《Dance Macabre》 Prologue My last case in Chicago involved the brutal murder of a middle-aged woman by her son¡¯s closest friend, Jack Hackerville, a twenty-year-old man with chronic psychotic episodes. The boy had struggled with hallucinations and violent outbursts for years, but his parents never committed him to any psychiatric hospital, convinced that the four walls of his home and their extensive care would do more good than harm. Jack was never able to graduate from high school, but he had worked at the docks for two summers with impressive success. His colleagues would describe him as an aloof man, polite when he needed to be, but lost in his inner world and thoughts. His employer, Mr. Rossi - a middle¨Caged Italian - reported that Jack was a hard-working boy, not very ambitious, but very eager to learn. Two years pass and Jack is dismissed following a fatal incident that cost the lives of two workers.The police was never involved as both parties¡ªthe Hackervilles and Mr. Rossi¡ªcame to a mutual agreement. The family didn¡¯t want to see their boy locked up in prison and even trialled. The old man wanted to keep his business affairs as private as possible, after all, illegal immigrant workers were always the cheapest solution. Of course, after this, his father forbidden him from going anywhere without constant supervision. That¡¯s around the time Peter Dellware got involved. The two men met for the first time at night, during what seemed to be an awful accident due to his episodes; the boy was feeling too hot in the mid of December and proceeded to open the window. Shortly afterwards, his body began spasming uncontrollably, his head was turning back and forth and voices were screaming at him to jump off, which he did. Thankfully, his late mother¡¯s bushes were right below his window and across the street, young Dellware was getting off the bus, who immediately rushed to the man¡¯s side and informed his father of the accident. The rest is history. Peter would occasionally visit the family with freshly baked pies that Jack loved, they¡¯d start going on walks first around the neighbourhood and later one even downtown. They were spending much of their free time together, and that alone was enough to raise suspicions. As a result, Mrs. Dellware talked with her son, eventually forcing him to end their friendship. She couldn¡¯t handle the gossip of the neighbourhood and also they had to arrange his upcoming engagement with a girl he barely knew. Not long after, the actual problem began. The mother had already contacted Jack''s father and informed him of the bond their sons shared. She even ¡®innocently¡¯ twisted the truth to convince him. In just a few days, the boys were apart, and Mrs. Dellware¡¯s fate was sealed. Blinded by pure rage, Jack forced his way into her house through the kitchen door while Peter was at work and butchered her with just a knife, stabbing her thirty-two times in the face and chest. Her screams echoed throughout the entire neighbourhood, and the authorities received immediate alert. Meanwhile, a passer-by, a young lad, entered the house to rescue the unfortunate woman. He received a severe blow to the skull, which caused only minor damage but left lifelong scars. Jack was not interested in killing anyone but the one who estranged him from his dear and only friend. He was not a murderer for the sake of killing. In his very own world, Mrs. Dellware was a demon, and he had to get rid of her. When I arrived at the house with the Chief, Hackerville was still there, standing motionless in a corner and staring at the floor. He looked more like a forgotten creepy mannequin than a living human being. A few inches away, the murder weapon was on the floor with a bent blade and blood spilled everywhere. The officers were shaking while they were explaining to us how they struggled to communicate with him. I knew we had to step in. Christopher was good at talking with criminals. It wasn¡¯t a matter of bad and good cop, but more like being able to connect the dots and figure out a way into their minds. It wasn¡¯t working every single time, but many scums confessed thanks to this talent of his. I had a different approach. I¡¯d treat them like kids. Children rarely want to talk to you when they get angry and pout. They stand in a corner and try to provoke you and sometimes they will even tell the truth as they run out of well-fabricated lies and excuses. So, I¡¯d either wait for them to exhaust all their energy, or I¡¯d bang my hand on the table to show dominance - like a father to their misbehaved child. This one, though, was a tough case. We tried to reason with him, but he only kept repeating a few words and phrases. I finally got rid of her, he kept on saying, until his hollow eyes, lost in the madness of his own mind, met with mine. The boy asked me if I knew when his friend Peter would be back. He explained that Peter, too, wanted to get rid of his own mother for a long time, but he did not have the guts to do it, so Jack took matters into his own hands, like the good pal he was. The man in front of me was a sick human being. He was literally living in a different world where his action was well justified. He couldn¡¯t see what was wrong with taking this life away; by stripping off his friend of the only family he ever had. So, he expected everyone to understand and pat him on the back, and he was expecting the same from Peter. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Needless to say, the scene that played out before our eyes as the late Dellware¡¯s son entered the hall and faced the hideous sight was beyond heartbreaking. The boy rushed to her side and his muffled screams as he held her pierced our souls. My mother almost came to mind, as well as the tragic figure of my father, but unlike Peter, I do not remember myself ever crying for her. Perhaps I had shed a tear or two during her funeral, but that was all. My old man was too deep into his misery to notice it while our so-called relatives were too busy gossiping. What was my excuse? I preferred thinking of her death as a cure for her illness rather than its consequence. But that was me and my morbid, strange self. Peter, on the other hand, had just lost his mother to the poisoned mind of his friend. Who would he mourn first and who would he blame for this outcome? Jack never noticed Peter, nor his cries, and Dellware didn¡¯t bother to look at what was left of his best friend. I never found out what happened to either of them; whether Jack ended up locked up in the asylum or bit the dust, and if Dellware finally returned to that house or sold it and moved away. They approved my transfer request a few days after the incident, leaving me with no choice but to abandon the case and focus more on the path ahead of me. After all, the killer was already behind the bars, and it was time for the lawyers to shine and decide on his fate. None of that was my cup of tea. By the time I finished that damn last pack of cigars, I found myself wandering in the crowded streets of New Orleans, among rich and proud white people and poor immigrants demanding their civil rights; all of them staring at me like wild hounds, ready to devour me at any given moment. I couldn¡¯t tell who or what would strike first and to be honest, I can¡¯t even tell today. Perhaps I have grown weary of my surroundings, or paranoia has already set its trap for me like it did with my mother. Once I arrived at my new duty station, I had already counted at least ten candidates for the slammer and three of them I was sure to encounter in some future cases. Yet, and despite all this, this new city would offer me what Chicago had denied me: a better salary, many opportunities for socialising, and a refuge from my very own demons. This was the chance I had been fighting for the past nine months, and like a newborn baby, I carefully held it in my arms and welcomed this brand-new life. Natural Turn 02ND of December, 1964 Police Department, 715 S Broad Street, New Orleans. ¡°Dandeline, come here.¡± Chief Davis¡¯s husky voice reached my ears as I tidied up my new office - a dusty piece of furniture in a corner with the bare necessities for my predecessor¡¯s reports and paperwork. It was a mess that could drive even the timidest man mad. I got up, feeling everyone scratching me with their gaze from head to toe. I was the new guy, some sort of invader in their not-so-perfect paradise. They had their own way of working things; they had their very own code, in a sense, and they felt threatened by my presence. I could understand that feeling. I wasn¡¯t some kid who got out of the academy and just began my first steps in this world. I knew things and I had many years of experience. They couldn¡¯t possibly treat me like an amateur, but I wasn¡¯t expecting them to see me as an equal either. I did the best in my willpower to ignore their antics and obediently walk to the chief¡¯s office. ¡°How do you like it here?¡± His laid-back manner gave me the impression that he just wanted to start a meaningless conversation before jumping to the true issue of interest. ¡°It depends,¡± I replied nonchalantly. ¡°If you¡¯re referring to the police station, my bedsit is neater than this shed. If you¡¯re talking about the city, it does give off a different vibe. A fresh air, of a sort.¡± I sat on the chair and looked at him carefully. ¡°You won¡¯t find a city nearly as intoxicating as this one, detective. Some say that it is enchanted by the pure magic of jazz and the ol¡¯ voodoo spells. I say that the ladies here are far more interesting than anywhere else. Nothing can beat a good female company, Dandeline, and certainly not one with raven hair and chocolate skin. I¡¯m telling you; these thoughts keep me moving despite the ugly pictures our job force us with.¡± That man in his fifties with thin, grey hair, pale blue eyes and a half-burnt cigarette on his thin lips was definitely someone who would make my stay here a living hell if I wasn¡¯t careful enough. ¡°Chicago has its own charm as well.¡± Rubbish. ¡°But it wasn¡¯t enough to keep you forever. You came a long way and far from home, son. Was it the paycheck? It¡¯s no different here if that is what you are after. I might as well warn you that it¡¯s a few bucks down the ladder.¡± ¡°One of the reasons, sir.¡± Charles offered me one of his cigarettes, which I accepted with a smile. I pulled out my own zippo, a remnant of a forgotten meeting in a crowded bar with jazz tunes in the background and a scent of almonds. Her name got tangled in my tongue, a playful yet harsh game. I swallowed hard and along with the thick smoke, she disappeared within me. ¡°Christopher told me a lot about you. If I didn¡¯t trust his word, you wouldn¡¯t be here. You owe the old man a lot.¡± ¡°As he owes me. He didn¡¯t go through all this trouble because I simply asked him to. If it was entirely up to him, I¡¯d never step away from under his wing, let alone leave the city and the department.¡± I explained with my eyes steadily studying his movements. By the looks of it, Charles knew what I was talking about. Hell, he had my file in front of him and I bet Christopher had told him everything about who I was and how much I valued my job, so everything was just a matter of whether he¡¯d go through the trouble of reading it or have me confess. Both alternatives were freaking me out. ¡°Of course, the Shallow Grove case.¡± He nodded, the flame of his lighter trembling as he lit up yet again his snout. ¡°I spent seventeen months in the darkest pits of the South Side Mafia,¡± my gaze was fixed on the cigarette and the flame that was slowly eating it away. For a moment there I lost myself into those unpleasant memories of darkness, dishonesty, and constant fear. It was a kind of melancholic hell, that somehow I was still yearning. ¡°I learned to be wary of my own shadow,¡± I continued, dusting off the tip on the ashtray, ¡°even of my own colleagues.¡± Charles stood up and walked over to the table as I took another, deeper sip of my smoke. I heard him pouring some drink in two glasses and when he returned, he slid one of them to me. ¡°I¡¯ve read the reports. You lost eleven officers that night, one of whom had been your partner for years.¡± ¡°Richard.¡± His name felt like a pill forgotten on my mouth¡¯s palette slowly spreading its bitterness. We were partners from day one; a bond that can¡¯t be easily broken, but under the right circumstances¡­ ¡°God rest his soul. He was a good man and a very promising investigator.¡± No one was ever safe. Good or bad; it never mattered. Death comes to all. I believe that the silence that followed was a mutual understanding of these thoughts. Charles had his own grim stories to tell, and for me, Richard¡¯s death was one of the worst. ¡°Christopher also mentioned something that I couldn¡¯t find in your file, and perhaps for a good reason.¡± At the sound of those words, I instantly froze. I set the glass down and inhaled the last sip of my cigar. The smoke entered my lungs and burnt them pleasantly. There were many actions of the past, as well as events, that I regretted; ill decisions, wrong turns, losing control. All of them were a result of my human nature and a reminder of it. ¡°Two decades ago, I lost a good ol¡¯ pal of mine. They shot him right in between his eyes¡± he pointed to the spot. ¡°It happened in front of me. Some gangs were fighting in the middle of the city, they were provoking each other for days but a new member somehow managed to kill one of them. It was broad daylight. We were called to break them off. It wasn¡¯t a rare occurrence; I knew that already. The bullet hit him before I even said anything to them. It was more like a warning for us. They saw us, they felt threatened and took measures. Everything happened so fast it took me a good few minutes to realise that it was his blood splattered around me.¡± Charles emptied his glass in one sip and continued. ¡°The most tragic victim was his wife. Nancy fainted three times at the funeral, and she barely talked to us. I wanted to console her, to say something; to let her know that his death was not in vain, but I couldn¡¯t find the right words. Much later, I learned that she moved back with her mother. Apparently, it was a desperate measure so the girl wouldn¡¯t fall off some bridge in an attempt to end her life and be reunited with her loved one.¡± He sighed and his gaze was fixed on the empty glass, ¡°As for myself, I drowned my pain and grief in alcohol. They even gave me two weeks leave, but I rarely stepped foot in my house. I wanted to get away from anything familiar and just grieve on my own terms.¡± I avoided eye contact. When Richard was killed, I also attended his funeral to comfort his parents and fianc¨¦e. I had met them several times and yet they seemed like total strangers to me. His wife was silently standing next to his mother and father, wearing a black dress and veil. She didn¡¯t break down, nor did she cry. I watched the wife of a police officer, accepting this cruel fate with pride and no one dared to question her pain. I didn¡¯t cry for Richard. On the contrary, the next day I was back on duty as if nothing had ever happened. Christopher was worried I was losing my mind or that I was going to lose it by piling up myself with work. So, he asked once and twice if I was absolutely certain of my choices. The third time I stopped answering and eventually he stopped asking. Everyone lost someone during the operation. I lost my best friend. But I didn¡¯t cry. I knew by heart that if I ruined my career because of his loss, the bastard would haunt me for the rest of my life. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. I felt the atmosphere within the room thickening. ¡°Everyone chooses how to grieve their dead ones.¡± I finally replied and picked up the glass of amber liquid, taking two long sips. ¡°I can¡¯t argue with that.¡± Charles sat back in his leather chair and cupped his chin with his fingers. ¡°He didn¡¯t even cry for his own mother, Charles. Those were Christopher¡¯s exact words, and I can¡¯t help but wonder if he was just exaggerating so you could get transferred or not.¡± ¡°Christopher is not a liar.¡± I took the heavy insult personally. I stood up, ready to storm off and end this ridiculous discussion, when I noticed Charles¡¯ intense gaze following my every move. ¡°It¡¯s my own business what I do when I am off duty and how I handle my personal affairs.¡± I was getting impatient, angry. If the air in that office was unbearable before, now I could say that breathing was too damn difficult. I felt flames gathering up my chest, forcing me to open my mouth and start a pointless argument. Snooping around won¡¯t give you answers, and it certainly won¡¯t force me into explaining myself, was all I wanted to spit in his face. I knew better than that, though. ¡°Now, now,¡± he motioned his hand up and down as he stretched his body in an attempt to stop me from leaving. ¡°No reason to get defensive. I only want to make sure you really are a tough nut, William.¡± I watched him sitting back, more relaxed than a few seconds ago, yet he uncovered his troubled side. Then, the sound of knocking caught us both by surprise. ¡°Come in!¡± he replied while I returned back to my seat. ¡°Chief, he is waiting outside to see you.¡± The low voice that reached my ears belonged to Charles¡¯s secretary, Miss Halley, a young woman who had found herself ¡®trapped¡¯ in a den of lions. I didn¡¯t pay attention to the brief conversation they held. Apparently, someone who wanted to meet the Chief had come, yet Charles was in no mood and had his hands full with me. Not a minute after, the girl closed the door, forcing us to return to that awkward and stiff silence. ¡°Things have gone downhill. We have more disturbances than a decade ago. You¡¯d think that the people crave peace, but my experience all these years has proven the exact opposite. Otherwise, why all this fuss?¡± I had my own share of answers; poverty, governments that worked only for their personal gain, war wounds that were still open and bleeding, gushing out worse demons than Pandora¡¯s box. I let him continue. ¡°And I am not talking about those gangs or the poor kids that run around pickpocketing and stealing. Every city and every damn place has their own rascals. It¡¯s how this shitty world works after all.¡± Chicago had its own share of troubles, it was no secret, and perhaps the worst of the state. Drug dealers had filled up the city, the mafia was thriving, murderers were popping up out of nowhere almost every year. The criminal rates had gone off charts and it was a worldwide occurrence. I couldn¡¯t argue with him. ¡°I¡¯m talking about killings and lots of them too. Just this year, the spring floods washed up twelve bodies, all junkies with needle holes in every vein you could imagine. But twelve of them, and they seemed to have been dead for months.¡± ¡°Probably the waters must have fastened the decay of the flesh-¡± ¡°Making it impossible to determine their exact time of death, yes.¡± He shook his head, sighing deeply. ¡°Junkies drop dead every day; I don¡¯t care about those scums. They chose this life and they meet the consequences sooner or later, but I can¡¯t turn a blind eye when that many corpses show up.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve seen addicts dying in corners or at the steps of the church. Some even die in pairs, either overdosing or dying by malnourishment. That many of them, though¡­" It was a true headache. ¡°Are you sure that they weren¡¯t connected? Perhaps a mass suicide?¡± ¡°We searched the entire town. Trust me, boy, I know almost everyone; from the god-sent pastor to the worst and most seclusive parties. There are a few cults here and there; none too dangerous and we also keep them under tight surveillance for the sake of peace in the community. If one of them had taken such extreme measures we would have known.¡± ¡°What about the missing reports?¡± ¡°Are you implying how to do my job, son?¡± I couldn¡¯t fully understand whether he was playing with or he was dead serious and I had just made the grave mistake of insulting him. However, it was clear to Charles that the case he was talking about had intrigued me. ¡°I am only trying to connect the dots.¡± ¡°No reports. As I said, junkies. Runaways and forgotten from their families. Who would even look for them? It¡¯s no use, William, to even try and think. Once the storms passed and the weather got warmer, we found a destroyed cabin only a mile away from where the bodies had washed up. Apparently, the flood ruined their little shelter and they had no chance of escaping.¡± Charles licked his lower lip, swallowing some words he wanted to add, but I said them for him. ¡°You didn¡¯t buy that.¡± ¡°It was a well-constructed lie, directed to the Press, so they would stop pestering us. I had locals coming at the station and mumbling about curses, death angels and demons! They were terrorising the rest of the civilians and my men as well.¡± It was a fired-up attempt to convince me, but also himself that his actions were righteous. ¡°As I previously mentioned,¡± he toned it down, ¡°no one cares about drug addicts. A week later or two, it became old news and we moved on.¡± ¡°What else could have been done, right?¡± I questioned, morally torn. Charles could have dug deeper and found the true culprit, because that number of corpses was suspiciously high. Then again natural disasters were deadly for the minorities most of the time, so it was a plausible scenario. ¡°I didn¡¯t grow up here. In fact, I moved in when I was around your age, give or take. But these are my people, my town, and I want to protect them in the best way I can. So, I am asking you, son, are you the tough bastard that Christopher told me about or are you just full of shit?¡± ¡°Death never stopped me from doing my job, and it never will if that¡¯s what you need to hear.¡± ¡°Very well,¡± he rose, leaned towards me, and extended his hand like the true devil he was. ¡°Welcome to New Orleans.¡± Reverse Fleckeryll Prt.1 Time here passes rather quickly. Boring days will go by almost effortlessly, while the hardest will only leave their mark at the back of your head; you went through a lot, but the moment you stepped in your home something like magic would take the cares away. I still like to think that the exotic essence of this city has something to do with it. And I am not talking about voodoo and witchcraft. It is something deeper, much more ethereal; something that doesn¡¯t need to be given a name or a cause. It just happens. The process of my adaptation in this new routine, meeting the other officers and learning about the city I was serving, lasted an entire month when I believed it would take me much longer to get used to everything. Christmas came and went like every other day did. Those who had families would take the holidays off and then return a bit drunk from both drinks and food, while the rest of us were struggling to keep ourselves busy somehow. Apparently, no one dared to disturb the peaceful holy days. I¡¯d guess it was a silent agreement between the townsfolk. Nevertheless, Charles was kind enough to invite me to his house. His wife wanted to meet me and feed me a good homemade meal since I had nowhere to go in town and no one to visit. Probably the Chief had already told her about my lonely life and my habit of cooking rarely. I declined politely, making sure I wasn¡¯t insulting them. Some other time, I suggested, when my stress would be less and my worries not that many. He understood and he assured me that she would, too. Thankfully, we had quickly established a pleasant work relationship, although there were times when I could sense his irritation on various decisions as he could feel my anger as well whenever I was coming across his stubbornness. Thus, December ended in a blink of an eye and the new year welcomed us harshly with really low temperatures and some dead junkies, a couple of them to be more precise, identically dead as those that Charles had told me on our first meeting. Cause of death; overdose. Case Closed. There was nothing else to see. However, my gut was telling me otherwise. But the real deal happened a month later and it was a case that forced me into putting aside my doubts about the addicts and focusing entirely on the matter at hand. 10th of February 1965 Phoenix Golden Hall, 13th Iberville Street, New Orleans. ¡°This better be good, Dandeline,¡± Charles threw down his half-burnt smoke and walked towards me. ¡°My wife is going to kill me if I miss another dinner with the Thomsons.¡± He let out a loud yawn and pulled his hands within the warm pockets of his coat. The weather had gone mad. Temperature had dropped at least ten degrees from the previous week and the humidity was only making things worse. Cold like that was usual for Chicago, but from what I had been told, Louisiana was suffering mostly from humidity due to the river and her southern location. Of course, something like that didn¡¯t seem to stop the killer from his heinous act, nor was it enough to stop us from investigating the peculiar crime scene. ¡°I think she will let this one go, Chief.¡± I replied nodding towards the building¡¯s entrance. ¡°You might even have a story to tell for the next gathering.¡± I added and entered the hall. Charles followed right behind me with a look of anticipation. I grinned. Despite his constant nagging whenever he had to leave his office or the house, that man was hungry for action. And he¡¯d get plenty of that from the looks of it. The Phoenix Golden Hall was one of the few remnants of an older era, filled with tuxedos, colourful dresses and orchestras who would sway you all across the room beneath the enormous chandelier. It was standing there for over two centuries and anyone could travel back in time once they¡¯d step their foot inside; even someone like me who was never fond of dancing and crowded places. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°I¡¯d like to believe that whoever did this, wanted to bring this place back to life.¡± I commented as I stepped aside in the huge room, allowing Charles to witness the grim crime scene; one of which I had never laid my eyes before. ¡°Jesus Christ!¡± the man cursed. ¡°They look like mannequins!¡± ¡°Four white males, around their twenties¡± I began explaining, ¡°no visible signs of combat. The cause of death is yet unknown, but-¡± I straightened my body and threw a glance again at the crime scene. My heart stopped for what it felt like minutes and a tight knot painfully formed in my stomach. Two pairs of young boys, dressed formally with three-piece suits, were held up straight by several fish strings; one side attached and sewn on their very skin, and the other tied up on the magnificent chandelier, resembling a very particular dance stance, accompanied by soft waltz music in the background. ¡°The janitor of this place, Mr. Abraham, was the first witness of the scene.¡± Officer Harold Hartman approached us, pulling his thick glasses upwards. His age was close to mine, yet I could tell that this kid hadn¡¯t seen much in the field and a part of me was thankful for that. I looked toward an old and short fellow, wearing a white shirt and worn-out pants. His skin was sunburnt and his short white hair was held in a tiny knot hanging from that bluish cap. He was still reporting to the other officers. Apparently, the colour of his skin raised more questions than usual. I rolled my eyes as Aaron continued. ¡°He was alarmed by the music and the lights in the dance hall. This place is open at least once every six months and definitely not during such weather. He was staying as always on the upper floor,¡± Aaron pointed and pulled once again his glasses. ¡°And that was when he heard music. Based upon his own words; it was a soft, nostalgic sound and it was calling out for him.¡± ¡°Calling out for him? Sounds a bit like a looney to me.¡± Charles commented. ¡°No wonder why they are still interrogating him.¡± Aaron simply shrugged our comments off and continued. ¡°Usually, he stays in a small room among the mops and the rats. It took him some time to reach the hall. Even if the killer was in here, Mr. Abraham must have missed him. Anyway, the old guy rushed down with his broom in case anyone attacked. The first thing that came to his mind was some stupid prank from the kids. Probably they robbed some stores and placed the dummies to their liking. But the moment he got closer and realised the boys were in fact real and not breathing at all, he rushed to the phone booth in the lobby and called us.¡± The young one took a deep breath and shook his head, ¡°I have to admit, though, that little man handled this situation better than he should, given the shock he went through.¡± Harold tapped his pen on the pad and took a deep breath, before exhaling all the air from his lungs. ¡°Is something troubling you, boy?¡± ¡°What sick mind does something like this? How do they sleep at night, knowing innocent souls were killed off by their very own hands?¡± Charles and I remained silent, unable to give an answer that would make him feel any better. ¡°They don¡¯t seem dead for longer than a few hours. Also, I can¡¯t tell whether he fished them while they were still breathing or not. There¡¯s no visible stain, nothing. Even the stitch is perfect.¡± Officer Aaron Wyler commented while noting down on his pad and chewing on his tobacco. It was an annoying sound, the one he was making, yet I couldn¡¯t think of anything else than his words; those boys were treated like fish, minus the gutting, and displayed like puppets. ¡°Do you want to know the most interesting thing of all? The killer left nothing behind, not even a single hair or fingerprints! It¡¯s almost impossible¡­¡± ¡°Almost?¡± Charles questioned and Harold rushed to show him the notes on his pad. Reverse Fleckeryll - Pt.2 ¡°The reverse fleckeryll.¡± I muttered as I stared at the pairs. ¡°What was that, detective?¡± Wyler threw his bitter question at me, hoping for some unreasonable reaction, with a half-smile hanging from his lips. I could feel everyone¨C even the dead bodies ¨C glancing at me. ¡°My mother was a professional dancer. Her greatest passion was the Viennese Waltz. I know every step by name and this one is definitely the reverse fleckeryll.¡± I rushed towards the front pair and knelt carefully, pointing at the boy¡¯s feet. ¡°Look at that. The motion of the feet and the position of the leg. The resemblance is uncanny.¡± Then I proceeded to the other. ¡°This is supposed to be the next exact step. Perfect in synch.¡± I smirked and chuckled. ¡°Officer Wyler, apparently our killer didn¡¯t pay that much attention to the details. These steps,¡± I pointed once again, are slightly off. Let¡¯s presume that they were actually dancing. This guy, the blonde one, would end up flat on the floor with a stance like this, hurting himself in the process. It¡¯s wrong.¡± Not that it mattered, but my instinct was tickling the insides of my mind. I kept this information in the back of my head, knowing that the others would immediately forget it. ¡°So, he wanted to give a performance?¡± Aaron questioned and I nodded as I returned next to the chief. ¡°A puppeteer who just placed his first puppets.¡± Charles sighed and looked at me, as if I had the answers that everyone was looking for. ¡°Do you think he will strike again?¡± ¡°Possibly. Why stop now?¡± I lit up a smoke from my pack and took a deep sip. ¡°He just let us know of his presence. Now, he needs to make our time worthwhile.¡± The echo of raining reached my ears, and I closed my eyes to that sound. Storms, thunders, the violent strike of raindrops on the windows and the street had this healing effect on me. It was going to be a long night, and I wouldn¡¯t spend it on my bed nor in the arms of some beauty. I needed some peace of mind to get through this. After a little while, the beautiful symphony was disrupted by the ambulance. Sudden rain apparently held them off all this time. I watched Hartman with the help of other two colleagues carefully cutting the fish strings and placing the bodies inside the bags and onto the beds that the meds had just brought in. ¡°It¡¯s not like we deserve a good day¡¯s rest, as well.¡± Aaron joked. I lit up yet another cigar. ¡°What about the identities of the gentlemen?¡± I proceeded with the next question as I walked towards Hartman. Informing the family of the deceased had always been the hardest part. Mothers would break down, fathers would try to console them but at the same time they were collapsing as well. You were just a messenger, in the end. The messenger of very bad news, and whether you caught the killer or not, it never mattered. You would always be the person who found their kids dead. ¡°None. I guess we are going to have to search around for recent disappearances or kidnappings.¡± He wasn¡¯t happy saying this and I wasn¡¯t excited either. ¡°Chief!¡± all three of us turned as Aaron brought in a man, soaked from the sudden storm. ¡°What is it, now?¡± Charles turned, annoyed and with his big, thick eyebrows frowning. ¡°I am so sorry for the intrusion, officers.¡± My eyes were instantly fixed on his. They were a dark shade of blue and for a brief second, I felt them staring into my soul. ¡°Ah, Mr. Soar. I am not surprised to see you here.¡± ¡°I came as soon as I noticed the commotion.¡± Police Department, 715 S Broad Street, New Orleans. One and half an hour later. I offered him one of my cigarettes, but the young man politely rejected me. Instead, I placed the darn thing in my mouth and after lighting the tip, I inhaled deeply, before blowing the smoke away. ¡°So, Mr. Valentine Soar, what exactly is your business with the police?¡± Charles made sure to dump this guy to me. Apparently, they knew each other, and the feelings of spite were rather mutual. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°Hasn¡¯t Mr. Davis told you, yet?¡± ¡°As you can tell, no.¡± he didn¡¯t like my answer, or better yet ¨C my answer was not what he expected. I observed him, while he remained silent. He was a fair man, with slick-back blondish hair, big round eyes coloured in a mix of grey and blue. His face was thin, yet it suited him in an unusual way. His slim body was giving off the impression of a healthy man who occasionally was exercising enough to maintain his good posture. And his clothing was impressive. They matched perfectly with the vibe that the Phoenix Hall was generating; one of a yester era. Valentine was sitting with a straight torso and leaned to the side, lost perhaps in his thoughts. I quickly glanced over at the clock. It was already three o¡¯clock after midnight. ¡°What exactly should I be aware of, Mr. Soar?¡± I asked, wishing for an answer this time. ¡°Chief Davis is not that fond of me as you certainly must have noticed,¡± he turned his focus completely on me and leaned closer to the desk. Those piercing eyes of his were stabbing mine like a pair of perfectly sharp blades. ¡°I don¡¯t blame him. I too would be annoyed if anyone was so eager to get involved in¡­strange tides.¡± He smirked and returned to his original stance, yet his gaze was glued on me. ¡°I am a graduate of Princeton University. My major was Psychology, and it would be my greatest delight to assist in your investigation.¡± ¡°I believe if Chief Davis was in need of a psychiatrist, then he¡¯d let you in-¡± ¡°Psychologist,¡± the man corrected me, ¡°I am no doctor, detective. I have no authority to prescribe drugs or examine the human brain and body. I am simply a man who observes and understands the mind a bit better than others. I have also spent many months studying in depth the theory of Behaviorism. Through it I can analyse better and create an advanced profile for the killer; a profile that can lead you closer to the truth.¡± I sighed and leaned back on my chair. I was never one of those who were against this kind of studies and theories. As the son of a mentally ill woman, I was aware of the brain¡¯s complexity and how easily-as any other organ in our body-it could break. ¡°Alright, let us assume that your help is as valuable as you say. Why get involved in something so dangerous? You will be a liability the moment we come across our murderer. Either you or me, or any other officer can be targeted and shot dead.¡± Valentine kept his silence. I couldn¡¯t tell if he was searching for the right kind of answer or if he was considering my warning. ¡°I appreciate your concern, detective, but I am not planning on getting involved too deeply. I will silently observe, listen, and pay close attention to details that your methods might miss.¡± The whole time he was talking, my eyes were watching his hands, rubbing each other. Indeed, the room was not warm, and apparently, I had gotten used to it. Once he noticed me, he put on a charming smile and pulled out of his coat pocket a pair of gloves. ¡°I am sorry. I¡¯ve always been sensitive to the cold.¡± ¡°I can tell¡­¡± was all that I could say before I groaned lightly. ¡°Listen, Mr. Soar, it is not in my place to go against the chief¡¯s orders. I understand that you want to help, and I believe that your knowledge could be of service, but I am afraid-¡± ¡°You are going to reject me.¡± He spoke first with disappointment. ¡°Very well, then.¡± He stood up, straightened his long coat, and smiled softly. ¡°Thank you for listening to me, detective Dandeline. Do note that my offer still stands and whenever you change your mind, this'' '' he handed me a small card with an address and a phone number, ¡°is where you can find me. I work for the University as a substitute teacher on weekdays and I stay in the office until late in the evening, but I can always find time for you.¡± And with those words he was gone. I watched him walking away, wearing his scarf, and losing himself outside the building and within the silent streets of the city. I could still sense the disappointment in his voice as I rejected him. I got up and walked to the chief¡¯s office, knocking on his door, and entering before receiving an answer. ¡°Are you done with him?¡± he asked while filling out a tone of paperwork. One mug of coffee was on his left and the ashtray half-full on his right. ¡°He just left.¡± I leaned against the door. ¡°I swear, if this kid appears again, it will be his head I¡¯ll be aiming with my gun.¡± I laughed as I folded my arms, yet I still was thinking of his words. ¡°Alright, speak your mind, Dandeline.¡± ¡°What if he can be helpful?¡± Charles shot me with his glance. He dropped his pen and leaned backwards with an annoyed look on his face. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me that you bought his nonsense! He is a child, Dandeline! A child that is mesmerised by fire and wants to get closer.¡± He exhaled, grimacing. ¡°He doesn¡¯t know of the dangers that lie ahead and he will get burnt and guess who will get sacked? I will. So, forget all about it.¡± A delirium. It was the only way I could explain this rush of words. I sat down. ¡°We are searching for evidence that is not there. The bodies left us with nothing but a couple of stitches and the ballroom hall as clean as your mother¡¯s floor. We have nothing to hold onto. We have nothing to point us at the killer.¡± ¡°And you believe that the psychology crap will do the job for us?¡± I took a deep breath, ¡°I believe that it might be some sort of start. We can give him a chance. We can show him pictures of the crime scene. If his line of thought makes sense, then we keep him. If not, then he goes back to wherever he came from. We have nothing to lose, Charles, but we have lots to gain if it works out.¡± The silence was killing me. Charles played with his tongue, rubbing his front teeth behind his dry lips. His breathing was loud and fast. He wasn¡¯t happy with this, and he wasn¡¯t happy with his decision either. ¡°This will be on you, Dandeline. If he fails and there are consequences, it will be you facing them.¡± ¡°What if he succeeds?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll buy you the most expensive whiskey your tongue has ever tasted. The best in all Louisiana!¡± Trigger Warning TRIGGER WARNING: This fictional work contains graphic references to topics such as: Strong LanguageMental DisordersSuicideViolenceReferences to hate crimes Also, please take note that the events of the webnovel take place in the 1960s, New Orleans. I understand that any reference to racist/hate crimes that were prevelant during that era might cause distress, so please be warned and proceed with caution. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. DISCLAIMER: It is important to note that the inclusion of these themes in the story does not in any way endorse or condone the racist ideologies or actions depicted. The author firmly stands against racism, discrimination, and prejudice in all its forms and believes in the importance of challenging and confronting such injustices.