“Lucy Reilly,” she mumbled after reading the address. What is your infatuation with this girl?
Posy felt extremely jealous of Lucy, for she probably knew all about Silas, everything that Posy secretly yearned to find out. She placed the envelope back in the drawer. Then she turned her eyes to a little bag full of small iron spikes, all of them about as small as a pellet. She held them up to the light. What in God’s name is this for?
She put the bag down. You’re a strange one, Officer de San Michel. Maybe, if you weren’t so strange, I’d stop thinking about you.
She closed the top drawer and opened the bottom one. There, she found Silas’s supposed journal, the one he had with him since the beginning. With a devilish grin, she grabbed and opened the journal. As she flipped through it, she found a lot of Japanese writing. Boring.
She kept turning the pages, discovering nothing of interest, until she came upon the last section of the journal. It was all drawings. They were beautiful and quite detailed. Silas had drawn a number of pictures of the Japanese landscape; beautiful mountains, villages, and serene forests filled the pages. Posy browsed through the drawings of various mountain natives, mostly women and their jovial children. She found Silas’s artistic side to be a delightful surprise.
Near the end, she turned to a drawing that was distinctly different than the others. It was a picture of a large forest filled with tall, bushy trees. The drawing was dark in nature, using black tones and harsh lines. She inched closer to the drawing, for something caught her attention. She saw a man hiding inside one of the trees, ominous and threatening, all in black, with only his eyes showing. He hung onto the tree as if he’d been there for days. And it became apparent to Posy that Silas, at the time he drew the picture, was there as well, in his own spot, watching the dark man, observing him, hunting him. A few goosebumps trickled down her neck, and a shiver darted up her spine. Hastily, she turned the page, not wanting to look at the drawing any longer.
But the next one was even worse.
This particular drawing wasn’t dark or threatening; it was quite the opposite. It was beautiful, so beautiful in fact, that it quickly took hold of Posy, injecting in her a sense of animosity towards someone she hardly knew. Silas had drawn a striking picture of Lucy. Her straight blonde hair sang with the wind, and her big, sparkling blue eyes gazed over the horizon. It was clear to Posy that the person who drew the picture was quite smitten with his subject. She curled her lip and tossed the journal back into the bottom drawer, slightly disgusted. Maybe it was better for her to go to sleep. Using her foot, she slammed the drawer back in. She laid her head back down on the pillow and let out a long sigh. “Cherry blossoms,” she whispered before finally shutting her eyes.
While Posy lay sleeping, out in the main room, Silas sat down in one of the chairs inside Belloc’s study and let his eyes wander for a moment, taking in a deep breath. Quickly, he noticed that Belloc wasn’t in the room. What’s he doing? “Inspector?”
No answer.
Next to the study was Belloc’s bedroom, and off to the side of his bedroom was a small washroom, inside which Belloc had run in and shut the door. After staring at his reflection in the mirror for a moment, Belloc dipped his hand into a large bowl of cold water. Diligently, he began to scrub away at the dried blood, so much so that his skin turned red from the irritation. Spending a few minutes scrubbing his arms, he then hastily took his suit jacket off. He started to hyperventilate, and so to ease his breathing, he yanked at the knot of his tie.
Feeling claustrophobic, he burst out of the small washroom and into his main bedroom. He walked over to the nightstand, and inside he found a small bottle of scotch, which was still unopened. He broke the seal to the cap and opened up the bottle, pouring a giant swig down his throat.
And then another.
And another.
“Argh!” He slammed the bottle down on the desk. “I…I can’t!” And just before bursting into tears, he stopped himself by lifting his forearm up to his nose and mouth. “I said I wouldn’t drink anymore. I’m sorry, Margaret. I won’t do it again. It’s just...today was tough. I had the baby in my arms. I couldn’t do anything but think of...” He wiped away his tears and put the cap back on the bottle of scotch.
He spotted some more dried blood that he’d failed to wash off. “Oh, damn it!” He grabbed a shirt that was draped over a chair and used it to start rubbing the spot of blood off his elbow. “Come off of there. Come on, you devil!” But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t wash it off. All he could do was crouch down next to his bed and sob. “I’m sorry, Marge. I didn’t mean to take that drink. I’m sorry about our baby. I’m so sorry for everything.”
There was a knock at his bedroom door.
“Uh...who is it?” he called out, quickly composing himself, embarrassed that he’d been so weak.
“It’s me.”
“Come on in.”
Silas opened the door.
“Ah, yes, there you are,” Belloc said while simultaneously wiping off his tears and clearing his nose. “Are you ready to work? There’s lots of work to do.” He wiped his hands on his pants. “Sorry, I was just freshening up. I had to get this damn blood off me.” He reached out to the bottle of scotch and hastily hid it as quickly as he could. He sat down on his bed and started to roll up his sleeves.
Silas stepped inside the room. Belloc stood up and walked into the washroom to wipe his hands dry with a clean towel as Silas waited, looking over the entirety of the bedroom. It was quaint, with a lot of pictures hanging on the walls. There was some war memorabilia posted near the inspector’s bed, the bed itself being crisp and clean, made up, as if it hadn’t been slept on for many years. Silas walked up to the dresser, staring at an old picture of Belloc’s late wife, Margaret.
“She was twenty-one in that one,” Belloc said as he stepped out. “She was...beautiful.”
Silas turned to a picture of Belloc when he was about the same age, donning a military uniform. “And you were quite dashing yourself.”
“Ah, yes. There was a small moment in my life where I was certainly presentable.”
Silas smiled, using his eyes to go from one picture to the other, sort of following a detailed timeline of Belloc’s life. He saw a large picture near the end of a shelf. “Your wedding?”
“Yes.” Belloc dried his face off with a small hand towel. “Down south, during the middle of a hurricane. There were cries of thunder and bolts of lightning rattling the small church we were in. My wife took it as a good sign, that heaven was happy with our union. I was not so sure.” He paused to relish in a memory. He grinned.
“Any children?”
The grin was short-lived. He could barely breathe. “One—a son.”
“And where is he?”
He paused. “He’s gone. He’s dead.”
Silas’s faced soured. “I’m sorry, Inspector. I’ll stop asking questions.”
“No, no. It’s quite all right.” Belloc walked over to his wardrobe to exchange his dress shirt for a cleaner one. “I didn’t know my son for long. He died shortly after birth. Something with his heart.” He sighed as he buttoned up his new shirt. “After that, my wife wasn’t able to have any more children, something about the birth of our son that damaged her womb.” He lowered his head. “She was never the same after that.”
Silas did his best to move the topic away from the man’s son, seeing that it greatly affected him. “How long has she been gone?”
“A little over three years. Feels more like three hundred.” And like some sort of reflex, he turned to Silas. “And you? Have you... I’m sorry. I...was about to ask you if you had any family. I completely forgot about...your situation. Forgive me.”
“It’s all right. I struggle to remember anything personal about my life, especially something as intimate as a wife and child. But nothing comes to me. You would think that would be the first thing to come back, but nothing. And that’s what troubles me. Because it just means I had no
thing but myself. The more I remember small bits about my life, the more I find there was nothing I held dear to my heart, no emotional attachments—nothing. All I had with me was...darkness. I think that was all I was allowed to have.” He thought for a moment. “But then...there’s Lucy.”
“And what of her?”
“I don’t quite know, but I think she might’ve been the first thing I ever cared about. Don’t ask me how it’s possible.”
“You need to speak to her.”
“I know,” Silas said, fearing the potential encounter. He instantly became overwhelmed with nervous energy. He moved up to a small writing desk and sat down on the chair to ponder more on Lucy, but something caught his attention. “You were in the War?”
“Yes, I was.” It was a huge part of Belloc’s former life. “Oh, yes. The war was what drove me to drinking when I was younger. That war was a beast incarnate.”
“I can imagine.” Silas stood up and approached a group of pictures showcasing Belloc’s military career. “What exactly did you do for the Union?”
Belloc closed his eyes. “Hmm, yes.” He stroked the back of his head. “I was part of a certain force, a specialized group. It was an experiment, never done before. We were specifically trained in certain combat tactics. You...remind me of when I was part of that group. You could have fit right in.”
“What did this group do?”
“The most unspeakable of horrors.” Belloc blankly stared at the wall in front of him.
“I see. And this is what I remind you of?”
“You do, Silas. I think the deeper we go into this rabbit hole of your former life, the more dark and abysmal it’ll get. I’m sorry, Silas, but that’s the honest truth.”
“I understand.”
Belloc walked up to him. “Are you sure you want to know about your former life, knowing that you might discover certain things that you’ll find...disturbing?”
“No, I’m not sure. But I can’t help it. If my memories come back, I can’t stop them. But...I can change. I don’t have to be that person.”
“Do you think people can change?”
“I think you have,” Silas said, smiling. “For the better.” He was alluding to Belloc’s former days as a belligerent alcoholic. “We all have a beast inside us waiting to strike. All that is luminous begs to be stripped of its brilliance. When the beast strikes—and it always does—do your best to tame it, lest one day you find yourself devoured by it. The fact that you at least try to tame the beast makes you a better person. I know that, and I think your wife, as she looks down on you, knows that as well.”
Belloc didn’t know what to say, but just humbly nodded in agreement. He walked over to his nightstand. “Well, enough about us.” He grabbed his journal and made his way to his study, with Silas following behind. “Tell me, what else did the Reillys’ neighbor tell you?”
“He showed me a map that he had been working on. Like I told you during the carriage ride, he had suspicions about the girls, especially since they all hung around each other often. He talked about the others as if he had known about them for a long time, and not only he, but the rest of the Valentine Society as well. The map he drew had not only the Decamps and Reilly families marked as victims, but also four other manors, all in the same vicinity. He believed—and I agree—that the killer is targeting these six girls, and eventually the rest of the girls will be attacked, sooner than later, I fear. I find it reasonable to believe that the parents know something, not only because it seems plainly commonsensical, but also because some of the parents are acting very suspiciously around us, especially Mr. Decamps and Mrs. Reilly.”
“And, of course, it’s the parents that are the least accessible to us. Strange how the world works, Silas. Looks like we’ll have to find a better way to figure out what’s going on. If we can’t talk to the girls’ parents, then we can possibly connect with some of the other people inside the Valentine Society.”
“How do we do that?”
“I’ll have to figure something out.” Belloc sat on his desk chair. “In the meantime, what about this boy you mentioned, the father of the babies?”
“All I know is that he’s somewhere deep in the city slums. That’s something I can check out. If I get to him, I’m sure I could find out a great deal more about this group of girls and why they all suddenly became pregnant.”
“Everything about this case sounds so strange that I’m afraid this is yet another rabbit hole we’re discovering, one that we’ll regret stepping into.”
“I don’t see any other option. Do you?”
“Unfortunately, no. It’s my duty to follow the leads, wherever they take me. If I can’t do that, then I should look for another line of work, but...this is the only job I know how to do, the only thing I’m any good at.”
“I’m beginning to discover the same about myself.”
“Plus, I don’t really much want to do anything else, to be quite honest.”
“And I don’t really, either.”
They shared a small moment, devilishly smiling at each other.
“So, down the rabbit hole we go,” Belloc remarked.
“Yes, down we go,” Silas affirmed Belloc’s decision with a smile.
“Well then, I guess you’ll go seek the boy while I start connecting the dots with Posy?”
“Eventually.”
“What do you mean?”
Silas stepped up to the bedroom window, looking out into the foggy landscape. “For the past week, I’ve been having these visions of a former life, and these visions entice these urges inside of me, as if there’s a person inside this shell of a body that’s desperately trying to break out. Regardless of who this former person inside of me is, I need to confront him. I’m hoping Lucy will provide the answers.”
“I see.” Belloc lit up his pipe. “So you’re going to see her, then?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck. I hope you find what you need.”
“Hmm.” Silas grabbed his bag off a large leather couch and made his way to the window. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Don’t you ever use the front door?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Silas said right before jumping out the window and scaling the building all the way down. Once he reached the ground, he stopped to study his surroundings.
The winter fog laid claim to most of the scenery. Gray and dark blotches intermingled with the vibrant red bricks that held up the majority of the old buildings. The city was crowded, buzzing with the electricity of its inhabitants. A small kid, wrapped up in an overly large coat, sold newspapers at the corner street, singing his sales slogan with a high-pitched whine. A horse-drawn streetcar passed Silas on his right, rumbling through the streets as it rang its bell. He rubbed his arms, feeling the cold winter seep into his bones, and that’s when he realized he forgot his overcoat. Alarmed, he began to worry, but his nervousness triggered something inside his mind, and he slowly drifted off into a memory of his former days.
The wind tussled against his black mane. The smell of cherry blossoms tickled his nose. There was dew all around him as the cold moisture of the mountain grass touched his warm skin. He was in the middle of a snow-covered village, displayed like some type of statue for all to see. His shirt was off, and he could feel himself shivering. He had no doubt that he was being tested.
Why do you shiver, young Shi? Do you know? It is because of the weakness of the human will. Look around you. Look at the creatures that surround us. There, the wolf—he does not shiver. And there, the white-haired rabbit—he is as still as a pond under a morning mist. The birds in the trees—they might not sing as they do in the spring, but look at them: they never shiver. How do they do it?
To know the answer, you must first see them as they are. Look at the wolf—he is hunting, staring down the white-haired rabbit. And look at the rabbit—he is plotting, thinking of the best way to beguile the wolf. And the birds in the trees, they are watching, observing how interesting it
is to play the game of life. All of these creatures have one thing in common: None are worried about the cold. If they were to freeze to death, it would be the least of their worries, because they are not bogged down by will. They act out of instinct; they do or do not, and therefore the cold is irrelevant. The cold happens through them instead of to them. Be like the winter wolf. Be like the white-haired rabbit. Master your will, and let the cold be, and soon you’ll find yourself as a creature would, worrying about the truly important things in life.
Silas opened his eyes, a bit weary from experiencing his vision. He understood that he had been trained to survive in the most extreme of temperatures, and his worries about the cold began to subside. He spotted a carriage approaching. Right before it passed him, he stealthily grabbed its back and went along for the ride. The driver never knew Silas was there.
He rode attached to the back of the carriage for a number of blocks until it broke away from the heart of the city. Satisfied with where he was, he jumped off the carriage, landing on a snow-covered sidewalk. He looked up and saw a tall building to his right. Lucy’s school.
He thought for a moment, figuring that, at that time of day, Lucy would probably be at the music school. On the other hand, her sister was just attacked the night before. There’s no way she would be at the school, and he certainly wouldn’t want to go back to the Reillys’ mansion. It’d be too soon. Yet, knowing the Valentine Society’s penchant for dismissing things that would cause harm to their reputation, he wouldn’t be surprised if Lucy’s parents did make her go back to school that day. It’s at least worth a try.
He ran towards the building, and turning the last corner, he found himself at the entrance. Stepping inside, he was blasted with the scent of old world, musty and woodsy, with the smell of wet brick permeating the air. He walked up the stairs, holding on to the rail, feeling the paint scrape away as he slid his hand up the cold iron.
Once he reached the seventh floor, he stopped and inched himself closer to the long glass door, peeking in. As he suspected, Lucy was inside. Not many people were around, only a couple of flutists going over their music near the far corner of the long and spacious practice hall, and a petite young girl tuning her cello just a few feet across from Lucy. Perfect.
The Valentine Circle Page 14