The Reaper's Game: A Dominic Grey Novella (The Dominic Grey Series)

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The Reaper's Game: A Dominic Grey Novella (The Dominic Grey Series) Page 12

by Layton Green


  “How many cases would you estimate you have handled?”

  “I have consulted, assisted, or been the primary investigator on four hundred and seventeen matters.”

  “Who are your clients?”

  “I’ve been retained by police offices, governmental agencies, corporations, and private clients around the world.”

  “And how many of these cases have involved circumstances as . . . unusual . . . as this one?”

  “Objection. Vague.”

  “Overruled. Given his profession, it’s a relevant inquiry. Once again, counselor, you’ll get a chance to cross.”

  After Eleanor repeated the question, Viktor looked her in the eye and said, “The vast majority of them.”

  Eleanor glanced at the two psychiatrists, then said to Viktor, “You’re testifying as both an expert and a fact witness today. To begin, why don’t you state your area of expertise for the jury?”

  Due to Viktor’s personal involvement with the case, the professor was playing the unusual role of a ‘hybrid witness.’ Similar to a treating physician opining on his own patient’s condition, it allowed Viktor to discuss everything he had witnessed or uncovered firsthand, as well as render his opinion on Sebastian’s condition based on those, and only those, observations. It was a tactical maneuver that required Viktor to forego his expert witness fee, but which provided the advantage of not having to reveal his testimony to the prosecution before trial.

  Given the stakes of the trial, Professor Radek had readily agreed.

  Viktor set his palms on the witness stand. “I’m a tenured professor of Religious Phenomenology at Charles University in Prague. My field concerns the classification and study of the experiential aspects of the world’s belief systems, though my research and investigative work have allowed me to observe phenomena far outside the purview of typical religious practice. To state it simply, I am an expert in the power of belief.”

  The courtroom tittered with excitement. The jury members looked impressed and intrigued, but also puzzled.

  “If I understand it correctly,” Eleanor said, “you study religious and other phenomena from the standpoint of the believer. As opposed to the observer.”

  “Correct. My job is to suspend my own beliefs and remain as impartial as possible.”

  “Objection. Where is all this heading?”

  “We’re establishing the entire theory of our case,” Eleanor said.

  The judge considered the request. “You can proceed for now. But be forewarned to stay on track.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Eleanor turned back to Viktor. “How exactly does your expertise relate to this case?”

  Poise and competence oozed from Viktor’s tailored black suit. He steepled his fingers atop the stand, then began tapping his index fingers together. “What if I were to tell you that three billion people, closing in on half the world’s population, fully believed that something was true? It would be difficult to discount that something out of hand, would it not?” Viktor wagged a finger. “Not that the fact itself would necessarily be true—most of the world once believed the earth was flat—but their belief therein.”

  “Can you give us another example?”

  Viktor’s fingers ceased tapping. “It’s estimated that eighty-five percent of the world’s population has some degree of faith in God. You might say this is unprovable—and you would be correct. But in terms of veracity, it would be quite the contention—an impossible one, in fact—to assert that six-point-nine billion people did not, in fact, believe in God.”

  Most of the jury started to nod.

  “And what is it, Professor Radek, that you contend Sebastian Gichaud believes in?”

  “The transmigration of souls.”

  The courtroom stirred behind Grey. The judge called for order.

  “Can you define this term?” Eleanor asked.

  “Soul transmigration, also known as metempsychosis, is a common belief that the soul exists separately from the body, and can in fact inhabit other bodies, both human beings and animals—depending on the belief system involved.”

  “A common belief? Is that really the case?”

  “Reincarnation, along with demonic possession, are both considered concepts that fall within the broader umbrella of transmigration of souls. It’s impossible to know precise figures, but estimates place the number of people worldwide who believe in transmigration of souls, in some manner, at approximately three billion people.”

  The stirring of the crowd turned to murmurs of surprise. Viktor’s gaze fell on the jury. “This includes large numbers of Buddhists, Hindus, traditional religious practitioners, and New Age adherents who consider reincarnation a central tenet of their religion, as well as over a billion Christians who allow for the possibility of demonic possession and, of course, believe that the soul exists separately from the body and can survive after death.”

  Grey noticed that one of the jurors, an elderly woman in the front row, started nervously wringing her hands.

  “Thank you, Professor. Now, can you please take the court through your investigation?”

  “Certainly.”

  As Viktor described the series of incredible events over the last few weeks, led by prompts from defense counsel and peppered by objections from the prosecution, the members of the jury looked at times shocked, confused, horrified, and appalled. The description of the attempts on Grey and Viktor’s lives lent an aura of believability to the story, as did the testimony of Detective Boudreaux and eyewitness accounts about the Druze from the employees of Rare and Occult Books and Nirvana Leaf.

  Genevieve Fontaine and Auntie Bayou, the defense had decided, were better left off the stand.

  After a vivid account of his and Grey’s ill-fated meeting with the Druze, which Grey relived with a shiver, Viktor finished by telling the jury that Sebastian had partaken in a ritual of soul transmigration with John Samuelson in Angola prison—and that there was proof.

  A hush overcame the courtroom. Eleanor stepped forward. “Your Honor, I’d like to introduce Exhibit 33 into evidence.”

  When the prosecutor saw a video projector being wheeled into the courtroom and realized what Exhibit 33 purported to be, he leapt to his feet. “Your Honor, we haven’t seen this video.”

  “Counsel?” the judge said to Ms. Trudeau.

  “Your Honor, I saw this for the first time myself the day before trial.”

  “We’ll discuss the timing of this in chambers after we close today.” The judge opened her palms. “But if it’s germane, I’ll have to allow it.”

  With Jarrod Trufant glowering behind her, Eleanor established the chain of evidence for Lynda Harringdon’s USB drive. Grey reflected on the night in the hotel suite when Viktor had first seen the ritual. After it was over, Viktor had sat unmoving for long minutes. He questioned Grey about the encounter with Lynda and then replayed the video, over and over, until Grey grew tired and left.

  When the members of the jury finished watching the video, a sparrow’s sigh would have resounded through the courtroom.

  “Bravo,” Sebastian said loudly, then gave three prolonged claps. “Bra-vo. I gotta tell ya, though, it was even better bein’ in the room.”

  Everyone, Grey included, was startled by the outburst. They were the first words Sebastian had spoken during the trial.

  After leering at the judge’s admonition, Sebastian folded his arms and fell silent again. The jury looked enraptured by Sebastian’s gravelly voice and harsh rural accent.

  After the courtroom calmed, Eleanor said to the jury, “I promised you an alternate explanation for Sebastian Gichaud’s behavior. Professor Radek, given what you’ve seen during your investigation, what do you make of this video?”

  Everyone seemed to have forgotten Viktor was still on the stand. All eyes turned his way. “You might ask,” Viktor said to the jury after a long pause, “whether you can find it within yourself to believe that Sebastian Gichaud swapped souls with John Samuelson. But that is t
he wrong line of inquiry. Instead, I ask you to consider the rather amazing phenomenon of a split personality. Of a human mind so skewed that two or more separate personalities can somehow coexist, as both physicians in this case have readily admitted is accepted by the scientific community. The same scientific community that has, in fact, accepted cases of DID with over a hundred distinct personalities.”

  Grey, and the entire jury, noticed the grudgingly agreeing expressions on the faces of the two psychiatrists.

  Viktor continued, “We have not even touched on the incredible, accepted medical truths of hypnotism, autosuggestion, conversion disorders, or psychogenic illnesses. Not to mention the things I have seen. But those are conversations for another day. In this particular case, I’ve seen enough to tell you, with the utmost confidence, that what Ms. Trudeau is proposing happened to Sebastian Gichaud—that he has convinced himself that his mind was invaded by the spirit of John Cowell Samuelson—lies well within the realm of possibility. Well within.”

  Jarrod Trufant stood. “This has gone on long enough—”

  The judge silenced him with a finger.

  Eleanor tipped her head, and when she looked up, she addressed Viktor with a thoughtful, almost pensive, expression. “In your line of work, you have witnessed things you do not understand, haven’t you?”

  “I have.”

  “The medical experts in this case have testified as to the existence and power of psychosomatic disorders. In your opinion, is that the cause of Sebastian’s condition? A psychosomatic disorder?”

  Viktor pursed his lips before he spoke. When he answered the question, it seemed as if the entire courtroom, judge and jury included, was hanging on his words. “The question is not whether the psychiatric community can satisfy known criteria by putting a name to Sebastian’s condition. Keep in mind that multiple personality disorder was once considered a farfetched theory. The only question that should be asked in this trial is whether Sebastian Gichaud went to Angola Prison to try to reach his deceased mother and came away believing, truly believing, that he had been tricked by John Cowell Samuelson into undergoing a soul transference ritual.”

  “And is it your opinion that he believed he became John Cowell Samuelson?”

  “It is my opinion that he still does.”

  “Thank you, Professor.”

  “When there is something that we want so desperately to be true,” Viktor added softly, looking right at Sebastian, “we can convince ourselves of anything.”

  The prosecution’s objection to Viktor’s final, unsolicited remark was upheld, but Grey could tell by the jury’s expressions that the damage had been done.

  The closing arguments were an afterthought.

  Epilogue

  One Month Later

  Clayton Gichaud led Viktor to the familiar study overlooking St. Charles Avenue. “I can’t thank you enough for helping my son.”

  “A pleasure,” Viktor murmured.

  After the trial, Grey had returned to New York while Professor Radek attended an academic conference in Atlanta. Near the end of the conference, Viktor had received a call from Detective Boudreaux requesting the professor’s opinion on a double murder in the Irish Channel with ritualistic connotations.

  So Viktor had returned to the city that, from the window of a descending plane, appeared as a giant patch of floating moss, its existence protean and fragile, in constant danger of being reclaimed by the surrounding swamp. And like the marsh itself, the core of New Orleans felt besmirched to Viktor, dank and rotting, yet also alive in a way seen only in the world’s most diverse ecosystems, with all of the attendant beauty and madness, the haunted intensity of a jungle fever.

  After assuring Detective Boudreaux that the double murder was not part of a voodoo ritual, they had discussed the Gichaud case. Viktor learned that Scarecrow Redbone had been arrested, but since none of his people would roll on him, the only charges that stuck were minor infractions at the prison. Scarecrow disavowed any connection to Jarrod Trufant and, without any real leverage, the department was forced to abandon the case against the D.A.

  After leaving the police station, out of personal curiosity, Viktor had decided to pay a visit to Clayton Gichaud.

  No, Viktor told himself, it isn’t just personal. The continued mental state of Sebastian Gichaud most definitely falls within the realm of professional interest.

  Is it the human brain we know so little about, he wondered? A complex but purely biological puzzle?

  Or is it the soul?

  “How is Sebastian doing?” Viktor asked the patriarch.

  “Thanks to you, my boy’s not facing the death penalty.”

  Viktor could tell from Clayton’s averted eyes that something was bothering him.

  “But his mental state . . . has he progressed?”

  Clayton looked down as he clinked the ice in his glass. “Now he seems to think he’s a worker at the mental institution.” He released a deep, painful sigh. “Oh, God. I wish I knew how to . . . I just wish I had my son back. Even if he’s stuck in that hellhole.”

  Viktor was adjusting one of his cuffs, and he slowly looked up. “He thinks he’s someone else now?”

  “A guard at the center.” Clayton steepled the fingers of his left hand against his temple. “I tell you, professor, that devil did a number on my son.”

  Viktor drove straight to the Crescent City Mental Health Center and managed to procure a meeting with Sebastian in the dining hall. A guard oversaw the meeting, though Viktor was told that Sebastian never caused trouble.

  In fact, except for his unflagging belief that he was another person, he had been a model patient.

  Viktor settled into his chair. “It’s nice to see you again, Sebastian.”

  Sebastian set his fork down and peered up at him. “Do I know you?”

  “I’m Professor Viktor Radek. I testified at your trial.”

  At first Sebastian seemed confused, and then his eyebrows rose. “Hey, yeah, you’re that professor I heard about. The one who got Sebastian off.”

  Viktor was impressed. Sebastian’s voice had undergone yet another modular change, though that was not uncommon in cases of multiple personalities. Viktor had read about patients who could speak fluently in a foreign language they had never spoken, or converse in dozens of completely distinct voices.

  “How have you been?” Viktor asked.

  Sebastian leaned forward. “Hey, you know things, don’t you? You know what happened.”

  “I’m unsure what you’re referring to.”

  Sebastian lowered his voice. “He did it to me, too.”

  “Did what?”

  “The ritual,” he said, almost in a whisper.

  Viktor’s left foot began to tap.

  “He promised he’d make me rich,” Sebastian said. “I didn’t realize he was going to . . . I didn’t know.”

  “Do you remember what he said? During the ritual?”

  Sebastian wrung his hands. “I can’t remember. I wish I could. I had to eat some things, and I didn’t feel right, and it all, it all just happened so fast.”

  “Was it just the two of you?”

  “There was a girl with him,” Sebastian said, keeping his voice low. “His request. By the time I figured out what he was doing, I was too weak to resist, and she helped hold me down.” Sebastian’s eyes looked crazed as he stared at Viktor and then down at his hands. “Look at me. I’m him.”

  Viktor guessed Sebastian had told this new story to the doctors, and that it had worsened his prognosis. The cycle could go on and on forever. It depressed Viktor.

  A bell sounded. The guard signaled it was time to go.

  Viktor asked a final question. “Do you know who she was? The girl?”

  “I can’t remember her name. She had—”

  The guard cut him off. “Now, Sebastian.”

  Viktor stood to leave.

  “You’ve got to help me,” Sebastian said, his voice rising to a desperate shout as the guard herde
d him down a corridor. “You’ve got to tell them I’m not him! You’ve got to get me out of here!”

  After watching them disappear, Viktor took a deep breath, straightened his tie, and used his cachet from the investigation to secure a visit with Dr. Jean Ballister, one of Sebastian’s psychiatrists at the center. There was something Viktor had to know.

  He took a seat in Dr. Ballister’s office. She was a young doctor, with long red hair parted in the middle. “This guard whose personality Sebastian believes he’s assumed,” Viktor said. “Has Sebastian ever called him by name?”

  “Oh yes,” Dr. Ballister replied. “His name is Franklin Towns.” Her mouth sagged into a grimace. “Frank quit the center the same day Sebastian underwent another switch in personality. The obvious spark for the delusion.”

  “This guard—he’s a real person?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why did he quit?”

  She smiled. “He was an avid poker player, and said he was going to Las Vegas to make it big. In fact, he packed his car and left town the same day. No one’s heard from him since. His mysterious departure, which I’m sure the staff and patients have discussed, has only provided more fuel for Sebastian’s fantasy.”

  Viktor felt slightly off balance. “Did Franklin Towns see Sebastian that day? The day he quit?”

  Dr. Ballister nodded. “He escorted one of Sebastian’s ex-girlfriends to his room for a private visit. I approved it myself. I thought it might help Sebastian reconnect to the past.”

  Viktor worked to control his voice. “An ex-girlfriend—I don’t suppose you remember her name?”

  “I . . . I believe it was Elaine. Yes, that was it.”

  “Elaine,” Viktor repeated.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Mere curiosity.” Viktor swallowed as he thought about his and Grey’s meeting with Elaine at Igor’s a week before the trial—a meeting convened at Elaine’s request.

  A meeting at which she had promised to give testimony in Sebastian’s defense.

  “Would you believe she left town, too?” Dr. Ballister said, shaking her head. “One of the psych techs saw her driving off the property with him. I don’t know what he said to her during the visit, but that has to be the fastest romance in the history of the free world.”

 

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