Chapter 11-- The Syringe and the Cross
A number of police cars line the street just outside the once abandoned warehouse, their flashing lights illuminating an otherwise desolate district. A few hobos crowd around curiously to see the spectacle before being driven off by policemen posted behind the bright yellow tape.
Inside the warehouse, several men and women in white polyester overalls, under the direction of the bespectacled forensic specialist Neville Lyles, are carefully analyzing the young brunette's mutilated body, taking pictures and collecting fiber and fluid samples from the enclosed crime scene. Lieutenant Faisal stands in a corner with Chief Helmwood, exchanging words and looking over at a dazed-looking young man sitting in the far back row of the theater, bandages wrapped around his chest, head, and left arm. He sits silently, staring blankly at the stage.
"Are you Corbin Graystone?"
Corbin raises his eyes and sees a middle-aged, dark skinned man in uniform, a graying beard dotting his chin. He responds with a slight nod.
"You knew the victim."
Another nod.
"I'm Chief Helmwood, of the London Metropolitan Police. This is Lieutenant Faisal. He will be overseeing this case."
The man finally introduces himself and helps himself to a seat adjacent to Corbin.
"The description you gave of the perpetrator... it's quite...unusual..."
Corbin is silent for another moment, before slowly turning his eyes to the police chief.
"I know what I saw, sir."
Chief Helmwood lets out a deep sigh and glances up at Faisal, who gives him a slight nod. He shifts his attention back to the young man.
"How are those wounds, my boy?"
"They'll heal, sir. Not too deep."
Corbin replies in a terse manner, staring dead ahead at the crime scene. Helmwood gently places a leathery hand on the shoulder of Corbin's uninjured arm.
"We would like for you to join our investigation."
"Sir...?"
Corbin glances over with a slight start.
"You knew the victim personally, and you saw the perpetrator. I've already spoken to the college. We will be transfering you out of campus security and appoint you as a community support officer for this specific case."
Colt nods in silent agreement, then ponders for a moment.
"And Iley?"
"Yes, of course, the victim's son."
Lieutenant Faisal steps forward and produces a folded document from his pocket.
"If I understand correctly,
you
are designated as his surrogate guardian, not the victim's immediate family. What exactly is your relationship with the victim?"
Corbin sits in silence for yet another moment, playing out in his mind the phone call he will inevitably be making to Lilia's parents, who haven't spoken to her ever since she decided to keep Iley. As far as they are concerned, Iley doesn't exist, and Lilia is already dead to them. He wonders if they will weep for their daughter as bitterly as he did, if at all.
"Mister Graystone?"
Lieutenant Faisal inquires again. Corbin gazes up at him, and hears the words come out of his own mouth:
"I'm Iley's father."
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Elsewhere, a pair of ocean blue eyes slowly open in a black void.
Swiftly sitting up, Kazelle gasps hard but strangely does not feel any breaths drawing in or out, like she was underwater but not drowning, just... there.
She turns her head about in the absolute darkness. Her whole body feels icy cold. She can feel the touch of a frigid stony surface under her hips. She slowly runs her hands across her body and realizes that she is completely naked, except for her choker with the silver bell still dangling from her neck.
Is she dead?
Is this what Hell feels like?
She has never given particular thought to the existence of an afterlife. But if there was a Heaven and a Hell, she had no reason to believe she would be in the former.
Gradually, her pupils begin to adjust to the darkness. She starts to recognize the form of a damp cellar, surrounded by walls of cold, gray stones. As she slowly climbs to her feet, reaching out and laying her hands on the void, she can faintly make out an echo.
She freezes, listening attentively, and hears it again.
The sound of footsteps.
Is this the devil? Coming to bid his welcome to eternal damnation?
She squints her eyes in the direction of the echoing clacks across the cold, hard surface, and vaguely makes out the silhouette of an approaching figure in a black robe. Kazelle's eyes widen as the figure closes into her line of vision.
"Y... you are...?"
There was a stuttering voice of recognition. Yes, there was no mistaking it: The silvery hair over the wrinkles, the black habit, even the umbrella, now being used as a walking stick. This was the elderly nun she had encountered on that rainy evening.
"I've... seen you before..."
"That is correct."
"Are you...?"
"The devil? Goodness, no. Far from such."
The elderly nun lets out a slight snort in her raspy, low-toned voice.
