The Burning of the Palace at Versailles (or, Butterfly) [REWRITING]

Chapter 15 - The Shadow Given Face

The police there all glanced at each other as Melody passed them. Maybe they were used to seeing crazy people walk in on the regular, and they thought Melody was another one. In school, Melody had taken a journalism class where they covered case studies. One of the cases was a man who walked into his local police station at least once a week, claiming he had murdered someone or other. He would become one of the spectators outside a crime scene, try to admit to the murder, tell them that he didn't remember murdering the person or not, but the methods used seemed to be something he would do. Of course, none of the confessions ever turned out to be anything, and after the first four murders he said he had done, the police disregarded anything the man said. Melody had thought that was rather clever if the man was actually planning to murder someone. He could admit to a murder he had done and nothing would ever happen to him.

The cop who had spoken the night before was behind the desk. She squinted at Melody, clearly trying to figure out why she recognized her.

"I'm here to talk to the person in lockup," she said.

The police officer nodded. "You're the kid from last night, right? You can come with me."

The cop led Melody through a door. "I'm not supposed to be doing this, you know." She was calm, cool in her uniform.

"He killed my dad."

"I know. That's the only reason I'm doing this. My dad died a few months ago, too, and I know if someone had done it to them, there would be some hell to pay."

Melody tried to memorize everything that was happening as the officer brought her through gates and doors using a key card. But a sudden sleepy exhaustion came over her, and she found it difficult to even stay on her feet and to keep her eyes open.

There were only three holding cells in the station, the cop said. She unlocked the door and held it open. "He's in the second cell. I can give you ten minutes maybe, but try to keep it under five."

Melody gulped, her heart fluttering anxiously in her chest. She nodded and walked in. She was wearing a pair of black suede wedges, the only black shoes she could find in the house that fit her. The heels made a loud echoing noise on the concrete. Usually, that sound would make Melody feel confident. But now, it just made her feel self-conscious.

There was no one in the first cell. That made her glad. Before she glanced at the middle cell, she looked at the third cell. There was someone in there. They were on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was a man with long, stringy hair that hung over the side. Melody swallowed. "Hello?" she whispered. The man didn't flinch. "Hello," she said again, louder. Again, no response. They weren't alone, but it appeared he wasn't listening. So Melody looked into the one in the middle.

The figure was curled up on the floor in the corner. It was dark, and Melody wasn't able to make out any features.

"What's your name?" Melody said. Her voice was ice-cold and hung in the air.

The figure flinched. Clearly, he had heard her and was listening. Melody waited.

"I want to know what your name is," Melody said.

The figure flinched again but kept his head in his arms. Melody fought the urge to growl like a feral animal. The man was small. Maybe Melody could just grab him and pull him into the bars. She could get revenge— or at least a tiny taste of revenge— right then and there.

"You killed my father last night. Look at me."

The man's head jerked up, and Melody took a step back. The man looked like a skeleton that had ill-fitting skin pulled over it. The skin was wrinkled in some places and dry and cracking in others. For a second, Melody thought he didn't have eyes, only skin yanked angrily over the eye sockets. But then he opened his eyes. Even in the darkness, Melody could see they were red and sunken.