Chapter 17.
‘Christian’
“The Harvester is out.” Xavier’s tone is grave.
A cold chill had already seeped into the room, but now the air is frozen with new tension for reasons I don't yet understand.
Who is the Harvester?
Tobias and Gabriel are quiet in respective corners of the room, and Reuben and I back the door while Xavier addresses us in front of the nearest board.
Xavier had led us to a part of the mansion I’d never been to before, a conference room tucked away on the higher floors I’d never bothered to cross into. But the moment I stepped inside I knew this room was different from the rest.
There are photos on every corner of the walls.
Of grisly murders. Of streets and bars and parks.
There's barely any space to move around because of the sheer number of boards, again packed with photos.
At least a thousand of them. With red and white threads connecting different locations and people.
Inconceivable writing scribbled on every area of open space, with questions that become less erratic over time. Sharper and focused.
It borders on something unnatural.
Something unhealthy.
Moulded into something jagged and precise.
There are fifteen large and clear photos above the rest. Fifteen women with similar builds and bright smiles. And the news story from earlier today is finally coming back to me.
Fifteen murders. A serial killer on the loose.
“Today was the sixteenth murder.” Xavier’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Starting from, today we only have three months to find him.”
This room has helped me make sense of everything, but it doesn’t help me understand the change I see in Xavier. This version of him, standing before me is unfamiliar.
Colder.
Darker.
“I’ve already sent the details of the sixteenth victim to Aster,” Xavier informs us and Tobias folds his arms with a grave look on his face.
“It’s looking like a dark Christmas this year,” Tobias mumbles.
“And like every other year,” Gabriel speaks up with his usual dose of displeasure, “our searching will be useless unless we’re able to find new leads.”
“So we have nothing on this guy?” I speak up but my eyes are scanning the rows of photos around me, gleaning through them slowly. “After fifteen murders?”
“Whoever it is, is a fucking ghost,” Tobias says.
“Have we considered if he’s working with others?” One photo catches my eye and I tilt my head.
“If he’s a normal man then he’d have to be,” Gabriel offers, “but if he’s not, then we can’t be sure.”
Another photo catches my eye.
“I see.” My response seems far away, because I’m sure I’ve noticed something. “Is there a reason why we’re responsible for finding this guy?” I’m still distracted by the photos, “We’re not exactly in the business of keeping serial killers off the streets, are we? Whose commission is it?”
The room immediately becomes quiet and the air becomes so tense that I’m forced to pull my gaze away from the photos to re-focus on their faces. I’m realizing for the first time, that Reuben is quiet. That he isn't the one at the front of the room, leading the rest of us.
Instead, he's here in the back beside me.
Xavier’s expression is dismal but Reuben is the one to speak, “This is one of our oldest commissions. Now that he’s started his hunt again, finding this guy is our immediate priority.”
I know there’s more to it than that. More they’re not telling me. But it’s not my job to probe them.
My only job is to contribute.
I return my gaze to the photos and my next words are hesitant, “In that case, I think I've found something.”
All eyes snap to me. I don’t have the full picture together yet so I’m doubtful, but at the same time my instincts are ticking.
I’m digging deeper into the photos—scanning, analysing and piecing together fragments of what might be nothing at all—until I’m so immersed in the chaos, I can barely register the rest of the room.
“If we’re starting from nothing, then even fragments could be useful.
” My voice feels far away, but I don’t have time for doubts.
“Here.” I reach for the closest board and Xavier steps aside as I choose a single photo.
The moment he’s out of my periphery I can almost be convinced it’s just me in the room.
Out of the thousand photos lining the walls, this person appears in only three.
Fifteen victims and three photos of his face, amongst scores of suspects.
I choose these three first, pulling them out from their spots to separate them from the rest and place them higher.
But there are still pieces of him across the room.
Such small pieces that make him inconceivable.
But he’s there, always. Like a shadow.
Everything is quiet as I pick out the photos. His back. His sleeve. His shoulders. His side. A full-body, seated in a bar but whose face is blocked out by a passing waitress.
In each of the victims’ lives he’s there. A passerby. A wallflower. A side character.
A ghost.
“Him.” The world rushes back to me with the sound of my voice. “On the day of the victims’ deaths he wore the same jacket.” A brown velvety material. Suede.
“He’s a ghost. A wallflower… Except for these three.” I pass my hand along the only three photos that show his face. “These three are taken from his early victims. But after this point, you never see his face again. Why? How?”
I’m speaking out loud but my thoughts are speeding through my head.
“It’s not that he avoids the cameras,” I tilt my head when I finally find my answer. “The cameras avoid him.”
“Here.” I tap the sixth photo. “The camera’s facing the wrong way.
” I’ve not recognized the silence just yet, my thoughts are still too loud.
“Usually in these kinds of places you'd want to get a good look at your customers' faces.
But the camera isn't pointed at the main area, it's pointing towards the exit.”
I look through the others, “After this point. They all are. They’re all facing the wrong way. Enough to not be noticeable, but enough to keep him out of sight. It’s why we only get bits and pieces of him.” But never his face.
“It makes sense then that he was able to evade you for five years.” I tap my findings twice with my knuckles as I step back, certain now, that I won’t be able to glean anything else.
“After the initial murders, he gained a backer. Someone expensive.”
“Or,” I drag my hand through my hair with a surge of new doubt, “maybe all the Syndicate episodes I watched with the kid are clogging my ass,” I mumble with a frown.
Kai’s ability to watch TV for hours on end is a skill I can relate to at least. I can still recall the days I spent constantly consuming videos and books.
I’m finally noticing the silence when it becomes too uncomfortable. When it feels like a dagger at my back, I’m turning with furrowed brows to see if they’re still there. If they’ve heard a word I’ve said.
But they’re all staring at me strangely.
My heart immediately drops to my toes, “What?”
My palms suddenly feel clammy because they don’t answer. Did I say something wrong?
Maybe I’ve just embarrassed myself by making pointless conjectures.
Suddenly, I’m both mortified and ashamed of the complete fool I might have just made myself.
“We’ll pretend I didn’t say anything and I’ll put them back,” I turn away quickly to reach for the photos I’d separated from the rest, but Reuben grabs me by the shirt of my back and pulls me away before I can grab them.
“No, no.” His grin only makes me feel like an idiot. Like he’s having the time of his life watching me.
I can actually feel how red my face is. I snap, “You said you had nothing, so I was just—”
“You're fucking shitting me.” Gabriel finally speaks out from his frozenness and it’s only when he drags a hand through his face that I realize he’s in a state of complete disbelief.
Tobias steps up to the photos from the corner of the room muttering his own curses under his breath. He stares at them for maybe three seconds before plopping into a chair and chuckling to himself.
Is he okay?
“We ran each of these photos through a hundred systems already.” Xavier’s voice is the smallest and my confusion worsens.
So these reactions are not because I was talking nonsense?
Xavier himself looks broken for a single moment. Like the life in his eyes has completely died out, “How did it go unnoticed?”
Something is wrong. But still, even though I’m unsure, I answer as best as I can, “It’s really just…
a jacket. A jacket worn by the same person.
I’m not sure if your systems would highlight it as something important.
” Or how ominous it is. “But it’s only after isolating them that I was able to notice the cameras. It became a lot more possible.”
I don’t know what kind of ‘systems’ they used, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be able to pick out this jacket, unless specifically told to do so.
But I can. After all, the concept of fashion is what prevented me from blending in with people in the first place.
I've been doing my homework at least, the past 1,374 days.
Xavier brushes past me weakly to get a closer look. Almost like a wraith.
He’s mumbling under his breath, “The same jacket. The cameras. A backer—”
He... doesn't look okay.
Xavier? I reach out to touch his shoulder, but before I can, his voice cuts through the air brokenly, “I've stared at these photos for five years.”
There’s a bad feeling in my chest.
“But you found him by looking at these once?”
The words settle in the air for a single moment, before Reuben tenses up at my side. Xavier whirls around at me with such an unwelcome look in his eyes, I step back once on instinct.
“What the fuck are you?”
My blood runs cold.
Suddenly it feels like there's a knife at my throat.
My instincts are telling me to run but I force myself to hold my ground.
“Are you on something?” Hostility clings to him as he watches me coldly.
“On something?” I repeat like a fool but my heart is suddenly racing beneath my skin.