My phone buzzed, there was a voicemail. Then it buzzed again. Then it buzzed again. Michael was sending me texts now. I read them, and they urged me to phone him. As I was reading, another one came through: I know what you are doing, if you trust me, you’ve got to make yourself scarce. You’ve got to hide. Meet me behind the bar in twenty minutes.
I hopped in the car, then drove down to the bar, as it wasn’t too far away, perhaps fifteen minutes. My mind was reeling at the fact I had finally made some headway with the riddle but hadn’t quite managed to figure out the last few parts, something wasn’t fitting. I hadn’t really had much opportunity to think about it given the phone call I had received moments after opening the bus locker, the moment I found out about Arianna being taken.
I mentally distracted myself by turning on the radio, banging a drumbeat on the steering wheel to the inane tune. My drumming did get quite aggressive so for the good of my steering wheel, it was lucky the journey was fairly brief. The battered wheel turned up behind the bar, through a tight alleyway that led to a car park for about seven vehicles. My car barely fit, though I recall the lawman in me did appreciate it because if anyone ever got too drunk and attempted to drive home, Kirsty would get out from behind the bar, push a large dumpster in the way and nothing could get in or out without doing a silly amount of damage to the body of their car.
Michael found that out the hard way once and explained it away with a weak story of chasing a fugitive, to our own laughter across the office, the bar, and anyone I dared tell the story to, to his unwelcomed shame.
Kirsty was petite, gorgeous, and ultimately wicked when it came to making sure her patrons didn’t do anything that might jeopardise future customers or driving licences and I appreciated her for it.
In another life, we might have been married and I could have been trying to save her instead. However, immediately after the thought crossed my mind, I chastised myself for wishing Kirsty was trading places with Arianna, under the guise of, ‘I could have married her.’
It was quite pathetic and evident that I was trying to brush aside any sense of urgency with the situation in case I failed; emotionally detaching from the responsibility that was in my lap. Truth be told, I probably would be going crazy if Arthur took Kirsty instead, as I had grown fond of her. If I had any sense of duty and goodwill, I’d do the same for anyone I knew, liked, and respected. Perhaps even those I didn’t, because I felt as though I was a good person, with a moral compass. It was just cracked slightly right now, as conflict battled with the proverbial angel and devil on my shoulders.
Speaking of the devil, as my mind wandered, that’s when she emerged from the back door of the bar, with a case full of empty glass bottles. She threw them in the dumpster, spun around in a graceful pirouette, then waved as she embarrassingly noticed my car mid-spin. She probably thought no one was watching, so she waved with a beetroot red face and retreated back in to the bar.
I sat in the car and waited. I deliberated going in and telling Kirsty what was going on but feared coming back out in a state fit enough to do anything about what actually mattered. It was a sad state of affairs but after Arianna left, I did have my own demons. I often tried to drown the sorrows with alcohol, which only made me feel worse in the long run, so the angel won with that conflict; the bar idea left my mind. I waited patiently for Michael, even going so far as to answer his next call in which he promised me he would be five minutes.
There was little that occupied my mind in that time. Thoughts of being in a happier place, from my parents, my engagement, the wedding and every single second I spent with that amazing woman. Why I pissed it away, I don’t know. I’d become so hell bent on capturing the most sinister evil I had encountered since Cyril in Fort Rose.
My mind fleeted to being a child again, with strength, bravery, and utter vulnerability. There was a lot to be compared to, minus the age gap of course. I was interrupted by Michael, who sped through the alleyway, even scratching the side of his car again, to my slight amusement.
He was in a fierce hurry and I couldn’t wait to understand why. Had he found Arthur? Did he have a lead? Jumping out of our respective cars with symmetrical grace, mirroring one another perfectly, closing the doors at the same time. We couldn’t have timed it better in fact.
“You’ve got to lay low. You’ve got to find this guy without the department,” he blurted out.
“What do you mean?” I quizzed, not intending to involve them anyway given the close ties I had, and the fear of being benched from the main event.
“A package was delivered to the Chief. It had a message in there, for you. Signed by Henderson.”
“What? What did it say?”
“It said that your wife would be the next person delivered in the package. As a precaution, the Chief wants you under watch. Protective detail, and… how do I say this. He said he wants to rule out any possible chance you are a suspect–”
“That’s fucking ridiculous, Michael, and you know it,” I declared, aghast at the implication, even if it was protocol.
“I know, but you know these things. It’s nearly always the spouse. Precautionary move by the Chief. Not to mention, he wants to make sure you are kept an eye on because you can’t work this if your wife is in danger. Your wife as a possible victim. You are too close to it now. The Chief won’t want Henderson to walk on technicality bullshit. The fact he only got jailed for rape was a joke in itself. Anyway, I got word from some of the guys that owed me one, that’s when I called you. As far as I know, they’ll already be at your house.”
I started to laugh, considering the ridiculousness of the situation. Everything had begun to spiral.
“What?” Michael asked.
“I know it’s not me, Michael, but how is it going to look? The previous crime scenes practically spread-eagled across my entire dining room wall. Latest theories, thoughts about elements that weren’t even at the crime scenes. You know the Xavier Hardiman case? I may have pocketed the key card to a bus locker to search the thing instead of logging it as evidence, to get a warrant. So, I’ve acted outside the normal parameters of justice, to get a head start. That’s why I’m laughing. I even left the door unlocked for the guys to waltz in to the damn place.”
Michael questioned why I would leave the door unlocked and my reasoning wasn’t acknowledged, laughed at, or even inspired. Simply heard.
“There’s something else you should know, Sebastian. The package the Chief received? It didn’t just contain a letter and a threat, it’s pretty damn serious.”
My heart sank; I panicked and demanded an immediate response to what was in that package.
His answer to that question made my world fall apart. Any reservations I had about arresting Arthur and making him come quietly were about as far gone as they possibly could have been. I was furious, I was beyond despair, I was inconsolable to the point that my shouting alerted half of the bar and I was the Shakespearean tragedy performing in the seedy car park. My screams were similar to that of a banshee, alerting anyone nearby, crippling the eardrums of those that could stand to listen.
I’d never lost myself emotionally like this before. Michael consoled me and he hugged me so tight that I started to push him away, my fist crashing on his chest in a weak, desperate plea. The only question I could ask was why?
Rage fuelling my every action, I took the keys to Michael’s car, appreciating if I was to be under watch, a classic car would be immediately found on an APB. He didn’t even try to stop me, no one did. Kirsty looked on, almost traumatised by what she had witnessed and heard. It looked as though she wanted to console me but stared in sheer disbelief, powerless.
The sun started to fall, and night was soon upon us. My favourite time of the day, because that’s where I was more likely to find the kind of beast I was hunting.
My mission was simple, it was time to get to the next crime scene. I put my foot down and sped to the Xavier Hardiman crime scene, desperate for an answer, desperate to understan
d why these stupid fucking games were being played.
I couldn’t think clearly, wrought with sorrow and anger; an epic mixture of every sinful and despairing emotion in the book. With bleary eyes, unable to see the road clearly through rage, I drove. Every fibre of my body was on fire; every fibre of my being was crashing. I felt anxiety sweeping over me, realising I was failing in my mission, realising I failed to protect and serve those unable to do so themselves. I cursed Arthur Henderson. Michael tried to call me, and I purposely let it ring out.
Despite being a reasonably recent crime scene, only tape blocked the way to some answers. I rarely took my service weapon, but luckily, I was in Michael’s car. I grabbed it, unsure as to what I could expect as I entered the house. With one swift kick, fuelled solely by adrenaline and anger, the door flew open and I ripped the tape away as I walked through it.
I headed to the study, in the distance, I could see that the case holding The Gutenberg Bible had been smashed and the book taken. Arthur, or perhaps an attending officer, had obviously returned and decided to pillage the priceless treasure.
Flashes to that crime scene flickered in my head, being immediately broken by another phone call. Not now Michael, then as I snapped into detective mode, I realised I had to get rid of it.
If the Chief wanted to side track me that much, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d run a trace. I wasn’t in the mood for fucking talking, so just as I ran the scenario through my head, ready to eject the phone across the marble hallway of Mr. Hardiman’s home, by sheer good fortune, I noticed Arianna’s face appear as the caller.
“You’ve got a fucking cheek calling me, you sick cu–” I cursed at Arthur in the most profane way.
“Oh, but, Sebastian. I had to let you know I was serious,” he sneered back at me, having the audacity to laugh at me.
“She had better be okay, because I’m coming for you. I’m following the little trail you’ve left me. I’ll figure it out, then I’m going to kill you. You don’t deserve to breathe, Arthur. You’re sick. You’re fucking sick!” I screamed, the echoes filling the marble hallway
“She’s still breathing, just. I have to say, I am so impressed. I said I would kill you, and in a way, I did,” Arthur taunted, twisting the knife he stuck in to my gut, and hers.
Time stopped as he spoke. Arianna was pregnant. The package he delivered to the Chief was the foetus of our unborn child he had gutted out of my wife. I felt sick even talking to him, knowing what Arianna had gone through; that the past had repeated itself and he made another mother witness the un-birth of their child.
That bastard had them both and I didn’t even know. That must have been what she needed to talk to me about. I would have given up everything if she’d told me. I’d have quit this God forsaken job and moved on to be with them. I’d have been a great father. I would have made sure that our beautiful baby never had to experience what I went through as a child. I’d be their saviour, their protector. Only, I wasn’t.
In full contradictory fashion, I started to punch the wall realising that everything I wanted to be was on the opposite side of the gorge I was proverbially standing over.
My baby hadn’t even breathed life and he took it from me. He had killed me, part of me. Part of Arianna. Regret washed over me for even taunting him earlier, trying to walk away the more powerful one. I understood now that he was, he had won. I was broken.
“I’ll admit, I was moved by her pleas that when I went to defile her, I didn’t,” Arthur said calmly.
“Where the fuck is she, you fucking animal. You said she was alive, just. Please. You win, just tell me where she is. Please just let me save her,” I begged on deaf ears.
“You really pissed me off, Sebastian. Your relentless turning of stones just to find me. You prodded the bear and I wasn’t happy. I’ll admit–”
“I’ll fucking kill you, Arthur. I don’t care anymore. You are mine,” I bellowed.
“You’ll never find me. Which is why, I figured I would give you this final farewell. It was fun, watching you from afar. I was always watching you as you turned over those stones, even leading you down some garden paths, so to speak.”
I contested whether to try and talk him down, go into police mode, keep him on the line to prolong the situation, or whether to listen, and then find him. Panic overtook reasonable judgement.
“I wanted to kill you. I succeeded,” Arthur protested proudly.
“Do you believe in karma, Arthur?” I spat back.
“By killing your unborn child, I’ve killed you.”
“You motherfucker.”
I started to swear down the phone. I was incensed with anger and sorrow that I couldn’t take it anymore. The cracks at my feet opened up and I felt myself being swallowed by the abyss. My life couldn’t mean so little any more. I punched the wall in front of me more times than I cared to count, I led myself into Xavier Hardiman’s study and defiled the place of his death. I started to throw books across the room, pushing over various stands in anger.
I could still hear Arthur’s voice down the other end of the phone and his final words stuck with me before I snapped the phone and ejected it across the room.
“You are going to die a slow, painful death without them. Just listen,” he said sadistically.
“I… love… you… Sebastian,” Arianna said softly, exhaling densely towards the end.
“Arianna! I love you, too. I’ll find you. I’m coming,” I cried out desperately.
“It’s already too late. The same knife that cut out your child. The same knife that killed your unborn daughter has just plunged into her heart,” he said as I fell to the floor powerless. “Maybe I’ll succeed in the end because when you realise that you’ll never find me, or your wife for that matter, you’ll realise the only way to end the torment is to put a bullet in your own skull. I’ll have killed you once, twice, perhaps three times over. Have a nice life, detective.”
His final monologue would be his last taunt. His last song and his last fucking dance. I tried to call back and it went straight to voicemail; it was over. I battled with the thoughts of injustice in my head and the scales were tipping far to the wrong side, the side I’d only ever considered exploring once, as a child, holding the screwdriver atop the Gardener’s neck as he slept.
I chose to walk away that day, realising I didn’t have it in me. Now, though, maybe I did? Arthur-fucking-Henderson brought out the worst in me. Something in me knew I would catch him. Something in me knew I would have the pleasure of snuffing out his pathetic little life.
I screamed uncontrollably for a while, not truly knowing how long I had. I trashed Mr Hardiman’s library, screaming until my voice couldn’t sound off any longer. I cried for my wife, realising I would never see her smile, never look into her beautiful eyes, or make love to her like I did just a day before.
How fleeting life is. How wasteful it is, knowing that creeps like Arthur can walk the earth without being struck by lightning from an angered God.
I felt as though I was truly alone. I was at rock bottom with no companions, no Gods, nothing.
My only motivation now was to find the prick that took everything from me and take everything from him as well. As I trashed the library some more, I stumbled across a hidden secret. A switch in the wall, stuffed behind the books I had thrown across the room in my rage.
Stunned at the chance encounter, I pressed it to hear an almighty click that killed the newly-achieved silence. A small doorway opened. Of course, someone as rich as Xavier Hardiman would have a secret room.
The door led to a small opening, so small it was how the room could remain concealed when considering the layout of the property. A switch sat on the wall as I stepped into the secret alcove, and I flicked it. It lit up a very steep staircase that traversed into a deep basement. There was nothing to suggest this property even had a basement, no other entry points around the property, no windows, just the artificial light.
Led only by confusion, I worked my w
ay down the steps. The room had many trinkets, and collectibles Mr Hardiman had elected to collect and stash in secret. A mannequin faced the wall looking away, towards a small bookcase of old Betamax tapes, journals, trophies, and trinkets.
I stepped closer to the mannequin, taking in the sights of the hidden secret we all walked over when we assessed the crime scene. We had no reason to observe any deeper than we did. We wouldn’t have thought to remove the books and journals to reveal secret access points.
I felt as though I was living in a fantasy, as secret rooms always felt quite far-fetched until I thought about the cage in Fort Rose. I turned the mannequin, and everything suddenly made sense. The answer to the riddle came to me in an instant.
Formed in an instant, lasting a lifetime; I draw you back to where it began.
A bare-faced lie; he carried something new, weightless unlike the guilt of the past.
Deities Apollo and Artemis protect us, he defiles us.
Chronos mistaken affiliation, despite devouring his own, puts reflection on who the victim may be.
Formed in an instant, lasting a lifetime, a memory. A bare-faced lie, he carried something new. He did, he carried a new name. Deities Artemis and Apollo protect us, they protected boys and girls. The Chronos myth, he ate his children. His mistaken affiliation, ‘Cronos;’ the Titan Father Time. The deities did protect us whilst he defiled us.
Xavier Hardiman’s missing face had been found. It sat on the mannequin in front of me and it was an aged Father Time. Father, Cyril, my past coming back to haunt me in the most twisted way.
X did mark the spot; it marked the spot of my past.
The flowers from the crime scenes, they immediately made me think of flowers from the Gardener’s garden in Fort Rose, a link I’d have never made if not for the haunting view in front of me.
Not to mention the links wouldn’t ever reveal as that part of my life was over, closed behind a door I had mentally bolted shut. I didn’t see it because I refused to accept that it was even a possibility.
Dancing With Devils Page 21