Chapter Twenty Six - Procession

  Truthfully, I didn’t know what to expect. If I showed up to the Museum of Stillness, what would that accomplish? Certainly, I would meet with the Flawless face to face. From then, I could arrest him on the spot. But, that seems too easy. This would be the perfect opportunity for me to win – but why would it be provided by the culprit himself? There is a definite motive of his that I cannot begin to fathom. I have to come armed, as I could very well be walking into a deathtrap.

  Even so, it still is strange that I was being invited to a public place. Is the Flawless really present in the largest museum of Misult City? How could I be back to doubting myself after all that talk? Stop it. There is no need to doubt myself anymore.

  My mind was wandering about even as I was driving to the museum. I was going to put everything at stake here - my role as a detective, my case, and my life. Honestly, I was determined to put an end to this, but my life had already lost its flair. I suffered a similar fate to Faust – having my hopes crushed in front of me with the passage of causality. A sigh after sigh, I only kept driving, driving to what may be my final end.

  Sylphie, the Assistant Detective, was in the car with me. At first, I suggested that she stayed at the precinct. But after a quick dismissal from her side, she told me that she would not let the damage I suffered last time happen again. And so, with unwanted backup by my side, I ventured into the Museum of Stillness. As oddly symbolic as it was, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was intentional.

  This feels too sudden for it to be the end. It seems too easy for me to just arrive there and apprehend the man behind all of my troubles. But, that exact thing is being offered to me on a silver platter. After all of this, was the Flawless really surrendering himself to the DPD? I drove for what seemed like an eternity, while only wondering about that theory. Maybe after all I have suffered through, the thought of victory just alienated itself to me.

  The building itself is quite magnificent. It is comprised of three wings on the sides and on the back, and each of them are dotted with a bunch of colorful windows of varying sizes. The architecture is exemplary, as almost every nook and cranny of the outer walls are in some way detailed, whether it is embossment, masonwork, or reinforcement of details. The structure as a whole sits atop an artificially-made hill, making it seem even grander than it would otherwise be. With this high vantage point, it provides a slight view around the city, although it is not nearly as expansive as the view from Trelton Hotel, for example. Today, it is Saturday, meaning that there is a considerably higher number of guests today. A large carpark is situated in front of the museum, and the abundance of family vehicles here hinted at this fact. There were children of a plethora of ages, their parents, grandparents, couples, the elderly – everything.

  It is almost impossible to believe that these are the operation grounds for the most wanted murderer in the country. If I didn’t receive a letter confirming exactly that, I wouldn’t even think of that possibility. Truly, it is unexpected for the Flawless to be here, and if I went down the route of shaking up the whole city, would I end up in front of these colorful doors all the same? I know my capabilities, and I know my tendencies. It is unthinkable that this is something I could discover by myself – the hunt for the Flawless would’ve absolutely been in vain.

  Sylphie tugged on my sleeve. “Don’t go on another depressive tangent – at least not now.”

  That is helpful advice – wallowing in my sorrows won’t achieve anything for me. Even though I cannot bring myself to think positively, I can still manage to be neutral. Don’t forget that – a mindset is the most powerful weapon of a detective. Yes, even though these past events have shaken that status, I am still a detective through and through.

  “Let’s go, Sylphie.”

  The plan was simple, the only goal we had was to apprehend the Flawless to justice. That was the only thing on my mind, and presumably also on Sylphie’s. A single doubt arose – the civilians around us. If push comes to shove, they would be directly exposed to a mass-murderer. That risk only cemented the fact that we need to be cautious around here, and think of any threats as imminent. I disclosed my thoughts with Sylphie as we strolled through the halls of the museum, and something quite important eluded us. How were we supposed to find him here? This place is especially massive, and hundreds upon hundreds of people kept moving around en masse. There was no one to greet us, nor a single soul to make themselves known to us. We were left to wander around, hoping to run into someone who knows who we are.

  “Sylphie thinks that we should’ve asked at the front desk.”

  “How would that help?” I asked, somewhat agitated.

  “Think, Detective – if this place belongs to the sender, would it not be advantageous to ask the staff?”

  “What makes you think that the Flawless owns the museum?”

  “Sylphie just assumed,” she uttered succinctly.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The Flawless being the director of the Museum of Stillness seems unlikely, as such a position would not only be quite literally useless to who he is, but it would also be very apparent to the public, and the name he holds would be known. Of course, asking someone would yield better results than running around aimlessly, and I have come to accept that whatever Sylphie spins up, it is usually true. Then, we turned back around and started heading to the front desk.

  Even though I was in no mood to appreciate the art around us, it was so overbearing that I couldn’t turn away from it, because it was quite literally everywhere I looked. Both left and right, there were statues, paintings, and other fancy things. If I looked at the floor, I would see unusual mosaics and even more art. The ceiling was no different – colored chandeliers illuminated the entirety of the rooms. Sylphie herself was in a good mood, and the childish scrawl that poses as modern art surely appealed to her tastebuds.

  The lady at the front desk was at first quite confused, but after we showed her a symbol that was on the letter, she quickly composed herself and sent us a floor above where all the viewing displays were. It was an unexpected outcome, and her sudden reaction hinted that maybe the Flawless really holds some status of power here. As for this floor, it is entirely off limits for the guests of the museum, only allowing staff and personnel to enter. All the imaginative and vibrant art that was seen earlier is nowhere to be found in here, leaving only room for the plain walls. We were not told where exactly to go, and the way ahead was especially inconclusive, forking at several points. However, there was one sign that we followed, and that was a red arrow with ‘Administration Room’ written on it. It was made apparent that the Flawless is someone respected here, despite their true status of being a killer. Were they simply unaware? Or is the whole museum the accomplice? The Face’s only hint was that there is another person aside from the Flawless to oppose us, but that ‘person’ could very well be an entire organization. Needless to say, I had no clue as to what we could find here.

  While we were on our way to our destination, we have ascended to yet another floor, this one being even less inviting. It started to resemble more of an attic over some kind of artistic institution. Any traces of people being around slowly vanished as we traversed into the darker corridors. The signage also stopped as we walked up the last set of stairs, and we were left to wander on our own. Nevertheless, an end was met, and it took the shape of a distinct heavy door.

  “Is that it?” I asked rhetorically.

  “Sylphie thinks so,” she replied regardless.

  We approached the door with due haste, knowing that whatever we were looking for was undeniably behind it. Even though it was quite dark, a faded text was still legible on the door. It read what could only be interpreted as “Darkroom”. A connection instantly clicked inside me – a darkroom is a specialized room where photographs are summoned, making them observable. There was no proof to this claim, but only my burning desire to end this case – the Flawless is behind this door.

  I wasted no time in opening the door, doing it in such a manner that allowed me to see inside, but I still remained positioned behind it. A quick glimpse into the room proved my hypothesis right – this was undoubtedly a darkroom, but it was currently not in use from the looks of it. Photos of various sizes decorated the walls, and many more were hung on strings spanning the entire length of the room. There was an uncountable amount of them all around, reaching to even the top of the room. I was too far to see any of them closely, but they all shared one similarity – a person sitting on a chair.

  The door made me think that this was going to be a room made with concrete walls and floors, but it was quite the opposite. The floor was composed of old wooden boards, and the walls also. It resembled an antique attic, and the abundance of photos only made it clear that this was that exact purpose. A single window was placed in the far side of the room, and a closing mechanism was installed above it in order to prevent light from entering, but it was currently open. Several rays of light pierced the room, illuminating the most apparent object in the center of the room – a chair-bound identity.

  There was no one else, nor was there a place to hide. The only person in the room is yet another corpse that I have grown accustomed to. With the coast clear, I fully entered and approached the dead body. Truthfully, whoever this was, they are obviously deceased – unmoving and bereft of reaction. As for their appearance, they seem to be an older man with signs of emerging baldness, but a few strands of long blond hair are still present. Their eyes are static, and even though I am right before them, they are still unwilling to move. I was left with only a single question – where is the Flawless? Where is Raziel Seishi?

  My composure started eroding when I realized that the man I was looking for wasn’t here, and my first course of action was checking that window. I looked down from it, and there is no possible way that anyone could have descended it from here. The floor was quite high up, and there are no ledges or catwalks below. The Flawless did not escape through the window, that is certain. I was about to erupt, but then – a voice echoed throughout the confines of the darkroom.

  “Detective Vince Capleaf.”

  It was not the voice of Sylphie, who stood right by me, nor the voice of anyone I know. It came from behind me, and it sounded rough and aged. Each word was pronounced with a degree of struggle, seemingly as if whoever spoke them had a hard time speaking out loud.

  I turned around so fast, quickly enough for me to catch whoever said that. However, there was no one there. Or that is what I thought at first, until I noticed the presumed corpse in the center of the room visibly breathing. There is no way. My own breathing faltered upon this realization, something so unexpectedly final. That man in the chair, the one I assumed to be a still corpse devoid of life – could he be…?

  How could I have ever mistaken a living being for a corpse? No – this is not my lapse in judgement. That figure remained unmoving up until now, they did that intentionally. Only a non-human could perform something like that. And the only thing that I encountered that wasn’t human was my opposition. That demon, that man sitting in the chair, is it him? Of course, I was willingly invited here, to arrive, and to meet the culprit behind it all in person. Only the living stillness that plagued my life could do that. Then, it is written. That man in the chair, the aged figure who barely had a shred of humanity on him – he is the destined precursor of MC-13, the one named Raziel Seishi, and the Flawless in his entirety.