NIGHTBREED

CHAPTER 4 - The Reaper Behind Me

2007, October 9th, 2.05 am, Montparnasse cemetery, Paris

The rain grows heavier minute by minute, thick drops of water quickly making the leaf-covered path slippery and dangerous. The two men have managed to hide under a tiny roof of what appears to be a very old family crypt, but there is hardly enough space underneath to protect them completely. Every now and then, a gust of wind brings a cold splash of rain into their faces. Mana presses his back against the wall, as if attempting to sink into it and blend in with the stones, and turns his head towards  Étienne - to discover the younger man fiddling with something on the small entrance door. „It is a bit rusty“, Étienne complains, squirming uncomfortably, because a trickle of water has just found its way into his coat and tickles him on the back on its way down, but suddenly there´s a click and the padlock falls open. Just a little pull and the door creaks, revealing dark space of uncertain size and contents inside. Étienne steps in first, beckoning to Mana, who follows like a lamb without giving it another thought, inwardly obsessing about the state of his make-up and hair.

Mana is standing still at the door, waiting for his eyes to get accustomed to the darkness, and takes a deep breath in order to warm his fingers. As he blows on his frozen hands, clasped together in a gesture involuntarily imitating  a silent prayer, it occurs to him that the air is not as stale and suffocating as it should be. Yes, there is a certain odour of rotting wetness, udoubtedly caused by fungus that torments these middle-age walls, but there is also a surprising amount of oxygen, at least for a place that had not been opened for several hundreds of years… or had it?

A loud thud behind him announces that the wind has slammed the door shut. Now there´s no point in trying to see – the darkness is rich, cave-like, thick like black coffee, so solid that one could grab a fistfull and veil one´s body into its folds. Mana finds it strangely comforting, to be cut off the world outside, craddled and adorned by this darkness mixed with complete silence… for nothing exists here, nothing matters, only his heartbeat, only his smile that remains unseen. Here, out of reality, he is allowed to smile. In the darkest place, filled with nothing but strange whispers that would evoke fear in most, Mana feels safe… at home.

Suddenly, a strand of black hair falls into his face. A strange touch upon white cheek – in the darkness, it almost feels like if the hair didn´t belong to him, like if something inhuman was creepingly sliding across his skin. A ghost maybe, one who dared this close because it knew that even with open eyes, Mana could not see it. And again, this - maybe a product of wild fantasy, maybe disturbing reality – does not make him jerk in fear. What could be more breathtaking, more exciting than a private nightmare to explore?

He makes a long step into the sea of darkness, careful not to cause the slightest ripples on its perfect surface, admiring its wastenes. Slowly, he walks into the depths of the tomb, arms extended as far as possible to prevent bumping into unseen objects, until the tips of his fingers touch stone. Like a blind man, the guitarist awkwardly examines its curves – and curves it has: small mounds of breasts, elegant waistline, broad hips (although only one of those can be traced, because this being made of marble is resting on one side, supporting herself with an elbow), seemingly endless lenght of thighs and legs, perfect little toes… all neatly laying in pillows made of a material that feels like cold metal, maybe gold.

A sepulchure, Mana realizes. A woman is spending eternity here in this place, a beautiful woman, if the statue is telling the truth – which it may not be, because naturally, everyone is being portrayed as an image of unearthly perfection after their death. Those who had been overweight while alive suddenly loose pounds and recieve a waistline once they become an artwork, crooked teeth magically straighten and shine with whiteness, hair that had looked like wet straw in reality becomes a shining rich mane, the old become young again, midgets turn into full grown men, because only a work of art has the ability to turn back time, erase wrinkles, capture beauty that had long ago faded and make it immortal. And while the piece of marble reflects this woman´s youthful limbs as they once had been, casually spread on the hard, uncomfortable golden pillows for eternity, her body is in fact in a state of decomposure, rotting away deep in the earth under this lovely portrayal… Or maybe there is no body anymore. Maybe it had been eaten away by worms centuries ago, taken in by the soil, tissue had dissolved, already weak flesh had fallen apart into small pieces, then dust, then molecules, then… nothing. Only anonymous bones are left now, and their size and fragile structure probably give the sole hint that they had once belonged to a female.

With a morbid interest, he runs his fingers across her face, trying to make out the features and imprint them into his memory. And, quite unexpectedly, a warm, golden light, that quickly fills out the small space of the inner crypt, helps him see. Mana gazes into the illuminated face of the statue, then lowers his eyes to her body and further down, where an ornate marble plate states who she once had been: Solange Odette De… The rest of her surname seems to have been erased by time. Mana wants to leans closer and make an attempt to decipher it, but a growing feeling of anxiety prevents him from doing so. He can no longer ignore the other train of thoughts, running in the background of his mind. There is something wrong… The light. There shouldn´t be any light. Where did it come from?

Hesistatingly, he turns away from the statue and his eyes fall on Étienne. The boy is holding a torch, smiling at Mana with his predatory smile again. „That´s better…“ His elegant fingers casually close a box of matches and throw it aside, into a small niche in the wall. The alarm clock that has been silently ticking just a while ago suddenly explodes in Mana´s head with a force of an A-bomb. You fool. You stupid fool. „Étienne?“ he asks carefully, sliding his small hands into the pockets of the black coat, „do you smoke?“ „No, I´m sorry…“ Étienne shrugs, mistakenly thinking that Mana wants to ask for a cigarette. Finding a torch by random in this darkness would be a small miracle, Mana thinks, making a few careful steps towards Étienne, but perhaps it could have been done. But to find a tiny box of matches by random? Downright impossible.

„Are you alright?“ the younger man asks, rising his well-shaped eyebrows. „Perfectly alright.“ Aside of the fact that I am locked up in a middle-age tomb with a dangerous madman and noone will ever find my body if he succeeds in the murder he had undoubtedly been planning for gods know how long… Mana mentally adds, feeling the panic building up in his intestines and dangerously swelling with every breath he takes. But he won´t succeed. And as soon as he makes this decisions, a quick sequence of events follows.

Étienne turns around to place the torch into a holder on the wall, and Mana, driven by pure self-preservation instinct, immediately rushes after him, pinning him to the wall with a single jump, and a small knife appears in his gloved hand. The torch that has slipped out of Étiennes hand during this attack hits the ground and Mana feverishly kicks into it, trying to extinguish the fire, however, he only manages to roll the torch several steps away. At least Étienne won´t use it as a weapon. „What the hell!!“ the boy exclaims, trying to look over his shoulder and wiggle himself free at the same time, but the touch of cold steel against his bare neck makes him calm down.

„I am the one asking questions here.“ Mana hightens the pressure of the knife, enough to prove he means his cold words, but not enough to draw blood. „It wasn´t the wind that slammed the door shut, right?“ he hisses, skillfully masking his anxiety and fear for life behind anger. „Why am I here?“ he inquires with a tone devoid of any emotion, „and what did you want to do with me?“ „It doesn´t really matter, Mana-sama.“ Étienne´s voice sounds defeated, beaten. „You have already decided that I am a criminal. But why?? Do you really think I brought you all the way here just to break your neck, when I could have done it easily long ago? What would be in it for me?“ The quitarist refuses to let him slip so easily. He knows too well about the existence of serial killers, who aren´t satisfied if the setting for their dirty deeds isn´t perfet, and who display various kinks ranging from retouching thier victim´s make-up after death up to cutting off their fingers with nail clippers. „You tell me. I am not a murderer, I can´t even begin to guess what gets them off.“

 „Mana-sama, please…“ Mana shakes his head, although Étienne cannot see it from his position. Pleading has no chance for success. Not with him. Although it does worry him a bit that the youthful body he is trying to prevent from moving is now violently shaking, perhaps with fear or embarassment, perhaps with supressed crying. „Who are you?“ he keeps persiting, „how comes you know this place?“

Étienne sighs silently and it almost sounds like a sob to Mana. „I am just a fool who saw the only chance to impress his idol by giving him the adventure of his life“, he mutters dejectedly, pressing his forebrow against the cold stoney wall. Surely he isn´t swallowing tears…? Mana loosens his grip, slightly unsettled by this kind of unexpected behaviour, and realizes his mistake way too late. Étienne stops pretending and spins on his heel with an unnatural speed, yanking the knife out of Mana´s hand before the Japanese can even raise an arm to defend himself, and after less than half a minute of furious fighting, Étienne has the panting guitarist by his wrists. There must be much more strenght in him than Mana would have guessed, because he is effortlessly holding the smaller man with only one hand, while the other one is casually reaching into his pocket for… what? A knife? A gun?

It is not unusual in movies, that the seconds before the victim´s death stretch into minutes. Mana was never able to find out why add this particular effect, when everyone just wants to finally see it happen. Now he understands. The scene is running in front of his eyes in slow-motion and it seems to be forever until Étienne´s white fingers brush the cloth of his jacket. To Mana´s surprise, the young man pulls out a black wallet and before he releases his wrists, he places it firmly into his hands. „It was just a game Mana-sama“, he says quietly, stepping back, away from his „victim“ in order to show that he doesn´t mean any evil, „a scary game for you to enjoy that I prepared with best intentions. I am familiar with this place and many of the other places I showed you today, I even own the key – yes, it was a key I opened the padlock with - because I have been studying them for years. Not to bring my victims in them. Merely out of interest… and also duty.“ Mana doesn´t say anything to that, but bows his head ever so slightly, allowing Étienne to continue.

„I am a student at Sorbonne“, the boy explains, „majoring in history and archeology. I have finished the four obligatory years, but I am taking an extra one to write my master thesis in peace. It is called Hidden Paris…“  He makes a gesture towards Mana´s hands. "Open the wallet.“ Mana, still speechless, gives him a questioning look. „My student´s card is in the second pocket.“ The older man obeys, and indeed it takes just a while to find a green plastic card, the type that young people under 26 get discounts on. On the right side, there´s a small photo of a boy, whose black hair is tied back in a pony tail and who is wearing no gothic make-up, but who still bears a close resemblance to the young man standing in front of Mana. The tiny letters on the left side read: „Étienne Deveroux, 2007/2008.“

„Please, forgive me my ignorance“, Étienne says silently, and although his head is hanging low, those green eyes of his are searching for Mana´s ones in hope to find the slightest sign of understanding. „This here is pretty much my life… well, this and music. I have been following your career since forever, and like every fan, I have read and watched a bit here and there, from which I made a  certain picture of you that I carry in my head. Maybe it is idealized, maybe it doesn´t do your any justice… doesn´t matter really.“ At that, his eyes finally drop to the floor and begin to study the stones under their feet with feigned interest. He is ashamed for talking about his admiration for Mana, which makes him look like an innocent boy – but is it the truth or a well calculated step?

„One of the things I like to believe is… that we have something in common, the two of us“, Étienne carries on, „namely that we do not only belong to the gothic culture for the music and fashion, but that both of us are driven by deep interest in its origins, a burning passion for old mysteries, haunted places and adventures that others wouldn´t think of. Mana-sama, what you have seen so far was nothing yet. I made this passion my future job and… recently, during my preparations for this career, I discovered things beyond belief already, right here, in the city of my birth. And because your music gives me so much joy and inspiration, I wanted to share them with you before I show them to the world – in attempt to give, in return, something to you. Something unforgettable that you couldn´t experience elsewhere. In my enthusiasm, I forgot that this could look wrong on so many levels, when you don´t really know me.“

Pondering, Mana turns the card in his fingers, thankful that Étienne started talking again, because he isn´t sure what he should say in such a situation. There´s a first time for everything, but he had certainly never expected to have to apologize to someone for thinking that said person was about to murder him. There are simply no words to sufficiently express his feelings, especially not because the situation is complicated by his persisting uncertainty about Étienne´s honesty. After all, who is to say a history student cannot be a criminal as well? Education has never prevented anyone from inclinations to violence. He should be definitely feeling more ashamed for the irresponsible accusation he has made, and the fact that this shame is not completely present clearly implies that he still doesn´t trust Étienne at all.

It seems like his mind has split in two, and while one half is urging him to run if possible, the other one yearns to latch onto Étienne and follow him even to Hell. „Maybe this was too much for you“, Étienne contemplates with a soft, almost remorseful voice. That statement has a similar effect on Mana like a push in the back would have on a person who is deciding whether or not they should run down the hill. „No!“ he exclaims quickly, immediately regaining composure. „You haven´t misjudged me“, he starts again, this time giving every word a deep thought. „Étienne… all of this is so glorious, so exciting for me. But still… no matter how little I fear ghosts and monsters, it´s different with people. People I don´t trust.“

The words are almost inaudible and give no hint of remorse or appology. For a while, the two of men remain in complete silence, unsure of where to take this. Then, Étienne finally moves towards the door, searching for the keys in his pocket. His fingers are nervously shaking. „I would never hurt you, Mana-sama. If you want, we can see if the rain has stopped… and call you a cab to the hotel. Unless…“ Mana fixes Étienne´s emerald eyes with his gaze. „Unless…?“ „Unless you are able to pretend I´m a monster for the rest of the night.“

The voice of reason reminds Mana that this is his ticket out. He can just shake his head and walk away, forget the what if´s in his head, possibly hurt an innocent student by lack of trust, but certainly save his life. Except he finds himself unable to, because he, in fact, CAN imagine Étienne as a monster. He pictures the young beauty as a Medusa, slithering in zig zag movements towards him, snake-like hair twisting around his temples, before he freezes his victim´s body with one glance of his precious eyes. He imagines Étienne´s see-through skin as he walks right through the wall of the crypt, through crosses and statues, non-substentional, sits down on a tomb and starts to play a mournful, ghost-like melody on a violin. He sees him running across a neverending plain, hair floating in the wind, spreading his faerie wings and take up to the sky, where he seems to be smaller and smaller until he finally melts in the shining orb of sun. He envisions the young man twisting in the moonbeams, while, accompanied by desperate howls, his clothes rip and reveal the transforming body, covered by dark fur, and when the howling subsedes, the only thing that remind of Étienne´s humanity are his enormous eyes. He fantasizes about Étienne, leaning over a shivering female body, giving his last predatory smile before he sinks sharp vampiric fangs into the whiteness of her neck. He can see him walking a flaming path, burning but not being burnt, dressed in a cape so dark that it blends in with the night sky, stars reflecting on his reaper´s scythe.

Against all logic, Mana nods. „I think… I think I can do that.“