was thick with determination and conviction.

“Okay, no problem—you’re getting as crazy as I am. It’s good to have a friend with a similar mindset,” he said, grinning ruefully.

This last comment disturbed me a bit, but he was close to the truth. I did feel like I was going crazy, but I also felt that this was the right thing to do. I had to do what I could to save the lives of innocent people, even if I failed Van Dausen’s investigation and died.

Kasp advised me to nap for a while and gave me tea with a sleeping draught. Then he pulled blackout curtains over the windows. I finally relaxed and drifted off into sleep. I did not dream, and upon waking up, I nervously ran into Kasp’s bathroom and began to tug at my face. I took out my small knife and cut my cheek. I felt a shot of pain

as blood dripped down my chin and neck. I stared at myself in the mirror. How had I gotten this way so fast? Of course I wasn’t a fake—it was my face. I was Luc Nistage. What was I thinking? I shook my head and walked out of the bathroom.

Kasp sat in the room in a rocking chair. He glanced at me. “Yeaaah...hmmm. Well...don’t get too fired up now,” he said calmly, with sarcasm in his voice. He was clearly enjoying watching me lose myself.

As I saw his reaction, I went back behind the bookshelves and prayed for a long time. I focused on my breath and on slowing my heartbeat. I became calm and still, regaining my normal train of thought. I returned to the bathroom, cleaned my cut, and sat down on the bed next to Kasp’s rocker.

“Now that you’re calm, you still want to do this?”

My spirit had regained its determination as well. I nodded firmly. “No one else will. There are not that many of them if both of us are well-armed and we surprise them. We just have to hope the neighbors don’t see us flee the scene because the police will arrive shortly after the gunshots.”

“Ah, I highly doubt it. Jackson is not a popular figure with the other wealthy in this city, and they control the police. If anything, they’ll be happy he’s in trouble.”

“Let’s hope you’re right, Kasp.”