11
Believ
I would love to go for a ride on my motorcycle and accelerate to the horizon, but after what”s just happened, I”d better keep a low profile on the roads and either walk or take a car. There”s no doubt that, even if I”m careful to avoid the cameras, the idiot at the police station will remember my license plate or, at least, the model of my bike, and if I get stopped by a police roadblock, I won”t be able to help anyone.
After parking in a discreet corner of a shopping mall parking lot and hitching a ride to my bed breakfast, I find myself flaked out on my bed, staring at the ceiling as if counting the cracks might trigger a lightning bolt and point the way out of this inextricable situation. But no matter how many times I turn the problem upside down, I”m so mired in trouble that a happy ending seems out of the question. At best, I end up within four walls. At worst...
Better not think about it...
Despite his translucent nature, I can feel the ghost”s gaze on me. Is he trying to read my mind, or is he merely scrutinizing me as I scrutinize the ceiling?
How does it work, anyway, these intrusions into my thoughts? Is it spontaneous or does he choose to do so?
Speaking of which...
“What happened at the morgue? I thought you were too unstable to interfere with the matter of this world.”
“I projected myself.”
Doesn”t he want to use even more obscure words, in case I manage to decipher snippets of what he”s saying? Seriously, who talks like that?
“What do you mean by that?”
“I had to get you out of there.”
“I”ve never needed anyone. That”s not going to change today.”
“I was hoping to create a diversion, if you will. It”s the only way I”ve found to intervene without showing my face.”
I”m grateful to him for keeping his promise. I can”t imagine what state the poor coroner would have been in if he had seen a ghost. I remember parts of his conversation, especially the “epidemiological research” he mentioned. Whoever”s trying to hide that body frankly doesn”t know what to invent to divert attention.
This doesn”t tell me where they might have dropped it, and I”m clearly running out of inspiration.
“Let”s get a few things straight,” begins my stiff. “My body has vanished into thin air for the second time and left the judicial premises for an unknown destination, most likely a secret one. We also know that the Church is aware of the problems affecting it and that this is detrimental to its plans. If you were a man of the Church, where would you hide a body?”
“Instinctively, I”d say a crypt, but the church we went to yesterday is too central. It would lack discretion, or else all the villagers would have to know about it, which I doubt.”
“Everything can be bought, you know...”
Where did that come from?
“It doesn”t seem likely. Why bribe a whole village, when you can just isolate yourself a little farther away?”
“The manor?”
“I don”t think so. It would be too risky to bring it back precisely where anyone would instinctively go looking for it.”
I dig out of my pocket a small tourist map of the surrounding area I had picked up earlier at the town hall and examine the buildings depicted. Some picturesque, rainy villages, castles I lose count of, and a few entertaining ruins.
“And this?” He points, brushing against my hand. “What”s this?”
Just as I scan the map and imagine yet another fortress, I realize it is, in fact, an abbey. It”s not next door, but on closer inspection, it”s totally isolated by the surrounding mountains. In fact, it”s situated on a hilltop, which I imagine would help defend the place in the event of an attack; a strategic position that could be just what we”re looking for. Who would go snooping among monks who have taken a vow of silence?
“Shall we go?” asks my disembodied sidekick, once again driven by the urgency that has characterized him since we met.
“Now?”
“If we have to get there on foot, we”ll need several days. We mustn”t dawdle!”
If I have to trudge through the lowlands to get to this perched edifice, it”s going to take me a while! And now that the alert has been given by the forces of law and order, hitchhiking and taking the main roads seems risky. We”ll have to take the back roads and walk, which will considerably lengthen our journey. Well, I”ll have to walk, as my ghost doesn”t seem to mind having to levitate.
I gather my things, shrug my rucksack over my shoulders, clip the strap that holds it to my spine, and put my hand on the door handle.
I turn around and stare at the room one last time. There”s nothing exceptional about this room, and I have no particular memories of it, yet I have the intuition that as soon as I leave it, my life will be turned upside down with no hope of turning back. I was a respectable Sin Eater; now I”m a fugitive from justice.
In short, everyone”s out to get me.
I lock the door and deposit the key in the translucent compartment provided. This system has at least the merit of sparing me the need to justify my hasty departure.
“I”m going to scout around,” says the ghost in a low tone. “I”ll be back to give you directions. To begin with, leave the village by the road around the river and head out into the countryside.”
“And you”re giving me orders because...?”
He oscillates between embarrassment and anxiety. He”s so expressive that I can read his emotions on his perfect features, as if reading a household appliance manual: clear and unadorned.
“Because I”ve got to get my body back,” he begins in a determined tone that fades as the words leave his mouth.
“Certainly.”
“And because I care about you...”
Did he really just say that? We hardly know each other, and in all practicality, I doubt he”ll linger by my side once he has untangled the mess of his life and has the opportunity to regain the heavens.
We gaze at each other for a moment, he no doubt more flabbergasted than me at having uttered those few meaningful words so spontaneously. Unless he later turns out to be a Royal Shakespeare Companyactor, a contemporary of the author of Romeo and Juliet—who knows?—his gaze isn’t hiding anything.
When was the last time a man like that—or any other human being, for that matter—said those unsettling words to me? I”m deliberately hiding my son. It”s totally different, and even if it isn”t, the memory of his childhood words telling me how much he loved me will eventually fade, no matter how hard I try not to let my memories of him evaporate.
I mentally snort, chastising myself, almost managing to convince myself that these words don”t mean much, even though they make me feel so good.
So I don”t lift a finger—though my cheeks heat up in spite of myself—and comply. The route he has chosen is precisely the one I had selected. I would rather save time than argue about an itinerary that”s not up for discussion.
My ghost evaporates, not without contemplating me in silence for the umpteenth time, as I make my way down the alley. His absence at least allows me to move forward, my thoughts a little clearer. It seems clear to me that his presence by my side, even though I had rejected him completely beforehand and even suffered him to the limit, is becoming normalized, like an extension of myself. I, who know only cold and loneliness, am suddenly embarrassed by an individual I no longer reject with such ardor, accepting him as part of my existence. But living with a ghost is, to say the least, a contradiction in terms.
Before my head gets too full and an unwelcome migraine assails me, I set myself a goal: to finish this day by discovering as much as possible about our destiny.
It”s late afternoon, and it won”t be long before night grips the village, driving its inhabitants back into their homes. The darkness may be comforting, but it also brings out the fears in me. It was on a night like this that my son disappeared.
One by one, the streetlamps come on. Remnants of those that once held spindly candles, they’re now equipped with low-energy bulbs whose glow increases as night spreads between the stone walls.
I hurry through the village to the church square. All is quiet, the doors are closed, and there are no passers-by. I hurry to leave this exposed space as quickly as possible, despite the darkening night.
The alleyway that will lead me out of the village is plunged into darkness; no streetlamps have been installed here. Set below the hill, it”s surrounded by two walls that give it the appearance of a tunnel with an inky sky as its ceiling. My soles ricochet off the cobblestones. The horizon is turning pink with streaks of purple, with only the mountains still visible.
The farther I go down this path, the less I see of my surroundings. Only the disturbed sound of the night still reaches me. The breeze rustles the leaves still on the trees, but that”s not all. My footsteps aren”t the only ones I hear; someone is following me. The rustle of their clothes and the puffs of their breath are so faint that they would easily have gone unnoticed if I weren”t paranoid and over-trained.
Ever since Eltz passed his burden on to me, I”ve been prey: the prey of shadows, the prey of light. My presence is required and, paradoxically, I”m so feared that I”m hunted.
Those who hide in the shadows are legion, and they all want the same thing: to eradicate a member of the Brotherhood. To set God up as the sole savior, while concealing the fact that He has abandoned them on this earth, refraining from offering them unconditional forgiveness. He created human beings in His own image, imperfect and greedy, but expects them to achieve perfection that He Himself is incapable of attaining. What hypocrisy!
Pretending not to have noticed anything, I accelerate to widen the distance between me and this village, where I hope never to set foot again. I follow the twists and turns of this potentially fatal trench, my fingertips brushing the irregularity of the rain-worn wall to guide me.
Suddenly, the footsteps become less discreet, faster and louder, betraying haste. A voice rises in the alleyway and ricochets between the icy stones.
“Wait, miss! Please wait!”
My pursuer”s heavy footsteps echo, while strange shadows flicker around me. He”s running, flashlight in hand, blowing like an ox, a sign that he hasn”t played sports for some time.
I turn around and see the old man planting himself in front of me, handing me his flashlight and, with his hands on his knees, trying not to spit his lungs out on the tips of his shoes.
“Are you... leaving?” he asks me in a jerky voice.
“For a hike.”
“In the middle of the night?” he continues, his breathing still erratic.
“You”ve never done this? It”s an exceptional sensation to walk under the stars,” I reply, pretending not to understand his surprise.
I pause for a moment. Why did he run after me when he”s so weak? What if he”s distracting me while we wait for the police?
“You should try it sometime. I”ll leave you to it; my guide is waiting for me.”
“Your... Are you a...?” he asks me, without dwelling on appearances.
“A what?”
“A Sin Eater.”
How does he know that?
I choke as I try to swallow, stunned that an old man who”s probably never been out of his backwater village knows things that are beyond him.
“I don”t understand.”
“Do you help the dead into heaven?”
“No, I don’t. I”m on vacation.”
“Please come back for me,” he insists, ignoring my response.
While he”s still hunched over, his imploring eyes stare at me, as if he fears a curse will fall on him after his death. Has he sinned so much that he absolutely must be helped by one of my own? The Brotherhood will send him someone in any case, so why is he worried?
“I”ve got to go.”
In a hurry to get out of here, I hand him his flashlight, which he grasps limply, and trot away. It”s only when the village fades behind me and the night swallows me in its veil of invisibility that I slow my pace.
How did that man unmask me in such a short space of time?
What did he want from me?
And where”s my ghost when I need him?!