Elima is trying to stop me from going to Claire’s house. She stands between my bedroom door and the exit of my apartment, still in her nightgown.
“Elima, just go home,” I say, trying to push past her.
“I’m not letting you go, end of story! They’ll get him, I’m sure of it!” She retorts, keeping her stance.
“They won't!” I shout, “they’ll just fuck everything up. As always. And this is serious...this fucking freak has to get justice.”
“And you’re willing to lose your job because of their fuckups?”
“I’m not risking my job,” I reply, sounding “I’m doing it.”
“What did Lowe say? This is not yours! You’re going against the law if you intrude the crime scene! She even classified the case! What other signs do you need so that you fucking back off?”
I stare into her eyes and harden my expression.
“Elima.”
She doesn’t reply. She shakes her head. This isn’t about the job, it’s about me.
“What if this guy...this killer, retaliates because you're trying to get him? You were attacked during Marie's case, it can happen again..."
“I'm able to defend myself."
“What about me? Aren’t you scared that I’ll-”
I block her mouth with my hand instantly.
“Edward!” She retaliates, slapping my wrist away.
I push her to the side forcefully from my bedroom and open the door, pointing outside, “dress up and get out.”
She looks at me with a hurt expression, “why?”
I’m shaking. I chuckle bitterly for a second, as my heart rings inside my ears, loud and fast, “this isn’t what you should be doing, you're not my wife. Go home. Now."
She quickly dresses up and walks to me, the open door to our side.
“Why are you so allergic to happiness?”
I look at her for a brief moment, before closing my eyes in contemplation. Sighing through my nose, I caress her hair gently.
“I gave up on that long ago, Elima.”
Her gaze lowers. She wants to cling to me, but I step back. Finally, she surrenders...and after grabbing her coat and purse from the hanger, she leaves.
She doesn’t understand. I have to do this. I let Claire die...and now another young woman is dead just like here because I didn’t follow up. After Marie and this together...I just need to stop this motherfucker, whoever he is.
This is the only thing I’m good at nowadays. I don’t need or want any other type of satisfaction.
I need to get going. Forensics are probably still at the scene, so I’ll have to go to Claire’s house tonight. But for now, there are some things I can still do.
I go to the phone and immediately dial a very old number.
“Hi, old friend.”
“It has. So...I’m not gonna sugarcoat it.”
I chuckle, “that doesn’t mean I’m not glad to meet you after so long.”
“Yeah, sounds good. I’ll be there in a bit.”
Manny’s pub.
The claustrophobic pub of my childhood. My father used to come here to hang out with his friends...sadly, he brought me along, even though I was fourteen. It was not his fault at all...I was the one obsessed with doing everything he did, even adult stuff...which is why I’m a private eye in the first place.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Mom was always against it, but my father was convinced that the sooner I got used to the worst parts of Noctharn, the sooner I’d give up on being his copycat. No matter how many times he asked me to stay home, I’d sneak out and try to stay with him at this pub.
Well, turns out he was right. There was this guy...he was a bit older than me, but we immediately got along. He would ask what I was doing in such a place. He was Manny’s son, so he was working there for him with side-jobs such as moving boxes and managing storage.
We soon became best friends, and also discovered we went to the same school.
Errilk, my best friend. We’re not so close nowadays, we’re mostly deep in our business...but we’re still there for each other when hard times come.
Which is why I’m sitting in front of him, two beers between us.
I told him everything about the situation first of all.
“Hm...I see, man,” he nodded, brushing his thick beard while taking a huge sip, “I get it, you wanna get shit done because you know the cops aren’t going to get this guy. I’m not here to judge you.”
“Thank you,” I smile bitterly and nod.
“So!” He claps his hands and rubs them, “what do you need?”
Errilk has a...particular profession. He has connections, he deals with the slums and the black market. He’s a good all-rounder when things get dirty.
His only rule? No hitmen for innocent people. That is why I respect him very much.
“First of all, I need a borrowed car. I can’t let it be traced to me, I gotta go in some places where I could be watched.”
“Alright. Car with fake license plate. What’s next?”
“I need to see if the police has info on similar cases. I’m pretty sure Claire wasn’t the first girl, the M.O doesn’t feel like a first kill,” I say.
“Hm...you sure you wanna go down that way? You risk losing your badge.”
I sigh and look at the table, pondering his question, “I wouldn’t have come to you if I didn’t want to get dirty. I'll be careful."
“Well...fine then. Whatever you choose, I’ll respect it,” he nods and takes another sip, licking his lips clean from the beer’s foam. “Just warning you...it’s gonna cost. The kind of calls I’ll have to make won’t be easy at all.”
“I have money, don’t worry.”
“I know, just a heads up,” he nods, “what else?”
I clear my throat, my expression getting a bit more serious as I finish the beer and set it aside.
“One last thing, for now,” I lower my voice, “I need you to get in contact with anyone who knows about...a young Other One girl with blue eyes and a black dress. It sounds like an urban legend or something. Wanna make sure Claire’s vision was isolated...and actually that. A vision.”
He furrows his brows, his lips attached to the glass as she processes my question. When he sets it down, he coughs softly before asking, “the blue-eyed Other One Claire saw? The schizophrenic Claire?”
I sigh out of irritation, leaning closer to him “I wanna make sure it was just something she saw...I have to know if it’s unrelated.”
He raises his hands, sensing my darkened tone, “Okay man, I’ll do it. I have the right people that are fixated with this kind of spooky knowledge...I’ll get you in touch with them, and you’ll be able to ask for information yourself.”
“Good, thank you,” I nod, standing up, “I’ll get going then, I have some other stuff to do.”
“Alright man. I’ll get the car to your apartment in a couple of hours, the keys will be taped to the front left tire. And I’ll call you when the rest of what you asked is done.”
“Yes, call my office or my home. If I don’t reply, just send a letter.”
I offer my hand to Errilk, which he grabs immediately with a smile, “Thank you, seriously,” I say, with deep respect.
“No problem man, just don’t do anything stupid.”
“Too late for that,” I chuckle.
“Then don’t do anything too stupid.”
“I’ll try.”
I get to my office, I should get lunch but I can’t waste my time. I have to postpone some cases of next week, I can’t be too busy if this whole serial killer thing becomes something actually big.
“Even in the week-ends, I’m here…” I chuckle at my own words as I ruffle through Elima’s folders. I have no idea where she keeps things.
I grab the phone and call her house.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Rondart, hello. I’m Detective D’arbie.”
“I need to speak with Elima, it’s job related.”
“It’s just a quick question, I’m at the office and I don’t know where she left a folder I need.”
I take a deep breath.
“Mrs. Rondart, this is important. I need you to bring me Elima, she’s an adult and she’s able to decide by herself what to do with her job,” I say, putting up a fake smile she can’t even see...it’s for my own sanity."
The phone blares with both voices arguing. I’m...surprised. Elima has always talked about her parents with a smile, saying only good things about them.
Oh well, maybe even healthy families have fights like this.
But...grounded? She’s 24…
Finally the mother gives up and lets me speak with Elima.
“Elima,” I mutter her name, sitting down at her desk, “I need to know where you keep the folder of the next week’s clients I have to speak to. I need to postpone some stuff.”
“No, not a whole week...just some afternoons in case I need them. I just don’t want overlaps.”
She stays silent for a while, the phone buzzes into my ear. She really doesn’t want me to do this.
“Thank you Elima. And…”
“I’m sorry. I know I am disappointing you.”
More silence. A soft little sigh comes out of the receiver,
I close the call, closing my eyes for a brief second.
I need to get back to work.
Afternoon. Finally, I’ve made the last call. I have enough money to get by, so it’s not much of a loss. It’s 4:00...I haven’t even eaten lunch.
I get up from the chair and stretch. No phone call from Errilk...well, that’s just normal. I’ll probably have to wait for a few days at least.
For now, I’ll pass by Claire’s house as soon as the car gets to my apartment. I need to look for an opportunity to get inside.
On the way home, I decide to grab a bite.
After thanking the street vendor, I walk down the usual path to my home with my wrap between cheap tin foil,
Afternoons are not as busy as mornings, since most people are still on the clock...most jobs here include saturdays to allow people to reach the end of the month without starving. All you see are stay at home mothers walking with strollers and young teenagers hanging out. I feel out of place, as a big man with a beard, among these people.
I’ve always loved my job because it pays damn well and I make my own hours. As long as I get clients, everything’s gonna flow like this until I retire.
Maybe this is why Elima chose to work for me instead of throwing herself inside some suffocating factory.
The window is open, so when I hear a car parking in front of the apartment’s complex, I look outside. A man gets out, locks the door and puts the keys on the tire...after that, he hits the streets.
My car. It’s time to get to work.