Nine Swords

Mood music:


Taking on the veil

I still remember how I cast away my life after I came back from Tokyo. It felt ironic that, after struggling to lift so many veils hiding the truth, I was now going to put one in place myself.

When I took my new papers in my hand and looked at the name, it felt strange. “Maxime Deveaux” was not a bad name to take; however, a part of me felt as if I was betraying my origins and my ancestors. “It will help you go on with your life. There could be other Shiro supporters out there that we don’t know of. He was famous for recruiting fanatics”, Yasu explained.

In hindsight, he was right. Taking on another identity helped me make this invisible transition between the past and the present and move forward. I was able to complete my university degree in arts, as I had first intended. Having no inclination toward the “starving artist” stereotype, I started working as a portrait artist for the police department.

Working with crime witnesses was an unusual experience, requiring more than my skill with a pen. With the help of Sally, one of the police officers, I was able to support the witnesses with the traumatic process of remembering, in order to help them give a more accurate description of the suspects.

Over time, Sally became a friend. I still had difficulties letting people too close. All these conversations that are so casual for normal people were filled with landmines for me, with everything that I had to keep hidden. However, Sally wasn’t the prying type, more focused on the present than on the past. Besides, she had sufficient insight to gauge someone’s personality without having to run an inquisition on them. This made her an excellent officer to deal with the crime witnesses.

I settled in with the department. Some of the officers invited me to try out the shooting range. I eventually went along, more to make them stop asking than out of personal inclination. To my surprise, I did decently, once I overcame the noise. I soon started to discover that I enjoyed the discipline.

I liked the focus, the stillness just in this second before pressing the trigger, when you know the moment is perfect. I enjoyed when the target slid forward on the rail, revealing bullet holes where I intended to make them. At first, I was attending the shooting range for the precision and discipline required. I realized later that this activity awakened dormant dispositions that have proven useful.

For some years, life went on without much bumps besides the usual ones. I was finally able to enjoy a “normal” life.

---------------

“Hey Max, what did Dooder want?” Sally popped behind my chair. I spun on the chair to face her. “Hey Sally. Nothing special, he wanted to know if I’d stop by the shooting range after my shift.” Sally stood there, a little knowing smile lifting the corners of her lips: “Uh huh…” My shoulders dropped: “What?…” She shook her head slowly with a gentle laugh. “Oh, come on, Max… Don’t tell me you didn’t notice how he looks at you…” I stared at her. “Err… actually, I, um, I didn’t…” Sally tilted her head forward a bit and blinked. “You’re kidding, right?”

I leaned back in my chair with a sigh. “I’m not looking for someone, Sal… I don’t mind the playful flirting but too many men can’t make the difference between playful flirting and actually hitting on someone. And even among those who do, there’s still a large chunk who are plagued with this unfitting sense of property in relationships… No. Believe me, I really don’t need the complication.” She shrugged. “Fair enough. But if you wait too long before starting to look for someone, all the good ones will end up taken.” She winked and grinned.

I rolled my eyes with a smile. “The world is vast enough, I’d rather avoid fooling around the payroll. Besides, I believe I will meet the right person in due time, so I’m not rushing it. Also, I enjoy my life as it is, thank you very much!” I gave her a large smile and she dropped her head. “Okay, you win. So, will you stop by the shooting range after your shift?”, she asked, smiling impishly. I laughed out loud, causing a few heads to turn toward my cubicle. “…Maybe”, I said. She snapped two fingers straight in a goodbye gesture before gingerly stepping away.

Mood music:


World go round, word go ‘round

Finishing my art studies has been both a satisfaction and a heartache. Taking the identity of Maxime Deveaux implicitly entailed that I would not go out of my way to make anything on the public scene. I had to participate in the graduate exhibition, but I conveniently had a bad case of flu while it lasted, so I did not attend the “meet and greet” part and some subsequent events taking place the next few days.

It was the sad side of it. Sharing my creations was forbidden. Taking part in exhibitions could, in the hypothetical case that I would gain any fame out of it — put my cover at risk. The Secret World is a small world. Word gets around. Even if highly hypothetical, I have been strongly advised not to take part in art exhibitions and to keep a low profile. My only hope was that one day, I could once again live under my real name. Meanwhile, I had to pretend.

This is how I ended up working at the police department. Being a portrait artist was letting me use arts, to an extent. I discovered however that I did enjoy working with the people I met, despite the unusual circumstances. In a strange way, it helped quench my thirst for truth. It also opened my eyes on a broad array of humanity’s misery.

Being on the “safe” side of the fence for a few years was quite the change for me, one that I ferociously enjoyed. During this period, I can say I bloomed. After having lived as a careful mouse, I could open up to the world and the people around me, at least in my demeanor, if not in my confessions. However, I still cannot shake hands. This has stayed with me to this day. I use the Japanese bow instead.

Truth is, shaking hands is extremely uncomfortable to me. I pick up more than I want to know from such contact and I’m concerned about the reciprocity of it. I may not be the only one.

---------------

Years went by and I dated a few men for a few months each. Most of the time, it was an attempt at some kind of conversion to their set of values, each of them having a different set. In some cases, it was cultural, in all cases it was reductionist. I had no wish to shrink again, this time to fit into the box in which my “wanna be” partner would have me fit. I could obviously not explain to any of them why I wanted to be free so much, after living in an invisible prison of caution, my family stalked by the fixation of a powerful man. The Secret World is a small world and word goes around. I would not be the first to spread it. So I broke up with each of them with ethereal explanations of how my soul was not singing with them, which was actually completely true. I remained single during the largest part of my employment at the police department. It was for the better, as it allowed me to work my strange hours without having to apologize to a significant other.

I had established my routine, I had my regular sessions at the gym for my martial arts training and I became a regular of the shooting range. It was not my favorite thing but in presence of a firearm, I consider better to know the beast.

My apartment was my sanctuary. There, I could hang my works to the walls at my leisure. My sculptures were scattered around the different rooms and I could make this place the way I like it. I had even managed to set up a small water garden in the bathroom by getting smaller but stacking washer and dryer machines, freeing a spot near the bath. It was completely worth it.

Sally, one of the very rare people I have let in my apartment, was in love with it. “If you ever leave your flat, you tell me first, and only then you tell the building owner!” Truth is, I had managed to make it a quite comfortable nest to rest my wings when I came back from work. After working at drawing presumed offenders, I could find balance back by bathing in beauty, peace and calm.

And so my world went round for some years. I was at peace, probably because I was single. I had turned 31 years old, had a steady job, some chosen friends, a nice place to live, and relative safety as long as I would be mindful of the veil I had to keep up.

Then, the killings started.

Mood music:


Hand on heart

I remember this period as a very dark one for the police department. Officers pulled overtime, detectives stayed late at night or simply slept at their desk... Everyone was trying their best to keep their spirits up but it was not easy. Many in the department started talking about arguments they had at home. It was taking its toll on everybody.

First, it was the abductions; people vanishing without anything that seemed to link them to one another. It quickly became a priority after the disappearances multiplied rapidly. The victims were of all ages, both genders. The modus operandi could not be determined, except that all victims were alone at the time of disappearances, or had gone out of sight of those who were with them. We were going paranoiac. Nobody would go back to their car alone, those who were usually walking to work or using public transportation arranged to be accompanied when going to work or back home after their shift. That was only fear. After six weeks, horror came.

When they receive a call reporting a horrible stench and requesting the police to unlock a door, the officers answering the call always make sure to bring nasal cream to fight the smell and sickness bags. Nothing prepared them for what they found.

The location was a hangar and neighbors were complaining about the smell. Summer was not forgiving and the heat was harrassing. When we received the call to go at the hangar, there were several of us who were on duty, but I drove with Sally. The neighbors who called were on location and my task was to gather any recollection of individuals they may have, in order to hopefully come up with a useful sketch.

As we got closer, Sally handed me a little container. “Put some right under your nostrils...” she said to me. The powerful smell of the cream was overwhelming. When the car door opened and the heat rushed inside the car, the smell did as well. My bowels knotted and I started gagging. I managed to tell Sally that I couldn't do it. “Stay in the car. What's over there is probably worse.” I was so grateful to be spared the “visit”. After putting some more cream under my nostrils, I waited for her in the car, looking around; however, my eyes kept going back to the hangar.

The large sliding door was ajar. The officers were discussing with the neighbors on their porch, Sally among them. The D.I. and the coroner were inside the police perimeter, examining the site, kneeling, looking for clues. Then they slid the door open to get inside the hangar. Glenn and Dooder were next to the police ribbon; they quickly put their hand over their mouth. Dooder rushed to the fence and bent in half, his fingers gripping the fence. There went his lunch. To avoid our gaze crossing when he would look if many people saw him, I looked away.

Turning my eyes to the street, my blood chilled. In the middle of the street, a man was standing, wearing a dark grey suit and a bow tie. He was in plain sight but I could not see his eyes, his hat casting a shadow on his face. His pale face. He put a hand on his heart and clutched his fingers. I startled and yelped when Sally opened the car door. I cringed at the smell, gagging again. When she slumped on the front seat and closed the door, the man was gone. I widened my eyes and shuddered when I realized he was probably never there. I just stayed there, wide eyed, trying to reconcile reality with what I just saw.

Sally slumped on the front seat and closed the door. She rubbed a scented wet wipe in her hair and threw it on the floor, slouching in the seat. “...Shit.
— What's going on?
— I think we found our missing people...
— In there?
— Mm hmm... Well, parts of them.”

She stopped talking. A few moments later, it dawned on me... Parts. With an “s”. The new wave of heat that entered the car with Sally didn't help me and I had to quickly grabbed a sickness bag. When I regained some of my composure. I looked at her. “What did they find in there?...
— A mess. A crazy mess. Some sick bastard decided to hold a little black celebration, pentacle, candles, the whole nine yards... and he piled hearts in the middle.
— H-Hearts?...”

The hair stood in the back of my neck and a long wave of goosebumps ran from head to toe. She turned to me. “Lucky for you, nobody has any description to offer, so you won't have to go out and meet them...” I didn't say a word, but quickly grabbed my sketching pad and my pencil. I started drawing the man I've seen standing in the street a few moments before Sally came back in the car.

Back at the station, we hurried to the gym lockers to wash off the smell that stuck to our clothing and hair. When we came back, I told Sally I has something to show her. I asked her to promise she wouldn't laugh or think I'm crazy. She followed me to my desk and I showed her my drawing. “What is it?”, she asked, slightly shaking her head. I told her that the man was there up to the moment she came back in the car, then vanished suddenly, adding that this was when I grabbed my sketch pad to draw him.

Sally didn't laugh, but stared at me. “Mind if I take this a moment?” I shook my head and handed her my sketching pad. She turned her heels, heading toward the inspector's office. “Wait right here!” she said over her shoulder and she dashed in the D.I.'s office.

Mood music:


Insidious effects

The analysis showed that twenty-seven hearts had been gathered in the first hangar for what seemed to be an occult ceremony. According to the profiler, it was likely we would hear again from whoever was behind this.

Another location was discovered about two months later. Thankfully, our vehicle was parked further away from the crime scene, unlike the last time. Potential witnesses were sent to us and sat in the car to give what little account they had.

The paranoia that had taken hold of us had started to fade, not expecting another episode of madness. How could it be conceivable to perform such horrors, let alone to do even worse a second time? Nobody was ready for this.

In the car with us was a lady who was assigned to accompany us, called Madame Serena. I doubt this was her real name but it was the only name I ever heard used for her. She stayed in the car, mostly observing, taking notes.

After we were done with the witnesses, Sally went back out again, leaving me in the car with Madame Serena. I decided to strike up a conversation and asked what her specialty was. She said very simply “I am a medium”. I was expecting this. She did not look the part, or at least the idea I was having of it.

I asked how she was brought in the investigation, she replied, as straight forwardly, that the D.I. called her and showed her my “drawing”. I asked what she thought of my “sketch”, since it was not a drawing by definition, and she candidly said it was looking good. Surprised by how she understood my question, I clarified. “...Oh! I didn't mean that... I meant what did you think of the man I saw — ”

I had meant to say “drawn”, not “saw”. I closed my eyes, silently cursing myself. Before I could add anything, she said “They're always dressed like that”. I looked at her. “I'm sorry?...” She continued. “The ghosts. They're always dressed like the one you sketched.” I asked if she knew why. “I don't know”, she said. “They just do. The man you saw is dead. That's why I'm here.” I had lost my taste for striking up a conversation and we remained silent. I sketched idly while waiting for Sally to come back.

The director had warned the department. The case was complicated enough, especially with a medium working with the police department. No leak to the media, no anonymous interview, nothing, or the person responsible would be found and duly fired. Now that a medium was working with the department, it was even more sensitive. Journalists love to play on despair to make headlines. They would jump to the conclusion that the investigation methods of the police department were inefficient and “baffles the police to the point that they had to call upon a medium”... The journalists were told that the hearts were lamb hearts. This allowed the department to be more forthcoming and many facts to be credible. A few journalists speculated that it was tied to the wave of disappearances that started about two months before, but were laughed at when the police released that it was lamb hearts.

Sally finally came back to the vehicle. She had a bad complexion. Whatever they found in there, it was not pretty. She had a grim expression on her face and I thought wiser not to inquire on the topic.

Before the end of our shift, I invited Sally home for dinner. “Yeah, why not... I don't really feel like seeing Gary tonight. Just make sure there's wine. Two bottles should do...” She drove me back home and came up. I served us a glass of white wine which Sal welcomed with a heartfelt “Thanks, Max”, put on some smooth music to soothe our nerves and went behind the kitchen counter while she was sitting at the table, her feet kicked under.

While preparing some artichoke, olive and lemon salmon, I asked about Gary. She answered vaguely, obviously having other things on her mind. I put the rice on the stove and the salmon in the over and came to sit with her.

“I mean, Gary's nice, don't get me wrong... But I we're not really close enough yet to let me see on a down. He doesn't realize what it means to date a police officer, not yet. I don't know...” She had the same tone than when she was thinking out loud, her eyes staring off idly.

“Sal... If you want to have something serious with a man one day, you'll have to stop hiding what you feel. Only him can decide if he loves you enough to take you with the ups and the downs both”, I said gently.

She looked at me with her sarcastic eyebrow twitching. “Yeah, I can totally picture that... He'll arrive and playfully say 'Honey, I'm hoooome!' and then I kiss him and tell him what a great day I had at finding severed and mutilated body parts... Awesome setting for a romantic dinner, ain't it...”

I nodded but didn't give up so easily. “Indeed. Tonight, there will be a nice dinner without a romantic evening, followed by an evening with a friend who has a clue. So, cheers?”

That managed to pull a smile out of her, shaking her head. “Alright, fair enough. Cheers, missy!”

The food was ready in no time and though Sally was hesitant about her stomach's receptivity, the first bites were highly convincing. The dinner helped her mood; mine as well.

After dinner, we had some “girl talk”. I was keeping our glasses from running empty, and the second bottle was on its way to be downed. Inevitably, Sally ended up talking about the day's dreadful events.

The second crime scene was much rougher on people's stomachs than the first crime scene was. The details are so gruesome that I prefer not to recall them too acutely; I will only say that the revulsion of this crime haunted me for a very long time, quite literally.

She said they found a pentacle with candles at each end, once again. This time though, bowels had been strung like garlands around the pentacle. Nine hearts were found, not as many as the first location. The hearts had been partially burned in a bronze brazier. Nine skulls were also found. They had been emptied and peeled clean off. There was a possibility that they may have been washed.

The size of the skulls is what drew the officers' attention. Among the nine, three of them were noticeably smaller. This led them to examine the hearts closer and they found three of smaller size as well. This was when many officers rushed outside to remit their latest meal.

I remember how it felt when it dawned on me. Children. The implications of how they died started creeping up in my head and I had to quickly find a way to keep these thoughts at bay. I realized at that moment how much Sally's job was unpleasant, at times.

“Oh dear god... I'm so sorry, Sally... What kind of monster can do that? It's... not human.
— We don't know. The only clue we have is the description of a hooded man... Hooded, for crissakes. A faceless ghost, that's what we're chasing...
— Maybe this medium will help us where investigation methods cannot go.
— I hope so. The profiler said whoever did this has refined the technique from the previous slaughter... He's likely to be perfecting whatever it is he's doing. So he's probably not done yet...”

She took a long sip, finishing her glass, which I refilled right away as she was holding it out. She continued.

“It's not our average manslaughter. We don't have a motive like in usual murder cases, like jealousy, profit, gang contract... This is something else. We don't have occult specialists in our department...
— I thought Madame Serena was brought in for that reason...?
— That's a shot in the dark. We have no idea if that's even going to give any result. And that's the painful truth: we're now relying on completely ethereal sources where scientific and investigative techniques are utterly failing. Not like we can feed that to the journalists...”

I cringed at the thought. Indeed, they couldn't, at least not during the course of the investigation.

“We will nail that bastard.”, she concluded. I raised my glass and met it with hers. “I hope so.”

Mood music:


Deer in headlights

Other horror sites were discovered. There were less victims each time, but the atrocity of the scenes remained. Everyone in the department was affected, and it was taking its toll of paranoia on everybody. Sally started to spend more nights in my apartment, not wanting to go home. The medium, Madame Serena, was coming with us each time a new murder scene was found, related to this strange affair. What was the most disturbing to me was not the crimes or that a medium accompanied us. It was the man I first sketched.

That morning, I woke up at almost 11 am, being on my day off. Sally had spent the night over. When I got up, I found the sofa-bed retracted and the bedsheets neatly folded on it. She had left quietly to let me sleep in. So I took a shower, had a brunch and decided to go out, to touch ground with the ordinary reality.

Spent almost two hours in Archambault, wandering around the three floor store, browsing through artists and authors. I came out with a few CDs of blues and jazz that I had been missing, and an espionage novel by Tom Clancy. I walked up to Square St-Louis and sat down with my book and a coffee I had grabbed from a coffee shop.

It had been a lovely afternoon. I decided to prolong the goodness by having dinner in a little Korean restaurant, a family owned business. The décor was simple but the meal was absolutely exquisite. When I came out of the restaurant, the sun was gone, the last lights of sunset slowly fading out. I shouldered the strap of my bag across my chest and proceeded to the nearest subway station to go back home. Almost one hour later, I exited to the street.

I was lost in thoughts, following my usual path out of habit, when a chiming sound caught my ear. I raised my eyes, trying to find where that came from.

I saw him.

I froze, standing still, a chill running down my spine. My feet were leaden to the ground. The man from my sketch was about fifty feet ahead of me on the sidewalk, facing an alley. I knew that alley, I was passing in front of it every day though I never used it.

As if watching a movie in slow motion, I saw him raise his arm to point at the alley. My eyes were locked on him, refusing to follow the direction he was pointing out. A storm of thoughts rushed through my head. I don't want to look. I don't want to see what is in this alley. I will not go there.

The imminence of danger made my hair stand on my neck. I looked down at my bag, rummaging nervously through it to dig up my phone. I pushed the quick dial button for Sally. When I looked up, the anachronistic ghost was gone and Sally picked up the call.

“Oh my god Sally! I need help! I'm in near the alley not far from my place... Sally, I just saw the man I sketched! He was right here and pointing at the alley... I'm scared! I might be in danger...”

A loud clash made me yelp and jump, sending my phone flying in the air. I watched, wide eyed, as it bounced against a car parked on the side of the street before crashing on the concrete sidewalk.

Realizing that my link with rescue had just been severed, I felt a wave of panic swell up from deep down inside. I was petrified. I wanted to run, but I was afraid of what I could encounter if I dashed forward. As for going back... The streets were more deserted in the stretch I had just passed. I felt trapped.

I slowly, carefully moved back from the alley and closer to the street light. Don't stay in the shadows, make sure you're seen. My heart was pounding in my chest. Sally knows where you are. Help is on the way...

As this thought was crossing my mind, I heard footsteps further ahead. I flattened myself against the light pole, hiding behind it, hoping to be less visible to whoever was coming. A silhouette emerged from the alley. I held my breath. I only had one eye peaking from behind the light pole. The man's face was concealed in shadows under a hoodie. I felt my throat tightening. At that moment, I heard a car approaching behind.

Panic swelled up some more. If I move, he will see me... What if that car is the assassin's accomplice? I slowly looked down, pretending to look for something in my bag with the help of the street light. After the car passed me and kept going, I looked toward the hooded man.

He was gone.

I quickly covered my mouth to muffle a sob I was unable to hold back. I started looking at the doors, trying to see where I could knock for help. I turned to look on the other side of the street and I felt the air leave my lungs. There he was, standing still. By the way his hood was oriented, I knew he was staring at me. I still could not see his face.

A taxi came down the street, this time from the opposite direction. The streets had never felt narrower. My heart sank: there was nowhere to run. The cab slowed down and stopped just a few cars before where the man was standing. He dug in his pocket, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. His hand was protecting the flame, hiding the lower part of his face. Only his eyes visible, pitch black and shining like polished onyx, staring at me. Then the flame vanished.

After a few moments, the cab door opened and the passenger came out. A lady wearing a scarf on her hair stood on the sidewalk. You could play a deer in headlights, you'd be good in that role. I had no idea where that thought came from and I shook my head. I saw the hood turn toward the woman, his upper body starting to turn... I gasped, suddenly realizing I've been holding my breath. I wanted to shout at her to go away but before I could do it, I saw the woman's head snap toward the man, who stopped. She kept looking at him. He seemed to hesitate, then he turned around and walked down the street. The hood turned toward me and for a moment, I could almost feel a snarl coming from the shadowed face.

The lady crossed the street toward me and when she pulled back her scarf, I broke down in tears. I was shaking like a leaf. “Oh, sweetie, it's okay, I'm here now...” Madame Serena wrapped an arm around my shoulders, her words of comfort skipping my reason to go straight to my soul. Her presence soothed my grated nerves. I eventually calmed down and wiped my tears with the back of my sleeves.

When I finally spoke, my voice was hoarse. I asked if Sally had contacted her. She shook her head. I was puzzled. “What are you doing here?...” She didn't answer, but instead, she dug in the pocket of her trench and pulled out her closed hand from which a golden chain was hanging. She opened her hand and slid the chain around my neck. It was a small locket. Before I said anything, she raised her palm.

“Wear it at all times.
— What is it?...
— Your life insurance”, she said.