by Blake Pierce
She looked up and realized the waiter and Leoni were both looking at her.
The tall man in the black and white uniform was smiling quizzically, holding a notepad, and waiting expectantly.
She blinked. “Sorry.”
Leoni tapped the menu on the table. “The special is good,” he said. “But if you need more time, no worries.”
Adele quickly shook her head. “The special is fine,” she said, in German.
The waiter beamed at the language and replied in the same, “I’ll be right out. Have a good evening.”
The two waters now rested on their table.
“So how long have you been an agent?” Leoni asked.
She hesitated. “About twelve years as well. Well, there was a bit of a gap in between, moving from agencies.”
“Which agencies?”
“I started with DGSI, then moved to the FBI, and now I’m a liaison with Interpol.”
Leoni whistled. “What made you transition?”
Without missing a beat, she said, “Scenery. Have you lived in Italy your whole life?” She glanced across the rest of the patio seating and spotted an older woman and a younger girl sitting at a table, laughing. Ice clinked in their glasses as they sipped from lemonades. Adele felt a soft shiver. The woman looked to be only middle-aged. Perhaps the same age Elise would’ve been if she hadn’t died.
Images flashed across her mind, now, piercing her vision, even though her eyes were still open. She gritted her teeth and blinked, trying to shake the thoughts free.
“Are you all right?” Leoni asked.
She forced a smile. “Fine. Just a headache. I sometimes get migraines.”
He studied her for a moment. Again, she was struck by the emotional intelligence of a man who could so seamlessly transition from conversation to ordering food to back again without slipping so much as a smile. He seemed to have a read on her, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. He didn’t comment though, and looked away, glancing at the menu. “They have desserts too,” he said. “My treat.”
Adele stared at the menu for a moment, her fingers tapping against the table. For some reason, Leoni’s kindness was only making her think of John. He wasn’t as polite as Agent Leoni, nor was he as considerate. And yet she still couldn’t help but think of him. The tall, scarred agent had been considerate enough to respect her desire for him to leave…
It had felt like the right call at the moment. Some battles were better fought alone… weren’t they? Then why did it feel like she was regretting her decision? What could she even do about it? No… she was being silly. She felt like a schoolgirl, playing games. Agent Renee was just doing what she had asked. And yet, for some reason she felt a flash of regret.
She could tell Leoni was still speaking, but she was too distracted to pay attention. She nodded politely, and made the appropriate noises in between sentences to make sure he thought she was listening. Really though, she was debating with herself whether or not she should call John. For a moment, her hand slipped to her pocket. She thought perhaps she could excuse herself, take a walk around the block. Surely Leoni would understand. It wasn’t like this was anything except a polite meal between professionals.
But even if she called John, what would she say? Besides, he might bring up the case, and that would only distract her. She knew her place was back in France, catching this killer. But there was another killer on the loose, one that wasn’t tied to her mother’s death. One she could focus on. One thing at a time.
Her hand slipped away from her phone and folded over her other palm, resting against the plastic placemat.
Once the waiter brought the food, Adele could practically feel her stomach churning. Sleepy, hungry, cranky—not a prodigious start to investigative work. She could only hope the hotel she’d been booked in was more comfortable than the last one she had stayed in with Agent Renee.
But all of that paled in comparison to the case at hand. History in Paris, future in Italy, or wherever the killer decided to strike next. Adele thought to the riddle again, reciting the words in her mind. She couldn’t be outsmarted on this one. Not now. Not with so much riding on it. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was rapidly running out of time.
CHAPTER TEN
Darkness fell, but not with a heavy tumble, more like the slow, wafting fall of a feather. Moonlight touched softly against the many pillars and columns. The beige and gray and white stone stretched before the security guard’s vision. He flashed his light toward the columns, the flashlight scraping across the marble steps leading up to the Parthenon. The Acropolis, a tourist destination in Athens, and for most a source of awe and wonder at the ancient architecture standing to this day in the heart of the raised ruined city. But to the security officer, it was just another boring job. Paid well enough. No real complaints. Was nice to be able to move around the old stone, getting the blood moving while also making rent. He didn’t particularly like people either, and the night shift suited him perfectly.
Case in point, the sounds coming from behind the steps of the Parthenon.
The security guard frowned, moving the flashlight beam and reflecting it off the marble pillars stretching up toward the sky. The archways and the shadows of the protruding stone gave ample hiding spots in darkness, concealed from the moon and the stars. The elevated city ruins overlooked tree cover, lower than the hill’s peak. The old stone and scattered rock circled the once-walled top, now wreathed in footprints from tourists and the like.
A cloudless night, and yet, somehow, it seemed darker than usual. A more substantive darkness, as if shadows themselves were concealing things within.
The security guard could hear more voices, giggling. He glared toward the corner of the shadows behind the marble steps.
Other guards would patrol the area, and especially keep an eye on the parking lots and roads leading to the destination. But sometimes people would creep in without being noticed. Others would bike off trail.
It had been done before. A passing favorite of some of the locals was to try to be the first to reach the Parthenon and stick gum to the middle-most pillars.
The security guard was no defender of old buildings. He didn’t really care. But he had a job to do.
“Hello?” he called, flashing his light toward the stairs. “I can hear you,” he said. “Come out here before I call the police.”
He heard more giggling, then a voice whisper sharply, “Now, now, he’s getting too close!”
A small, scrawny form burst from behind the alcove beneath the stairs, racing up the steps to the Parthenon.
The security officer flashed his light onto the back of the teenager. A small kid with spiky hair and a single studded earring in his left ear.
The security guard spotted three other teenagers leaning up, peering from behind the steps. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s far enough,” he called out, sharply.
He turned the light up, causing it to shine even brighter. Somehow, this increased level of illumination gave the teenager pause. Spiky hair shifted, and the studded earring glinted as the young boy turned, sheepishly, halfway up the Parthenon steps.
“You can’t be here off hours,” the guard snapped. The teenager winced, clearly chewing on something. Gum, most likely. The guard pretended he hadn’t seen. “You three,” he said, “you better scram too.”
The teenagers all glanced at each other, then back at him, wincing. They seemed caught halfway between a decision to run away as fast as they could, or to complete whatever mission they’d set out to that night. There was nothing nearly so resolute and determined as a teenager with a dumb idea.
The guard wasn’t angry, and sometimes events like this spiced up a normally boring night. But right now he had an audiobook on MP3 he wanted to listen to, and this was distracting.
He said, “You’re lucky I’m the one who found you. We have two other guards, and they call the cops. Immediately. No questions asked.”
The boy with th
e spiky hair on the stairs cleared his throat. “Will you call the police?”
The guard shook his head. “Not if you get out of here now. Don’t come back.”
One of the teenagers was gesturing at his friend, and one of the girls was quickly backing away, trying to tug at the tallest boy’s arm.
At last, the boy on the steps reluctantly turned and skimmed back down the steps to join his friends. Once again they laughed and giggled as they ran away, feeling the relief of outpacing any potential pursuer—then they disappeared into the night, heading toward the exit.
The security guard rolled his eyes. He took a few quick steps after them, allowing the light to bob up and down so they knew he was following.
Then he clicked off the flashlight, more for their sake than his. If they didn’t know where he was, maybe they would think he was following them, and see themselves out without him actually having to get the police involved.
Still, he supposed it was best he check. He began to move toward the exit to make sure the kids were actually leaving, but just then, he heard another noise.
For a vague moment, his hand patted at his side pocket. Had he accidentally left his MP3 player on?
The noise sounded like a scraping, a crunching of footsteps. It was coming from inside the Parthenon.
He frowned. Had one of the kids already gotten up there?
Feeling silly, he moved toward the steps, taking them one at a time.
His flashlight clicked back on; a low beam this time. The light swept in front of his feet, over the stairs, up and down. He reached the entrance through the marble pillars and stepped forward.
For a moment he didn’t see anything, and then he spotted something dangling from the ceiling. His eyes flicked up, and he stared. A rope tied around a pillar drooped toward the ground like a single dew drop. A rope in the shape of a noose.
“Hello?” he said, cautiously.
This was worse than gum. He wasn’t even sure how he was going to get that noose down. For a moment, though, the thoughts faded and he paused, staring. There was something ominous about the hangman’s noose dangling from the old structure, against the backdrop of starlight and darkness.
He stood for a moment, motionless, and then he heard two wild steps behind him.
He began to turn, but too late.
Pain—a sudden thud. Something crashed into his skull, and he was sent tumbling to the ground with a grunt. He tried to rise, but found a foot in his back, holding him in the dust.
He blinked, dark spots dancing across his vision. He tried to push himself up, but his arms weren’t responding. Halfway between consciousness and receding thought, he tried to cry out.
But his words were jumbled as if drunk. The blow to the back of his head had been worse than he first thought.
Pain pulsed from his skull.
And then strong arms began dragging him across the ground.
“No,” he said, quietly, trying to protest, trying to make himself heard. “Hang on. Wait.”
But whoever had him, dragging him by his collar, didn’t listen. There was the sound of scraping rope against stone. And then, somehow, the guard watched the noose being lowered above him. He could just barely blink against the darkening vision and the painful spots across his eyes. Then the rope wrapped around his neck.
The security guard tried to scream. But the noose went tight. Still conscious, gasping, fingers scrambling desperately at the ropes. Then he found himself being pulled. A pulley? What a simple, silly thought.
Regardless, the noose went taut, and he was yanked bodily from the ground, his back scraping against one of the marble pillars, his feet kicking desperately, his fingers scrambling.
He tried to protest, but his voice was choked. Now he could barely breathe; the strain on his neck was immense. He desperately scrambled with his fingers against the rope, trying to keep himself aloft. But even his fingers were failing now. The black spots were near complete. Just below him, as he was pulled higher and higher, sliding up the column, noose around his neck, angling toward the night sky, he glimpsed a shadowy form pulling on the rope against the pillar. He glimpsed the old architecture and ancient ruins of the Acropolis. He glimpsed even now, in the distance, above the pillars, the distant city of Athens, the lights glowing orange from the buildings.
And as he continued to be dragged up, his back scraping against the pillar, consciousness faded completely.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A night of poring over case notes left Adele with little to show for it. Her exhaustion weighed heavy and her eyes felt sore from staring at a blue screen for half the night.
The hotel she’d been booked in, now that John wasn’t with her, was immensely better than anything she’d been forced to stay in with Agent Renee. Who, as he often insisted was the case, was booked in rundown, nasty hotels as payback from Executive Foucault for all the headaches Renee caused for the DGSI boss. Adele, in the past, had suffered collateral damage, but no longer!
Yawning, she sat at the table in her small hotel room kitchenette, studying the photos of the posed victims from the last two crime scenes. The hooks in their arms, holding them in poses, were done with precision as well. Did he hang them, lower them again, set the hooks, then hang them again? Was it all done while they were unconscious?
The killer had clearly planned this out, but it was almost… too planned? The plans of a detail-oriented mind.
She stared at the pictures, clicking from one to the other, watching the grotesque images cycle across her screen. Her eyes prickled with a lack of moisture. She blinked a few times, then shook her head, glancing out the window. She winced a bit at the slit of sunlight pouring through the gap just below the curtain.
Out of the side of her eye, she saw the images on the screen, but her mind focused on the window. On the dark room. Her lack of sleep weighed on her, manifesting as a prickle down her spine.
She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, feeling a sudden surge of anxiety prickling through her chest. She resisted the urge to glance back at her computer screen. So many bodies… So much blood.
Bleeding… bleeding… always bleeding…
Adele rubbed at the bridge of her nose, sighing softly. She blinked a few times and felt her shoulders begin to shake. She sat there, shaking, and started to gasp, her chest heaving as she did. For a moment, it felt like bright lights were flashing across her mind. She closed her eyes against a sudden headache.
She continued gasping and closed the lid to her laptop.
She waited, trying her breathing exercises, but they didn’t help, she still found it difficult to draw breath. With trembling fingers she drew out her phone, staring at it.
Should she call a hospital?
No. This was just a panic attack. Nothing more.
And yet it felt like the walls were closing in.
Bleeding… bleeding—No!
She forced the thoughts down, angrily scrolling through the numbers on her phone like a drowning victim desperately searching for a lifeline. She ended up in the Rs.
She scrolled slowly through and landed on one name. Robert Henry.
For a moment, she breathed a little easier. She stared at the name of her old mentor, like a moth drawn to light. His name emanated feelings of comfort, of warmth… of homecoming. A better home than she’d ever had.
Almost despite herself, she found herself clicking the call icon, her fingers still trembling, one hand braced across the top of her laptop like someone holding a coffin shut. She waited, listening to the ringing phone, breathing in time with the sound.
For one horrible moment, she thought perhaps he wouldn’t pick up.
He did on the second ring.
“Adele?” came Robert’s voice, gentle as always. Somehow, even when he spoke her name, it gave her a sense of comfort and safety. Two syllables, yet uttered with such care. He had never called her by her last name.
“Robert?” she said, softly.
“Are you all right, my dear
? It’s early there, isn’t it?”
Adele stared at the sunlight slipping through the bottom of the window. “I’m—I’m… I didn’t sleep.”
A pause.
“Are you all right, Adele?”
“Christ. You’re sick and you’re asking me—”
“Are you all right?”
Adele felt the cool surface of her laptop lid beneath her arm and the sunlight bright against her dark-accustomed gaze. She closed her eyes, staving off a headache. “I’ll be fine.”
“Adele?”
“No, really. I will.”
“Dear, it’s going to be all right. Do you need me to talk to Foucault? To bring you back? I thought that having something to do might distract you, but if—”
“No,” Adele said suddenly, eyes opening at once. She shook her head. “No,” she repeated, a bit more quietly this time. “I’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.”
“Adele… you don’t need me to remind you. But you’re strong. Stronger than you think. Stronger than I think. You can do this, understand? And dear—if you don’t solve this case, if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t change anything about yourself, understand?”
She shook her head. “Maybe. But on the other hand, if I fail this one—”
“Then you’ll succeed at the next. Want to know a little secret?”
“Hmm?”
“With agents like you—no… with people like you, there are always more ‘career-making’ cases. You’re too good to be overlooked.”
Adele smiled softly at these words, feeling her fingers no longer trembling against her phone.
“All right, Robert. Thanks.”
Robert hesitated. There was still a note of concern to his voice as he said, “We can chat for a bit, if you’d like to just talk.”
At that moment, there was a knock on her door.
Adele glanced back across the small hotel room. Then, with a sigh, she said, “Actually, you know, I think I’ve got to go. I’ll call soon.”
“Are you sure? I miss our chats.”