During 2012 I wrote a series of noir/pulp style stories about the private investigator “Father Black”. Working in Monstropolis, the decaying urban center of the free world, this Satanic free agent becomes more and more bitter by the day. And night. The entire world, including his own, is falling to pieces. People around him always show their very worst sides, whether he wants it or not. Yet he still has an inherent sense of justice, one that moves beyond corrupt legislation and existing structures. Embracing his own shadow and trusting his own common sense more than any established morals, Father Black is a dark force to be reckoned with. When Father Black is on a case, there will be justice. It’s not going to be pretty but, then again, what is pretty in a world like his?
FATHER BLACK: OUT OF THE TWILIGHT
– Father Black?
– Speaking.
– Good. This is Captain Hollow, from downtown. We met some years ago, I think. You remember, the case with the…
– … The butchered baseball player. I remember. I remember you.
– I’m happy to hear it. I hope we can let bygones be bygones now though. Something big’s come up. And… Well, we have an odd one over here.
– I can be there in an hour.
– Happy to hear it. Believe me, I’m not buttering you, Father Black. We really need you this time.
– Happy to hear it.
I wasn’t really too thrilled to hear from either downtown or this particular moron. It had been some two months since I last worked for the Monstropolis Police Department, and I had been doing just fine. My financial situation could have been better, sure, but that’s always the case. Another trip into their shallow and causal world could pay off, and this I both knew and needed.
I put some coffee on and took a steaming, hot shower. My brain started heating up too. The last time hadn’t been so good. The cops had forced me into action I didn’t want to be a part of. The case, a set-up ripping the rug from under a medium-fry narcotics trader, was all done according to my design. I had helped the cops understand the machinations, helped them see the patterns of thought, helped them see the big picture. As usual, they were nearsighted.
On some kind of sadistic whim, officer in charge Captain Adam Petersen had cajoled me to come along to the actual bust, although I wasn’t officially on the force. Not surprisingly with these urban cowboys, all hell broke loose and I took a slug, tearing up my left shoulder. Not too bad, but still… It wasn’t my bullet. When the smoke faded, and Mr. Medium Drug Lord’s body was splattered all over his coke-dusted desk, I punched Petersen’s face, heard his nose crack and then fainted. ”You motherfucking Satanist asshole…” Petersen’s words faded quickly.
The fresh coffee woke me up. I got dressed, breathed deeply, focused. Before leaving my small and far too messy apartment, I looked in the mirror right next to the front door. A depressing image of a middle-aged man, tired, worn out, slightly pudgy. Not a happy picture. But there was something there I still appreciated. At least I could see something in my eyes, a spark, a gleaming reflection of intelligence in motion. I wasn’t dressed to kill, far from it. But it was obvious to me that I was hell-bent on manifesting justice.
As I entered the police station, the guys at the front desk smiled at me.
– Welcome back. You not dressed in black today?, one of them laughed.
– That’s right. Me not dressed in black today.
The cop, an Asian, ceased smiling. Maybe he had taken offense? I couldn’t care less. I walked up the stairs to Hollow’s office on the third floor and knocked. Someone on the inside grunted and I opened the door. A solemn crew of overweight detectives nodded at me. Quite a crowd.
– So, what have we got?, I asked.
– You tell us, captain Hollow answered and pointed with his chubby index finger to the far wall.
I approached slowly. The wall was plastered with pictures. The overall collage colour effect was blood red. I watched the pictures while the cops watched me. A young woman was tied to a table with chains, lying on her back with her legs wide apart. Her abdomen has been sliced open, from her sex up to the chest. The bloody skin was sagging, as her body was apparently empty. No entrails, no stomach, no womb. Someone had emptied her out, clean (or not so clean) and simple. I was struck with the precision, amidst all the brutal gore. There was something a little too good about it, too precise, too… Conceived.
– So, what do you make of it?, Hollow asked and slowly pushed a styrofoam cup of hot coffee towards me.
– Well, there’s something bugging me…, I began and sat down by the table.
– Oh yeah?
– It’s so well done that…
– That what? Some kind of super-pro, you mean?, Hollow continued.
– Maybe. Someone who took his time at least. Diligence. Perseverance.
– You sure it’s a he then?
– Come on, Hollow. Who’s the chick?
– That’s another problem. We don’t know yet. We were thinking…
– Well, that’s a first, I laughed out loud.
– We were thinking, smartass, that you’d tell us.
Hollow said this in a quite menacing way that made me look around at the dreary assembly. Five detectives and three street beaters in a meeting on a murder case? Something wasn’t quite right here.
– How so?, I asked.
– Where were you last afternoon?, one of the other detectives asked me bluntly.
– You have got to be kidding.
– Does it look like I’m laughing? Where were you?
Wait, don’t answer, I thought to myself. Fast thinking. Someone was setting me up. Someone had left something at the scene. Someone, an enemy, an enemy… My, my, which one? My head was spinning. I sipped the scorching hot coffee to gain some thinking time.
– I was actually in a meeting with the antiquarian book collectors’ club all afternoon…
– That doesn’t sound very Satanic if you ask me… I’m sorry, Father Black, but you’re under arrest!
I twitched in my chair. What the hell was going on? Suddenly all of the assembled started laughing out loud. I couldn’t but stare at these idiots. They were asking for my help and had pulled my leg instead.
– Wow, I started. That was intensely funny.
They laughed it out. The joke was on me whether I liked it or not. Hollow patted me on my back.
– We’re sorry, he chuckled. We just wanted to check whether you still had your sense of humour. Obviously you don’t…
– Morons, I whispered between my teeth.
– OK, gentlemen, back to work, Hollow continued. This is what we have: A woman of approximately 20. Time of death, last afternoon. Cause of death, unclear at the moment, but most likely she bled to death. No sign of the entrails. Nothing left inside but lungs and heart. No rape. No signs, no prints. First hunch: ritual killing. See, there’s a pentagram drawn in blood on her chest. What do you make of it, Father Black?
I arose again and faced the wall. I looked at the big picture, all the assembled photos and then each one, close up.
– No. No ritual. It’s too clean. People involved in that kind of thing are ecstatic, sloppy, frenzied. This is a clean, clinical sweep, some kind of demonstration. There’s no clue to who she is?
Hollow shook his head. The others were watching me, as if I were going to reveal the killer’s name right there and then. No such luck. Father Black had spoiled them with previous successes.
– Nope. Noone heard anything. It’s one of those warehouse, self-storage space buildings for ordinary folks. Lots of people in and out. Someone saw the blood that had leaked.
– Any surveillance?, I asked.
– Nope. It’s not the best of those places. They have the cameras, but only for show. They don’t record anything.
– That’s pretty hot information for certain people on the streets, I said sardonically.
– Well, let’s not tell them then, Hollow countered.
– You getting anything?, the fattest of the fat detectives asked me, his voice sounding like two packs of unfiltered cigarettes a day.
– I’m getting this much: It’s not a crime of passion of any kind. No obsession, no frenzy, no excitement, nothing. The girl is insignificant, just an unlucky chick at the wrong place at the wrong time. The guy, or maybe guys… Mental, intellectual, conniving, thinking, constructing… It’s too clean. I’m getting… A copy cat… A show-off… The pentagram is too overt and thereby, I suspect, redundant.
We agreed to take a break and talk again in the evening. I was glad to be on board but felt I couldn’t really squeeze out any good ideas. Maybe I was out of practice? I stopped by one of my favourite restaurants, ”The hole in the wall” on Industrial Avenue. It was an old-fashioned greasy spoon that hadn’t changed in decades – if ever. The waitress, a jaded but proud woman in her fifties, had served me so many times we didn’t even need to speak. She put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me, along with more coffee. I nodded my thanks and looked out the window. Late afternoon and the sun was slowly and vaguely setting over our dirty city. The pavements were littered with remains of human gluttony, as well as with those humans responsible. Petty criminals just hanging around, scouting the regular folks. Working girls mechanically flirting with passers-by. Sad-faced workers on their way home or to the night shift. I remembered this particular section of town from when I grew up. The buildings were fairly new then, painted in bright colours and occasionally we could see the sky above. Not so anymore. Dark clouds hung low, from dawn until dusk.
As I ate, I watched a pimp with dirty hair and dirty looks on the other side of the street grab the arm of a girl in her early 20’s. Blonde, decent looker, not too messed up by drugs yet. What had made her expose herself to a low life among lowlifes, I wondered. Not that I really cared, but it was intriguing. What secret had driven her to a life of vice, in which she was public property? I realised as I sipped some coffee that I was thinking of the gutless girl on the photos at the same time. I watched them, still arguing. I decided to go with my hunch, or whatever it was. I got up, paid my bill and crossed the street.
– What you want?, the skinny pimp asked me, glassy-eyed and obvioulsy high on something.
– What’s it to you, punk?, I asked him.
– Fuck off!, he snarled.
– Cool it, cool it, the girl interrupted. What can I do for you, Sir?
– That’s better, I said. You, take a hike, punk.
The pimp walked backwards and showed me his middle-finger. I had a strong desire to grab his hand and break off his finger, but that could wait. For now, anyway.
– Got a room?, I asked her.
She nodded and we walked down a nearby side street. There was a sign saying ”The Queen of England’s Bed and Breakfast” beside a worn-out door with one bell. As imagined, it was just a front for short term leases of rooms of a primitive kind. One sink, one bed. I paid a guy in the hallway and inside we went. The room was stinky from previous happy tenants’ lustful activities so I decided to open the window. The girl sat down on the bed and started unbuttoning her blouse. I looked her over.
– How old are you?, I asked her.
– 19. Why?
– Oh, just curious.
– Curiosity killed the cat, right?
– Funny girl, huh?, I said.
She slid out of her jeans shorts. I looked at her naked body, exposed for my potential pleasure by this sweet, smiling creature. She still looked so untouched, unhurt, unsullied by her profession. I hoped she would stay that way but I knew that, unfortunately, she wouldn’t.
– Hear about the girl at the warehouse down the street?, I asked her.
– Sure… Why? Hey, you’re not some kind of freak, are you?
– Don’t worry, kid. What have you heard?
– A girl was raped and killed and… Well, it was nasty…
– Who’d do such a thing?, I asked her.
– I don’t know and even if I did I wouldn’t want to, so help me God, she replied silently.
She motioned to me to come closer. She then lay back on the bed and spread her legs. She didn’t know it of course, but it was more or less the same position as the dead girl’s. It was strange to see. I was seeing what the killer had seen, more or less the same. What would make me – or him – want to slice her up? Also, she hadn’t been raped… It was just… Very mysterious.
– Tell me a secret, kid. You on the pill?
She sat up again, frustrated with my lack of action.
– No. What’s that to you anyway?
– What would happen if you ever got pregnant?
– Most guys use rubbers. But I guess I’d get an abortion. I know some people.
– No remorse?
– Whatever. I just do what I have to do, she said bitterly.
I threw the girl her clothes and told her to get dressed. She looked at me as if I were crazy. Maybe I was? I gave her some money, more than she asked for. Back on the street, I thanked her.
– For what?, she asked.
As soon as I got home, I made myself a stiff Gin & Tonic and sat down on my couch. I couldn’t get that specific angle out of my mind. Why remove everything? For me, the abortion-angle loomed. The womb was the key thing here, not the entrails or the stomach. She couldn’t really have eaten anything provocative or forbidden to the extent that someone would go through the motion to remove the bowels. The womb, however, was another story. There might have been something, or should I say somebody, in there. I was startled back to clarity when the phone rang.
– Father Black, we have something, Hollow’s voice declared.
– Shoot.
– A girl is missing. Fits perfectly. It’s the daughter of someone you should know… Reverend O’Reilly…
– Is it her?
– Not sure yet. He reported her missing this afternoon, as she hadn’t come home last night. He’s worried sick of course. He’ll be down here later this evening, to… Well, to see the body.
– For the sake of courtesy, I hope it’s not his daughter, I said. He’s a creep, but noone deserves that.
– I’ll give you a call later. By the way, you got something for me?
– Not yet. I may be on to something though… Call me later.
I felt my mind drift a bit, probably because I wasn’t getting anywhere with this mystery dame. I decided to focus on all planes possible in my usual way. I went to my black altar, right beside my bed. I lit up a black candle and some heavy incense that quickly filled the bedroom. I undressed and sat down in the nude on a small Tibetan saddle-rug in front of the altar. I breathed deeply, relaxed, calmed down… I closed my eyes. What was I seeing? The girl on the table in superimposition with the girl on the bed. One open to be filled and one to be emptied out.
I twisted and turned all my hunches and ideas but they all boiled down to the same thing. This had to be about life in itself and the life which had been ripped out of the young girl. Who in his right mind so carelessly leaves something like a pentagram hastily drawn in blood? The usual: An idiot who hopes that other people are idiots too. If she was some kind of sacrifice, it was certainly not for the sake of redemption. It was a double murder, I was sure of that. And I would bet my money on the father of that unborn child. But what could cause such a violent reaction in a man, a father-to-be? Even if the girl had wanted the baby, that would hardly be a reason to kill them both? Or maybe she didn’t want the child, but he did? Even so, why the extreme measures?
Once my creative meditation was over, I celebrated with another Gin & Tonic. A balance of energies is always important. I felt good, relaxed. I had done what I could. I knew that the next phone call would be revelatory in a desired manner – one which would lead us onwards.
As I was dozing on the couch, the phone did indeed ring. Hollow sounded agitated, but in a constructive way.
– Now we know that the girl was indeed Irene O’Reilly, he said.
– The priest came over?
– Yup. Poor guy. Totally heartbroken. Never seen a man break down like that.
– Anything else?
– Not really, no. No traces, no clues, no nothing, basically. We’re tracking down what she did, who she met and so on, but so far, absolutely nothing. The father agreed to talk to us tomorrow. There’s a twin sister too, by the way.
– I’d like to be there, I said.
– OK. Just make sure to show the guy some respect. Don’t pull any of that Satanic funny business on him just because he’s a Christian, Father Black. Come down to the station at nine tomorrow and we can go there together.
– Alright. I have a feeling tomorrow will be a very interesting day.
Reverend O’Reilly was living in a large house just outside of town, where things started getting back to nature again and the city itself was just a dark, threatening bulge on the horizon. The cost of living here was high but these people could afford it. O’Reilly had been up for high positions in the Church but had, strangely, always stayed a little bit on the outside. He was regarded as a reactionary grey eminence, a man behind the scenes, an advisor to the religious top brass. The first time I heard of him, I immediately disliked him. But now I found myself agreeing with Hollow. There’s a time for contempt for people like this but right now wasn’t it.
– Thanks for coming, O’Reilly said as he ushered us into his living room.
– We’re sorry about the loss, Hollow said. We hope this won’t take long.
We sat down. I eyed O’Reilly. I don’t think he knew who I was and in many ways this was preferable. The Satanic Private Eye Father Black had to keep a low profile at times.
– This is officer Milton, by the way, Hollow lied and pointed at me.
– This is really so terrible, O’Reilly began. I’d appreciate if this was… How should I put it? Brief.
– Of course, Hollow replied. Tell me, had Irene been associating with anyone or anything out of the ordinary?
– I gave that girl a lot of freedom, the reverend sighed. Perhaps too much. She had strange friends and strange ideas. What can you do? There’s no order anymore. I think it must have been a cult of some kind.
– How so?, I asked him.
– Well, some occult devil-thing. Some maniac who wanted to get to me by hurting her or something. I don’t know… It’s just so terrible…
O’Reilly put his hands over his face. Hollow looked at me with an accusing look. I shrugged my shoulders.
– Sorry, Sir, but was she involved in anything like that… I mean, something occult?
– She never told me anything. You should look for some crazy devil worshippers. That must be it.
– Excuse me, may I use the restroom?, I asked and got up.
– Certainly. Out in the hallway, by the stairs.
I left Hollow with the priest and headed for the bathroom. I would have loved to sneak around a bit, but this was indeed a call of nature. I quickly glanced at some family portraits on the wall. No mother, always O’Reilly and the girls. Identical twins, blonde, blue-eyed, pretty. I opened the door to the bathroom, and found a girl in there. Not sitting down at all, but fully dressed and quickly pulling me inside. Before I knew it I was locked inside the bathroom with her. I recognised her from the photos I’d just seen: Irene O’Reilly’s twin sister.
– You a cop?, she whispered.
I just nodded, not wanting to go into my background at length. Also, the girl was in total shock.
– Calm down, I whispered. Calm down. What’s your name?
– Julia. I’m Irene’s sister.
– I’m sorry about what’s happened. But why this? What do you want?
– My father is a very powerful man. Be careful.
– Careful of what? Why? I’m not following you.
The girl looked up at me. I could tell she had something to say, but was terrified to say it. I didn’t want to waste my time.
– I have an open mind and I’m listening.
– Julia talked to me some days ago, she began. She was worried.
– Pregnant?
– How did you know?
– Just a hunch. What’s your hunch?
Suddenly we heard O’Reilly call for me. We both froze. I looked at Julia’s face. She was scared to death, I could tell that much.
– Has he ever hurt you?, I whispered.
Julia nodded. I put my finger over her soft lips and then flushed the toilet.
– Did he ever hurt your sister?
She nodded again. Julia pressed herself towards the wall as I opened the door, and then shut it quickly.
– Yes, I’m right here, Sir.
– Good… I thought perhaps you’d lost your way, O’Reilly said.
– Quite on the contrary, Sir. Quite on the contrary.
Back in the living room, O’Reilly was agitated and seemed to have momentarily lost his grief. I wished I could’ve somehow hinted to Hollow that this was our guy, but O’Reilly stole the show.
– I’m telling you, you need to check out all those occult groups and arrest them.
– What occult groups?, I asked.
– You know very well what I mean. Round them up. One of them killed my daughter. There was some sign, a pentagram, right? That’s the devil’s symbol. I don’t know what you’re waiting for…
– Maybe you’re right, Sir, I said and rose. Thank you for your time, we’re done.
Hollow seemingly couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. I’m sure he had a lot more questions but we got up and quickly left. Outside, in the car, Hollow was fuming.
– What the hell was that about? Are you insane? I actually had some questions for the guy, believe it or not!
– Listen carefully, Hollow. He’s our guy. I talked to the sister. She’s in there. She said he’s hurt them both. Know what? I think he made Irene pregnant and made it look like some insane occult killing.
– Are you completely out of your mind?, Hollow yelled.
– Let me ask you, Hollow… When he saw the body, had it been washed?
– Sure. I was right there. Actually, she looked even more horrible clean.
– Any sign of that pentagram?
– No, she was all clean.
– Did anyone mention the pentagram? Did he see any of the pictures?
– No. You’re saying…
– Exactly. How could he know?
Suddenly we heard a woman’s voice screaming inside the house. I looked at Hollow and punched his arm.
– I’m telling you, it’s him, I snarled and rushed out of the car.
We both stormed inside. O’Reilly was holding Julia’s arms tightly and she was crying and trying to break free.
– What’s the meaning of this?, O’Reilly screamed.
– Let her go!, I yelled back.
The priest let go and Julia stepped back, sobbing and looking pleadingly at me and Hollow.
– We have some more questions for you, O’Reilly, Hollow said.
– Why, of course, he replied. I thought you were done.
Back inside the living room we sat down again. Julia had disappeared.
– I’m sorry about that, O’Reilly continued apologetically. She is, as you can see, hysterical. I really should see to her. It’s quite a shock. I’m sure you can imagine.
– She’ll be fine, I replied. Listen, I have one question for you, O’Reilly. Did you kill your daughter?
– What? Have you lost your mind? How dare you insult me like this in a time of grief? If you really need to know, I was here with Julia all afternoon.
– Just answer the question, please. Did you kill your daughter?
– No!
– OK. Then answer this: Was she pregnant with your child when she died?
– This is too much!, he screamed. I want my lawyer.
– How did you know about the pentagram on her forehead?
– Forehead? You fool, it was on her chest… Wasn’t it? It was on her chest… Wasn’t it?
He stepped back, looking at us like a hunted animal.
– O’Reilly, Hollow said, please sit down. You can call your attorney soon. Just sit down.
– Answer the question, I repeated to him. Was she pregnant with your child when she died? If you didn’t kill her, who did? You’d better start talking…
– Or what?!
O’Reilly rushed up at Hollow and knocked him to the ground.
– She was a whore! A fucking whore!, he screamed. She made me do it. She made me. She was just a worthless piece of shit. She got what she deserved, the filthy little whore!
Julia suddenly rushed in through the door and jumped at her father, screaming her lungs off. I got them separated and then hit the preacher man hard in the stomach. He sank to the floor, gasping for air. I pulled Julia aside, threw her down on a chair and told her to stay put, no matter what.
– Hollow, are you OK? Call for back-up, will you? You, O’Reilly, get up.
O’Reilly looked up at me, his eyes filled with intense hate.
– You’ll never be able to prove anything, he sneered at me.
– I don’t have to prove anything. I know you had sex with your own daughter. What I want to know is who actually killed her.
– That little whore… Anyone could have killed her, he whispered.
I kicked him between his legs and he fell down on the floor again, moaning.
– I suggest you answer the question. Or I’ll hold you real tight and provide your daughter here with a very sharp knife. Answer me, you sanctimonius scumbag… Who killed Irene?
O’Reilly, sensing Hollow might be more lenient, looked up at him, breathing heavily.
– I want my lawyer, you insane fucking cops. You can never prove anything…
Julia stood up and approached us. With a stare of absolute hate she spat at her father.
– Julia, darling, calm down, he begged, wiping the saliva off his face.
– I’m pregnant too, she said.
We all froze in our positions and looked at each other. O’Reilly tried to get up.
– That settles it, you fucking pervert, Hollow screamed. If you don’t talk right now, I swear that we won’t call for back-up. You understand me?
Hollow, usually a very calm guy, was now all worked up and grabbed O’Reilly by his collar. It was obvious he had some major aggression coming on and O’Reilly could sense it was for real.
– The man you’re looking for is James Easter, O’Reilly whined. James Easter. He helped me, God bless him. He’s a butcher. James Easter. He’s a fine man. God bless him.
– Fine enough to kill an innocent girl and rip her apart, I said.
– She wasn’t innocent, the priest screamed. It was her own fault.
– A court of law will be the judge of that, Hollow replied. Very likely, they won’t agree. Come on, get up, time to go.
The priest looked up at me, real tears in his eyes. A face of resignation, remorse and utter failure. I think I knew what was going on in his mind. He must have known that there was no mercy whatsoever waiting for him in jail. Incest in general and butchery of your own kids… Not too popular in the criminal codex between those anguished correctional walls. He cleared his throat and got up.
– May I bring a Bible?, he asked Hollow.
– Sure, he replied. But make it snappy.
He knew he was being closely watched. He reached quickly into a desk drawer and by pure instinct Hollow reached for his gun. In a matter of seconds the priest pulled out a revolver and aimed it at me.
– Put the gun down, Hollow shouted.
One gun was aimed at the priest. One at me. O’Reilly knew his time was up. He might as well take me with him. For a brief moment I was really, really scared. My life didn’t flash before my eyes but the moment sure seemed like an eternity. As we could see the priest cock his gun, I chose to close my eyes. So… This was going to be it…
– Put it down, Hollow yelled.
A fanfare of bullets filled the room. It was so loud I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts – not that I had any. As everything grew silent again, I carefully felt if I had caught one, trembling. I hadn’t. We rushed over to the desk. The priest was lying on the floor, coughing blood and squirming. He raised the gun to his head and, before we could even react, pulled the trigger. His head exploded and we all jumped back, so as not to be soiled by his blood-soaked brain tissue.
– See you in Hell, I said silently.
– Hallelujah, Hollow responded.
There was something solemn in the moment. Not because someone had died just seconds ago. But because we all knew that this was more just and befitting an end to a criminal of this kind. He himself had raped and then by proxy killed his own child. And raped the other one. No years of remorse in prison would ever help. By sanctimonious standards and good behaviour, he’d probably soon be leading his own parish of high security perverts in jail. Now, his life and deeds were but a memory, soaked up by a fine Afghan rug in a ministerial living room heavily imbued with anguish and hypocrisy. Julia’s staccato sobs and breathing were like a life-affirming rhythm of liberty, a cleansing melody in a nauseating space. Hollow held on to her tightly.
It felt good to be out in the air again. I was standing in the doorway, looking at the garden. The air filled my lungs and I smiled. I looked up and could even see the sky. The sun was shining on the house and its dark, dismal contents. I could smell the flowers in the garden, something we rarely could in town. Life came back to me somehow.
– Thanks, I said to Hollow as he joined me.
– Don’t mention it. Thank you. I should’ve listened earlier to what you said.
– Don’t worry. Right now, I’m just very happy to be alive.
– Well, come by the office tomorrow and we’ll sort out the paperwork. And, of course, the paycheck. It’s good to be a free agent, right?
– I’m not complaining.
– We’re going after James Easter right now. You want to come along?
– No, I’ve had enough of excitement for one day, thank you very much.
As we were leaving the building, an ambulance drove up and some more squad cars followed. An officer soon helped Julia out, all wrapped in a blanket. She was still crying violently, in shock, shaking and shuddering. I stopped them.
– You OK?
– It’s a nightmare, she sobbed. A nightmare. I miss my sister so much. And now this…
– It’s over now, I said with assurance. It’s over now.
– Thanks… I just can’t believe she’s dead… And my father… I don’t know what to say…
She hugged me and I her. Her tears were all over my jacket. I didn’t mind.
– I have to go now, I said, raising her chin slowly.
Her cried-out, pale blue eyes were quite beautiful. They had surely seen some revolting things, yet there was hope and strength in there. I liked that. I liked her.
– I’ll give you my card. Here you go. Don’t be a stranger, OK?
She kissed me on the cheek and then continued walking with the officer. Poor kid, I thought. Hollow approached me.
– What was that all about?, he said and smiled in an insinuating manner.
– Oh, I’m just trying to be a good citizen. You know, a shoulder to cry on for those in need.
– Oh yeah? Maybe you really are the Devil, after all?
– Not at all, I replied. I’m just human. All too human.
THE END
Copyright © 2012 Carl Abrahamsson
