The Devil and the Red Ribbon

by Theo Rion

  “Miss…uh…”

  “Mrs. Sage,” she smiled kindly.

  “Mrs. Sage, yesterday a young man was delivered…”

  “Yes, the poor boy,” the nurse said, immediately saddened.

  “Who is he?”

  “Who knows? He was found on the street.”

  “Is he alive?” Kurt spoke in a nervous tone.

  “For the time being, yes,” the nurse spoke softly, as if barely restraining tears. “But he might not wake.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “Why, Mr. Rhein?” She clasped her hands. “It’s horrible. And you should not worry!”

  “Believe me, I’ll be more nervous if you don’t let me see him.” Kurt looked imploringly at Mrs. Sage until she gave up.

  After helping Kurt into a dressing gown, she led him to another room. Kurt’s heart pounded harder with apprehension with every step he took.

  “I won’t go in with you. Really, I’ve seen so much, but it’s impossible to get used to it. He’s such a youngster…” Mrs. Sage sighed bitterly and walked down the corridor.

  Kurt hesitantly entered the room and stopped. There were about five steps left between him and the bed of the young man whose head was completely covered in bandages, which were soaked in blood here and there. Kurt stood still. The ward reeked of iodine and something else. Kurt felt sick and leaned against the wall.

  I can’t see his face. Maybe I should call Philip or the inspector and…

  But the next moment everything became clear. Thomas Walter stepped into the room. He didn’t notice Kurt at first and went straight to the bed. And Kurt heard Thomas say quietly:

  “Archie…for God’s sake…”

  “Is it…Archie Tains?” Kurt asked, trying to speak firmly. Thomas started and turned. Seeing Kurt, he experienced no relief and looked at him with suspicion.

  “Yes,” he sighed finally, realizing that denial would be stupid.

  “How do you know it’s him?” Kurt asked.

  “Are you asking for the police?” Thomas suddenly snapped.

  Kurt paused. “Look, Thomas. I hold no grudge against your friend. I know it was him who shot me, but I didn’t say anything to the inspector. So, don’t treat me so hostilely.”

  Thomas dropped his hands and looked at Kurt. Great fatigue was visible in his eyes. It seemed he had long wanted to find someone with whom he could finally talk openly about what had happened. He looked a bit suspiciously at the door and spoke quietly:

  “Yes, Archie did it all, and I think you know why.”

  “But what happened to him?”

  Thomas paused; it was obvious he was afraid. But Kurt waited. This silence wasn’t a wall, it was like a wave breaking through the fissure in a dam.

  “John…” Thomas paused.

  “I know Archie was in love with John.”

  “No, you don’t understand. John did it. He beat him up.” Thomas winced as if memories hurt him. “You didn’t see it. He flung himself on Archie like a wild beast and beat him with such cruelty, such force. If he hadn’t been dragged away, he would have killed him. If he hasn’t...” Thomas glanced at Archie. “Then one of his people…threw Archie into the street. I still cannot believe all this. After all, before John took Archie as a friend.”

  “Did you hide Archie?”

  “No, but I knew where he was. I was probably followed when Archie was found. I’ve never seen John like that.”

  In Thomas’s eyes, Kurt could see a flash of fear. It was clear Thomas was afraid John would decide to take out his anger on him as well.

  “I will leave you,” Kurt said quietly. Not waiting for an answer, Kurt went back to his room and crawled back in bed. It was a long time before his thoughts would let him rest.

  * * * *

  Two days passed. Kurt had reached the point in his recovery that the wound barely bothered him. He was worried by something else. John never appeared; he didn’t come to see him. Not that Kurt waited…no, he waited. But he felt no sadness such as before. He waited for him not because of that.

  I saved John’s life. Is he so proud that he can’t condescend to thank me?

  Kurt could not understand his torments. As if with the healing of his physical wound, his heart and all the old feelings gained strength. Longing and suffering…it was exhausting.

  In the evening, when the hospital corridors were deserted, Kurt went to visit Archie Tains. He was laying immobile, bandaged, and unconscious. The doctors shrugged their shoulders; no one knew if he’d ever regain consciousness. In the morning, his mother came, a small woman with a full, round, tear-stained face; she could not believe it was her son.

  Kurt sat on a chair beside the bed and looked at Archie’s bandaged face. Kurt tried to remember how he had looked for the first time when Archie came to him for help, and how he had seen him for the last time, when Archie pulled the trigger. Archie didn’t want to kill John, he wanted to destroy the source of his sufferings.

  The woman in red was still sitting in the corner of his salon. The lady in black rose from her chair and looked around as if she were looking for someone.

  Kurt touched his wound; it almost didn’t hurt. Perhaps this was only because of the analgesic, but still Kurt didn’t hold a grudge against Archie. Moreover, he suddenly found sympathy in himself. Kurt realized what Thomas’s words about John having taken Archie as a friend meant.

  “John made friends with him, as with me, and when he got interest and feelings, he started to play with them. Archie had not been able to handle it.”

  And how long would I be able to stand it?

  Suddenly he realized the obvious, and he was ready now to acknowledge it. My feelings are similar to Archie’s. He had called it love. Had I fallen in love with John, too?

  Kurt leaned back and closed his eyes. He found himself in front of the shelves, clogged with folders containing records. A folder with his name fell into his hands; he opened it and went through the notations by date:

  First, the growing curiosity, interest, excitement, fear…the extreme degree of interest, embarrassment…the irresistible urge to meet…irritation, obsession, yearning…emotions…languor…heart thrill. I fell in love with John Fenririr.

  For a man who had never loved, it was truly a revelation, awesome and thrilling. Kurt was overwhelmed by his realization for a few minutes. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Archie. So this is where loving John leads…

  Suddenly, with all his heart, Kurt felt the pain and anguish, sympathy and pity; he could no longer look at Archie. Tears filled his eyes, and when he walked out the door, he could not hold back his tears. Burning frustration rose in his throat. He had never loved, and suddenly he had fallen in love with a man for whom the feelings of others was merely a game.

  Was it possible to choose a more inconvenient person to love? Kurt strongly doubted it.

  Part Two

  The Devil

  Chapter 11

  Without permission, the sun painted the wall with large flares and then hid behind the clouds. Wind chased the clouds away, and the sun started shining again.

  Kurt walked into his study, looked at the shelves and the table, and closed the door again. It was so quiet he could hear every creak in the floor boards as he walked through the house. Everything remained the same, as if all had returned to normal, and at the same time been irrevocably changed. His belongings remained in the bedroom beside the bed, and on the table in the living room, a cup of long-cold tea awaited him. Sitting in the armchair in the living room, Kurt drank the cold tea.

  The only reminder of the previous week’s events was a scar on his left chest. It wasn’t big; the one that was on his back was much bigger, but Kurt’s eyes didn’t come across it.

  Kurt often looked at the scar on his chest in a mirror. It seemed to him the scar wasn’t only on the surface, it went much deeper. The gunshot had marked his soul.

  A week in the hospital seemed long and short at the same time. Days dragged on in anticipation
and longing. Sometimes it seemed Kurt lived the same day over and over again. This routine was diluted only by visits from the inspector, Philip and a meticulous journalist. Edna visited Kurt once. John didn’t appear, and oddly enough, Kurt was glad John graciously stayed away and didn’t cause any confusion. He lived only in Kurt’s mind, but Kurt coped well with that. After his revelation, he needed time to unwind, calm down and to think.

  Kurt closed his eyes, and thoughts about John whirled in his head, like moths around a flame. Kurt watched them silently, as if he was trying to identify the emotions that went with each. They had haunted him for so long, but something had changed.

  Kurt opened his eyes. He put his cup aside and stood up. He had spent too much time in the four walls of the hospital ward. He wanted to shake off these feelings of laziness as soon as possible and go back to life as usual. He decided to go to Ellington’s for lunch.

  The hostess was extremely happy to see him. The story of the attempted murder was already known throughout the city, and Kurt could only guess what incredible details it had accreted while being passed from mouth-to-mouth, because during the whole conversation, Kurt caught a few curious glances of other diners. After exchanging pleasantries, which Kurt found rather tedious, he sat down and ordered lunch. Only this time, he chose a table in the corner, so incomers could not see him.

  Kurt took a fresh newspaper and scanned the headlines. On the first page there was an article that promised to reveal all the details of the treacherous crime in one of the richest mansions of London. Kurt began to read, but suddenly he felt like everything around him changed. The diners stared at the front door. Kurt didn’t see who had come in, but a guess instantly arose in his mind. Immediately after, he felt a surge of excitement. To understand its nature—that was what Kurt would most like to achieve.

  It wasn’t fear or awe. The excitement was akin to the anticipation of something important. He was confident; John no longer would fool him by look or word. And not because Kurt was prepared for war, but because now everything was different.

  There was darkness in his salon. No ladies, no visitors, not even himself. Just darkness. No one else would see what was hidden there.

  Thank you, Mr. Fenririr. Thank you, Archie Tains.

  Kurt’s foreboding didn’t deceive him. John Fenririr sat at a table near the center of the hall. Kurt saw him perfectly now; however, he kept the newspaper in front of him. The diners looked at each other, generating an aura of excitement that didn’t go unnoticed by John. Kurt saw how he looked around, but he didn’t see him because John was sitting with his back to him.

  John slowly stirred the sugar in his coffee he had been served and took a sip. Ahead of his own thoughts, Kurt folded his newspaper on the table and walked over to John’s table.

  “Mr. Fenririr, what a surprise!” Kurt spoke animatedly, smiling broadly. He noted the confusion that for a second was reflected in John’s eyes; it was nice. “Do you mind if I sit here, or are you waiting for someone?”

  “Sit down.”

  John nodded curtly. The other diners again started looking at each other. Kurt was served his ordered lunch and without hesitation started to eat.

  “After the lean hospital food, it seems incredibly tasty,” Kurt said contentedly. “Why don’t you have dinner, Mr. Fenririr?”

  “Not hungry.” John stared at Kurt intently and with interest. Kurt knew about this and was absolutely calm. His dinner was really incomparable. “I imagine your home is probably inundated by journalists hungry for sensational revelations,” he said between mouthfuls.

  “Not really.”

  “Your guests weren’t scared by this incident?”

  “I don’t care about that. If someone was scared, then someone can stay home.”

  “So, your receptions are still going on?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Was the shooter caught?” Kurt asked this question with immediacy, as if it didn’t concern him.

  John’s face changed for a moment—it reflected anger, but only for a moment. It wasn’t like anyone would notice this. But time had also transformed for Kurt, and it wasn’t difficult to notice any change in the face or gestures of the interlocutor. All week in the hospital, he had been busy watching others.

  “I thought you would be likely to know more than I do.”

  “Because almost every day I talked with the inspector?” Kurt retorted. “He likes to ask questions, but not answer them. Did you hear what happened to Archie Tains?” Again, Kurt caught the same expression on John’s face.

  “Yes, I beat him up because he was shooting at my house,” John said calmly, staring at Kurt.

  “I think the inspector should know about it,” said Kurt and put down the fork. “Thanks for the company, Mr. Fenririr,” he said. He stood up and paid at the counter. At the exit he looked at John, who was still sitting at the table with a cup of cold coffee and looking at Kurt. In his look Kurt could read a lot. However, Kurt needed to know only one thing – John was in perplexity. Kurt had managed to knock him off balance. Therefore, everything should be different from now on.

  Returning home, he saw Philip near his house.

  “Good afternoon, Kurt!” Philip rejoiced.

  “I didn’t expect to see you,” said Kurt and invited Philip to enter the house.

  “I went to the hospital, but was told you had been discharged today. So, I hurried here.”

  “I just missed normal food and human society.” Kurt smiled. “A cup of tea?”

  “With pleasure, but I don’t want to bother you.”

  “Please, Philip!”

  “How do you feel, Kurt?” Philip asked sympathetically.

  “Good,” Kurt nodded in response. “The wound almost doesn’t bother me. And the scars don’t scare me.” He smiled.

  “It’s a miracle you survived,” Philip said and frowned. Kurt understood Philip had his own version of what had happened at John’s house. It had slipped through in his voice, even when he had been visiting Kurt in the hospital. He didn’t dare express it honestly, but he could barely hold it back.

  “Your brother might not have been that lucky,” Kurt began, hoping to spur Philip to speak out. Philip frowned and scowled even more.

  “I told you, you should not expect anything good from John!”

  Kurt caught the stress in his voice, but still, Philip didn’t say what was really on his mind.

  “Do you think John got me involved in some deadly dangerous adventure, and I got this bullet as a result?” Kurt asked and, looking into Philip’s eyes, he already saw his answer—this was exactly what Philip was thinking.

  “Kurt, what else should I think? Especially after what happened.” Philip stopped, but Kurt grasped the phrase.

  “Something else happened?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you, but you will hear about it sooner or later. About what happened at John’s…after...”

  “What happened to John?” he asked.

  At this point, Philip stared at Kurt. “Not to John,” he corrected. “At John’s. Last Friday. One of the guests committed suicide.”

  “What?”

  “A young girl,” Philip said and lowered his head.

  Kurt was silent. The news indeed was unpleasant.

  “Don’t think about it,” Kurt said and smiled.

  “That poor girl…I’m sure John made her do it! John constantly forces guests to do anything his heart desires! I would not be surprised if this time he wanted this girl to prove she was ready to die for him! John besots naive girls and then cruelly mocks their feelings.”

  “I’m sure this suicide was just an accident,” Kurt sighed. He didn’t want to continue this conversation. Philip didn’t agree, it was obvious, but didn’t continue the argument.

  * * * *

  I know very well where my ardor leads me. I know perfectly the diversity of lies and easily distinguish its faces. And there are almost no doubts, fears or confusion in me. One little bullet, a piece of co
ld metal, ripped from me something that prevented me from seeing the picture clearly. And what’s amazing, is how small something can be that captures us, completely deprives us of the power to control ourselves, and even makes us insane. And if this is true, then I can only thank Archie for his sacrifice. But I’m not looking for revenge. I’m not even looking for justice. I’ve never been a fatalist. But it is surprising that, having lived in London for almost five years, I met John Fenririr just recently, and this event has brought so many new things into my life. Let it not be fate, not mystical destiny, but I know that it has changed me. And I still have so many discoveries to make in myself. And Mr. Fenririr will help me...

  Kurt closed the dark blue cover of his make-believe notebook and it fluttered up to the top shelf of his inner salon. He left his mental intrigues behind and went downstairs to the kitchen, where Edna held court.

  “Good morning, Edna,” Kurt greeted her.

  “Good morning, Mr. Rhein. I’m glad to see you in good health.” She smiled. “Would you like to have breakfast?”

  “That would be wonderful!”

  Kurt didn’t have the slightest desire to have breakfast, but it was the perfect excuse to stay and start a conversation.

  “Mr. Fenririr must be frustrated by all this fuss?”

  Edna’s look instantly changed, like she knew where this conversation would go. She didn’t want it, but she could not just walk away. Kurt saw how carefully she was choosing her words for the answer. Her behavior increasingly alarmed him.

  “First, the shooting, and then that case with the girl,” Kurt kept talking in an aloof manner. “It is almost as though a fog of doom hangs over John’s house,” he concluded, looking at Edna. She didn’t know what to say, so she focused on cutting bacon to go with some eggs.

  “What do you think, is Mr. Fenririr greatly concerned about the situation?” Kurt asked, continuing to push.