HAGEN: 1. Revelations

by Jadhe HAMILTON

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 1

  Paris. Late 18th century. In the damp cobblestoned Châtelet district, a man was running at full speed, tearing his way between carriages and carts. The noise of the crowd that rose between the half-timbered houses masked the sound of his panicked breathing. Behind him, slipping between the stalls and passers-by with the agility of a leopard, a young, beardless man chased him, as he glared at him with huge, murderous eyes.

  The fugitive knew he didn’t have long to live, even though he continued to flee. Only seconds earlier, right before his eyes, he had witnessed his two associates getting their throats slashed open by this bourgeois man in blue tights and a white wig. Who was this wealthy young gentleman who dared to soil his hands with their blood? Did he know about their child trafficking atrocities? Had he come to punish them for their crimes?

  After having seen the blood of his accomplices spurting from their necks, the trafficker had hurried outside their tavern to find refuge in the bustling streets. Alas, the dense crowd had no impact on the speed and determination of the mysterious young vigilante who was zealously hunting him down. He ran frantically, not daring to turn around, as the young man with the lethal eyes held his silver dagger firmly in his hand just behind him. The slightest decline in pace would bring him to his inevitable demise.

  In their haste, they quickly arrived upon the quay of Gèvres and its outdoor market. Thinking he would find his salvation here, the child trafficker swiftly wound his way between the market stalls, hoping to outrun his tracker. Suddenly, he stumbled upon a dark alley in which he could easily hide. Without hesitation, he rushed into the passageway with the firm intention of disappearing.

  Fatefully, the darkness also provided his predator with the ideal environment to execute him in public without eyewitnesses. Thus, just as he disappeared into the shadows of the alley, he felt the cold, firm grip of his assassin as he seized him and began to strangle him. Struck with panic and paralyzed by the thought of certain death, the trafficker felt a severe pain as the assassin’s blade pierced his skin and muscles, stopping its course in the center of his heart. An excruciating pain took hold of him as his heart stopped beating. His warm blood gushed profusely down his torso. With his body in a tetanized state, he fell to the ground horrified, conscious that death was slowly taking hold of him.

  When his endeavor was complete, the young bourgeois immediately removed the blade from his victim’s heart and disappeared. With his beautiful smooth skin, delicate features and fine, perfectly shaped mouth, he appeared completely innocent as he once again exposed himself to the light of day, calmly walking back towards the Seine and serenely side-stepping the passers-by and carriages.

  This handsome young man, to whom the girls timidly smiled as he passed by, was no more than twenty-five years old. Yet, in his body, vibrated a soul born thirteen-thousand-three hundred and eleven years earlier. The soul of one of the most powerful warriors the angelic realm had ever known.

  As the incarnation of an angel created to fight against Evil, the young man’s sole reason for living resided in the extermination of any creature, man or demon harmful to humanity and the Earth's ecosystem. Given that he acted in the name of Good, the blood and death of his enemies gave him a euphoric sense of pleasure.

  He now smiled victoriously, knowing that he and his warriors were carrying out the greatest purge that 18th century France had ever known, as they wiped out a massive network of child trafficking.

  Early in the evening, he joined three men at a spot near the docks –a shady tavern where he had become accustomed to calling together his soldiers. There were nearly six hundred of them. All with the same purpose: to hunt down and murder the criminals responsible for the tragic child trafficking trade that had spread throughout France and her surrounding countries.

  Of this army of blood hungry angels, the young bourgeois was the leader. He had given his orders to six of his most devoted soldiers, his officers, three of which were the men present tonight. They had been working on their plan for months. Today was the big day. At present, the three officers were summoned to re-count their mission.

  “What have you done with the children?”

  “Our legionaries took care of the wounded children,” answered a man with a deep voice and aquiline nose. “We’ll hand them over to their families when their health is restored.”

  “Good. What about the others?”

  A young man with grey eyes and a beardless face then spoke. His voice was soft and firm, like an iron hand in a velvet glove:

  “The legionaries are working with the guards to uncover their identities. Within the next week or so, we’ll turn the kidnapped children over to their families. And then, as you ordered, the orphans will be entrusted to the families wishing to adopt them.”

  “Very good.”

  With his back straight, he leaned against the wooden bench and remained silent for a moment, absorbed in his thoughts. Everything seemed to have gone according to plan. He was filled with an immense sense of satisfaction and pride as he felt, deeply within his flesh, that his soldiers had worked cleanly and efficiently.

  After a short while, when his thoughts drifted back to the events at hand, he looked at the third man standing in front of him straight in the eyes. He was an outstanding partner and a heroic avenger whose respect and admiration for his chief could be observed in his large emerald green eyes.

  “Do you have anything to report to me?” asked the bourgeois.

  The green-eyed young man, who’s lock of red hair was inconspicuously protruding from his white wig, shook his head: the traffickers had fallen like flies, their mission was a great success.

  “Well,” concluded the young commander in chief, raising his glass. “I congratulate you and your regiments. Now, and until further commands from the Sphere: may we all rest!”

  They all toasted loudly, swallowing their first glass in one gulp before immediately ordering a second one.

  When the young bourgeois finally returned home, midnight had struck. Following the reverential greetings of a servant, he victoriously made his way into his mansion, or more precisely, into his parents' mansion, as he hadn’t yet left the family home.

  Impatient to get back to his personal living quarters to change, he climbed the stairs four by four until he was startled by the angry voice of his father who had been waiting for him discreetly in the dark, at the foot of the stairs:

  “Madeleine! What are you still doing, dressed like a man? And why are you coming home at such an hour?”

  Exasperated, Madeleine turned to him and removed her white wig in objection, uncovering a long braid of gold hair:

  “Father! Why do you always have to spy on me like that?”

  “My daughter,” replied her father in a repressed voice, “are you a whore? What were you doing out until midnight? And why do you insist on dressing like a man? Are you one of those types who like women?”

  “Father!”

  “Answer me!” he ordered, scowling at her.

  Madeleine moaned:

  “No! It's just that I'm more comfortable in men’s clothes! I can do whatever I want without being judged, and that suits me perfectly!”

  “And what were you
doing out until midnight?”

  “That’s none of your business!”

  Pounding his fist in his hand, her father yelled:

  “I did the right thing in making my decision! It’s undeniably high time that you are placed under the guardianship of a husband! I don't even dare to imagine what you were doing out until this hour!”

  “What decision?” asked Madeleine as she grimly took a step down.

  “To offer your hand to the Duke De La Fortelle!” he announced in a thunderous tone. “Congratulations my daughter, you're going to become a duchess! Despite your depraved morals, you will become the pride of our family.”

  For this very wealthy bourgeois man, the ennoblement of his family through the marriage of his daughter to a duke, was the ultimate sacrament he had been longing for. However, the news was far from delighting to Madeleine who became livid:

  “But father, I don't want to marry!”

  “A marriage of this kind cannot be refused”, remarked the old man, wounded by his daughter's disobedience and ingratitude.

  “How old is he?”

  “The duke is a mature man. He will make you a true duchess, my daughter!”

  Madeleine felt her tears rise in her eyes. A mature man, she knew very well what that meant: a flabby old man with a potbelly, embittered by age.

  “I refuse!” she exclaimed angrily.

  “I'm afraid you have no choice. The marriage was concluded this morning while you were prancing about in your grotesque attire!”

  “I’ll kill him!”

  On his daughter’s words, the father burst out laughing, not deeming his own flesh and blood capable of such a thing:

  “If you wish, but first you will marry him and become a duchess my daughter. You will honor our family.”

  Her throat tightened as Madeleine looked at her father with a strong sense of reproach. Even if she longed to, she knew she wouldn’t kill the duke: the assassination rules were strict and completely out of her hands. She couldn't kill an innocent human being, even though the desire to feel his blood spill against her breast burned within her.

  “Prepare your cases and say goodbye to your immoral friends,” her father added as he left the room with a satisfied expression on his face. “You will live in Provence in your husband's castle where the wedding will be celebrated in a month's time.”

  Upon her father’s words, Madeleine began to panic. She couldn't leave Paris. This was no longer only about her, but also about her angelic mission: her legionaries were almost all in the capital. It was here that her supreme Leaders, the Decision-Makers, had commanded them to incarnate in order to accomplish their missions.

  “Father”, she exclaimed in horror, “I can't leave Paris!”

  Alas, her words were lost in the icy air of the room without being heard: her father had already disappeared, not waiting for her answer.

  Chapter 2

  Paris, 6th arrondissement. Beginning of the 21st century.

  Tara, who had been deeply asleep, woke up with a start feeling troubled and anxious, following the terribly realistic dream she had just experienced. Barely breathing, she thought back to the rebellious bourgeoise she had embodied, to the frightening marriage she was unable to escape, and above all, to the three men who’s throats she slit so ruthlessly and with an expert hand.

  Horrified, she was determined to forget about her awful dream and concentrated instead on her environment, slowly emerging after the drinking party of the night before... The distress triggered by her dream was enhanced by the nausea she was now suffering from. She hardly ever drank, but at the party organized by her company and the other big names in finance the night before, she found herself caught in a trap, as her boss ordered cocktail after cocktail for her. Not wanting to annoy him by refusing, she now regretted not having been firmer : as though to punish her for her weakness, she had been woken up by a powerful, throbbing migraine that refused to subside.

  Suddenly, through her half-closed eyes, she noticed that the sun had already risen, which in winter meant that she was at least an hour late for work. Alarmed, she abruptly turned over in her bed and bumped into something hard and heavy. Still dizzy from the alcohol, she didn't have the strength to look immediately at what it was. She held her face in her hands for a few seconds, then raised her head to see what she had touched.

  Through her blurry eyes, she saw a hairy, cream-colored figure and a big brown head of curls lying next to her. The first thought that came to her mind was even more frightening than being late for work. She rubbed her eyes in a panic and looked closer. No, she wasn’t dreaming: a stranger was sleeping in her bed next to her. Horrified, she screamed as long and as loud as she could. Flustered, the haggard man sat up instantly and looked at Tara.

  Totally naked, they both jumped out of the bed in a frenzy. Tara continued to scream as she grabbed the sheets to conceal her nudity. Instinctively, the man did the same. As they began arguing over the covers, Tara now shouted in protest as she tried to pull them back. The man finally gave up and remained naked while yelling:

  “Here, take your sheets and stop screaming!”

  He shouted so loudly, and his voice was so masculine and powerful that Tara fell silent, not knowing what to say. After a short silence, she replied rudely:

  “Get out of my house!”

  “Yes, just a moment,” replied the man, taking his time to find his clothes.

  Tara had time to examine his body. He was tall, dark and handsome, just as she liked them. His muscles were perfectly defined; his curly hair fell on to a face worthy of a Greek god, with straight and powerful features; his eyes were a luminous brown. She vaguely remembered devouring him with her eyes the previous evening while he talked to some of the great names in finance, but she had no memory of having met with him afterwards, let alone of taking him home.

  Regardless, she couldn't help but admire him. Something about him captivated her: his aura no doubt... All the same, she didn't allow her attraction and curiosity to show. On the contrary, she continued yelling at him in the same unpleasant voice:

  “Hurry up and get out of my house... you hoodlum!”

  The man picked up his underpants and looked her straight in the eyes as he covered his beautiful male attributes. He replied with a charming smile:

  “Hoodlum... No one has used that expression since the Middle Ages.”

  Tara didn't respond. He was right. But how could she explain to him that his presence made her completely lose control of herself? She preferred to remain silent, hiding her desire with her hostile attitude as she continued to examine him.

  Suddenly, she realized that she was naked too. Blushing, she ran to her closet to put on the first nightgown she could find. Then, she turned sharply towards the stranger, determined to throw him out. Simultaneously, her handsome visitor closed the buttons on his trousers and turned to her. When he saw what she was wearing, he stopped dead in his tracks:

  “You're very beautiful,” he said, in the same charming but sincere voice.

  Tara blushed, realizing she had probably chosen the wrong nightgown. Exasperated, she looked through her closet for something less suggestive, admitting to herself that it wasn’t an easy task. Finally, she came across a pair of thick winter pajamas and threw them on without elegance, hoping to push the stranger away in the process. His presence was troubling her a little too much for her liking. As soon as she was dressed, she turned around and stared at him insistently, hoping he would understand and leave her apartment immediately.

  “We had a wonderful evening,” he said, while gazing at Tara's disheveled blond locks, thinking back to their momentous night together.

  Mortified, she hastily showed him to the door:

  “It's time for you to leave.”

  “I'm happy to have met you. I’d love to see you again...”

  “Don't count on it,” she replied, trying to hide her desire as best she could. “Last night was a mistake. I'm not that kind of girl...”


  “I'm sure you're not. We can start over again if you wish. My name’s Victor,” he said, reaching out his hand to her with a broad smile that made her melt on the spot.

  Utterly mesmerized by his beauty, Tara remained motionless, unable to touch the hand of such a sublime being. Her whole body trembled in his presence. Instead of following her heart and seizing the opportunity to get to know him, she did the exact opposite of what her entire being was imploring her to do: she insisted that he leave.

  “I think it's time for you to go,” she repeated, regretting her words the second she said them.

  Why was she spoiling such an exceptional moment? Why couldn’t she just invite him to stay and have coffee with her like she was yearning to do?

  “All right,” accepted Victor reluctantly, putting his hand behind his back.

  Tara’s heart broke as he retreated into the stairwell. Her eyes were begging him to stay but her mouth remained closed and her body motionless. She did nothing to hold back the gorgeous cavalier who had rekindled the flame within her. A flame that she had deemed extinguished forever… until now.

  “Have a nice day,” Victor concluded with sincere kindness, before disappearing down the stairs.

  He was gone. She now stood alone in the doorway, her heart in turmoil. Never had she so fiercely regretted not following her instincts. Feeling frail and unsteady, she sat in her living room for a long time, only coming out of her painful daydream when Max, her Persian cat with the lavish grey coat, came to remind her that he hadn't been fed.

  The clock read 9:16 a.m. on the metro platform. The subway doors had just closed violently on the purse of a young woman who hadn’t managed to jump in on time, while the determined morning crowd tried as hard as they could to squeeze themselves into the overfull Parisian subway cars. The moist heat emanating from the countless bodies huddled together, filled the passengers' nostrils and formed a thick haze on the icy windows. Only a privileged few, more skillful than the others, could enjoy the journey sitting down, their heads moving nonchalantly to the rhythm of the vibrating subway car, their eyes gazing off into the distance or glued to a book. The standing travelers grasped onto whatever they could to avoid bumping into their neighbors. Bodies of all types, small, large, thin, fat, clean or dirty, were confined to this small space, where the diversity of hygiene standards was highlighted by the variety of odors that hung in the air. While some people tucked their noses into their scarves so as not to be put off by the scent, others were a thousand miles away from imagining the discomfort they were causing around them. Sweat, parasites, dust, viruses, human beings... The Parisian underground in the morning was a jewel of biodiversity.