"What did you do?!" I yelled as I hopped upright and rushed into the room again. I didn't pass the desk. I kept the solid bit of furniture between myself and the majority of the cultist, unwilling to see what Darius had done. I did, however, kick the man's leg. It wobbled, then stilled. "Dammit, Darius!"
"It would not have been possible for me to hold them both at once," the Sin said from my side, looking down upon Pier with a bemused air. Darius' hair was mussed, and his eyes were fully taken by hungry shadows. "It matters little. The madman had nothing else to tell us, and I have no patience to interrogate babbling fools."
I rubbed at my eyes until sparks of light burned. Pier could have told us much more than he had—but there was a difference between could have and would have. The man hadn't been right in the head. Darius and I could have spent hours or even days trying to shake loose what information the man had, but we didn't have that kind of luxury. The man who'd personally murdered my sister was dead, and I hadn't even seen it happen.
It was...anti-climactic. I'd thought the ache surrounding my heart would lessen once John Pier no longer breathed. If anything, the ache only felt heavier, darker, and more cumbersome. I touched my sternum and wished I could simply reach through my bones and flesh and uncover a tangible wound. If I could find it or understand it, I could alleviate the pain, could mend the sore boring holes through my chest—but I couldn't understand this sense of loss and ruin.
"This feeling never goes away, does it?" I asked quietly as the Sin stepped around Pier's still form to open the drawers of his desk. The locks gave way with harsh clatters.
"No," Darius answered, not a single trace of pity to be found in his voice. "I thought you would have known that by now." The Sin began to withdraw the contents of Pier's desk. Several binders, blank folders, and stuffed envelopes joined the merger documents on the desktop. I glared and opened my mouth to give the Sin a scathing retort—but I thought better of it and remained quiet. He was right. I should have known better by now.
"We only have thirty minutes or so before my compulsion to stay away wears off of that woman. She had business with Pier, and though she won't remember what she saw, she will return. When I perused the building the week before, I compelled the receptionist to forget my face when I leave a room. He will not remember me."
"And what of the two at the watercooler?"
"They are the wildcards we discussed." Rubber bands snapped under Darius' persistent abuse. "The ones my...abilities could not account for. They may remember me, but they will not—obviously—remember you."
I nodded, then glanced at John's legs. "That secretary will find him here when she returns." Guilt overwhelmed me, but I smothered the emotion. If the worst thing the poor woman experienced today was finding her boss dead on the floor of his office, she should consider herself exceedingly lucky.
Darius stacked the pilfered materials with careless motions. I caught the pile before it could slump over and join Pier on the floor. "We'll take what we can and inspect it later. What else did you find downstairs? Was there anything I need to return for when I have the strength?"
I shook my head. "No. Just a bunch of old, outdated records." The red splotches on Darius' hand caught my attention as the Sin dropped a trim black datebook on the pile's top. I recalled the ice chest and its macabre contents. "There was something. Not something you would need to return for, but...there were blood bags in a freezer down there." I knew my expression matched my disgusted tone.
"Blood bags?"
"Yeah. About a dozen or so."
Darius frowned as he pushed the empty drawers shut. "Blood bags..." he muttered under his breath, scratching his temple as he removed the mock glasses from his nose. "I must admit, I do not understand why they would have those, but now is not the time to discuss the matter." The Sin lifted the sizable pile and held it against his side with his arm. The datebook, being smaller than the other items, slid past the Sin's grip and fell. I knelt to pick it up, averting my eyes from the sight of John Pier.
His final words continued to dance within my head. "And every dream dies. Even yours, dead girl!" What did he mean? What were those words?
"Let's find a fire escape and get out of here."
* * *
The antique chair bearing Jared Dubois' weight creaked as he shifted.
Jared was and had been called many things in his lifetime. A liar, a genius, a cheat, a visionary—Jared had laid claim to all these labels at some point over the years. He donned different names when it suited his tastes and worked in different fields when the need arose. Jared had done things normal men could only dream of doing—and had committed crimes worthy of nightmares and late-night television. He eschewed the conformities of a typical existence in preference of a life led in whatever way he wished.
Jared Dubois was a chameleon. A sociopath. A mastermind. A killer.
The one thing Jared was not, however, was foolish. So when he woke in the late afternoon with a throbbing head injury, tied to his dining room chair with an intruder sipping Chassagne Montrachet across from him, Jared knew to keep his mouth shut.
"Ah, that's delicious Montrachet," Balthier said as he tilted the crystal glass toward the window. The sunlight played upon the beveled lip, splaying rainbows over the polished table. He had been there for well over an hour, exploring Jared's home, sampling his wine. "An excellent vintage as well."
Jared said nothing. His emerald eyes darted from the cultured man to the far door of his apartment. Cardboard boxes waited by the entrance, tidily packed and taped. Jared was not a fool. When his underlings started to disappear from his department one by one, Jared knew Klau Incorporated had become a sinking ship, and it was time for the rats to abandon it.
"Did you know, I once had wine from the Isle that was over ten thousand years old? It was older than I could remember being at the time, and I could hardly imagine it, something that existed before and presented itself in my after."
Jared was too late. As fair-weather as his loyalty was, he still hadn't abandoned Grace Amoroth quick enough.
Balthier set his wine down upon a coaster, aligning it with the table's edge. "You've a lovely apartment here. Nice view of the aqueduct from the deck. And these floors! Macassar ebony, am I right?" He stood, allowing his chair to scuff the pricey hardwood. "Of course, I doubt the windows were cheap, either." Balthier placed a hand against the sheet of clear glass separating the dining room from the deck. The pane became cloudy before cracks spiraled outward from the man's fingertips.
Jared swallowed.
Balthier smiled, tucking a loose strand of his dark hair behind his ear. He approached Jared and slid his fingers upon the table's smooth top until he could tap the edge before the bound man. His fingertips left small dents in the wood. "You could use a piano, though. I do love pianos. It would work well with your living room set. Music is perhaps the greatest achievement you mortals have gifted upon us."
Jared said nothing.
"You're not much of a talker, are you, Jared?" Balthier asked. He leaned upon the table and crossed his arms. Jared noted that the debonair attire hid a physique worthy of a far more inelegant and violent man. The realization was not comforting. "That's all right. Contrary to what you might think, I actually don't enjoy talking with scum of the earth criminals like yourself."
Balthier bent forward until his face was inches from Jared's. The mocking grin that had graced his lips from the moment he entered the apartment vanished. "As Amoroth's chief financial officer, you've seen your fair share of illicit events, haven't you, Jared? You committed quite a few with your own hands, yes?" Balthier traced a finger upon Jared's jaw, tapping the sweating man's silent lips. "You see, that's why I'm here. Or at least, why you're here—why you're bound to this chair instead of on your way to the morgue. I have impeccable timing though, don't I? It appears as if you were all ready to pack your car and disappear into the night, hmm?"
Jared said nothing.
His silence was exacerbating. The creature exhaled, his breath scorching against Jared's pallid face. Balthier eyes burned like liquid malachite, seeming to bubble and froth with the impetus of his tempered rage. "As I was saying...that's why you're here, my dear criminal. As much as I'd love to snap your neck and be on my way, I need the evidence. I must collect the evidence of your misdeeds before I return to my host—and I'll be damned if you haven't proved quite effective at hiding it from me, Jared. The others were not as skilled as you."
Jared's nostrils flared with his anger, with his fear. He struggled against his bonds, but the creature had tied them tightly while Jared was unconscious. His hands were numb from the loss of circulation. "I don't understand," Jared seethed through his veneers. "I'm just an innocent man."
Balthier backhanded him. The blow was light but held enough strength to impress the creature's severity upon the irritating man. Jared's face burned, his skin reddening in the shape of a large hand. "Lies have a particular smell," Balthier murmured as he pressed his lips to Jared's ear and inhaled for effect. "Like flowers and dung. No matter how pretty the flowers, it all smells like shit."
The chair tipped. Jared let out a shout as he collided with his priceless floors and his head bounced. Balthier's foot landed on Jared's chest. "Tell me where the documents recording the illegal transactions you've undertaken for Klau's benefit are. Tell me."
"They're all destroyed!"
"Lies!" Balthier thundered, increasing the pressure upon Jared's ribs. The Klau employee sputtered, fighting for breath. "Tell me, Jared Dubois, or I will pry the answers from your flesh inch by inch!"
Jared's normally ironclad sense of preservation rattled. It was as though he could already feel the man's fingers pulling and stretching his skin, seeking the best ways to peel it away. Some part of him was compelled to answer, and it warred with the cold, logical voice of his inner sociopath."I don't understand," he panted. Jared willed himself to shut his mouth—but the words burst forth like a river escaping the floodgates. "N-no one understands! No one understands why you're doing this! What is your motive?!" Jared's voice rose into a warbling scream. "What do you want?!"
"Want? What do I want?" Balthier laughed. The sound prowled through the space, feral and impatient. "What could you possibly understand about what I want?"
"Are you trying to destroy Klau? Kill the CEO?!"
"Kill my little Amoroth? Why would I do such a thing?" Balthier shifted to his knees so he could straddle Jared's heaving chest. While his words implied he didn't wish the Klau CEO any harm, Balthier's tone was scathing. "As I said, what could you understand about what I want? If you wish to understand my motives, you must think much larger than little Amoroth or her little company. Such things are trifles I have no patience for—just children's toy littering the floor of my parlor. You must think much, much larger, Dubois. It's a game, and the player I wish to engage needs motivation to enter the field."
The creature rifled through the breast pocket of Jarod's shirt, retrieving a simple house key. Balthier held the key in his balled fist, and the manic way his lips drew back from his sharp teeth had Jarod's heart racing with cold, unreal terror. The key caught the sunlight as the wine glass had not minutes before, but there were no rainbows this time. What is he going to do with that? What is he going to do?!
"Your time's up, Jared."
Balthier strolled along the parkway with his bloody hands in the pockets of his designer suit and a plain manila folder tucked into his jacket. The records of Jared Dubois' numerous misdeeds weighed heavily against his heart. The sky was growing duller in the approaching twilight, shifting colors like metal oxidizing in the sea air. The boulevards were relatively quiet, though with the end of the workday approaching, the sidewalks were a bit more crowded than Balthier liked. Verwealdians parted before him as if Balthier were the prow of a particularly menacing ship.
The Sin of Envy smirked.
He allowed his thoughts to wander as they were prone to do. The afternoon heat enveloped him, reminiscent of so many different places and eras the Sin had left behind. He blocked out the foul stench of the city, the odor of decay and petrol and lies. He shut his eyes and thought of the Isle, of the heat that—once upon a time—could be discovered beneath the ocher leaves. He thought of the blooming heaths and evocative perfume of flowers breathing beneath the rays of the sun.
He thought of a svelte, light-haired woman with eyes like the coming night.
Balthier inhaled, willing the illusion of the long-forsaken place into reality. "Prosper...."
The Sin Envy froze. His breath whistled through his teeth, dragging the unwilling creature from his warm reverie. Again he inhaled, searching for the scent that had called to him in the recesses of his memory. The pollution of Verweald's leaking byways filled his lungs, and the rank taste of uncollected garbage slithered upon his tongue. Balthier spat on the concrete.
Beneath the putrid odor, there was something...familiar. Something that hooked Balthier's very soul and tugged upon it in a very unpleasant way.
He turned his attention toward an empty passageway he happened to be passing. The alley held nothing but an overflowing dumpster and a doorway into some office building. Balthier breathed, devouring the essence of the area, allowing it to seep through his pores.
Orchids?
Balthier frowned, chasing the scent through the palace of his mind. He sought the familiar taste, sought the recollection that would reveal its source. What would call to him so fiercely?
"Go to Hell."
A woman's disembodied voice floated to the surface of Balthier's thoughts like a single piece of flotsam on an endless, tossing ocean. The Sin of Envy held onto that voice for a moment but could not recall its owner. He let the thought drown again.
The wind shifted, taking the scent with it.
Hmm....The Sin of Envy continued on his stroll. His thoughts were muddled by the aroma of orchids and sun-warmed vanilla.
* * *