Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
He is there
I chose my ideal vantage point. Sitting on the floor with my back against the rear wall of the glassbalcony, I can see through the crack in the blinds. Moving my head I can keep watch through almost one hundred and eighty degrees on the surrounding buildings, while no-one can see me from outside, protected as I am by darkness.
At least twice I’ve lost consciousness of where I am, my mind has got lost among woods and ravines. Someone's at the door, stopping me in the middle of a thought that I cannot recapture. The doorbell rings again, this time accompanied by a woman's voice.
'Mr. De la Tour, I'm Carrel! Open, please.'
I do not move, she still calls.
'De la Tour, if you’re okay and can hear me, say something.'
I reach out looking for the remote control for the door, make the lock snap open. I move crawling on the floor as if through treacle. Air is flowing in, the door is ajar. I slowly push it.
'Mr. De la Tour?'
I can see nothing beyond the threshold. Mechanically, without looking away, I draw the gun from its holster, holding it with both hands in front of me. It gives me an uncanny feeling, I feel strange, too light. With my index fingerI release the safety catch, then stretch out my finger along the barrel to prevent accidental discharge. I push the door open with my foot, it stops half-open, bumping against something.
It’s the last straw, I’m stretched beyond my limit, suddenly dark shadows are seething and my ears are filled with shouts and whistles that only I can hear. I’m seized with violent trembling, my throat tightens, a voice tells me one thing, "Run away!"
Instead I stay pointing the gun at the dark shape on the floor that’s blocking the doorway. Only now do I sense that is Didier, crouched in his bathrobe.
I feel a burning need for oxygen, my legs go soft, I hit the wall with the knuckles of my left hand which I’ve taken off the gun, I’m panting and gasping, looking at my gigantic shadow cast into the room.
'All right Mr. De la Tour?' I say in a voice that I perceive as unreal.
'Yup.'
'Are you alone?'
'Yes, but come away from the light.'
Didier shows me to the window,
'He is there...'
I put the gun back in its holster and feel along the wall to find the switch. Didier covers his face from the beam of light. I help him to get up on his feet, snap my fingers in front of his face.
'You’re with me, Mr. de la Tour.'
'Yes, yes ...' , then he throws himself onto the sofa, '... I’ve had it.'
'Do you get this often?'
'Not anymore.'
I bring him a glass of water, then drag a chair over and put myself astride it in front of him.
'You think Father is watching?'
'He left the whistle for me. It means that he knows I'm handling the case.'
'Why didn't you report it, if you’re so sure?'
'Who to? Those two who interrogated me?'
'Have you spoken to your lawyer?'
'He’s already worried enough.'
'I saw the UCV record. The whistle was not there a couple of hours before we came along.'
'I don’t think it's a coincidence.'
'Rationally, I still can’t believe your captor’s returned, and so far I’ve no rational grounds for doubting the guilt of Béjart. But irrationally, I’m afraid I may be wrong. And if so, you are in danger.'
'Thank you for coming to my rescue.'
'So, can you give me something that will transform my fear into a concrete doubt? Something that I can report back to the magistrate?'
'Do you know what Father wanted to tell me with that whistle?'
'He’s dead, De la Tour, years dead.'
' " Stay off my patch." And I'm going to.'
'If – absurdly - it was Father ... we’re in no position to understand his reasoning. Must I remind you what you said about his inscrutable mind?'
'What choice do we have?'
'I can help you get an assessment of the evidence of the case against him and that against Béjart. What you’re claiming is that the girl was not killed by her father, that there are reliable similarities to your abduction, and that we are not looking for a second body but a living child. I'll get the material to the proper authorities, the girl will have some chance of survival and being rescued. Otherwise it means she’s already been killed by Béjart and that there is no-one out there who’s holding her.'
'What is it that makes you so worried about me and that little girl? What’s making you want to help us against all logic?'
'I'm sick of scratching my ass.'
'Or maybe you have sins to be expiated. If you really want to help me, I need to trust you. How many people you shot?'
'That’s a copper’s secret.'
'I’ll make you a coffee before you go back out in the cold.'
'I'm not going to go. But the coffee will help. I’ve got a job to do here. I have to search your flat.'
'I'm still dazed. I think I heard you say you’ll frisk me?'
'If there’s anyone watching you, he’s using binoculars - or more. I’ll check for microphones and microcameras.'
'You really want to rummage through my stuff? But if you have to sniff through my rubbish, do you mind if we do it together? It’ll embarrass me less.'
'Of course not.' I nod.
'I'll make some good coffee.'
For the rest of the night I open drawers and boxes, move furniture, dab tiles, dismount electrical outlets and light fixtures, trying not to make too much noise so as not to alarm the neighbors. Sleep overcomes me a couple of times, but it’s not my first sleepless night, it is certainly better indoors than in a police van listening for interceptions through headphones on my ears. Didier follows me around for a couple of hours then collapses.
At seven I wake him with a cup of latte.
'What coffee did you use?'
'Just any old coffee I found.'
'I don’t keep any old coffee in my kitchen! Well?'
'Nothing. I even dismantled the TV. Maybe your paranoia is just paranoia.'
'Maybe he listens to me with a laser that detects vibrations in the windowpane?'
'You read too much bullshit. However, you can’t stay here.'
'Are you kidding?'
'Probably there's fucking nobody out there watching you, but if it really was your captor who hung the whistle there, you’ve become a target.'
'If it was Béjart, he’s already killed his daughter. But Father will be keeping her alive until he can dispose of her safely.'
'I've called Roux, he’ll will provide us with all we ask. So, we relocate you?'
'Together?'
'I’ve got a gun and you haven’t. Until I’m dead sure you’re just paranoid I'll have itching in my ass, and I'm not thrilled at that idea.'
'Let me make a couple of phone calls, I know where to find a safe place.'
*
While Didier picks up the phone and Corinne relaxes on the couch to rest a bit, a man in the street stops, looks up at the window. He’s wearing a raincoat zipped up to the neck, and carrying a bag with all that’s needed for a week’s varied diet suitable for an anorexic girl, a young girl who doesn’t want to eat, and is begging tearfully for her parents. The man in the waterproof knows that soon she’ll become more submissive, that’s the way it goes. But someone’s blundering in to ruin everything.
The man is still looking up at the fifth floor. What is happening behind the windows up there is not to his liking.
And he’s thinking how to remedy it...
I chose my ideal vantage point. Sitting on the floor with my back against the rear wall of the glassbalcony, I can see through the crack in the blinds. Moving my head I can keep watch through almost one hundred and eighty degrees on the surrounding buildings, while no-one can see me from outside, protected as I am by darkness.
At least twice I’ve lost consciousness of where I am, my mind has got lost among woods and ravines. Someone's at the door, stopping me in the middle of a thought that I cannot recapture. The doorbell rings again, this time accompanied by a woman's voice.
'Mr. De la Tour, I'm Carrel! Open, please.'
I do not move, she still calls.
'De la Tour, if you’re okay and can hear me, say something.'
I reach out looking for the remote control for the door, make the lock snap open. I move crawling on the floor as if through treacle. Air is flowing in, the door is ajar. I slowly push it.
'Mr. De la Tour?'
I can see nothing beyond the threshold. Mechanically, without looking away, I draw the gun from its holster, holding it with both hands in front of me. It gives me an uncanny feeling, I feel strange, too light. With my index fingerI release the safety catch, then stretch out my finger along the barrel to prevent accidental discharge. I push the door open with my foot, it stops half-open, bumping against something.
It’s the last straw, I’m stretched beyond my limit, suddenly dark shadows are seething and my ears are filled with shouts and whistles that only I can hear. I’m seized with violent trembling, my throat tightens, a voice tells me one thing, "Run away!"
Instead I stay pointing the gun at the dark shape on the floor that’s blocking the doorway. Only now do I sense that is Didier, crouched in his bathrobe.
I feel a burning need for oxygen, my legs go soft, I hit the wall with the knuckles of my left hand which I’ve taken off the gun, I’m panting and gasping, looking at my gigantic shadow cast into the room.
'All right Mr. De la Tour?' I say in a voice that I perceive as unreal.
'Yup.'
'Are you alone?'
'Yes, but come away from the light.'
Didier shows me to the window,
'He is there...'
I put the gun back in its holster and feel along the wall to find the switch. Didier covers his face from the beam of light. I help him to get up on his feet, snap my fingers in front of his face.
'You’re with me, Mr. de la Tour.'
'Yes, yes ...' , then he throws himself onto the sofa, '... I’ve had it.'
'Do you get this often?'
'Not anymore.'
I bring him a glass of water, then drag a chair over and put myself astride it in front of him.
'You think Father is watching?'
'He left the whistle for me. It means that he knows I'm handling the case.'
'Why didn't you report it, if you’re so sure?'
'Who to? Those two who interrogated me?'
'Have you spoken to your lawyer?'
'He’s already worried enough.'
'I saw the UCV record. The whistle was not there a couple of hours before we came along.'
'I don’t think it's a coincidence.'
'Rationally, I still can’t believe your captor’s returned, and so far I’ve no rational grounds for doubting the guilt of Béjart. But irrationally, I’m afraid I may be wrong. And if so, you are in danger.'
'Thank you for coming to my rescue.'
'So, can you give me something that will transform my fear into a concrete doubt? Something that I can report back to the magistrate?'
'Do you know what Father wanted to tell me with that whistle?'
'He’s dead, De la Tour, years dead.'
' " Stay off my patch." And I'm going to.'
'If – absurdly - it was Father ... we’re in no position to understand his reasoning. Must I remind you what you said about his inscrutable mind?'
'What choice do we have?'
'I can help you get an assessment of the evidence of the case against him and that against Béjart. What you’re claiming is that the girl was not killed by her father, that there are reliable similarities to your abduction, and that we are not looking for a second body but a living child. I'll get the material to the proper authorities, the girl will have some chance of survival and being rescued. Otherwise it means she’s already been killed by Béjart and that there is no-one out there who’s holding her.'
'What is it that makes you so worried about me and that little girl? What’s making you want to help us against all logic?'
'I'm sick of scratching my ass.'
'Or maybe you have sins to be expiated. If you really want to help me, I need to trust you. How many people you shot?'
'That’s a copper’s secret.'
'I’ll make you a coffee before you go back out in the cold.'
'I'm not going to go. But the coffee will help. I’ve got a job to do here. I have to search your flat.'
'I'm still dazed. I think I heard you say you’ll frisk me?'
'If there’s anyone watching you, he’s using binoculars - or more. I’ll check for microphones and microcameras.'
'You really want to rummage through my stuff? But if you have to sniff through my rubbish, do you mind if we do it together? It’ll embarrass me less.'
'Of course not.' I nod.
'I'll make some good coffee.'
For the rest of the night I open drawers and boxes, move furniture, dab tiles, dismount electrical outlets and light fixtures, trying not to make too much noise so as not to alarm the neighbors. Sleep overcomes me a couple of times, but it’s not my first sleepless night, it is certainly better indoors than in a police van listening for interceptions through headphones on my ears. Didier follows me around for a couple of hours then collapses.
At seven I wake him with a cup of latte.
'What coffee did you use?'
'Just any old coffee I found.'
'I don’t keep any old coffee in my kitchen! Well?'
'Nothing. I even dismantled the TV. Maybe your paranoia is just paranoia.'
'Maybe he listens to me with a laser that detects vibrations in the windowpane?'
'You read too much bullshit. However, you can’t stay here.'
'Are you kidding?'
'Probably there's fucking nobody out there watching you, but if it really was your captor who hung the whistle there, you’ve become a target.'
'If it was Béjart, he’s already killed his daughter. But Father will be keeping her alive until he can dispose of her safely.'
'I've called Roux, he’ll will provide us with all we ask. So, we relocate you?'
'Together?'
'I’ve got a gun and you haven’t. Until I’m dead sure you’re just paranoid I'll have itching in my ass, and I'm not thrilled at that idea.'
'Let me make a couple of phone calls, I know where to find a safe place.'
*
While Didier picks up the phone and Corinne relaxes on the couch to rest a bit, a man in the street stops, looks up at the window. He’s wearing a raincoat zipped up to the neck, and carrying a bag with all that’s needed for a week’s varied diet suitable for an anorexic girl, a young girl who doesn’t want to eat, and is begging tearfully for her parents. The man in the waterproof knows that soon she’ll become more submissive, that’s the way it goes. But someone’s blundering in to ruin everything.
The man is still looking up at the fifth floor. What is happening behind the windows up there is not to his liking.
And he’s thinking how to remedy it...