Teddy would say to me: you’ve acted like a kid… You should have taken control of the situation… You should have…
Gerard bit his lip. He had, however, done a pretty good job noticing some key details. Seeing the tags on the bouquets sent to Edwige, he had visited all the florists in the arrondissements around the Buttes-Chaumont studios. After checking and cross-checking, he had ended up with a description, then a neighborhood, then an address. Now, he had found his target. And he had seen Edwige’s photo. No mistake about it.
This might amuse Edwige. It would certainly interest Teddy. Gerard finally made up his mind. He was not going to stand there like an idiot (which he felt he was). He would go back and report everything to Teddy. His stepfather would tell him what to do next.
After all, his mission had been to find the guy with the red roses and the crazy letters. Mission accomplished.
With his conscience somewhat appeased, Gerard headed downstairs. Suddenly, the lights went out in the staircase. He was about to press the button, but, a split second before him, someone else turned on the timer. Someone in the building. Someone either coming up the stairs, or going down.
They were coming up.
Gerard, now beginning to display some of the reflexes of a professional sleuth, leaned over the banister to see who was coming.
He jumped back and had to choke down a weird sort of cackle. No! It couldn’t be! He must be dreaming…
He quickly turned around and, instead of continuing down, sprinted back up the stairs, making the least noise possible. He was agitated and his heart was pounding in his breast. On an upper landing, leaning over the banister, he took another peek and couldn’t believe his eyes.
It was Edwige Hossegor!
Troubled thoughts spun wildly through his overwrought mind.
Edwige Hossegor? Edwige, here, at the home of the boy who sent her red roses? How could she know where he lived? She couldn’t have sent another detective on the trail of her mysterious lover. Besides, this was really of little concern to her. Right now, she had far more pressing concerns, a lot more serious problems… She had told Teddy Verano about the roses and the notes. And it was Baron Tragny who had insisted that they should find out who was behind it. Yes, he was jealous, but it wasn’t him coming up the stairs... But if it wasn’t Edwige either, then it was…
Gerard felt a lump in his throat. Teddy Verano had told him everything. At least everything he knew about the baffling mystery. Meaning, he knew a lot more about it than Chief Farnese.
No, this was not Edwige Hossegor. It was the other. The woman who had killed Jacques Lemoulin. Who had snuck into the baron’s house at night. She who had murdered Daniel the projectionist in cold blood at the screening to steal a reel of the series in which Edwige starred. Poor Jacques... Poor Daniel who both also had a photo of Edwige...
Edwige… Always Edwige… The photo… and death followed...
Mephista was here!
She had come to kill this silly Patrick Florent, just as she had killed Jacques and Daniel.
Gerard’s entire body started trembling. Not in fear—he had seen plenty of scary things in Teddy Verano’s shadow—no, with emotion.
The sound of the doorbell drilled into his ear. She was ringing Patrick’s door.
He leaned over, trying to get a better look. But from his vantage point, although he was almost falling over the banister, he couldn’t see her anymore. But he knew she was there.
Patrick did not answer the ring. He must have thought it is the pseudo-pollster from the O.R.T.F. But she kept ringing.
Finally, he opened the door. Gerard heard it, then a kind of muffled cry from Patrick Florent.
Patrick, crazy in love with an unreachable princess. He found her standing there, on his landing, ringing his doorbell. What would happen?
The door closed. Gerard scrambled down the stairs. No one was on the landing, but him. The timer switched off. He stood there, in the dark, in front of the door. On the other side was Patrick, the poor fool, a worm in love with a star, who must be believing that he had just been transported to fairyland. Patrick who was locked in not with Edwige, but with Mephista—his would-be killer.
Gerard was tempted to ring the bell, to bang on the door, to break it down screaming, “Patrick, watch out! She’s not Edwige!” But he would be the one who would look crazy. A scandal would not solve anything. He had to…
Yes. He had to do something. And fast.
Being who he was, he started by doing something completely stupid. He crouched in front of the door and looked through the keyhole. What luck! The key wasn’t in it. He could see a little. Too little…
The woman (the side of her dress, the line of her hip, it was her) stood in front of the law student. They were talking. But Gerard couldn’t hear what they were saying. He waited there a long time in the dark, praying to Heaven that nobody would come by. Fortunately, all was quiet in the staircase.
Oh, if only he could hear them. See them. Understand.
The couple’s whispering seemed more intimate. Then the two silhouettes suddenly left his (very limited) line of sight. After a short minute, the light changed. The table lamp had been turned down, no doubt. Gerard expected to hear the quiet but characteristic creak of the couch.
This Patrick must be completely stupid, he thought. He, the forlorn lover, could believe that it was really Edwige Hossegor who had come to him, like in some children’s fairy tale, with the swipe of a magic wand, to assuage his (until now) hopeless passion? He did not see the imposture? He did not understand the danger?
Gerard saw nothing anymore, but a small, dimly lit slice of the room. Knock? Ring? Interrupt the intimacy? That would almost certainly be dangerous. It might also hasten the fatal blow, the murderous blow that the diabolical creature was preparing, in one way or another, to deliver.
Gerard made up his mind.
He took something a lock pick of his pocket.
“I’ve got myself into this crazy situation… I have no choice!”
CHAPTER X
The door creaked after a little nudging. Gerard, after some efforts, had picked the lock and quietly opened it.
He entered Patrick’s apartment, fully aware that he had just broken into it as illegally as possible. He put Teddy Verano’s lessons to full use. There was one piece of advice in particular that he remembered, amusing at first, then proving its real value: nothing is more like a thief’s bag of tricks than a detective’s bag of tricks.
He had used a simple but effective skeleton key and his relatively easy victory surprised him. The door had opened and now he was standing inside the apartment.
He looked around.
It was not hard to imagine what had just happened.
In the dim light of a single lamp, Patrick Florent, bedazzled, on the heights of ecstasy, wasted like a drug addict, had dragged himself (or been dragged) to the couch, captivated by the enchantress who had shown up so suddenly, so mysteriously, on his doorstep. Apparently, he had had no time to ask himself questions, to wonder how she could know his address in the huge, monstrous city of Paris.
Whispers… a look… a caress… that’s all it had taken.
They were both there, kissing passionately, feverishly.
Gerard saw this and was obviously not surprised, but clearly embarrassed. Despite the fact that he was acting in a good cause, that he was sure that this woman was not Edwige Hossegor but really Mephista, that this poor Patrick Florent was about to be murdered by this siren from Hell, he realized how this must have looked.
Ten seconds later, someone else realized it too.
Patrick Florent’s head was spinning, and with good reason. He had just fallen into the arms of his unreachable love, wondering if he was dreaming; he was starting to get excited, and then this clown barged in on them.
Even in the meager light he recognized the intruder: the alleged poll-taker. He thought he had chased him away for good, but not only was he still around but he had just broken i
n!
Patrick was in a rage. He stammered an “Excuse me!” directed at this woman whom he believed to be Edwige Hossegor and who, in a gesture more savage than bashful, had just pulled the straps of her dress over her shoulders, after it had slid off under his passionate kisses.
Gerard had none of the experience or composure of Teddy Verano. He stood still for a few seconds, feeling more and more awkward, even though he knew he had acted correctly.
Patrick came up to him, his eyes popping out of his head, his fists clenched. But Gerard was not looking at him, but over his shoulder at the strange creature lying on the couch, propped up on one elbow, glaring at him…
Those eyes…
Gerard would never forget them. He felt like two rays of fire burning into him. Twin thunderbolts of hate. Like everyone who watched television, he knew them; he had seen them before; they were the eyes of the beautiful Edwige Hossegor in her roles as an evil woman. Except, this time, it was not a movie. She was looking at him. Only him. And she was not playing a role.
Edwige... or Mephista? Gerard shuddered, felt pierced to the bone by the grisly look from this monstrous woman. So frozen he as by her bewitching eyes that he barely heard Patrick cursing at him. And he got smacked hard in the face. He reacted right away because his lips hurt badly and he could taste the blood trickling into his mouth.
Nonetheless, he tried to talk, to clarify the situation.
“Listen to me! You don’t know what’s really happening. This woman…”
“Shut up, you bastard!”
Patrick socked him again, deaf to Gerard’s appeal.
What could not last was Gerard taking it passively. After all, he was well built and, although he did want to straighten things out, to save Patrick in spite of himself, he also had his dignity, which suddenly exploded and fought back with force.
So it was with force that he responded to his aggressor and hit him back while yelling:
“Listen to me! This is not Edwige Hossegor! It’s not…”
An uppercut cut him off, and took a little piece of tongue as well. Stronger than before, he tasted blood again.
In the next second, Patrick’s eye became half-swollen, shut by an unexpected left hook after a fake jab with the right that would have frozen Marcel Cerdan himself.6
The two of them, evidently, were not going to talk things out anytime soon, because Patrick, now seeing out of only one eye, jumped on his opponent and rained a series of blows on him. They tumbled into a bookshelf. All the books fell out, a small vase broke, and the bookshelf fell over into the front door, slamming it shut and blocking it. The two young men were not done and the fight went on as viciously as ever.
Shouting, spitting blood, with a split lip and a sliced tongue, Gerard was aware enough of the situation to try to talk to his opponent, to block the punches more than throwing them. But with the rage of a wild animal in heat, torn away of from his lover’s kisses, Patrick was completely oblivious to everything but the fact that he had just been snatched from realizing his most cherished dream. The young dreamer writing tender notes of hopeless love and spending all his money on blood-red roses was long gone. There now was only a maniac flailing away at Gerard.
By chance, Gerard managed to twist Patrick’s arm behind his back. Teddy Verano, who thought of everything, had given him lessons, not only in French kick-boxing but also in judo and karate. Patrick suddenly howled out, not knowing how he got himself pinned. For a moment he had to stop.
Face to face, noses almost touching, he saw the wounded face of his enemy, panting and sputtering.
“You have to listen to me, you bloody idiot…”
Gerard was swearing like his stepfather, who would have loved to hear it.
“Listen to me,” he continued. “Your life is in danger. This woman is not Edwige Hossegor. You’re the victim of a cruel and horrible imposture. This woman kills. She’s killed Jacques Lemoulin and the projectionist Daniel. Now she wants to kill you.”
Patrick Florent was stupefied, literally. He tried to move, but Gerard had his arm bent behind him so strongly and so skillfully that trying to escape would have broken it. And what he heard was so baffling…
He sobered up. The rush of excitement followed by the stream of violence was melting away.
“What… what did you say?” he asked.
They suddenly realized that they had fought and wrestled each other halfway into the bathroom. Gerard loosened his grip. Patrick reacted and tried to hit him again, but Gerard did not let him and punched him in the gut so that Patrick staggered back into the living room, bumping into the furniture.
Running after him, Gerard barked:
“Watch out! She’s going to escape!”
Because, seeing Patrick in trouble, Mephista had rushed for the door. Patrick made a move. Gerard hit him again, not so hard, but enough to keep him quiet.
Then he approached the woman.
“I’ve got you, Mephista!”
What a pleasure to shout this out… A wonderful, melodramatic statement, straight out of the movies.
Gerard, still at the start of his career, believed he was a great detective and played up the drama. Because Mephista couldn’t leave. There was only one door and the collapsed bookshelf was blocking it. However, there was one thing he was scared of: the creature’s eyes. But he fought against it. He resisted. He laughed out loud to break the spell.
“Don’t try to leave. Fate has done its job.”
Edwige (or Mephista?) suddenly ran over to Patrick and cried out:
“Help me… Defend me… Is this how you love me?”
Patrick, out of breath, turned a swollen but savage face to her. The words of this incomparable beauty stirred him. He straightened up and advanced toward Gerard. The duel was going to start up again, and God knows how it would end.
“Gerard!”
Where did this voice come from?
Gerard suddenly lit up with joy.
“Teddy! Teddy! I’ve got her. She’s here!” he screamed.
He took a step forward, but Mephista, without a word this time, pointed to him with a severe, irresistible gesture.
Patrick was urged on; he took a gulp of air and lunged forward. Gerard was worn out. His energy was gone and he was in no shape to start another fight. But he had to face up to it. This time, as if possessed by the diabolical influence of Mephista, Patrick jumped on Gerard with such force that he knocked him down and the two of them fell on the carpet.
They wrestled, rolled around, hit each other, bit each other, tried to grip each other’s throat… their breathing was fast and ragged.
“Gerard! Bloody Hell! What’s going on in there?”
Teddy Verano, who stood on the landing, tried to get in. With his skeleton key, of course, because the door was locked. But it only opened an inch or two since the fateful bookshelf that kept Mephista from getting out was also keeping the detective from getting in and helping his stepson.
Gerard received a blow that made him see 36 sunlights when his head hit the sharp edge of the couch where, a few minutes ago, Patrick Florent thought he was tasting sensual paradise when it was really death lying in wait for him.
Patrick did not take advantage of his victory. He was at the end of his rope too. He took a gulp of air and, with his heart pounding hard in his chest (this time not from romantic passion), he collapsed on top of Gerard’s barely conscious body.
Teddy Verano, with all his strength, tried to break down the door, but the damn bookshelf, fragile as it was, was lying exactly across the threshold and couldn’t be moved from the outside.
The sound of his struggle could to be heard throughout the building, alerting the neighbors and the concierge. So much noise, plus all the yelling and the fighting, had disturbed the peace of this comfortable apartment building on the Boulevard Voltaire.
In any case, Mephista was still not able to escape.
Gerard realized this in his red fog. Stars were dancing before his eyes and there was
a constant ringing somewhere in the depths of his aching head.
“Ted… dy… I’ve… got… her…”
Patrick huffed and puffed, painfully, trying to get up. He coughed. So did Gerard, crushed under a weight that felt mammoth—as it should, since Patrick had collapsed on top of him. They coughed together and their eyes stung. It was hard for them to see, even though the table lamp had miraculously escaped destruction.
Teddy Verano, now surrounded by people on the landing, started coughing as well. And the scared neighbors coughed, too, one after another, because of the smoke starting to filter through the narrow opening of the door.
“Gerard, I can’t hear anything! Gerard! Are you hurt? Oh, bloody hell, if they’ve hurt you…”
The detective thought of Yvonne who was surely going to hold him responsible for her son’s fate.
Everyone was coughing now and Teddy suddenly understood why.
“Fire! There’s a fire!” he cried, horrified.
Patrick was jolted, on hearing this through the door. He stood up, freeing Gerard, who struggled to sit up before Patrick helped him off the couch. Both of them started yelling together:
“Fire!”
Something was burning in front of them. Or rather someone. A huge flame shot up to the ceiling and licked it eerily.
Frozen in horror, thinking that the nightmare would never end, the two brawlers forgot all about their fight. What was burning there… before their eyes... no… they couldn’t believe it…
Teddy Verano finally managed to shoulder his way through the door with the help of a strong neighbor who’d guessed that something had gone terribly wrong—he’d come with an axe to break down the door. The detective wanted to help his stepson, but stopped at the unexpected sight of the blaze between him and the two young men who were squeezed together before the frightening vision.
An already unrecognizable form had caught fire, spontaneously, for an unknown reason, and the flames were consuming it, devouring it, eating away its contours, deforming its shape.
Mephista Page 7