Dark Keys of Uncomplacency

Chapter 22: What Doesn't Kill You

"What!", Julian exclaimed.

Allison looked sternly at Julian and shrugged, as to say, work with me I'm running out of lies. "I didn't know she needed a lock box. Geez, next time I won't say anything".

"That's right!", Ruth yelled with a grin on her face. "Did you children want something to drink, while you're here? It's not getting any cooler out there. Not around here. It'll stay dry as all hell around here until late September—you know, you've been here for decades, right?—or rather, your grandma Anne would know".

Despite the raging bull kicking up dirt within him, Connor maintained his composure. Any feelings he had about his grandmother would have to wait. Besides, it was the bitch inside of this frail old woman that was to blame. He inhaled lightly and nodded his head in agreement.

"We'll just have water", Allison said admiring the antique, hand-carved couches.

"Oh nonsense! You want, water you could go outside by the hose", Ruth chuckled. "Water won't quench your thirst like my homemade iced tea".

"That's fine with us, right guys?". She cut Ruth off, not to be rude or rush the old lady, but just enough to convey a sense of enthusiasm while also getting her out of the room.

Ruth walked down the hall to the kitchen, to return with what Julian imagined would be some tacky tray in the shape of New York with three cups in the center of it. Or maybe one of those small metal rolling tables that always seemed to screech across the floor, even though it had wheels.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Marley!". Julian's voice echoed all the way down the hall. "Do you have a bathroom I could use?".

"Sure do, hon", she replied over the hissing water from the faucet. "Second door on the right, next to the coat closet".

A few seconds later a door creaked open and the sound of running water echoed out the door. All the while Ruth hummed the tune of an old song she had stuck in her head.

Michaels sat idly at his desk thinking about his last case. The only case he wished he'd never been a part of. Nothing but blood and deception. Perhaps the carnage simply ended when it needed to end, who knows. Only Heinrich, he thought. Such a peculiar young man with so much pent up enthusiasm for the arts and even more for exactness. The latter, essential to a serial killer at large. In some ways, Michaels thought, we all go through a similar internal struggle. Everyone is secretly fighting with a "Cedric" inside of them. Only difference was this fight led to real bloodshed, across two continents. Michaels's single regret was getting Jenson involved. Sure it was his job, to pursue cases as well, but what happened to him was unprecedented. It still gave Michaels chills: a creature in disguise, Jenson described, as a mesmerizingly beautiful young woman. A blonde-haired woman. Blonde hair, Michaels thought, just like Cedric's victims. Some sick repressed cry for help on Heinrich's part, no doubt.

The detective stared down at the remnants of musical compositions and notes eventually extracted from Heinrich's old apartment. He promised himself and his wife that he wouldn't lose any more sleep over the whole affair, but still he found himself looking at the "police" piano a second longer each time he passed by it. He couldn't find it in himself to get rid of it just yet. Besides, some of the personnel had grown fond of the instrument like an oversized paperweight. He'd managed to piece together some of Heinrich's earlier messages and still others remained encrypted, destined to stay that way without the key. "Case closed", he muttered as he scooped his hat off of the coat rack. It was a beautiful evening at the current hour, but he was ready for the next frigid, raining night set to plague this world, in the form of an over-analytical pianist on the brink of insanity, accompanied by a mesmerizing woman holding the puppet strings, controlling his every move. Even with Heinrich Schröder's body now 6ft under, none of the killing would end until this puppet master was found and killed. He walked out of his office and let the door slam behind him as if he planned never to return, convinced he had seen enough.