Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Why I was under the illusion that my conversation with Una and Pierre might put a stop to the dreams, I have no idea, but by Thursday, I’ve had the same one every night—the long corridor stretching before me, the moonlight drenching my naked body, and the brutal blade against my skin.
The only thing that differs is what Valdemar says to me, his filthy mouth working me into a frenzy even more than his touch.
My insides are in turmoil, my body at war with my head.
Why him?
Why me?
I’m beginning to wonder if this is a new form of torture, one there appears to be no end to.
These night-time escapades have stretched my days out somehow. The week has felt longer than normal, and I feel strange sitting here waiting for Valdemar to be brought into the visitors’ room when I’ve felt the touch of his hands and heard the purr of his voice every night.
“I can’t wait for my tongue to replace my fingers, angel, so I can taste you properly.”
Picking at my chipped nail varnish, I try to banish the words he whispered last night, their seductive tone still stroking my skin when I woke this morning amidst the aftermath of another orgasm.
Maybe I’m going insane.
Valdemar struts into the room, his guard looking like he’s the one being escorted in and not the other way around.
“Angel,” he says as he sits.
A tiny tapping sensation dances down my spine at the sound of the endearment falling from the same lips that have said it every night this week and asked me why I’m so wet and if I can take one more finger. The mouth that calls me angel, his and only his.
These dreams are fucking me over in more ways than one.
“Are you all right?” His husky voice stirs the memory of the dream, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stamp it out.
“Yes,” I lie.
“You don’t seem it. Are you still sleeping okay?” he asks.
I glare at him. “I think the state of my emotional well-being has more to do with the fact that I’ve spent an entire week wondering what you meant when you told me my brother asked you to shoot him.”
“Of course. I apologise. I shouldn’t have left you wondering, and I understand if you don’t trust me, but all I can say is that you will, in time.”
I want to flip him off and tell him I will never trust him, but instead I press on, ignoring his cryptic words.“We have fifty-four minutes, so please, don’t waste any of them.”
His eyes narrow as if he’s assessing me before deciding to speak. “You weren’t at the hearing.”
“No.”
“And I’m sure you’ve done your homework on what happened that night.” Valdemar presses his lips together, and I try not to focus on them, or the words that slipped out of his mouth in my dreams.
“That goes without saying,” I reply.
“Then I can tell you that what you’ve read is a pack of lies.”
I raise a brow. “Surely not everything.”
“All the statements from the authorities were doctored, falsified in favour of Adolphe Fortunato. You know as well as I do how much of the local police force he has on his payroll or you wouldn’t be the hotshot journalist I took you for.” The corner of his mouth quirks upwards.
“I’m aware of his sway,” I confirm.
Everyone knows that Adolphe Fortunato rules this city, his ruthless grip having only tightened over the past ten years. He has eyes and ears everywhere. There’s a rumour that he’s been sniffing around the Gazette . Captain has remained tight-lipped, but you can’t keep the gossip mill from turning around a group of scoop-sniffing journalists who make their living from airing the dirty laundry. The thought of Fortunato buying the Gazette is one that truly gives me sleepless nights. If he were to own the largest newspaper in Amontillado, God knows what he would have us publishing, how he would use the paper for his gain.
“More than sway, angel. The guy is a serpent that has slithered its way into every mind in this city. He has the whole police force in his fucking pocket along with other high-ranking officials, and even the general public have their price—a cheap one when you consider how frightened everyone is of him. The witnesses who swore I pulled two guns out and shot down the chandeliers—fucking priceless, as that didn’t happen.” He laughs at this, shaking his head.
“Why would Fortunato pay them to lie about something like that? And if that didn’t happen, then how did they explain the lack of broken chandeliers at the scene? Surely not everyone involved with the investigation was on his payroll.” It’s my turn to shake my head.
“Fortunato can be very resourceful when he wants to be, and there are more ways than cash to get people to lie for him.”
I turn this over in my mind. There have been rumours of what Fortunato does to people who don’t do as he says. Terrible things. But I’ve always thought they were just that—rumours set about to frighten people into doing his bidding.
We’re veering further from the path I want to be on, and I don’t want to run out of time like last week and be left on a cliff edge again. “Okay, so what’s your version of events?”
“Before I tell you about that night, I need you to know how I found Ed.”
My silence is enough to get him to proceed.
“Ed joined us shortly after he started working at Fortunato Casino. I was at the casino the night he was shadowing one of the croupiers, learning on the job. At the time, I didn’t know who I was looking for or what exactly Ed’s gift was. I just knew someone would be there and I’d know when I saw them.” His voice takes on a slightly mystic tone, adding to the seductiveness I’ve got so used to hearing in my dreams.
“The first I noticed something was amiss was when a scrawny guy started pushing Ed at the roulette table. Afterwards, when we’d got Ed out of the casino and into one of our cars, he told me he’d seen what was about to happen through a vision, saw the scrawny guy lose his winnings and pull the knife out to slash the croupier’s forearm. He saw it all, just like he’d been seeing things his entire life, and it frightened him—the knife, the violence, the blood. So, he’d tried to stop his vision from happening and asked the scrawny guy to leave, but Ed was eighteen, a trainee member of staff. The scrawny guy lost it, got all up in his face, asked him who the hell he thought he was, and then started shoving him. I stepped in when the scrawny guy pulled the knife.”
He’s the storyteller again, the man with so many words, words that hold me captive whether it be in the waking hours or in the dream realm.
“The scrawny guy was wasted, so it didn’t take much for security to disarm him, but in the scuffle, one of the security guards was caught with the knife, a deep slash to his forearm—not exactly as Ed had foreseen, but close enough. Ed was visibly shaken, more frightened at the repercussions where Fortunato was concerned than he was over the confrontation, so it was at that point that I steered him out of the casino and into one of my cars.”
“You stepped in, just like Victor Rue did with you,” I confirm.
Valdemar dips his head in agreement.
“I asked him about his gift, learned quickly that it was getting out of control. The images would come like flashes in his mind, and he didn’t know what to do with them or how to control them. He told me that no matter what he did, he didn’t seem to be able to change the future, to stop whatever he saw happening, that even when he tried to intervene, the event would happen anyway, if slightly altered. And the whole time he spoke to me, he was clawing at the sides of his head as if trying to remove it from his shoulders.”
Hot sweat gathers at the base of my neck.
“Can you imagine what it must have been like to see things before they happened?” Valdemar asks. “To have visions of things yet to come, to know the future before it’s played out, and know that you have no way of stopping it?”
My voice cracks, my throat dry. “He hardly ever talked about it. I’m not sure whether that was because he didn’t want me to worry or he just didn’t know what the hell was going on.” Truthfully, I always thought he had it under control. As much as I was living with seeing the dead, he was living with seeing the future, but I can begin to see now just how impossible his life had been and how distressing it must have become.
“As a Raven Hand, I’d never come across such a gift, but I assured him we would work things out. He was relieved to have found someone to talk to, to share his burden. And it was then that he joined us to become a Raven Hand like he was always meant to.”
The timeline plays out in my memories. I can recall Ed being withdrawn in his late teens, pulling away from society and locking himself in his room for days on end. Then he got a job at the casino, and I barely saw him at all due to the night shifts.
“As much as Adolphe Fortunato is a slimy serpent, he’s also an influential figure in this city. The Raven Hands have always tried to stay clear of him, but a few years after Ed joined us, he discovered, quite by accident, just some of the things Adolphe Fortunato was up to.”
I leap in. “You used my brother as a spy.”
“No. I would never have put Ed or any Raven Hand in that position. And this was nothing to do with Ed’s gift. This was something he witnessed while at work.”
“What did he see?” I ask.
Valdemar’s tongue pushes over his front teeth as if he’s recalling the taste of this tale.
He lowers his voice. “Ed believed Adolphe Fortunato was trialling the use of a new drug—something that would lower inhibitions.”
“I’m not sure dealing drugs from inside the casino would be much of a story. People would be more shocked if it wasn’t going on. You said yourself that everyone knows what kind of businessman Adolphe Fortunato is,” I point out.
Fortunato’s exterior exudes the air of a confident businessman, the man who’s made sound investments and amassed an empire due to hard work and a head for business, but underneath the facade, everyone knows the unspoken reality of the lawlessness, the drugs, the weapons, and God only knows what else he deals in.
“You misunderstand me, angel. This wasn’t to do with drugs being dealt in his casino. This was to do with him slipping a drug into the drinks of gamblers,” Valdemar explains.
I sit up, the reporter in me jolted awake. “Wait—you’re saying he was spiking people’s drinks?”
“Think about it. People go to the Fortunato to drink and gamble, but what are the things that hold them back and stop them from making stupid bets and ill-considered judgments?”
I inhale deeply, considering his question before answering. “Their emotional stability. Time to think and take in all the relevant information before making an informed choice. Fatigue. The list goes on.” I shake my head. “But all those inhibitions can be lowered with alcohol, so why not just pour everyone double measures at the bar and get them all wasted?”
“You ever been to a casino?” he asks.
I roll my eyes, so he continues.
“They’re classy establishments. They don’t let you in when you’re rip-roaring drunk, and they certainly don’t let you stay when you lose the ability to stand around a table. No, alcohol wasn’t the way. But this new drug was different. It made people drop their defences and abandon their analytical thinking, just like alcohol, but without affecting their cognitive functioning. From the outside, people would look sober, calm, and totally in control, yet inside, the brain would be thinking, ‘Fuck it, let’s gamble ten grand on black thirty-one.’” He wafts his hand over the table as if laying down the cash.
“How would they even begin to do something like that?” But even as I ask the question, I see Adolphe Fortunato’s right-hand man and confidant, Dr Tem-Pest. No one knows what he’s a doctor of, exactly, but he’s been working with Fortunato for years, pulling strings and whispering in ears. He would have the know-how, and a man like Fortunato would jump at the chance of turning over his revenue, of expanding his empire even further, and just the sheer possibility of manipulating people at his whim.
My palms are sweating. This is a reporter’s wet dream—the big scoop—but I’m beginning to see why Valdemar has said I can’t publish this story, as there’s no way on earth Fortunato would stand for this. I would be dead before it even hit Captain’s desk.
Valdemar sits back, picking up where he left off. “One night, Ed overheard a conversation between Fortunato and a barman named Angelo. Fortunato put Angelo on one of the quieter bars and told him, ‘G and T only.’ Ed guessed Angelo was to spike gin and tonics. So, he kept watch during his shift, taking note of the people who bought a G and T and how their behaviour changed during the evening.
“Ed told me it was like watching the transformation from Jekyll to Hyde. They would start the night cautious, only placing small bets, keeping close track of their money, and keeping their wits about them, but within the hour of that one drink, they would be gambling large sums, throwing their money around like it was water, and not batting an eyelid when they lost thousands of pounds.”
“Jeez.” The implications of this are starting to slot into place. “How long did the drug last? What about when these people left the casino?” I ask.
Valdemar holds my gaze. “You see where this is going. This is the part where Fortunato didn’t give two shits about what he was doing.”
My mind races at the thought of people leaving the casino with their inhibitions lowered, what stupid decisions they might make, the reckless things they might do all because Adolphe Fortunato wanted to line his already bulging pockets. How vulnerable would they be when they couldn’t decide if a situation was dangerous or not? How many would accept lifts from strangers, would take someone home who they didn’t trust? How many would have their money stolen from them if they couldn’t recognise a bad situation? How many would be attacked or violated because the alarm bell in their heads wasn’t blaring at the first sign of danger?
As I contemplate the various implications, dust particles swarm within a shard of light that splits through the air from the barred window.
“How does this fit in with the night you shot Ed?” Although I’m intrigued and alarmed by all this, I haven’t forgotten why I’m here.
His eyes glaze over, and his face drops as if the memory is pulling on his skin.
“We couldn’t sit back while Fortunato was drugging people, but we were smart enough to know we couldn’t just walk through the front door of his casino and tell him to stop being a bad boy. We knew it would take time and planning.
“The night of the shooting was only phase one. We were to go in and get a location on Adolphe Fortunato.” Valdemar straightens in his seat.
“The Raven Hands have always stayed clear of Adolphe Fortunato and him of us—a mutual agreement that has gone back years—so when Jupiter and I entered the casino that night, we were met with the assumption that we were there to kick back and enjoy ourselves. Thanks to Ed, we knew when Fortunato would be at the casino, so once we had the go-ahead, Jupiter and I arrived with Jacinta and her friend Ada. Ada knew nothing of the plan, as we needed her reactions to be genuine, but Jacinta knew and played her part.
“Ed told us that the drinks were being spiked at the bar near the roulette tables by a tall, lanky bartender named Bobby, and that the beverage of choice that night was whisky.
“I ordered the drinks: a Manhattan for Ada, a craft beer each for Jupiter and myself, and a whisky for Jacinta.”
“You made Jacinta take the spiked drink?” I jump in, shocked by this.
“She didn’t drink it. We knew where all the cameras were and which staff on the floor were watching the people who’d taken the spiked drinks, so as soon as we were in position, Jupiter pressed himself up to Jacinta, blocking the view of the cameras and prying eyes, the whisky held low in her hand, and he kissed her. As he did, he slipped a wad of tissue into the glass and soaked up the liquid. They’d practised it a thousand times, so when it came to the real thing, it was seamless.
“We gave it ten minutes before Jacinta started to perform. She’d trained as an actress when she left school but never pursued the career—why, I don’t know, because she was so fucking believable.”
As much as I try, I can’t help but get lost in the art of his words, the way he paints the picture. I feel like I’m in the casino, amongst the gamblers, watching the events unfold.
“We were by the roulette table when she started to shake, just her hand at first, then up her arm. She kept licking her lips as if her mouth was drying out, and she started to twitch.”
“You pretended she’d had an allergic reaction to the drug?” I ask.
Valdemar nods. “Jupiter was the first to notice and asked her what was wrong. Ada dashed over to Jacinta, her reaction completely genuine. Jacinta’s eyes rolled in her head as someone shouted to get her a chair.
“The game had stopped at the table, and one of the croupiers came over to see what was going on. Jupiter played the panicked boyfriend while I took charge, getting Jacinta to lie on the floor as I told Jupiter to call an ambulance. His hands shook as he dialled and faked the call.
“Ed had told us what happens when there’s a medical emergency on the floor. The staff carry the casualty off to a private function room as quickly as possible, as no one wants to see someone potentially die in the middle of the casino—it’s bad for business. Management is also notified. And, of course, Adolphe Fortunato when he’s on the premises.”
Valdemar pauses for a second, as if getting his bearings, before continuing. “Ed arrived, announcing that he was a first aider, and a middle-aged man joined him, one of Fortunato’s more senior employees, who we guessed had been tailing Jacinta since she ordered her drink. His name badge read Julius.
“Ed shouted for us to move back and give him some room. Jacinta was on the floor, a gurgling sound coming from her throat coupled with erratic breathing. There was a second when I thought she wasn’t acting at all.
“Julius pushed his way through and knelt next to Ed, who was trying to put Jacinta in the recovery position. Julius told him they needed to get Jacinta to the medical room, this being the private function room.
“Ed scooped Jacinta up, not wanting Julius to touch her and possibly become suspicious. Julius argued that the rest of us needed to stay on the floor, but Jupiter was like a man possessed and said she wasn’t being taken anywhere without him. I followed, telling Ada to wait for the ambulance she believed was en route.
“We reached the function room. Ed went in first, carrying Jacinta, and Julius was behind him, then Jupiter and me.”
Valdemar’s head drops, his eyes searching for something on the empty table before he returns his gaze to me.
“And that’s when the whole fucking thing went wrong.”