by S. Cedric
“You’re so pretty, little tiger,” she says, leaning over her again. “So pretty, so fragile. I suppose you must use a lot of medication? And beauty products?”
Eva gags. She is only half hearing her. She does not know what to say. Every breath is torture.
“I know that you do,” the insane woman whispers. “Everybody uses them. Those creams. Those products that the commercials sell us, promising they will make us look more beautiful, younger. How’s that different from what I do?”
Eva shakes her head.
Tries to control the pain.
She manages to utter, “That’s got nothing… to do with it.”
The masked woman snickers.
“Don’t you know where those products come from? Just think about it. They’re animal byproducts. There’s always an inferior life to take in order to improve your own, to erase the inevitable wrinkles, to tighten the aging skin, to regenerate sick organs. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Eva’s heart slams in her chest. She needs to take action.
“Just like… Bathory,” she manages to say.
The masked woman smiles.
“Yes. Just like her. Everything I’ve been able to do, I owe to her. The secrets were lost. Countess Elizabeth is the one who found the ways of the past again. She unearthed the secrets and the rituals. She gave her life to that end, to present the gods with blood and tears.”
She giggles and licks her bloody fingers.
“For this is the source of everything, isn’t it? What runs in our veins, what gives us life, what makes the gods hungry.”
“Bathory ended up being tried… and locked up in her room,” Eva coughs before adding, “Then she died, like… the poor crazy bitch she was.”
The woman’s face registers disappointment. She buttons her dress.
“You don’t understand a thing after all.”
When she comes near again, she’s holding the scalpel. The small blade, gleams in the dark.
Behind the mask, Eva can see only the whites of her eyes. The woman raises her hands, palms turned upward, throws her head back, and expels a throaty, droning chant.
“Spirits that dwell in the deepest of darkness, hear my voice! Zalmoxis! Abandon your dwelling. Isten! Abbadon! Come, hurry to the blood feast!”
Eva shuts her eyes, powerless.
The insane woman’s chant becomes high-pitched and animal-like.
“Diseebeh! Zabh! Let your voices be heard! Ashtaroth! Gebeleizis! Come to me with your love, your suffering, and your sacrifice! May your ancient pain come into me and speak through my mouth! Show your reality to me so I can believe in the power of will over death!”
And Eva can feel the blade entering her flesh again. Sliding all the way to the handle, while the masked woman heaves orgasmic screams.
But Eva’s own screaming is louder.
60
The house was not very big and certainly not very pretty. A crude, square, two-story structure. The beams of their flashlights illuminated rough stone walls covered with moss.
Vauvert headed for the front door.
Leroy inspected the windows, trying to find one that was not shuttered and locked.
There was no light coming from inside, nor any sound.
Vauvert tried the door, but, as expected, it was locked.
“Okay.”
He took a step back and gave the door a hard kick. It did not budge.
Then he pointed his Smith & Wesson at the lock and fired. Once, then twice. The sound was deafening.
“Vauvert! What the hell are you doing?” Leroy cried out.
Again, the giant flung himself at the door. This time it came open. He stepped inside, his gun in one hand and the flashlight in the other. Leroy trotted after him.
The entry hall had a yellowish tile floor. There was an empty coat rack along one wall. A framed photo of a girl wearing a tutu was hanging on the opposite wall.
Vauvert reached for the light switch.
Nothing happened.
He flipped the switch on and off a few times and then directed his flashlight at the ceiling. The chandelier had three bulbs.
“Maybe the power’s cut off,” Leroy said.
“Yeah. Let’s be careful,” Vauvert responded.
He trained the beam of light on the photo.
“You think this is her?”
“Could be. If it is, she was pretty,” Leroy said.
Then they set about exploring the rest of the house, the beams of their flashlights coming together and then separating as they streamed over ceilings, walls and floors. In the first room, there was old furniture, a table and wooden chairs, and a large television set on a dresser.
Dust moats floated in their beams of light, creating a constellation of swirling flecks.
There was total silence.
Leroy tried the light switches in that room, with no result.
Cautiously, they made their way to the kitchen. Pots and pans were hanging on a wall, and a few plates rested in a drying rack by the sink.
Vauvert instinctively knew that something was off.
He realized what it was when he took a closer look at the sink. The three plates in the drying rack were covered with gray dust. No one had touched them in years. Even the bottom of the sink was coated with dust.
“Looks like no one lives here,” Vauvert said. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“I know,” Leroy replied. “But there must be an explanation. Earlier on the phone, I was told that someone here has been using electricity.”
He opened the fridge. It was out of service and obviously had been for a long time. On the shelves were a half dozen jars of jam, now moldy. Leroy quickly shut the door.
“All right. No one’s been in this fucking kitchen for ages.”
Vauvert headed for the stairs. The second floor had two bedrooms separated by a hallway.
He stepped into the first bedroom. Inside was a small bed, carefully made, with a thick lace-embroidered quilt. When Vauvert touched it, a cloud of dust rose up.
“If someone had been here lately, there would be signs. Do you see any?”
“Nowhere,” Leroy said.
He opened an armoire and aimed his light at the piles of musty sheets.
Then he inspected a chair in the far corner of the room, over which a grayish skirt was draped. Everything in the room was coated with dust.
Two framed photographs were on the bedside table. One showed an old couple. The other photo was of a bright-eyed girl sitting on a bench.
The detective picked up the photo of the girl. It was the same girl whose picture was in the hallway, but this one looked like it had been taken a few years later. The girl appeared to be fifteen or sixteen. Her face was a perfect oval, highlighted by a mane of thick curly hair. Her smile was radiant.
“That must be how she looked. Before she was sick…”
“And she never came back here?”
“This is the home address she gave the hospital.”
Leroy returned the photo to the bedside table.
A quick inspection of the second bedroom, then the bathroom, both in the same state of abandonment, revealed nothing more.
“This just doesn’t make sense. We are at the wrong place,” Vauvert said.
He turned and punched the door, sending dust swirling into the air.
“We’re wasting time!”
He dashed for the stairs.
Back outside, the cold biting his cheeks, Vauvert hurried along the gravel path to the mailbox. He trained the beam of his flashlight on the side. The name written on it: “Saint-Clair.”
“We’ve got the right house,” Leroy said.
“But we’re missing something,” Vauvert replied.
He ran the beam of his flashlight along the power lines running to the house from the pole by the road.
“Let’s take this from the beginning. You’re certain that somebody’s been using power?”
“That’s what they told
me on the phone. They were positive about it.”
“Okay.”
Vauvert ran the beam along the wires again. There was no doubt about it. The house was connected. He illuminated the pole again.
The power lines were also running in another direction, toward the darkness. Vauvert looked for some sort of path, but all he could make out were bushes, tall chestnut trees, and more bushes.
“Dammit,” he said. “I can’t see anything.”
“We might see better if we used the SUV headlights,” Leroy suggested.
“Good idea.”
They began walking toward the SUV. Then they stopped in their tracks.
In the distance, headlights were piercing the night, coming their way.
“What’s that?” Vauvert growled.
He quickly killed his flashlight and drew his Smith & Wesson. Leroy did the same. They did not have time to take cover.
The headlights became more intense, until they were blinding suns, pinning the two men like insects.
The vehicle stopped in front of them.
Leroy and Vauvert squinted and shaded their eyes with their hands.
They heard a door open and someone step out.
“Drop your weapons! Police!”
Vauvert lowered the hand that was shading his eyes.
“Oh, shit.”
“Drop your weapons, or we shoot!” the officer repeated. “Do you hear me?”
“It’s okay! We’re police too!” Leroy shouted back. “Homicide officers. Everything’s all right!”
Two more men leaped out of the car. The first man, obviously the officer in charge, pointed his service weapon at them with his both hands, his knees bent.
“I know exactly who you are. We followed your GPS position. There’s a warrant out for both of you. And you’re going to come with us without any trouble.”
61
Vauvert knew they were in deep shit.
Every precinct has its one idiotic, gung-ho cowboy. Vauvert was beginning to think he had some sort of radar that attracted this kind of moron.
“Come on, hands behind your heads! Right now!” the guy kept barking.
Still squinting in the glare of the headlights, Vauvert slowly lifted his arms, hands in evidence, so as to avoid being misunderstood.
“I’ll explain. We’re all colleagues here.”
“You’re just gonna shut up!” the officer shouted, still pointing his gun at him. “I want to see your hands behind your heads, both of you!”
This was exactly what he had been afraid of.
He could not afford to waste any time at all, not anymore.
“Just listen to us,” Leroy pleaded, spreading his arms.
“I think you’re wasting your breath,” Vauvert sighed.
“We need your help,” Leroy continued nonetheless. “We are on the trail of…”
“Shut the fuck up!” the officer snapped. “We know what you did, so don’t even think of fucking with us, got it? Pierre, Arnaud, cuff the bastards now!”
The two officers, dressed in fatigues, walked toward them. They looked very young and very uncomfortable. Rookies, no doubt about it.
“Do you know Judith Saint-Clair, the woman living here?” Leroy insisted. “We think she abducted someone. We don’t have much time.”
“The boss said to put your hands behind your head!” one of the young officers yelled. He went around Leroy and slapped a pair of cuffs on his wrists. “Now get moving!”
“Guys, please! It’s not like we’re going to attack you or something!” Vauvert said. “All we’re asking…”
The butt of a gun connected with the back of his head, making him stagger.
“Quiet!” the officer behind him shrieked.
Judging by his shrill voice and nervousness, Vauvert intuited that this was a very young officer, in his twenties probably, and fresh out of the academy. If that idiot was clumsy with his gun or just panicked, he really would get shot.
“Don’t you ever do that again,” Vauvert said between clenched teeth, his skull throbbing.
“Your hands!” the officer ordered as he lowered his handgun and reached for the cuffs dangling from his belt. “Move it!”
“You’re making a monumental mistake, guys,”
He turned to the young man, putting his hands behind his back for the cuffs. Then he froze.
The way he was standing now, with his back to the cruiser’s headlights, he could make out the small opening in the bushes. Beyond it, the flood of light illuminated a field of tall grass. There was a path. It looked neglected, but it was actually a path. And the power line was going in that direction.
“Wait,” Vauvert said. “Is there another house in the field over there?”
“Your hands!” the officer repeated, taking a step forward.
Vauvert had to restrain himself from reacting instinctively. He could have grabbed the kid’s arm easily and fractured his wrist, which would have been a very stupid move, of course.
And so he did nothing. It was not the kid’s fault his superior officer was a moron.
“Wait,” he asked again. “Please.”
In reply, the butt of the gun came down on his head again.
“You fucking idiot.”
“And he’s insulting us, on top of everything else,” the superior officer sniggered. “You and I are not going to be buddies, you know that?”
“You’re right,” Vauvert muttered. “I don’t think you’re going to like me very much.”
“Is that a threat?”
Vauvert did not say anything.
“All right, let me do it,” the superior officer said as he walked toward him. He reached for the handcuffs on his belt. “I’m going to cuff him myself. Pierre, if this psycho makes a move, you pull the trigger, is that understood?”
Vauvert felt the barrel of the young man’s gun against his neck.
The weapon was shaking slightly.
He let the superior officer come to him without making a move.
“Your hands, dickhead,” the officer ordered.
Vauvert took a deep breath and then drew back. He thrust his foot and kicked the officer in the shin.
The man gave a yelp of surprise and pain. Everything happened too fast for him to defend himself. Before he knew it, Vauvert was behind him, twisting his arm forcefully, nearly dislocating it.
“No! Shit!” the man bellowed. “Shit! Shit!”
Now Vauvert was facing the younger officer, who was still pointing his weapon at him. The young officer’s face was as pale as a ghost.
The man bellowed again, “Lower your gun, you dick! Holy shit! Pierre, lower your fucking gun right now!”
The officer did what he was told.
“Don’t hurt me,” the man begged in a broken voice.
Vauvert’s only reply was to take his handgun and lock his other arm around the man’s throat. His larynx compressed, he stopped whining.
“Let him go! It’s an order!” the third cop shouted.
He pressed his gun against Leroy’s neck.
“Right now!”
62
2:20 a.m.
“You hear me? Let him go!” the third cop repeated.
His voice panicky. He’d never been trained to face this kind of situation.
Vauvert, for his part, was trying to assess the situation as best he could.
He decided to up the ante.
He leaned back a little, and his hostage was lifted onto his toes, gasping for air.
He held him this way and pointed his weapon at the two stunned officers.
“Let go of me,” the officer kept pleading. “Please. Don’t hurt me.”
Vauvert brought his lips to the man’s ear and said, “Listen very carefully. We don’t want any fuck-ups, do we? We’re all on the same team. The reason we came here is to try to save a colleagues’ life. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
His hostage nodded as best he could.
“All I’m asking
of you is to let me see if there’s another house over there. We’re all going to go over there and look together. If we don’t find anything, I swear that we will let you take us. Is it a deal?”
“Let him go!” shouted the officer holding Leroy at gunpoint.
Leroy was not saying anything, but his face was ghostly pale.
Vauvert squeezed his hostage’s throat a little more. His feet were almost dangling above the ground, and he was choking.
“Lower your weapons,” he told his two young officers in a raspy voice. “Please, lower… your… weapons”
The two boys exchanged powerless looks and decided to obey.
“Remove his cuffs!” Vauvert barked.
One of them inserted the key in the tiny lock. The cuffs sprang open.
“Give him your weapons. Go on!”
They complied, passing over their guns. But Leroy didn’t take them. Instead, he turned to Vauvert and said, “Wait, we’re all colleagues, here.”
“That’s what I kept trying to tell them.”
The two young officers were shaking like leaves.
“It’s okay. Relax now,” Leroy told them. “We don’t mean to harm you. We just need your help.”
Vauvert put his hostage back on the ground and pushed him toward his partners. The man broke into a coughing fit.
“You sick fucks! Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
“My job, that’s what I’m doing,” Vauvert shot back. “And I’m just asking you guys to do yours.”
He put his weapon back in its holster and slowly raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement.
“God dammit, can’t you just trust another cop? I promise you can book us as soon as we’re done with what we came here for. Is that all right?”
The man remained silent. His eyes gleamed with anger, and Vauvert understood that he would have to be wary of the guy, no matter what happened.
“What’s your name?” he asked, trying to break the ice.
The officer gave him a dagger-filled look before answering, “I’m Captain Ludovic Nadal. My men here are Pierre Lascrosse and Arnaud Puech.”