"Rain"
Part 4
by Beryll & Osiris Brackhaus

 

- Michael -

Thinking that your current boyfriend who you love dearly is so besotted with you that he starts stalking you is quite romantic.
Add the fact that your current boyfriend is most probably a mad serial killer, and this whole thing suddenly is not even remotely charming any longer.

So when I hauled myself off Colin's couch to get myself into a rather decent state for breakfast, I felt pretty much like shit.

On the one hand, Colin was so sweet and caring, strong enough to haul me off a street corner despite myself not wanting to and tender enough to match on top. And however much his 'Just imagine we fucked' line had irked me, I had to admit that he had acted damn cool. I had given a completely stupid line and just gotten what I deserved. He really wasn't doing anything to make me stop falling in love with him.

Stupid piano player.

On the other hand, he had had the guts to show up right underneath my nose at the Beaubourg, trying to shoo me away. What the hell had he been doing there if not checking out his next victim? This was driving me crazy. Maybe he had killed the other boys because they had been hanging out there despite his warnings. Who knows.

And to top things off, he had adamantly refused to fuck me last night. Idiot. Goddamn blasted idiot. Having sex only with myself with Colin lying in the room next door had felt like a waste, and had brought frustratingly little satisfaction. And a part of me seriously loved him, so the thought that there was a pretty good chance I would shoot him off a roof one of these days because he was trying to kill me or another innocent hooker was just too much to bear.

Is there such a thing as an innocent hooker anyway, I wondered? Well, if there is, then surely it won't last long.

I really should go and quit this assignment. I was going nuts, not slowly but very surely.

Well, basically that was my mood when I finally walked out of the bathroom, longing for nothing more then several cups of strong black coffee, a hard fuck and a few cigarettes. Oh yes, and maybe Colin declaring me the love of his life and that he had given up killing boys for the sake of 'us', as he had finally found complete happiness in my arms.

Of course, I knew that there was only hot chocolate waiting for me at the breakfast table, probably some great croissants and just as probably no sex.
Could have been worse. And guess what, it was.

Because what I hadn't expected to see had been Colin bent over a map of inner Paris on the kitchen table, surrounded by a legion of newspaper clippings. All of them were dealing with the murders of 'Jacqueline', and on his map, my host had neatly marked all of the spots where the victims had been found with deep, bloody red dots. We had a map with quite similar markings at the department. Only that we had proper tiny black flags instead of messy crimson splotches.

"What the hell are you doing there?", I asked, more bewildered than shocked.

Why was he doing this right in front of my eyes? After all, nobody else would know the locations better then he himself. After all, he must have been there right when it had happened. Or was he losing track cause there were so many by now?

"Marking all the spots where bodies have been found", he answered with only half his mind, absentmindedly grabbing a handful of dry cereals from a bowl on the table, munching them thoughtfully.

"But what for?"

"To see if there's a pattern." Still he was chewing and crunching without looking up at me. Which, on the other hand, relieved me of the necessity to decide which of my many conflicting expressions I was to put on.

Grabbing for the last handful of his cereals in the bowl, he added: "They found another body this morning. Right on the block I pulled you away from last night."

Gods, he had gone back after that, I thought in shock. Or maybe he had killed the poor sucker even before he came out to meet me on the street. Maybe the boy's body had still been warm when Colin had put his arm around me, dragging me away...

"Oh my god, Colin..." I couldn't recall any situation in my whole life I had ever felt that confused. "But... what are you going to do?"

"Huh?" Finally he looked up at me, and seeing my confused stare at the map on the table, he said: "I want to see if I can guess where he's going to kill the next one."

"But... shouldn't that be the job of the police?"

Colin almost snarled in disgust. "Obviously, they are not doing their job very well, are they?"

Sudden anger flared up in my chest as I heard him talk like that about my work. It's not only putting marks on a map what it takes to catch a killer, even if TV tries to teach you otherwise.

"Listen, I -", I started with grim anger in my voice but caught myself right before I could say anything irremediable. Oh gods, I have to get out of this. "This confuses me. I - you're so obsessed with those killings. That's not normal, and it frightens me. I don't want the man I love to have a weird connection to Jacqueline the Ripper."

Fuck. Kept one secret, gave away another.

"Neither do I." Grimly, Colin looked up, straight into my eyes. "Michael, I don't want to wake up one morning and have some people tell me they found you on the roof of a house with your throat cut and not a single drop of blood left in your body. This is serious, personal and I am going to do something about this."

Right then, my heart must have missed several beats. Maybe he could have guessed the thing with the cut throats. But never, ever had any word about the complete lack of blood in or around the victims been leaked to the press. Precisely for catching the killer telling more than he was supposed to know. My mind felt like a deer caught in headlights.

"Colin, how..." I just couldn't finish the sentence. There weren't enough words left in my head.

Completely oblivious of my struggles, my host reached for another handful of dry cereals from his bowl and found it empty. As he stood up, studying a newspaper article in his hand, he asked me:

"Breakfast? There are croissants on the sideboard."

I just shook my head. Couldn't think, couldn't eat.

Colin absentmindedly plucked a box of cat-food out of one of the kitchen drawers, refilled his bowl and started munching on the crunchy bits with a deep, thoughtful sigh.

For a long moment, I stared at my mysterious host happily munching away his second bowl of cat-food this morning, hopefully waiting for a yell of surprise and disgust that never came.

As Colin marked another red spot on a roof in the Beaubourg, grabbing for his next hand of 'cereals', I fled the place without another word.

I just had to get out of this mad place, out of the proximity of this man I loved so much and at the same time loathed for what he was.
Well, apparently was.
Probably was.

Whatever.

I needed a cigarette.

Right then was when I realized that I had walked out of the houseboat wearing only a towel wrapped around my waist. Which also would explain all these people staring at me. A half-naked, pretty handsome man walking down the streets of Paris in a cold September drizzle without a camera team following him wasn't exactly standard fare.

On the other hand, it made getting a cigarette very easy.

So I took a slight detour on my way back to the boat, letting the cold rain wash down my back and clear my thoughts.

I shouldn't overreact. Yes, Colin was acting most oddly. But then again, so was I, my current outfit being a splendid example.
He knew more than the public information about the murders. But maybe he had a friend at the police, who the hell knows.
And he said that it was personal, that he wouldn't want to see me one of the victims, sweetheart he was.

He wasn't acting like the murderer, but he wouldn't be the first schizophrenic serial killer by far.

Heavens, this was leading nowhere.

I loved him, I had even told him so. I wouldn't bet on the fact that he had heard it, but at least I could be pretty sure he was quite fond of me.

But there were so many open questions, so many odd details. Too many for me to ignore them. That he apparently had a sick preference for dry cat food was only the tip of the iceberg. No normal piano player would ever feel obliged to meddle in such a thing. Especially not here in Paris, where acting the hero usually meant performing some outrageous art or disobeying the government, not killing some villain.

I needed to talk with somebody about this. I should go and do the right thing, file a report, see the profiler at the department and ask to be reassigned some other case. I really should.
My superior wouldn't make any fuss, he never did. He was terribly homophobe, but in a very politically correct way. Whenever I called in sick, telling him that I was a complete mess because I had spend the better part of the last night, say, screwing some Algerian in a park, he wrote down 'migraine' and suggested I'd take off the next day as well just to keep me from telling him any more details. He was a decent guy. He would understand.

I really should be acting professional about all this. I really should go to the department and talk to the profiler. Those headbenders usually were quite useful when trying to set too many pieces together. Seriously.

Why the hell did I then feel as if I was going to betray my lover to the evil empire? Fuck...

When less than ten minutes after my hurried departure from the houseboat, I returned into Colin's crammed kitchen, I found my host sitting in front of a mug full of hot chocolate, studying his map. I had to ask myself how he had gotten to know all the sites so precisely, as there definitely hadn't been enough information in the papers. And I hated myself for asking so, for it was just one chance less for all this to have a plain and most importantly legal answer.
By now, if there was anything that could make him believably innocent, it would have to be some pretty outrageous story.

"Hey", I said softly as he looked up. The newspaper clippings had disappeared from the kitchen table, and Colin looked definitely less distressed, though a bit cold. "Sorry that I left in such a rush. But... my stomach's quite bitchy this morning, and seeing you eating cat food while talking about my gutted colleagues was just too much at once." Hey, that actually sounded rather credible!

My dark-haired lover frowned at the drawer where he stored the cat food, saying grumpily: "Bad, bad habit of mine. Got if from my mother."

I really could have done without that information.

"I... I'll just dry myself and then go for a walk in the city at daylight. That'll help me feel better. Is that okay with you?"

"Sure." Colin didn't seem disappointed, nor anything I could make out. Whatever. "I'll have to go shopping as well", he went on, "and then I'll have to take care of my little monsters."

"Monsters?"

A wide grin spread across his face, his brown eyes sparkling. "Nice monsters. Kids."

"You've got kids?", I asked, now finally completely out of script.

"Well, about ten, fifteen maybe." Grinning at my bewildered face, he added: "But none of them my own. I'm hosting one of the guided children's tours through the Louvre. Each Thursday, half past three."

Gods, he liked kids! If, by any amazing turn of fate, this man would turn out NOT to be the mad serial killer he seemed to be right now, I would marry him, I swore to God. And if I had to change the law, I would.

"Cool." Very eloquent, Michael, I thought, very eloquent. "Well, I'd better get myself dressed, else you'll be late."

Colin just shrugged, his gentle grin telling that he didn't mind at all seeing me half-clad.

"Will we meet for dinner, then?", I asked.

"Sure. Eight o'clock?"

"Sounds fine. Will we have a cozy evening together?"

"I'll be working at the Chez Chantale. I've got a job there, remember?" Colin looked at me, some odd challenge in his eyes. "And in so far as I remember, you've got a job as well."

"Yeah." True. Wouldn't do to bust my cover on my own. "Just wishful thinking."

"There's an emergency key underneath the porcelain panther next to the door, in case you arrive earlier."

"Thanks."

For a second, we just stared at each other. What a mad moment, with so much to say and yet not finding a single word.

"Yeah. See you tonight, then."

-----

Of course, I didn't do the sensible thing.
I went to the department, but only filed a brief report saying I couldn't say anything yet, and left again. I just couldn't bring myself to put down to paper anything that would imply Colin as the killer. At least not until I really had no other chance than to accept the facts.

Or when he was dead and there was no point in dreaming of a mutual future anyway.

So I had gone to the gym instead, picking a fight with the biggest, meanest immigrant I could find. Got me a bruised cheekbone and some scraped knuckles, but I fear I broke that guy's collarbone.
What the hell.
He should have known better than to pick a fight with someone meaner than him.

Yet it truly had helped me to sort out my mind. I felt mangled, exhausted, but no longer so terribly confused. I had come to terms with the fact that I loved Colin, seriously so like I couldn't really remember to have loved anyone before.
And I had a job, a duty I took very serious even if only for personal honor. If he was Jacqueline, I would bring him down, I would see it to the bitter end. Wouldn't do for anybody else to be involved. This was my personal little drama.

I had decided I wouldn't be roaming the sidewalks of Paris tonight, instead I would sneak back as soon as Colin thought me securely away in some 'safe' quarter of town and would follow him wherever he went after playing piano at the bar.
The killer had struck for three nights in a row by now, and he surely wouldn't stop. And if I could prevent this by any means, he wouldn't find another victim tonight.

But before I went back to the houseboat, I just wanted to go to my flat and check my mail and answering machine, maybe get another shower just to relax.
Old Madame Renard who lived in the ground floor flat had already given me the unavoidable update on the house's gossip while I emptied my postbox. It felt odder every day that in a world where all important messages went via e-mail, there still piled up an impressive heap of paper in my letterbox if I was abroad even only for a few days. Though, among the usual junk, there also was an envelope with Alain's signature on it, probably containing the results of Colin's fingerprint samples I had given him when we last met.

I really should stop taking these undercover assignments.

But then again, I added with a dirty grin, that would keep me from meeting people like the one I owed those impressive scratch- and bitemarks on my back to. Colin was such a naughty boy.

Just when I was about to unlock the door to my flat, I froze. Call it paranoia, but I had taken up the habit of placing a hair across the door's lock when I left for longer than a few minutes. Comes with being a cop, I think.

But unlike all the other times, today it was gone. It could have just fallen off, but it never had before.

Someone had unlocked the door while I had been away. Of course, a million of possible traps that could have been set up behind my door came pouring into my mind, from hand-grenades balancing on the doorknob to elaborately rigged shotguns. There definitely was a disadvantage to knowing almost all the possibilities.

But given my current mood, I just felt too 'fuck it all' as I could have really cared. So instead of making a fuss as I should have, I just unlocked the bloody door. Though I couldn't prevent myself stepping next to it rather than right in front as I opened the door, even as I had tried not to.
And of course, nothing happened.

My first impression was that I had probably completely overreacted, that my simple alarm mechanism had plainly given false alarm. But I wasn't even two step into my flat as I notice the magazines on the sideboard lying askew. Not in disarray, but simply not the way I had placed them.

So without putting down any of the things I carried, I walked though the whole place, finding traces of someone having sifted through basically all my belongings everywhere.

But it also took only a few looks to ensure that nothing had been stolen, at least nothing of the things thieves usually took, nor any of the few truly valuable things in my place. Someone had very neatly, almost politely, sniffed through my whole life without removing anything.

Naturally, there was only one person I had in mind as the potential intruder. Yet, before I jumped onto some hasty conclusions, I wanted to make sure at least in so far as I could.
For once, I should act like the professional I was.

So I closed the door and reached for one of the small metal suitcases in my bedroom drawer. Most of them were empty or contained my camera equipment, but this special one I had borrowed from work.

Taking out some latex gloves, a soft electrostatic brush and a vial of that powder I had learned to have been graphite but now was some highly sophisticated stuff that basically didn't do anything different except having quadrupled the costs.
Maybe my secretive surprise visitor had been careless enough to leave some fingerprints.

Working in silence for a few minutes, I found enough fingerprints to cover a wall with, many of them of a quality that would make them a centerpiece of the department's evidence museum. The intruder had been all but careful, almost giving the impression he hadn't cared about me finding out about his visit.

Somewhat heavy-hearted, I sat down on my couch with the fingerprint samples I had collected in my flat and the letter Adrian had sent me.
It was so hard to open the envelope. Who else but Colin, if he was the murderer, had any reason to search my place? No idea how he had found out, or why a piano player had sufficient criminal knowledge to pick locks without leaving any obvious trace.
My lover remained a mystery, and one I was afraid was coming to it's very ugly revelation.

With grim determination, I ripped the envelope open. As I had expected, it contained not only Adrian's notes about his complete failure to connect the fingerprints to any of those we had in our database, no, he also had included a film print of the best ones I had given him.

And they perfectly matched the ones I had just gathered from all over my place.

Colin had been here. He knew.

This would have been the last proper moment for me to drop out, to call the department telling them that my charge had broken into my place, that there were a million things pointing at him being goddamn fucking Jacqueline the Ripper. That they should move in and arrest him and get me out of this madness.

But I couldn't.

Just as Colin had said, this was serious, this was personal, and I was going to do something about this. Nobody else.

So I went for a shower, checked my mail, dressed in my old outfit once more and got ready to meet my murderous lover for dinner. He knew, but he didn't know yet I knew he knew.
On my way back to the boat, I would drop in at the department and get my gun. We would sort things out tonight, for good or for bad. And 'good' had a snowball's chance in hell to happen.

Dinner would be terrible.

 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Osiris Brackhaus & Beryll

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