Chapter 16

Say how's the weather,

He drove for so long. The rubber on the tires would soon be bald. There would be much to pay for, too much.

So I look out the window

The coldness of the air-conditioning condensed into tears on the windows of the Lexus. He always thought he was used to the freezing spell but he was not, not this time. His fingers were numbed; blue from unfeeling. The old ache returned and he thought he would die from the pain.

To brighten my soul, but I can't control the rain That keeps falling,

Chuckling mournfully- the laughter squeezed out more like a sob- he corrected himself.

He would die again from the pain. The pain that had shredded his guts and killed him a long time.

Smile on the outside that never comes in

The route was getting old. He traveled this route with his brother every morning for the past few days. He would soon reach the detested town, though not as hated as its bustling neighbor- Bayport.

It was his affinity that with each stage of his life- Slowly, but surely- something would be taken away.

And again and again and again and again- the weary process echoed on the back of its predecessor. His life mirrored the undulating waves- forever; repetitive.

Always presenting something bad to the shore.

A comedy, mystery, irony, tragedy

His life.

So I scream "let the show begin"

His sad pathetic life.

You break me open,

He had no idea why he stopped where he was. The barren moon was his sole companion in his rightful home.

Turn on the light

With the aid of a small penlight in his hands, he found a familiar name. He did not know the guy in the usual sense of word. But he felt a kinship with him.

Stumble inside with me

Lying against the hard, carved stone, he stared up disinterestedly at the starless sky. Even the moon was hidden by heavy, dark clouds.

For the first time in so many years, his cheeks felt wet and his vision was blurred, not with insanity.

With me.

But with liquid sadness.

Morning blared into his eyes and he shut them against it after revealing them via a slit crack. Bringing the back of his palm to his forehead, he thought he was running a fever. He could imagine himself without the aid of a mirror. His hair would be askew; his suit rumpled.

His eyes- dead.

How else would he look? Human?

A cherub?

Isaiah thought too highly of him; doted too much on the brother he hardly knew.

The sharp blades of grass pricked the parts of his limbs which were not covered by cloth. He still wanted to sleep as his lids were heavy with the events of the night before. However, an obsessive sense of duty took hold of him.

He had work to do and a debt to pay.

Slowly, he let his eyes get accustomed to the glaring light as he struggled up. The sight of the cemetery beside the ancient church that Daniel had told him about - where the dead young priest served his vocation- did not faze him. He had spent a lonely night in the place for the dead and it did not bother him. He was one with them. It was only a matter of time- a matter of the most dispassionate entity in the entire Universe.

Time. It would not stop to respect grief. It would not cease ticking to prolong the ecstasy of happiness.

It was most impartial; and heartless.

But it could not erase, contrary to what everybody said. It had to bow down to the immense power of memory.

Brushing loose soil away from his body, he walked away from the grave that he had rested his body for the night without a backwards glance, not even a brief sign of thanks to its resident at sharing its space of eternal rest.

Leonard Jamie Sanders.

It would all be repaid when he was done.

“Here’s your keys, enjoy your stay in Eaeshore Motel.” The counter girl rattled dully as she passed Elijah the bunch of keys to his room with impassive fingers. Without even looking at him, she went back to filing her long, manicured nails. Her attitude suited Elijah just fine. If she had shown the slightest interest to chat him up, he would have wasted a minute more than necessary.

The small establishment with the most unimaginative name was the only bed and breakfast lodging in the whole of Eaeshore. Like all others dwindling businesses, its physical skin was flaking away to reveal the gray cement underneath. Its once flawless complexion gave way to years of neglect which was no tremendous loss. The two-storey whitewashed building was a plain Jane, designed with functionality, not aestheticism, in mind.

Walking up the creaky stairs, Elijah had a sudden thought of termites chipping away the wooden structure that had rotted at various parts. Perhaps the stairs would fall and bring him down with it, crushing him under its weight and let him just die.

With some hint of regret, he realized that was not going to happen.

He finally entered his room after wrestling with the rusted lock. Throwing down the haversack he had packed last night before setting off to Eaeshore on the bed, he saw a faint cloud of dust mushrooming around the bag; floating before dispersing into thin air upon the impact. That common phenomenon of a dusty place fascinated him and he just stood there, concentrating at a particular fleck of dust that was illuminated by the sunlight that slanted through a small gap in the window. It danced like a child as it soared, drifting along with the currents of air molecules- minute and inconsequential, it had no worries. Only when it vanished- having floated out of the stream of light into the shady area- did Elijah, the sole audience of its number, broke away from his absorption.

The bathroom beckoned him and he decided to do some washing up before getting into action again. Not only for the sake of cleanliness, he too wished the coldness of the water would break his body away from the stasis of deadness and jolted his mind awake.

He needed some form of stimulant. His razor mind was not working with him as its legs were still trudging through the sludge of his past. The fragrance of the shampoo waft to his nose but it did nothing to lift his spirits as the reek of the sewers wrapped itself around him.

Smelling like vanilla when he stepped out, he thought he stunk like a skunk.

Feelings. No… no feelings.

Closing his eyes, he saw the two plains on the opposite side of a yawning chasm. One was fuzzy, where the trees blended with the grass and the sky. He could tell the different entities but he could not tell where the tree ended and the sky began. The tapestry was blurred and marred with something so painful. There was sunlight but it was in a pitiful supply- more from the artist’s imagination than the bright orange ball in the heavens. The only thing that was clearly discernable was the rain that pelted, creating a fog of speeding droplets; falling from the fortress of clouds that flashed the occasional blinding white lightning. Saltpeter thunder cracked and rumbled the heavens- heavy blows from Thor’s hammer strengthened with ignited gunpowder.

That was Lijah.

And the other plain was shrouded in black. At first glance, anyone would be dispose to think of it as a void. But it was not. There were still the same trees, the same grass and the same sky. Should light suddenly flashed across, the person surveying the artwork would be astounded by the distinctive sharp lines that separated one object from the other. But the ink covered everything; covered the keen mind that drew the picture.

That was Elijah.

It used to be clear where he belonged. Now, he jumped into the hollowness of the abyss instead.

Pushing thoughts of Isaiah's to the deep, dark attic of his mind- the attic which archived his sordid past in antique trunks all bounded with iron chains and locked up; antique trunks that were already veiled over with thick layers of cobwebs but apparently crow-barred opened recently- Elijah forced his mind to concentrate on the case. The only way he could manage to stop the throes of bitter memories was to swallow it and let it corrode with the acid in his stomach. Focus had never been such an elusive individual until then.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deep- but it was difficult. Once the floodgates of the past were broken and shattered- the torrents allowed through- there was no stopping the gushing, crushing mass of water from invading. Daming up the violent waterfall by the sheer power of his will, he drained away the excess liquid and emptied his mind.

Empty. He would be empty again. It was easier. It was safer.

At least to me. To me.

Frowning at the sudden thought which sounded like a flat lament but still a lament nonetheless, he bit his lower lip and chewed on it for a while. His preoccupation with the going-on in his mind almost cost him his target. Benedict Olsen had just stepped out of his hostel block. Other than the earrings that lined the sides of both his ears and the purple highlights in the dirty blond hair, Ben appeared like a normal college student- in a sleepy stupor, clutching a barely used textbook loosely in his hand. He looked much handsomer in actuality than from the print-out that Lynn had retrieved from the Eaeshore servers- looking normal with a hint of life rather than a cocaine addict.

The appearance of Ben in his line of sight jolted him away from his mind’s distractions. When he was sure that Ben was clearly out of range, he stepped out of the Toyota he had just rented from Eaeshore Rent-A-Car- a set of lock picks in his jacket's pocket. He had left his Mustang behind the café’s car park and hidden Isaiah’s Lexus in some deserted area. Somehow, he did not want to return to the café anymore until it was absolutely necessary, neither did he want to call attention to himself. Network could well-absorb the extra cost of another rented car.

He had a lot of snooping to do. Interviewing people could only bring so much information. He was good at analyzing people but he knew also knew that serial killers were more adept actors than him.

They had to be. Or he would join them in line someday and self-destruct along with all those villains from the tear-stained pages from his history- bounded by anger; forgotten until recently.

He knew exactly which room he was looking for from the information that was gathered by Lynn. Feeling slightly affected- the heaviness settled with even more vehement- he paused for a while to recollect himself.

It was a tedious, repetitive process. Now, he remembered why he chosen Elijah instead of Lijah. Lijah would whine, lay in self-pity. Lijah was weak; laden with emotional baggage and love for his brother and his mom.

Slowly, he became gradually confident that Elijah was once again seated on the throne of his self-control. He glanced around once and ascertained that no one was around; a necessary process knowing how tight hostel mates could be. Fiddling with the lock in front of him; he set to work. Having performed clandestine operations many times, starting with an incident of blackmail in his teenage years, Elijah wasted no time with the simple lock.

Click.

Throwing the door opened, he was greeted by a cluttered rubbish dump. It was nauseating. The room looked filled to the brim with assorted garbage. Tidbits packages; books; blankets; empty condom wrappers; and pornographic materials. Ben was looking to be an extremely unlikable guy; infused with the sin of sloth and lust.

Eying the two books near the bed- among a mountain of towels all entangled up together- he postulated that either Ben was a real Nazi freak or he was one satanic poser. Posters of Hitler, swastikas and dark, demonic heavy metal bands plastered the walls into one interesting tapestry of the philosophies of hate. However, Elijah could not believe this to be the room of the serial killer. It would be announcing to the world that he was the culprit. His brief stint with the FBI for real had taught him one thing- most serial killers were very normal in all outwards aspects.

If this was a phase that Ben was going through, it would be a phase that Ben might just look back and chortle heartily with a mild embarrassment at.

If not, then maybe soon, he might either join the underground Nazi resurgence groups or go exploring for the Thelema Abbey.

Wading his way through the rubbish on the floor, Elijah approached the wardrobe and opened it up. The sight that was presented to him caused him to break into sardonic mirth.

The wardrobe hid Ben's secret world perhaps. An enlarged and terribly flattering photograph of an enigmatic mien of a gorgeous female with curled, long raven tresses was almost worshiped with fingerprints. The words written by a mauve lipstick on her collarbone wiped away the smile on Elijah's face though.

I love you, Ben. Forever.

Magdalene.

A dried rose was stuck next to the photograph and Elijah committed the face and name to memory.

Is this a shrine or a grave?

Or both?

Rummaging through drawers of socks and underwear, Elijah tried to find something that could link Ben to the case or absolved him from all guilt. When nothing showed up, he averted his efforts to his study table.

Ben's interest in Nazism for whatever reason was apparent even for someone opaque to judgment. Yet he could not place Ben as his numero uno suspect. He still had no lists of suspects which was a pathetic outcome for a lackluster investigation that demanded the highest level of urgency.

When he spotted nothing of interest besides some books on Wagner and Darwin, he decided to try the obsolete computer on Ben's desk. Getting the aged pioneer of Pentiums to start was a severe drag but he waited with the patience of a saint. After finally being able to access the computer, he breathed out audibly; a little frustrated to see that Ben used the computer for nothing but word processing. No games, no networking devices, no internet explorer even. No one could ever hack into his computer.

But a file caught his eyes. A file labeled blatantly as [journal]. It was the only Word document anyway. Maybe that was why Ben wanted his computer to be completely safe from the prying eyes all throughout the Internet.

It was too large to be downloaded onto a floppy and thus, Elijah opened it up- another process which took an eternity to complete execution- and very quickly, tried to peruse through the hundred odd pages of font 8 letterings.

A migraine. He was getting a migraine. Searching for keywords instead like Nazis, philosophy, Wagner and Darwin, he was surprised at how few lines was dedicated to the theme that the owner adorned his room with. The only mentions of those keywords came up most prominently in his final year group project. He did a search for victims; killings but nothing of interest came up.

Then he did a search for Magdalene- playing with fate; a roulette spinning on the gambler’s table. The first entry for the name was almost poetic and sweet; bordering on the beauty of a sonnet. A beauty with the nature of a bludgeon; aided by the cruelty of the remembrance of heartbreak.

“No… I don’t want this… you can’t do this to me…”

“Look at you… your iciness was so much more interesting than the simpering fool you now are…”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he stopped the wisp of memories from forming into ghosts to haunt him. Keeping his mind a blank, he shut down the computer. Magdalene’s full name was mentioned, italic and typed with a decorative font; almost as if the typist was singing the name prettily as he keyed it in.

Magdalene P. Ashriel

Noting down the make and model of the printer that Ben had, he very stealthily stole out of the room after making sure that he left the room in the same chaotic state as he had visited it.

“Elijah, Isaiah’s going to be transferred to Mount Sinai. Are you coming to see him?”

“Hmm.” Elijah kept one hand on the steering wheel while gripping the Nokia with the other. He noticed Lynn’s tone had softened; a result of their encounter the previous night.

I don’t need your sympathy.

His expression was grim. He found no words to answer her.

“Forget it. Forget I even asked. Goo…” Her impatience and petulant tone suited him more. He preferred to deal with people the way they were; hated it when they treated with kid’s gloves the moment they learned a little of his history. He was not feeling sorry for himself; why should they?

“Lynn…” He began; silently cursing himself for almost missing a turn. Alvin’s house was just around the corner.

“Yes?” An excitement crept into her voice and he was bemused; she probably thought he was going to change his mind.

I won’t see him until it’s all done. And even then, I won’t visit him.

I won’t.

“Do a check on a girl called Magdalene Ashriel for me, will you?”

Chapter 17

Elijah took in the red-brick house on the left of him from inside his car that was parked by the curb. It was among a row of similar, terrace houses- two stories high, a driveway with a small side garden. Even the gates were alike, bordering the stretch with a row of tiny black, metallic spires as the lane was flanked on two sides by the same connected terrace houses with their neat lawns and warm architecture.

Red-brick houses with their eaves lending some shade to the grass underneath. They brought back a sense of nostalgia; an image of logs burning in fireplaces and Christmas trees during the coming Winter. Elijah had never actually lived in a red-brick house, neither could he remember sitting in front of a lighted fireplace, toasting marshmallows and chestnuts with Christmas presents strewn all over him. It was all imagined. When he was kid, he had a wild imagination to make up for the bleak reality. Those fantasies kept him sane and gave him some hope but only for a while. Dreams- they bubbled, excited and then they burst, leaving the feeling of nothingness behind; the feeling of empty promises that seemed so real. The bubbles that floated past his childhood mind’s eyes were beautiful because from every different angle, a rainbow spectrum of colors would gleam in the sunlight; colors that lied and deceived.

There was someone in the house as he saw a moving shadow behind the draperies. Climbing out of his car, he approached the gate and rang the doorbell. The dog immediately ran over and jumped out and down, clawing at the other side of the gate, barking most annoyingly, thinking that it was fierce enough to instill fear into Elijah. He knelt down and stared at the large black Alsatian which was glaring at him with yellowed eyes and snarling teeth.

“Bite me.” Elijah whispered to the dog and smiled most condescendingly. A lady came out then, broad-shouldered with her hair tied back into a tight ponytail. She ruffled the top of the Alsatian’s head and narrowed her eyes, giving him a most chary look via her slanted sight.

“What do you want?” She asked harshly; coldly. Elijah stood up, a little transfixed by her detachedness, an imperfect replica of his; born from a different nature. Hers resulted from the pain and anger at having someone close to her taken away so suddenly; very different from his kind of loss indeed.

“You have a wonderful dog here. Most obedient.” Elijah lied as he stood up. He had no love for animal- they were mindless, brainless and terribly disloyal. “I’m a PI, hired by Mrs. Sanders to look into her son’s death. I’m sorry about what happened to your brother.” He kept his voice low and soothing; softening his eyes and smiled like a comrade who understood the agony. His good looks probably helped too in a world often judged by physical appearances. He wondered how many more pretenses he would have to endure through. It was tedious to be nice.

“Mrs. Sanders? Lenny Sanders mother?” She asked, the furtive look still veiled over her mien but Elijah could see it softening. No one who knew Mrs. Sanders- mute, kind and poor- could feel nothing at her plight of losing her only son.

Not even Elijah could.

“Yes…”

“Where does Alvin fit in with your investigations? Aren’t the police doing their job?” She questioned relentlessly but she patted her dog on the head and waved it away. It looked at its mistress before giving Elijah one final snarl and then ran off into the back garden.

“They are, but much too slowly. I know her personally and decided to look into it for her. Somehow, I just have a hunch that your brother’s death may not be an accident or… a suicide. Someone could have killed Alvin and that someone is the serial murderer on the loose.”

Her lips elongated into one thin line and Elijah bid his time. Finally, she relented and pressed a button on the wall next to her. One side of the gate opened and Elijah stepped in, scratching the back of his head, smiling gratefully.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. As long as you clear the air surrounding my brother’s death, you’re always welcome.”

“Alvin’s a brilliant social scientist. He has always been in awe of the currents of events, what pushes an incident forward and what held imminent dangers back. The topic he was always obsessed with was of course, World War II. He was not happy with all the explanation for its occurrences. Or rather, he felt something was lacking. So in his thesis, he postulated that there was actually a force behind Hitler’s appeal; trying to explain it using logic and dwelling into the realm of metaphysics. He thought that besides the world events, there must be something about Hitler that made him so alluring to a mass of intelligent people who would follow him unquestioningly into genocide. He hated his thesis; it did not turned out the way he wanted it to be because he felt there should be a revelation of something more serious. His thesis was almost forgotten when he returned from New Orleans after attending some conventions. He still did it but he was excited about doing a Masters right away to expound on his theory.” Marsha Skyner reiterated her brother’s passion to Elijah who nodded, already bored by the rhetoric of Alvin Skyner’s thesis. He thought it was rather fascinating but definitely far behind a Noble or Pulitzer prize.

“What convention would that be?” Elijah asked, remembering something about a convention that Isaiah had sifted from his conversation with Professor Carter.

A tiny, unfamiliar and increasingly persistent twinge most unwontedly tugged at his heart. Caught by surprised, his hand flew to his chest and he laid it there for a moment, his mouth gaping slightly.

Isaiah. How can the reminder of you cause me so much mischief even when you’re decommissioned on a bed in a coma?

“If you’ll wait here, I’ll go and bring some of his stuff out. He kept all things related to his research and I have them all in the attic still… I hope I can find what you need…are you alright?” Marsha asked in concern, almost reaching out to touch him on the shoulder or something. Elijah slinked back onto the couch and smiled politely.

“Yes, please do find the things if you can. I’m alright.”

She gave him a most mindful stare- as if thinking that he was going to collapse from a sudden heart attack anytime soon- before standing up. As she walked away from the sofa, out of the living room and up the stairs, Elijah leaned back against the leather couch and surveyed the his surroundings. The hall was cozy, albeit empty. The red leather couch was the most striking piece of furniture amidst its milder colored companions. What was most noticeable was the cleanliness of the place, everything was spick and span. Marsha must have taken to cleaning as a form of therapy to get over the death of her brother. The bond between the both of them was seemingly strong- so strong that death could not even hope to decompose it.

Strong enough to be blatant- lain out in the open- for Elijah’s eyes to see and dismiss.

She came back down a good fifteen minutes later just as Elijah was almost dozing off from boredom. In her hands was an opened Nike shoebox and as she sat down, she placed it on the coffee table in front of him.

“This is it… I can’t bear to throw it away… he spent too much efforts compiling his research into his thesis. There are plenty more Xeroxed pages but I guess what you want is in this box which contained ticket stubs and some brief write-ups of the conventions he went for. Maybe you may find something here…” Her green eyes scanned the contents together with him as he took out each and very single item and examined them closely. A crumpled pamphlet caught his attention because of the name UNO emblazoned on top.

Politics and the Philosophy of Mein Kampf.

The PolSci Inner Sanctum.

“Interesting... may I keep this?” Elijah asked, already putting it into his jacket’s pocket. Marsha gave him a wryly smile.

“You don’t seem to need my permission. My brother, he’s very dear to me. I don’t like the way they explained his death. He may be a little self-centered but he’s a good kid. And smart enough to know not to OD on insulin, accidentally or not.”

“Are you close to your brother?”

…

“Maybe you can try talking?”

…

“Hello?”

“Do you know anything about his girlfriends?” Elijah ventured a guess. Both girls linked to Alvin were dead. Maybe their relationship with him could mean something.

“Sandy or Shelly? Sandy’s a mild-mannered girl. She’s extremely sweet and… I think Al was going to get engaged to her… indefinitely… she was the only who could take his nonsense. Shelly’s a different story. Al’s really crazy about her but she’s eccentric and a hot head. I finally convince Al that she’ll be bad for him. Now that Sandy’s dead too… I…” She tilted her head up and looked at the ceiling, trying to will her tears not to fall. Elijah was suddenly so sick of people crying in front of him, irate by their display of weakness. Tears dissolved rationality and caused reasoning to be blurred. This outburst of emotions, hailed as cathartic, was too draining on the physical energy and dehydrated the host.

Tears are, therefore, better not shed.

“I’m sorry about your loss…” So sorry… gee… people die! Get over it. “What’s Shelly like? Does she hate Sandy or Al for… you know…?”

Marsha wiped away a tear and shook her head, gaining control of herself for which Elijah was thankful for. He had a rather good opinion of Marsha. She seemed like someone who could be in control. Control was important. Control made one sharp and aware so nothing could hurt him. Control restricted the level of mistakes to the barest minimum.

Elijah felt so much better. His own set of codes for life were slowly re-registering themselves in his mind. With a scornful glint in his mind’s eyes, he smirked at Lijah. No, Lijah was not going to win. Lijah would lose and lose for one final time.

He was going to trample on Lijah, storm on him and break him such that he could never be put together again.

Tears= bad. Control= good. Emotions= waste of time.

Screaming= no one hears.

Love? Love= Non-existent.

“Shelly? I don’t know… Like I said, I don’t have a good opinion of Shel. She was always having shouting matches with Alvin… off and on… on and off…but… but the break-up was pretty amiable. Their religions will never mesh well each other’s. Shelly’s a staunch Jehovah’s Witness. Alvin’s… I don’t what Alvin is…but he’s definitely not the most religious person I know. Shelly hated being tied down to anyone and Alvin hated having to fight with her all the time. He told me they smiled at each other more after their break up. Shelly even became great friends with Sandy.”

Another JV. And…

“She died.” Elijah informed her. She nodded and heaved a heavy sigh.

“I’ve heard. So many deaths here lately…you must find the killer. You’re right; the police are taking a very long time.”

That’s because they left it to us.

“I think I’ll be going now. Thanks. If I need anything else, can I call you?” Elijah took out his mobile, about to key in her number into the phone’s memory.

“Yes. Here, I’ll punch it in for you…” She reached out for his mobile and somehow, instinctively, he drew his hands back.

“I won’t steal it from you… I just thought it’s easier for me to just key it in for you. Less chance of a mistake.” She chided him, just like how a big sister would, or rather, how he thought a big sister would.

Feigning an embarrass smile when he could not have cared less, he passed her his phone and watched as her strong, almost masculine fingers pressed each button down deliberately and purposefully. He wondered if she had ever terrorized her little brother by being too protective; possessive.

“There you go. Nice phone. I have the same.” She offered up that useless last bit of information. He raised a brow and smiled like someone who was excited over sharing the same taste with a stranger they hardly knew. Standing up, he walked himself to the door and she caught the hint.

“PIs, are all of you so busy?”

“Time’s ticking fast for us. I have to do my job.” He explained, truthfully. She nodded and opened the door for him. They walked in silence to the main gate and before she pressed the release button of the gates, she cocked her head to one side and stared at him for a while.

“Are you getting paid by dear old Mrs. Sanders? From what I’ve heard from Danny, Lenny’s family quite poor…”

“Nope. It’s purely to appease my curiosity and out of the drive for the truth.” Yadda yadda blah blah… “What do you mean, ‘heard from Danny?’” Elijah asked; his interest piqued. He had always thought Daniel was only linked to the group by his relationship with Lenny and nothing else. But obviously, he had more than one tête-à-tête with Marsha.

“Danny is Lenny’s best friend I think. Somehow, he’s always around when the gang met up in our house for their project. Alvin’s always glad to help them out. He’s hopelessly quiet; almost hanging on to Lenny like a leech. But Alvin told me once that the guy had an amazing brain.”

Danny. Leeching on to Lenny? Amazing brain? He seemed as slow as turtle on its worst day…

“Before I go, can you tell me how did Alvin die? Besides the overdose…” Elijah gestured a little; prompting her to visit the nightmare that probably haunted her every night.

“I don’t rightly know… I… I wasn’t here…” Her voice grew thinner; more pleading; a look of someone looking for an absolution. Looking down on the floor, she brushed a lock of dark blonde hair that had fallen out of her almost immaculate ponytail. “I was somewhere else… in a meeting in New Delhi. I flew back immediately when the police told me they’ve found Alvin dead in his car that was parked on some cliff top. No suicide note, just some insulin overdose… I wasn’t here…”

Ok… so… don’t cry… Let me go first before you cry…

“I’m sorry again… I really should be going… I…” He indicated to the gate and she nodded, pressing the button finally. He smiled sympathetically.

“You’ll have days that are terrible… but days that will be better. Just…” He noticed the cross askew on her collar bone, hanging from a thin silver chain, “Just have faith that it’ll all be better…” His voice dropped a notch or two. Blinking twice, he tore his eyes from the cross and gave her another smile- a more genuine replica of the first one.

But still feeling the need to bolt.

“I have. I just wish… it’s not so hard…” She gave him a brave smile and he averted his eyes. Raising his hand in a brief wave, he walked away to the Toyota, feeling like he finally possessed the centre piece to the jigsaw puzzle and somehow, the scatter pieces were all going to fall in place very soon.

The place was fuzzy and all the images were blurred. He could not see properly; the images meshed into one another to create the blotchiest art he had ever encountered.

Only that he was not the admirer of this abstract painting. He was walking in it, sensing confusion but conviction at the same time. For though the painting was a splattered mess, it was almost like a deliberate splattered mess.

Fleeting faces flashed across his eyes, faces he could not recognized but obviously, they were remembered with love and much longing. But the moment they were gone, he felt an unbearable sense of loneliness; destitution. The feeling of injustice gnawed at him and threatened to tear his heart into tatters.

“No! I’m not the artist! Stop! Stop it! Stop tearing me!” He screamed. He knew he screamed loudly but no voice traveled up his lungs. He gasped for air.

Where was he? Where?

“I want my mommy! My daddy! I want them! I want them… please! Don’t take them away!”

A child’s heartfelt plea from seemingly nowhere and everywhere caused his knees to buckle. Assaulted by the intensity of the pangs of bitter sorrow, he thought he was the child. Kneeling, he stared up at the sky streaked with angry strokes of red and purple and wept. It was too heartbreaking. Why was he in this terrible place?

Then the scenery changed. He was kneeling, orbiting in some part of the forgotten Universe. All around him was looming blackness. The nothingness was crushing; the silence deafening.

“Remember, Saiah? The one big case you have to solve?”

“Lijah? Where are you? Was that your world? Lijah?”

“The one big case you have to solve.”

Chapter 18

He returned to the motel later that evening with a Chinese take-out, intending to spend a night in treasured solitude, trying to piece the picture together. He was lured by the sense of duty to seek out the murderer; the culprit that had landed his brother in a coma- and the seduction which was strangely becoming increasingly reluctant the more he thought about it- was aided by the need to dispatch any favors he might had inadvertently owed his brother. Jutting out new angles for him to see; new angles blunted by blurred blackness again, he was surprised to discover that he was not really excited to sharpen the edges so they would all point to some common truth.

Not excited. He was driven to.

The sight of Lynn sitting on the couch in the motel lobby, perusing some old newspapers, apparently waiting for him, startled him. He was just about to whirl around and walked out of the motel quietly without rousing her from her preoccupation with stale coverage when some intuition, inborn in girls, guided her head up. She spotted him before he could just so quietly sneak away.

Damn.

“Elijah! You’re finally back…” She stood up and grabbed a set of room keys similar to his. Watching it dangling from her fingers, Elijah felt the ire of vexation rising and falling- swelling and contracting his chest.

“I don’t need a new partner.” He spoke blandly. Observing her with his mirrored gaze, he saw that her dressing was casual and her hair was slightly wet, most probably from an earlier shower. Her luggage was nowhere in sight. She must had arrived quite some time ago and checked into her room already.

“Gray assigned me. I’m sorry. Much as I like to stay by Isaiah’s side, I have to come and take your crap. Believe me; I’m not exactly jumping for joy. Can we discuss about it in your room or mine?” Lynn replied him acerbically. The twist of her lips and her puffy eyes told him that she meant what she had said; only that she had censored her language- cleaning it up with several bottles of Dettol.

Elijah stood still, journeying in the span of a split second into the many immediate futures that could arise from any talks with Lynn. He could not think of any outcomes more plausible than that of her storming out in frustration at his taciturn. Despite Lijah’s breakdown which she had unwittingly witnessed, he could still sense a measure of the hostility that she harbored towards him ever since their first meeting; an enmity that he ignored. There was no need to be affected by it. He needed no approval from her or anyone.

“Yours.” He replied without much debate. True, all his notes and memos on the case was in his room but he did want his privacy to be intruded upon. Human beings, especially the female species, enjoyed the process of dissecting a person’s character and traits. They could see meaning in something as aimless as how someone placed his books. Elijah abhorred being put under the microscope and studied like some new strain of germs. His soul was his own secret to bear.

She shrugged disinterestedly, jingling the keys like a little child in awe with all things shining and noisy. “My room’s 202. See you in a while. I’m going to get some take-out. Is that your dinner?” She pointed to the brown paper he was carrying bearing the name, Wang, on it. He nodded and sauntered past her.

Her room was actually just next to his. His hands, usually swift and sure, fumbled with the lock. A feeling of claustrophobia took over; the need to take flight overwhelmed.

Wings. He needed wings.

Why can’t she just defy Gray? She loves Isaiah, doesn’t she? I’ll solve this damn thing in no time! Without anyone to hinder me!

Anger. He was feeling too much anger lately. The wrath that simmered inside of him threatened to spill over- molten larva that would destroy everything in its churning path.

And once again, he was reminded that there was only one person standing in harm’s way.

Himself.

A persistent knock on his door hammered on his irritation just as he was about to pack up his notes and leave for Lynn’s room. Knowing instinctively who it was, Elijah sighed with the annoyance of a man faced with a pest and swung the door open. Lynn stood right before him- in her loose beige blouse and faded blue jeans- illuminated by the lighted corridor; looking all fair and radiant. She took a step forward and her glow darkened as she stood between the wall of light on the outside and the forbidding darkness of Elijah’s room, smiling and raising her own take-out.

“Took me a while to find this restaurant. Have you eaten? I hope not. I’m not one who can eat alone.” She let herself in and immediately switched on the lights. Elijah shut his eyes too late against the sudden flickering glares of the light rays- its stark, transparent whiteness much more dazzling than the orange glow of the corridor- cursing her inwardly for her lack of respect for one’s privacy.

“How can you stand the dark? Ah! Good... you’ve not eaten.” She saw his non-disturbed take-out on the dressing table and placed her next to his. “So, where can we share this meal? On the floor?” She gestured to the empty carpeted space between the bed and wardrobe, right in front of the dressing table. He was still holding the door open, about to dash away from the crazily assertive woman.

Aren’t we all a little out-of-sorts these days?

“I’ve lost my appetite.” Elijah tapped his foot and jerked his head towards the opened doorway, “We should leave for your room, now.”

“No, of course not! I’ve thought it over. It’s more convenient here. I don’t have much notes and everything’s with you.” She took both their take-outs and set it on the floor. Elijah knew a lost cause when faced with one. With his lips disappearing into a tight, thin line, he closed the door, took the file containing the notes and other bits of information on the case and his notebook from his bed, and lain them gently on the floor, almost like they were precious babies and he did not want to hurt them.

Sitting cross-legged a slight distance away from her, he reached for his own take-out and saw that she was already attacking hers. From the faint aroma of onions, oyster sauce and greasy oil, as well as the sight of her using the chopsticks expertly to extract the browned noodles, he knew she had ordered the same dish as him. Hong Kong Fried Noodles. It was the first dish listed on the menu and thus the first dish that came to his mind.

The only dish that came to his mind when he ordered.

“I don’t like to talk shop when I’m eating…” She announced before smacking her lips. Nonetheless, she began sifting through the contents of the file. Flipping each carefully annotated loose sheet bounded to one another only by the ring-file, she laid her index finger on the pamphlet from the PolSci Inner Sanctum.

“What’s that?”

“One of the conventions that Alvin Skyner went for. It caught my eye because a similar murder had taken place in New Orleans. I believed I had elaborated about that a few days ago. I’m thinking of talking to Agent Blie, the special agent in charge of it; see if I can mine out anymore information.” Elijah replied, lifting up the cover of his own take-out but without the intention of eating it yet.

His hands just needed to be occupied with something to do, anyway.

“Hmmm…” She mumbled, trying to swallow a mouthful of noodles. Elijah peered inside the box and was caught by surprise at the hunger pangs growling in his stomach. It had been so long since he had anything remotely savory. The take-out was bought out of need but it was rather appetizing.

Not appetizing enough to turn a need into a desire, though.

“Anything else? Oh… before I forget…” Lynn spoke, suddenly excited by something she recalled. She turned her head turned towards him and waved her chopsticks in his face. “I did the check on Magdalene Ashriel. She’s yet another PS student in EC but a freshman still. But this is not the interesting part… the intriguing bit is that she’s a Jewish.” Lynn set her take-out down and flipped through his notes again, knitting her brows in concentration.

Jewish? Enamored by a Nazi-Wannabe?

“What are you looking for?” He asked, seeing that she was rather lost in his tiny, straight bold script.

“The answer to your interest in her. I don’t think I’ll get a response if I ask you,” she muttered, “Wait! Ok… so… you wrote here… pretty girl with aquiline nose could be Ben’s girlfriend. Name: Magdalene Ashriel. Ben- Satanic/ Nazi wannabe or poser or fanatic. Indeterminable.” She looked at him again and smiled, amused.

“You have a very strange style of jotting down notes.”

“Am I supposed to thank you for that? Anyway, you should have seen in his room.” Elijah remarked wryly, thinking of the garbage dump for a dormitory that he had just explored illegally earlier in the morning. Lynn laughed softly and shook her head.

“Lemme guess… heavy metal bands posters?I used to be like that when I was a teenager. Gave my mom a brief case of depression with five ear studs in each ear. I hate those music now, the senseless violence inside…”

On sub-conscious impulse, Elijah glanced askance at her and wondered why he never noticed the long chain earring she wove in and out of her ear. It should be either made from silver or platinum and against the pale, almost white lobe; it twinkled like a comet in daylight.

“Like my earrings? I kinda like them. Isaiah loves them.” She spoke, a twinge of sadness and yearning in her voice and she looked away from him, slamming the file shut. Elijah simply watched the rays from the fluorescent light bouncing off the jewelry, a little amazed by the needlework on her ears and at the same time, curious about how painful it must had been.

“What about you? What were you like when you’re a teenager? An Ice Mountain? She regained her composure, going straight to the point driven by her inquisitiveness.

He averted his eyes immediately, feeling a slight rush of warmth to his cheeks. Lynn was inching her way slowly in a prohibited area; his past. If Lynn sensed his discomfiture, she was dismissing it very well.

“I don’t want to do this anymore! Let me go!”

“Hey…I’ve asked you a question… two in fact. You can be courteous, can’t you?” She tapped him on his shoulder and startled him, jolting him away from the vise grips of his memories.

And startled because she dared to offer him an almost friendly physical contact for no apparent reason. Elijah recoiled from the touch- unaccustomed to it. Even Isaiah would be intimidated by the blast of frost he sprayed and watched hardened as a barrier between him and others. Lynn, though, simply walked past it like a specter, oblivious to its numbing coldness.

“I…,” he stumbled over that one simply word which got trapped in his chest. Clearing his throat, he straightened himself and pushed a lock of fringe back. “I don’t want to talk about myself.”

“So what do you like to talk about?” She asked; genuinely fascinated in such a way that made him cringed. Her prying eyes and questions were dumping him into the role of a fugitive, under watchful, large, black, almond-shaped eyes.

“The case.” He stated and that was all. He picked up the file and started perusing through it. If she did not want to talk about the case, he would just think it through in silence. He was planning to do that anymore.

Suddenly, she turned all desperate for some reason. After shifting closer to him, she gripped his forearm which was covered by the usual long-sleeved sweatshirts or shirts and gazed into his eyes. He narrowed his sight for a moment before focusing his attention back on the file, still feeling gentlemanly enough not to shake away the unwanted physical contact.

“Don’t you want to talk about something or someone? Someone like Isaiah? What’s Saiah like? Humor me, please?” She almost pleaded and Elijah saw that she was drunk- intoxicated with that something called regret and despondency.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know…”

“Yes! You do! You’re his little brother… you do know him… please… can we talk about him? He’s in Mount Sinai now… so far from me and I am stuck here… when I just… just want to be there…” She released her grip and sobbed softly, covering her face with her hands.

“The doctor was not optimistic about him ever waking from his coma… I talked to him the whole day before Gray carted me here and he was… was just there… like a dead man… Elijah… I don’t know what I’ll do without him…”

“Saiah! Saiah! No!!! Don’t….please!!!! I want to be with Saiah!!!! Don’t leave me with daddy!!! Mommy…please….”

“Lijah…you can’t come…I was not even supposed to come tell you…”

“Ok…but you’ll be back soon right?”

Lijah, you can’t come. Lijah, you can’t come… not supposed to tell you… can’t come…

He looked at her, feeling so sorry for her. She was a strong woman, from what he had observed to be. Or maybe, she was only pretending to be. Love created a crutch as she and Isaiah hung on to each other- so dependent on one another such that even a concrete soul could crumble when the other one had flown.

And so Love is the Ebola virus of the soul. Disintegrating all strength and resolve.

“ …I don’t know much but I know this. Love can heal what hate had destroyed.”

He bit his lips; somehow, without him meaning to, her words seeped into his consciousness and threw him into the limbo again- the chasm in between. A funny twist in his chest and something heavy resting on his stomach caused him to cock his head to one side, mouth gaping with silent words.

That found his voice.

“Saiah’s… Saiah is not like… not like a stereotypical big brother. He…” He closed his eyes, trying to recall. Memories washed over him- the sweetness of innocent remembrance. No, they had never left him. He remembered the times when he thought he should just end it all for himself, dangerous destructive thoughts,- those memories created a safe haven for him to retreat to and rest his mind. Those memories saved his life.

Then somehow, he ran away from them. Somehow.

“He’s emotional and apologetic. A little wishy-washy, unable to make up his mind but when he does, he is so adamant in fulfilling it until it was perfect. He thinks he has to shoulder the world, but he forgot that he’s only human. And…” Elijah’s eyes shot opened and banished the comforting caress those memories held for him. Memories of him and his brother; him and his elusive mother.

Knowledge of why he sought ways to escape from those memories returned to him. It had something to do with the decision to sever ties.

If not spiritually, then at least emotionally.

“And he’s always sad.” Elijah concluded in his usual bland voice, a far cry from the whimsical tune of only a split second ago. “Melancholic fool.”

He blinked when his eyes were exposed for too long and the air stung his corneas. There was Lynn again but no longer beside him. She was in a crawling position in front of him- studying his face intently with her hands resting on his raised knees.

“Are you going into another one of your rhetoric on the wonders of love? If you are, save it.” Elijah remarked and almost rudely pushed her away, restraint by cool gentlemanliness.

“No. I’m just wondering…” She cocked her head to one side, inching closer to him such that soon, their faces were only a breath away.

Then she drew back and her lips lifted in one of the most sympathetic smile ever, a smile that irked him and saddened him. Feelings. Again. They were certainly most irritating.

He watched her stand up and spun around, heading for the door. Almost he wanted to yell ‘good riddance’; almost he wanted to ask her to stay.

She stopped in front of the closed door and he saw her hands raised to her face, most probably brushing away some tears.

“If you need to be with him so much, just go tomorrow. You don’t have to stick to this case. I can handle it and if Gray pesters you, tell him to come talk to me.” Elijah offered. His voice was softer than normal but because it was dead silence all around, she heard it loud and clear.

“No… this is my job…” She protested weakly, betraying her true feelings. He sighed, a serial killer was on the loose and there he was, trying to convince someone of a better action. Her mopping around, unable to concentrate on the case would only slow him down.

Besides, someone had to wake that lazy brother of his.

“Just go in the morning. I’ll call you when I need help.” Elijah spoke- a robot trying to show some compassion; or involuntarily doing so.

She turned around and gave him the most grateful smile. “I’ll think about it.”

Then she turned the handle on the door and left.

“Actually, yes. These two cards were placed next to the bodies that were found. Each time, a phone call would alert us of the location. The voice was distorted, sounding like Darth Vader. We traced the calls to two random public phones. No one in the areas the public phones were in was aware of any suspicious people. No finger prints or anything. I have the report here…”

Random public phones. Killer could have rig up something, make it seem like it came from the phones when it did not… telephone exchange…

Still sitting cross-legged on the floor, Elijah chewed over all that they had discovered in the case. Him and Isaiah. Noting down the next few steps of possible actions with each thought, Elijah suddenly felt himself missing just antagonizing his elder brother. Somehow, watching Isaiah’s mien wrinkling in frustration gave him a sick, perverse pleasure.

And the best part was that he achieved it without even being someone else- just by being himself.

Killer wore gloves. Dressed in black. I have seen him. Or rather, the darkness he enshrouded himself in.

Who is him? Or her.

Elijah pictured the image of the shooter in his mind- a black ski cap, black gloves, black sweats and black jeans. Black. Evil was often equated with the color black. Evil.

So was darkness. Darkness like the mourning of loss- darkness like the emptiness of a heart; a soul. In that, Elijah could almost feel his fingertips making contact with that of the killer’s. But what mourning? What loss? The bastard that was his father? The dead mother of whom he only had an ethereal image in his godforsaken mind?

Can black be a camouflage? If so, in broad daylight, it’s as conspicuous a red dot of blood in a sea of white.

And the killer’s definitely a local. He knew where to run, where to hide. Even in the woods… he knew.

The echoes of someone sobbing disturbed him. No, it was not Lijah. It came from the adjacent room. Came from Lynn.

Ignore it, Elijah. You know you should. What’s her to you? None of your business.

He pondered for a moment in cold contemplation, feeling exceptionally disorganized inside. There he was, having all those little knick-knacks of information in front of him, waiting for him to fix them together for the complete, picture-perfect canvas but the mess inside his head- a silent, distressing mess- stymied his efforts at logic. And the crying became a little louder; disturbing him even more.

Shut it out, Elijah. You know you can. A few days with someone from your past cannot alter you so drastically, can it?

Chapter 19

“I tore off my mask, she did not run away, and our tears mingled. We cried together. I have tasted all the happiness the world can offer.”

-Erik (The Phantom), Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux, Edited and Abridged by Doris Dickens, Diamond Books, 1993

“Who’s that?” Lynn jerked her head to one side and asked the stillness of the room- a stillness perforated by a sudden knocking. She had been trying to catch some sleep so she could fresh and ready for tomorrow’s action- that was if Elijah had any plans.

But Isaiah was calling to her- the sweet, tormented face; the lips that trembled slightly each time she told him she could not commit yet. His sensitive spirit embraced her like a second skin and she could not, for the life of her, forget about him even for one night.

There you go, thinking like he’s already dead.

But how alive is he? Trapped in a sleep that a drink from the slumber River Styx had induced?

“Elijah,” came the soft reply. A little puzzled and surprised, she stood up and walked away from her dressing table where she had cradled her head in her hands on and cried to just let go of the remorse in her chest. Cautiously drawing the door opened, she saw Elijah, impassive and vacuous in front of her, with a packet of tissues in his hands.

“Whatcha doin’ here?” She tripped over her words, not knowing that the walls of the motel were so thin that he could have heard her crying. She thought she was being quiet about it, not wanting to disturb anybody.

But then again, she had probably lost control in the middle of her outpouring. Her yearning for Isaiah was just too breaking on her spirit.

“To shut you up.” He droned and handed her the tissue packet but did not leave. For some unknown reason, he lingered on. She split the plastic covering opened in the middle and drew out a piece, thanking him with a slight, strained smile.

Dabbing at her eyes, she sniffed a little but was feeling too self-conscious to blow her nose in front of him. For an awkward moment, she did not what to do. To say goodbye or just close the door in his face, for like a statue, he just stood there, watching her with expressionless sight.

“Hmm… sorry about that… guess I don’t know my own decibel.” She shrugged and stepped aside, letting him in. He entered her room unceremoniously and sat down on her bed.

“So…” The word was being dragged out as she shut the door and glanced at him, knowing how haggard she must have appeared with her tear-streaked face and ruined make up. “Hmmm…”

“I just came to tell you to turn in early. It’s a long drive back to Manhattan for you tomorrow morning.” Elijah saved her from her stammers and though she knew he meant as well as he could possibly muster, the patience in her just snapped.

“It’s not that easy, all right? I’m not like you! I don’t dismiss my sadness as another stupid emotion to drown away! Yah, you keep telling me to go back to Isaiah and I am hoping to go back to Isaiah with you! I know the case is important but this is how I feel. That you should… just… talk to him. Maybe I can’t reach him but you can! I know you can and all you do is… is…” She stopped, lost for words. If all he did was nothing, nothing could be said. However, he did do something. He got his act together to work on the case- alone. Right after Isaiah slipped away from them into a coma. What was he trying to prove? Was he trying to avenge Isaiah?

And it was not sadness that she was feeling. It was the dreaded feeling of being alone. She was lonely and whenever she felt like she was doing a solo, lonesome dance, she could always count on Isaiah to engage her into a slow, intimate waltz. She could call him and no matter where he was, if he was not embroiled in another damn terrorist sighting or something, he would rush over with her favorite Chinese take-out and they would drive to some private spot and he would just let her hold him until she could feel his presence creep into her skin and complete her.

He completed her.

Elijah was wrong. Isaiah was not wishy-washy. Isaiah was just quiet on some matters while he thought it through in his mind and looked at it from every angle until he was satisfied. And he always wanted to marry her. He must had looked at all perspectives and seen nothing but beauty- no matter if it was flawed or perfect.

“I just miss him. How can you not?” She sat down next to him and buried her face in her hands. Tears, she was so sick of them.

You better wake up, Isaiah Raily! You better. You promise to marry me! And if I become an old hag just waiting for you, I’ll never forgive you!

Wake the hell up!

“I hate him! I hate him for just sleeping and leaving me here wondering! I hate it. It’s only a couple of days and I hate it. What if he sleeps forever? I can’t… I can’t watch… I can’t stand it… I can’t be alone… can’t be alone, lonely for him…” She sputtered through her sobs as the ice-block next to her just listened without a word.

An arm was placed around her shoulders and suddenly, without warning, he turned and drew her close. That stopped her from crying as her heart pounded in her chest, not knowing what to make of his atypical show of affection. Thinking that he had a fuse that shorted suddenly, she was afraid to move, afraid to even make a sound; a whimper. With her breathing frozen by shock, her mind spun many explanations for his weird behavior.

He’s probably scared as well and just need someone to hold him. Ok, Lynn. Hold him back. It’s just a friendly hug… to give comfort, like how Gray Man held you as you listened to the doctor’s diagnosis.

Simple. Uncomplicated.

But he’s anything but uncomplicated! He’s a psycho!

No… no. Lynn… calm down. Calm down…

Gently, he pulled her slightly away and with his hands still on her shoulders, he gazed into her and smiled. She sucked in a deep breath. Her startle now was for another reason besides irrational fear. His eyes, those deep blue eyes like the ocean shone with the reflection of the night stars; their sight cast far away from the present world. And the smile, it was not the usual cynical sneer.

There was something ethereal about it, something to be cherished like a drop of an angel’s tears.

She thought she saw some beauty in his heart that finally illuminated his sculptured white-clay face. Night sapphire eyes widened then with something innocent; wistful.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward slightly. She was hypnotized as much as she was mesmerized. Naively, she thought he was probably going to say something sweet and comforting to her. Maybe he was not such a glacier after all.

His lips planted a kiss on her lips.

Oh. My. God.

She gasped and noise from her sharp intake of breath woke him from the dream her words must have lulled him into earlier. His eyes flashed and he glared at her; his hands gripped her shoulders so hard that she winced.

“Hey! Stop that! It hurts, damn you!” She pushed him away and stood up abruptly, wiping the unwanted kiss away from her mouth while fuming at being outraged. “You pervert!” She bellowed and took a step back, ready to kick his groin if necessary.

He was angry as well but the more she watched him carefully with threatening eyes, the more she felt that the anger was directly at himself. Letting out a guttural growl, he punched a fist hard into the bed. Knowing how destructive he could be and not wanting to pay gold for derisory furniture, she ran to the door and threw it open.

He stood up and just when she thought he got the idea, he drew a sleeve back and punched the wall just behind the headboard with such brutality and force that it shook her, literally. A slight smear of blood could be visibly seen against the stark whiteness of the wall and she gazed at his fist and as her sight traveled up his exposed hand, her brows raised and a breath choked her.

For she saw that his forearm was riddled with scars- a canvas that a knife so cruelly carved out. Some scars seemed to be freshly reopened or inflicted. It was then she realized that Elijah never wore any clothes that would expose his limbs. He would always be in his usual working suit or, when the weather became too unbearable, a sweatshirt.

Never had she gave it anymore thought than that of personal fashion style. Now, she knew the reason why.

“Gosh…” Her hand reached out as if to touch the wounds but he was too far away, at the other side of the room. She wished Isaiah was there instead, Isaiah would know what to do, would know how to let those big-brother instincts that he wrenchingly suppressed take over. She did not know with what pen or plot Fate wrote her life with such that, somehow, she was always the sole witness to Elijah’s outburst.

And she could not handle it- helpless in her lack of understanding.

He glowered at her with narrowed eyes- eyes that shot chilling electricity through her veins. Threatening her. He was threatening her with soundless menace for her to keep her mouth shut at what her eyes had seen.

She gulped as he brushed past her and walked out of the door. But he did not go back to his room. Pausing for only less than a second, he raced down the stairs instead.

Damn, damn, damn!

He drove recklessly and aimlessly in the rented Toyota around Eaeshore, chewing on his left thumb’s nail. Why did he even enter her room? Could not he just pass her the tissue and leave? Halfway through her rant on loneliness, she resurrected a ghost from his past and somehow, all that happened afterwards, were all lost to him, with only the remembrance of kissing her loitering behind, giving voice to the Judas in his mind.

How can you betray me so?

But he was not kissing her, no, he was kissing the apparition that danced before his eyes, seducing him with its tears; hypocrite’s tears. The apparition who won his heart and bare his soul- the two items which he jealously hid from everybody for motives unknown even to him. After she had her fun, she trampled on them with her Ferragamo stilettos, gloating and laughing at his broken pathetic pleas, making him feel cheaper and further tainted than he already was.

“Damn!” Elijah cussed out loud when words failed him. He pulled the car to a sudden stop and leaned back against the rough, cushioned seat. Breathing in deeply, he suddenly chuckled. For all his iciness that everybody seemed to hate and took as a personal offense to themselves, he might be fired and saddled with heavy compensation for a vastly different reason instead- sexual harassment.

Oh. Just as well.

Soaking in his surroundings, he realized that he was back at the small little café where he and Isaiah shared a few meals together out of necessity. The café which was just right in front of the car park where Isaiah got shot.

Poor Isaiah. Never saw it coming, did you? How many times were you shot yet? I have a bullet scar on my left shoulder, a trophy from my last case with the FBI chasing yet another serial killer. Want to trade scar stories?

“Never saw it coming…” he whispered as a sudden thought hit him. The high voltage of excitable knowledge shocked his system, pushing him into action.

Elijah threw open the car door and strode purposefully towards the small café.

It was closed for the night. Glancing at his watch, Elijah saw that it was already slightly past one in the morning. Along the whole stretch of the lane the café was situated it there was only one flickering streetlamp guarding it gloomily with its dying light. Thus, the café, at the outer orbit of the circular halo of artificial light benefited more from the omnipresent moonshine which, on that night, was wanting.

Elijah knew the velvet darkness would shield him from discovery.

He quickly did a final check with his penlight and saw that the café was not protected by any cameras or alarms as he was trained to identify in most common shapes and forms. Using his lock-pick, he fiddled with the lock and was surprised to find it extremely simple- too simple for a commercial premise or any kind.

Eaeshore must have been an extremely boring town with no extraordinary happenings prior to the killings. So mundane and insipid that everyone took safety and routine for granted and precautions measures against even the simplest crimes were not taken. Creeping inside the cafe, he shut the door gently behind him and flashed his penlight at the usual table which he and Isaiah would sit, joined once by Lynn.

Any evidence could already be gone…

But maybe not. Worth a try…

“My boyfriend too. College workload. But it gives me more time for myself anyway”

He made his way to the table with careful haste. Clicking his penlight off because it was no longer necessary and would only be a liability if he allowed it to pierce sharply into the blackness for longer than needed, he pocketed it back and found himself much happier without its aid. Once again, he was at home with the night.

Running his hands underneath the table, he felt an alien lump, no bigger than perhaps two cm in diameter stuck somewhere in the centre. Pulling it out, he realized it was planted there- a magnetic bug.

Stupid of us to discuss the case and give our identities away in such a public place. Stupid of us.

Stupid of her to still leave the traces here.

Morning will come soon. And we’ll have the answer, won’t we, Lijah?

Chapter 20

Elijah clicked away the message, smiling sardonically, feeling a weight being lifted off his chest. So, she was going to work in the background again. That suited him fine. But the last sentence of her message was ominous. He better solve the case before Gray decided to step inside Isaiah’s shoes and he would have one more bug to deal with.

Bug.

The black cloth was unveiled and revealed the bright morning sky with its fluffy clouds, languidly drifting along and their shapes forever changing into something else, indecisive about the forms they wanted to take. Elijah stepped out of the Toyota which he had spent the night in and looked up at the sky, squinting his eyes against the stabbing rays. He saw one that seemed shaped like an angel but as it floated past him, it grew horns and from a different angle, Elijah saw a devil.

There were two sides to everyone. A good side and an evil side. Most people were generally all right, stumbling into the limbo. For those who crossed over, it was a ride that would damn their very soul, unless they could pull themselves out of it.

Or until someone takes them away. If no one takes them away, they rot and grow mould. And can we then blame them for becoming the way they are? Maybe, they were dumped on that side by circumstances that they cannot control.

He entered the café and absorbed in the morning crowd. Actually, the café was even emptier than he remembered. The shooting in the car park behind must had frightened regulars away for a while.

The waitress was not to be found. Elijah walked up to the counter where the café’s owner was counting the money in the cash register and mumbling softly to himself.

“Hello.”

“Yah?” The owner looked up and when he recognized Elijah, he did a double-take. “You’re the man… with the other guy who got shot! I should have known! You outsiders, always bringing trouble into our peaceful little town… the serial killing must have been started by the likes of you too! What are you doing here? Get out before I call the police.” The portly owner cheeks reddened in antagonism and slammed the cash-register drawer shut with one hand, pointing sharply at the door with the other.

“I will just like to know where’s the girl with the sun-bleached brown hair.” Elijah patiently requested, disaffected. He came here for an answer and he would not leave until he get his answer.

“What girl? Why should I tell you?” The owner snapped and it was then Elijah flashed the FBI card.

“You will tell me.”

Somehow, the mark of authority changed the man’s attitude. He scrutinized the card and scowled a little. “You’ll be looking for Alicia Calloway. She called in sick.”

“Only today?” Elijah pressed on, not believing in coincidences.

“No. Since the day after the shooting. She was very shaken, poor girl. Never seen violence in her whole life before. Now, can you just leave?” The owner waved Elijah away like a pest. Elijah stood where he was and took out his notepad.

Never believe in coincidences.

“And you’ll tell me where she stays...” He droned on as he drew the pen out from the pen clasp on top of the notepad.

Alicia Calloway stayed in a rundown apartment, just two streets away from where Mrs. Sanders resided in. It seemed to Elijah that the first frays of the languorous town were all clustered together; their tattering pulling the rest of the town slowly, insidiously to unravel the rest of the fading garment into nothingness.

Elijah pondered over the eventuality that she might have split. A day in between investigations and the shooting presented more than enough time for her to leave- maybe not out of America, unless she had a comprehensive escape route- but definitely out of Eaeshore.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

After knocking on her door for a prolonged period, Elijah was beginning to sense that something was amiss. He pressed his ear to the door and heard no sound, only the hollow echoes of air. Taking out his mobile, he dialed for Jacob Stern.

“Yes?” The veteran police detective picked up his call on the second ring of which Elijah was rather thankful for.

“I want your man to keep a look-out for a girl called Alicia Calloway, about 5 feet 9, brown eyes, brown hair with bleached highlights and freckles across her cheeks. I know it’s not much to go on but I suspect that she may be involved in the killings.” Elijah went right to the point and was about to disconnect when Stern managed to squeeze in a question in the terse exchange.

“Alicia Calloway? The sweet young thing who works in the café down by Stilt Road? And is that you Elijah?”

“Yes to both.”

“Why Alicia? Ok… you must have your reasons. Sorry about your brother… he ok now?” Stern’s voice was all baffled asking about the suspect before it was dressed up with the annoying sympathy and concern. Elijah scorned at Stern inwardly but stopped, recognizing that he was deriding himself. Besides, he had been co-operative, not asking him more about the Alicia than he would want him to at this point in time.

Friendly waitress. The whole town must have known her.

“Hmm…” He clicked the connection off before Stern could waste another second on needless consolations. Focusing on the door in front of him, he set to work again- picking the lock.

As usual, the lock-picking was easy. The difficult part was conceptualizing what one would find inside. Elijah did not know Alicia well and thus, he had no pre-determined notion of what he would discover. However, in the few seconds that he entered her room, he was assured that she had not skipped town for her wardrobe was opened and brimming over with clothes.

She lived in a small apartment that had no rooms, only an empty space for the resident’s imagination to utilize. Her freshly made single-bed was covered over by a flowery bedspread and an empty photo-frame had toppled over the night-table- its back cover detached from its main body.

He approached the bathroom, stopping by the small folding table which doubled up as a study and dining table from the self-help books, mostly on beauty and personal grooming, and half-eaten plate of croissant he observed on it. He touched the coffee cup just next to the plate and smiled grimly- it was still warm. Drawing out his gun, he cautiously entered the toilet, a miserable lot too small for anyone over 200 pounds. Pulling the shower curtains aside, his adrenaline was let down by the sight of a empty space and blank grey tiles.

When he returned to the living space, a slight gust of wind blew and he walked against the zephyr and drew the full-length curtains apart to reveal a row of windows, on of it fully opened. There was a small balcony beneath the half-length windows; leading to the fire ladder. Since the ladder was released, he knew her means of escape.

Climbing out of the window and racing down the fire escape, he exited the apartment and onto the streets in no time at all. Turning left and right, he saw nothing but deserted streets. An old couple was sitting down on a bench to his left, underneath a bulb-less streetlamp. A yellow paper bag danced in the breeze in front of him and fallen brown leaves rustled along the side of the dusty roads.

Elijah had the sudden sensation of being in a ghost town- empty and prohibiting. The apparitions of the victims floated with the waft and he could literally smell the destitution, further cursed by them. The killer was out there and the person who could lead him to crack the case, so he could leave this pitiful, isolated town, slipped out of his grasp so easily.

Clenching his fists, he turned and hurried for his car. Alicia Calloway- she was the odd one out. In all their investigation, they had never chance her name or her face. To them, she was the harmless, feather-brained waitress with the same, impractical dreams of making it big as an actress.

But she had bested the both of them. She had bested Elijah.