Paradise Harbour chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

I took a trolley, which was half full. There was an old gentleman with the same newspaper in his hands. Two young men, who appeared to be coworkers, were sitting next to each other. Their faces and hands were rough, and I figured they didn’t do an easy sort of work. I sat behind the older gentleman and relaxed into the seat. As we moved, I simply let my eyes watch outside without any particular focus. Everything smudged into a Monet like painting as I completely relaxed my eyes and tried to enjoy the ride. Every time we came to a stop, I closed my eyes.

When we arrived at my stop, I felt a bit more rested, and it was hard to get out quickly. Once outside, I moved my body around, loosening up my limbs and back. Despite the coffees, the inspirational words of the priest, and the soothing ride, I still knew that I needed much more rest to be able to perform at my full strength and intellectual capacity.

When I entered the station and asked for Detective Willems, the young officer in the front informed me that Willems was indeed there, and he left to inform the detective. A minute later, he came back and invited me to go into the corridor behind him and find Willems’s door.

It was a small police station. In the back, I could see the archives room. On the left were two offices and two cells, and on the right, there were two more offices. I saw the nameplate, which was old and in bad shape, with only the word “Detective” and no name. The door was cracked open, and I entered. The office was tiny and old, with peeling dark green paint. Behind a very messy desk sat Willems.

“Please sit, Luc. What brings you here? I suppose you heard about Jackson?” “Yes, and thank you.”

“Is that why you’re here?” “No, actually another matter.”

Willems looked at me shrewdly. “You don’t seem too disturbed about last night’s events. Well, the less scum, the better. Anyway, what is it?”

“Well, here.” I took out the article.

“What about it? More Night Hawk crimes.”

“No, I mean the girls. Do you have anything on them? Any more information?” “I have a few photos which we developed already, and here are my notes about

the scene.” He sat back and lit a cigarette.

Upon looking at the girls’ photos, I realized that they all had similar legwear as the girl I had seen at Marie Toussant’s house. Her girls had been killed, which meant she was not being careful with them at all. I had to go back to her and confront her about this.

“Thank you, Robert. I got what I needed.”

“Wait.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke and looked at me through narrowed eyes.

“If you find anything suspicious, you let me know, okay?” “Of course.”

I took the first cab I could find. As I arrived in front of Marie’s imposing house, a light rain began to fall. I knocked on the door and the same young woman as before answered. She was dressed exactly like the dead women in the photos: short dress, stockings, fancy garters. She invited me to wait inside on the first floor and showed me to a small room to the right of the entry, where there was a small red couch. The walls were red as well, and there was another couch, two coffee tables, and a globe on a marble stand. A large painting of a female nude hung over the fireplace.

I waited for about half an hour, then the girl came back, and I was taken to the same room as before, located on the third floor. Marie Toussant sat on the same couch with her feet on the glass table. Her green skirt was short, and her blouse was unbuttoned, revealing a great deal of her breasts. Around her neck were several pearl necklaces. She looked at me and laughed. On the table were empty wine glasses and a few bottles. I doubted whether she was sober, but was she ever?

“I just had company. He left, but now I have more company,” she trilled. She took out a little glass tube filled with cocaine, as before.

“Listen, Miss Toussant, this is important, please,” I said, sitting down.

“What’s important is that you take some of this first,” she said, taking out the tiny spoon.

“No! Please, let me—”

“My house, my rules, young bull.” “Your girls were brutally murdered!”

Her expression changed slightly as she set the tube on the table. She regarded me silently, resentfully, for a moment or two. “So? Is that all?”

I couldn’t believe her lack of concern. “What do you mean? That’s a big deal! At least three of your girls have been murdered by Night Hawk! Who were their clients? Information you have could help find this murderer!”

“Help? Why should I help? People die, you know? My clients deserve privacy, and this is a business, just like any business. Sometimes products break or disappear, so you get new ones.” Marie produced her long cigarette holder, placed a cigarette into the end, and lit it.

I was thunderstruck. “You are talking about human beings, with hearts, souls, blood, minds, dreams, just like you! They have a right to their lives. They are not products! Night Hawk should be stopped! And I don’t believe you have no information about Aranxa Van Dausen!” Speech then failed me.

“Gee, thank you for killing my good mood.” She filled her wineglass and downed it in one go. “I don’t care what you think. You can stay and have fun with me.” Her voice turned coy. “Even though you’re an asshole, you are handsome. I’ll forgive your rudeness, but,” then both her voice and her expression hardened again, “if you’re not here for fun, get the hell out and never talk about my products or how I run my business to anyone.”

Her eyes were devoid of any morals or kindness. She only knew lust, money, and pleasure. Sadness and intense dislike gripped me as I stood and stalked out.

It was pouring hard outside, but I walked a few blocks and got soaked before grabbing a taxi to get close to The Dark Turtle. I felt like drinking but didn’t want to do it alone in my place. I greeted John and Maria and sat down by the window after ordering some cognac, which John told me was a rare and unusual bottle.

I watched the rain dimple the surface of the dark water of the canal, listening to its patter. I thought about the people I had spoken to. Everyone from a saint to a demon. I supposed each one of us, balancing on the rope of life, experienced the extremes. I sipped the cognac, and it was powerful. I felt fire in my chest, but it was exactly what I needed. I sat there for a long time, not inviting conversation with anyone. When the sun started to set, I left.

Upon my arrival home, I found two notes. One was from Mercedes, and the other was from Cecilia. The note from Mercedes said that Allard Van Dausen was in town and would like to see me tomorrow. The other note, from Cecilia, was an invitation to a party Mitch Stochild was hosting at his mansion, also tomorrow, but at night. I had bought the remainder of the bottle of cognac from John and brought it home with me. I sat by my window watching the street, which was now almost dark, with its single streetlamp.

For some reason, I recalled my childhood, and then it hit me. My father, Pierre Nistage, who had passed away when I was small, had always worn a white coat and hat. Chills ran down my spine as I gazed out the window and saw the man in white once again watching me from the shadows. Then he stepped into the dim pool of light around the lamppost and gazed up at my window.

It is my father! More chills ran down my back as tears welled in my eyes. How could it be? Was his spirit guarding me? Why had I been afraid before? Was he giving me a warning? Or perhaps it was just the effects of the alcohol.

I squeezed my eyes shut and let the tears fall, hanging my head. When I calmed down and looked out again, the street was empty. I strained to see, but there was no one there. Was I going crazy? It wouldn’t have surprised me. I drank another glass of cognac, my vision blurred, and I staggered over to my bed and was soon asleep.

My sleep was disturbed again by visions and nightmares. Even as I slept, I was relieved and happy to have them because no matter how horrific they were, they meant that I was still myself.

I stood in the center of a street. It was long and paved in smooth, small black pebbles. On the sides of the street were buildings, also completely black. All their windows were shut. I began to walk. I heard a sound above me and looked up. The largest crow I had ever seen flew above me in the moonlight and landed on a street lamp, but this lamp’s light was black as well. I went closer and looked at the crow. It, too, observed me with large black eyes burning with curiosity. It twisted its bird head right and left, examining me, and then it rapidly turned its head in the direction of the street and froze in that position. I looked into the distance and saw that the street had no end in sight. I continued walking, and in the dark windows of the black houses, white faces began to appear. I did not know these men, but then I recognized Jackson’s face, silently screaming at me, and in another window, Charlie’s face appeared, looking

at me with sadness. To my left, I saw Kramik’s face coldly gazing at me, and then on the corner of the street stood the man all in white. I could not see his face, but I assumed it was my father. The man turned away from me and began walking up the dark street. I followed him at the same pace. In the distance, I could see an outline of a giant throne appear and the ocean waves crashing against it. The man in white waded into the water and under the throne and disappeared into the ocean. One by one, out of the dark waters emerged long thin tentacles, dozens of them, followed by the body of a horrific creature resembling a spider and an octopus all at once. I was told without words that this was Sut Ni Tul.

I was paralyzed by horror and terror; I could not move. The fear was very real despite my realization that this was a nightmare. My legs wobbled, and I felt shooting pain through my lower back. My knees buckled, and I fell. As I was on my knees in pain, the tentacles of the creature approached me, and it opened two large eyes. They were blue orbs, and as I gazed into them, I was exposed to the deepest desires of the ancient creatures, the deep dwellers of the ocean. They did not come from our planet but from another place. Sut Ni Tul whispered into my ears, and what I heard chilled me to my bones.

As I woke up, I still felt the horror, but I could not recollect what Sut Ni Tul had whispered to me. I sat up in my bed and felt the chill of cold sweat on my back. This creature was real. I had seen it outside of the dream world, but now it was inside my head as well.

It was very early morning, and the sun was just starting to rise. Once I was able to shake off the feeling of terror and prayed, I felt a headache of monumental proportions. I stiffly got up and made coffee, and drank some water. As usual, I situated myself by the window and knew that today I had to face Van Dausen and tell him I still had no idea what had happened to his daughter. I had to be brave and confident and have faith, or so I told myself. I ate some cold ham and boiled eggs. I shaved, combed my hair, and put on nice clothes, but the dark bags under my eyes were unfortunately not removable.