3
Believ
What possessed you to agree to this stupid deal? For God”s sake, Believ, it”s not as if you had a choice!
After a terrible night interspersed with nightmares and jolts from the torrential, erratic downpour, I get up, already exhausted and unsure of the decisions I made the night before.
Day is beginning to dawn on the horizon. There”s no time for daydreaming; I could be caught.
What”s the program? How do you discover the secret identity of a dead person?
The media.
I need to find a discreet hotel with acceptable internet access. In a few minutes, I should be able to find the information I need and get rid of this invasive ectoplasm.
If I”d had a working cell phone—not Eltz’s prepaid one, I mean—, I could even have carried out these searches from here, but the precautions customary in the ruthless milieu of Sin Eaters forbid me to possess one. I could be spotted and tracked down, and the consequences of such exposure would be fatal. Better to lose a little time than end up in pieces.
With no news from my stiff, I”m off. Maybe I”ll be able to lose him. I check my inventory one last time, buckle my bag, and hop on my bike, heading for the nearest town.
Under the dawn rays, the road is adorned with unreal flashes that are lost in the rising mist. This damned rain has at least had the merit of bringing a little beauty to this dreary landscape.
“It”s not this way.”
So I didn”t dream it. He’s there.
“Hello to you too,” I murmur, teeth clenched in my helmet, without even noticing my unbearable interlocutor.
“The manor house is behind us,” he insists.
“I”m not going to the mansion,” I retort dryly.
No, but who does he think he is?
“Where then?”
“Into town.”
“And my death?”
“That”s all I can think about, so don”t nag me!” I shout.
He”s exasperating, asking thousands of questions that demonstrate his ignorance, while he claims to be telling me how to do things! If he wants my help, he”ll have to accept that I work in my own way. No more slavery!
I speed up.
Speed is the only thing that soothes me, the embrace of this air that I”m tearing through and that gives me an astonishing feeling of freedom. I”m not in control of much, and this feeling could fade as quickly as it creeps in, as it probably did for Eltz. Yet it”s liberating, almost vital.
Soon the city takes shape, shimmering with the warm rays it seems to revel in. The hustle and bustle of this awakening city rumble along the concrete streets. Workers squeeze into the subway or the traffic jams, while I slip from one lane to the next with the agility of a feline. God bless motorcycles!
Eventually, I find a library whose ancient structure stands in stark contrast to the glass-and-concrete towers that surround it in an impressive wall of honor. Throughout the centuries, knowledge has always had the best places, central and unshakeable in most cases.
I park and enter the monumental hall. My light footsteps echo, ricocheting under the vaulted ceiling adorned with sculptures of plants.
“May I help you?” calls a woman, grimacing, hidden behind an imposing, dark wooden counter.
“I”d like to do some research.”
“The computer room is this way,” she points out with a limp, unenthusiastic gesture.
Her monotone gives her the appearance of a poorly calibrated robot. She”s not the kind of person who inspires vocations or arouses curiosity.
I thank her half-heartedly and walk away, planting myself in front of one of the screens already switched on.
What was the name of that place again?
“Is your brain a sieve or something?”
Are you kidding? I wasn”t making it up! Not only is he persecuting me, he”s reading my mind!
“Forgive me for not knowing a single remote village in Wales! And get out of my head, I didn”t invite you!”
“Out of your...?” he wonders with a contrite air before pulling himself together. “I didn”t know I was capable of such a thing; you think so hard!”
And it’s my fault too! He”s got a lot of nerve, that ghost!
He calms down immediately, which surprises me a little; I had imagined I would have to fight more. I can resume my research in peace, although I’m uncomfortable with the idea that I’m not alone in my head.
One thing at a time, Believ, I think, kicking myself. Concentrate on your mission. The sooner you find it, the sooner you’ll be rid of him.
And too bad if he heard me.
No matter how much I widen my search, I can”t find anything. Apparently, with the exception of the manor”s owner, there hasn”t been a death in a while. What was the body doing in the basement, then? How is it possible that no one mentioned this disappearance anywhere, not even in a local newspaper? Did the missing person have no relatives to announce his tragic departure?
“What”s up?”
“Nothing.”
“I can see you”re upset; your brow is furrowed...”
Ah, because he also plans to count my wrinkles?
“I don”t...”
He pauses, aware that he has once again overstepped the bounds of my intimacy.
“I forbid you to do that!”
“Hush!” a reader tells me from his seat in front of a huge leather-bound book whose yellowed pages creak every time he turns them.
Who do I think I am, talking to an invisible being and tapping away on a keyboard that dates from the beginning of the millennium? A madwoman, for sure.
“That”s enough!” I whisper to the ghost. “If you do that again, I”ll stab you.”
“I”m sorry, I didn”t mean to,” he apologizes, materializing in front of the computer screen.
It”s the first time he”s adopted such precise features, far from the vaporous entity hovering over the ceremony that should have rid him of this wandering existence.
His hair forms a perfect wave that conceals part of his clear gaze riveted on mine. His square jaw and slim nose give him a determined appearance despite the doubt in his pupils. He looks so young; what could he have succumbed to?
“We won”t find anything conclusive here,” I mumble as I stand up.
“Good riddance!” says the bookworm, convinced that it”s him I”ve just spoken to.
I”d love to make that moron eat his precious book!
“At the manor, perhaps?”
“If only it were that simple. The people who requested my intervention have no desire to discuss anything with me. And to tell you the truth, asking them directly questions about yourself would be likely to attract a lot of attention, if not reveal that I haven”t done the job they”ve paid me to do.”
He remains silent, as if newly aware of the difficulties that await us if we’re to unravel the mysteries surrounding his existence.
What did he think? That we would get drunk playing a life-size game of Clue? Having said that, I believed it too, imagining that a few searches on the network would allow me to learn more. That doesn”t prove anything, except that I”m dealing with an illustrious stranger who no one was interested in, despite his intriguingly haughty appearance.
A terrible crash resounds in the street, followed by the honking of horns and an anxious hubbub. I rush to the square and freeze in front of a terrible realization: a pickup truck has crossed the road and come to rest right next to my precious motorcycle, mowing it down in the process. Taken care of by passers-by, including a police officer, the driver is conscious. My bike, on the other hand, is suffering from multiple contusions, which suggest the worst.
As if I didn”t have enough trouble as it is!
I slip discreetly into the crowd and straighten my mount away from the scene of the drama. Apparently, none of the parts were twisted in the impact.
I cling to the handlebars in despair and ride away, my mind already occupied by the scale of the repairs needed to get my bike back in shape.
A motel. I have to find a motel. The rest can wait.