Ready Aim Forget

Chapter Twenty Three - The Castle and the Writer

Stone versus river Time

Here comes the herald chime:

"You shall cut all swords

With your written words"

     Two procedures took place regarding the corpse: the autopsy, in order to determine the cause of death, date and, if possible, an attempt to identify it. The corpse hinted nothing about its identity: torn dirty clothing; no medallion, bracelets, rings or tattoos. Before the forensic scientist could start working, the body, having signs of concussions and blows of extreme violence, was restored as much as possible using stitches and bandages, then the face was photographed.

The two details the ones responsible with establishing the identity of the victim needed were its finger prints and blood type. Some officers debated if it's death by physical violence, by lack of food and water or both. One thing was certain: they all waited for the results of the autopsy. Arms mangled by self inflicted bites, its last hours have passed with horror and pain. One policeman explained to us how convulsions and delirium were classic symptoms of death by starvation and thirst. It must have taken the victim great will power not to scream.

At the police station, Chuck and I had to give declarations regarding our whereabouts and other personal information. Some of the workers there recognized me and one even asked for my autograph. I felt somewhat at ease - I stepped so many times inside a station it became something mundane - Chuck, however, looked terrible. He kept asking me: "What if they think I did it? What if they think I did it?" After attempting a couple times to calm him down, I realized my effort was for nothing. He could barely focus on anything and that troubled him even more when he stepped inside the room with a policeman.

We returned at the castle. It was late at night; we were exhausted both mentally and physically. The beds were just what we needed.

It started snowing heavily by the time I woke up. I got out of the chamber and stooped towards the lower level. Chuck already was awake, talking on his phone. He seemed in a better shape than the night before. I did not insist on talking about the subject, just in case.

'OK. Yes, I understand. No no, there's no problem... We do have to see each other the first day of the year. You too, man. Goodbye.'

'Morning.'

'Morning, buddy. Can you believe I'm starting to get calls from the guests? The weather forecast is not in favor of them coming here, it seems.' Chuck sighed. 'First the dead body and now this... I just hope we won't end up being the only ones here else the party will be over before it started.'

'Yes, about that. Ariana's mother invited me for Christmas at their place so I have to leave tomorrow.'

'Et tu, Brute? Et tu?'

'Don't say that to me! You can come too if you want. I'm sure they can manage for one more.'

Chuck smirked. 'I didn't actually mean that but, thanks. I better go out and take care of the flowers, before they get buried in snow. I gue-'(His phone started ringing. The host exited the castle and answered the call.)

***

     (It was late night and the weather outside did not seem to tame. The snowflakes kept falling and falling, reducing visibility. Before we realized, snowdrifts became the new surroundings. The moon and the stars were nowhere to be seen. The owner heard someone knock at the front door. "Who could it be at such time?" At the entrance, two men greeted him and asked to spend the night there, as the weather made it impossible to continue by car. One of them was a taxi driver, and the other a client. The latter had hazel eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. He was holding a cane in his left hand. To Chuck, the man seemed vaguely familiar. He must have seen him before.