Ahndrian Archives

The Calling Card

The walk back to the study was far more silent than our departure. I felt proud. There was an excitement bussing about my thoughts that was new to me. Every shaky breath that escaped her chest sent an electrified one into mine. I stepped around my desk and fell back into my cushy office armchair. Eclipse placed her hand on the back of her chair and stared down at the seat with a distasteful look on her face.

“Please, sit. Let us continue.” I motioned to her chair with a smile.

She slowly descended into place. She inhaled deeply and let the air escape her lungs with ease. “Fine, where was I.” Her eyes bounced up and back down, resting somewhere behind me. “The symbol.”

“The symbol? I had heard something peculiar was found on each of the victims, but the news never seemed to mention exactly what. Only that it seemed ritualistic in nature. Care to elaborate?”

“The symbol is the reason that many find themselves calling this sociopath, you, Azrael. Though I feel that their judgment is off. I just can’t place exactly what the symbol means.” She explained.

“I must be lost somewhere. What does this have to do with me? I am certainly not sure how a symbol you cannot identify points to me.” I propped my head up on my hands and leaned forward on the desk.

“It isn’t the symbol. It’s the means by which it got there.” She met my posture with a lean of her own. “I mentioned the knives earlier, but I left out one detail. The only prints on every blade were those of the victims. The same for the blood.”

“They carved the symbols into their own skin? How ghoulish.” I recoiled as I spoke.

“Exactly my point. Now, I tried to come up with all kinds of theories about this, but only one explained why they would do this and still align with the cause of death. Only one. They were told to do it.”

“Well I suppose many people, under threat of death, would do many crazy things.”

“That’s what the GCPD thought as well, but they missed one crucial detail.”

“Oh?”

“There were no hesitation marks. No secondary cuts. Even if someone were forced, they likely wouldn’t cut deep enough on the first try and they certainly wouldn’t carve themselves up without hesitating at least once. So, when you eliminate all other solutions, the only one that remains circles back to the altered Jimsonweed and Scopolamine. The suggestive effects strong enough to withstand any amount of pain, shock, or inhibitions.” Her confidence flooded back into her the longer she spoke.

“So, you believe that my former project was used on these people. While under its effects, and dying, the killer told them to carve this mysterious symbol into their arms? Sounds like quite a stretch.” I matched her intensity as best I could, but even shaken she was a force.

“I never said they carved their arms.” A smirk flashed across her lips.

I could feel the pressure in my chest, but I simply smiled and leaned back in my chair. “It is pretty simple to figure where it was likely carved. You are terrified and likely hallucinating from the poison flooding your system. A knife in one hand, the most logical first place you would place the blade is the opposite arm. I might be more surprised if you said they carved their stomachs or perhaps their chests.”

A small chuckle escaped her throat and she let out a sharp exhale before relaxing her shoulders. “You always have an answer, don’t you?” She asked.

“More often than you it seems. You still have not told me what this symbol was.”

“It looked almost like a crescent moon with a small circle next to it. Like I said. I’m unsure what it means. Perhaps you could tell me?”

“I have no clue. Hardly sounds like something one would associate with an angel of death. Are you certain you’re looking at it from the right perspective?” I tilted my head and my question was met with little more than a scowl.

“Nevertheless, the only drug capable of forcing such a horrific act to be self-inflicted, is the very same drug that led me to you in the first place. The only connection between both events. Your drug.”

“You know, I never expected our personal connection to be such a hindrance on you doing your job.” I shook my head at her and stood up. “You are leaving out a key detail in this little tirade of yours. Are you afraid of dredging up painful memories or something? You are being far too kind.”

I walked over to a small table against the wall. I ran my hand against the length of the polished cedar. My eyes traced the lining of the drawer before stopping on the small keyhole pressed into the board.

“Fine, I admit that was also a reason for me drawing a connection, but as far as I was concerned, I had to prove it to myself without using that as a precedent. It was far too biased.”

“It's not at all hard to understand a person; it's only hard to listen without bias.” I whispered. “Something Criss Jami said. You already knew of my past. You also knew who I was. You could not remove the two, no matter how hard you tried. Bias is normal. Impossible to live without.”

I slipped my hand around the chain hanging beneath my shirt and lifted it off of my neck. The small silver key hanging from it glinted in the soft light of the lamp. I slid it into the lock and with a click, the drawer slid free from its place. I rummaged around for a moment before finding the small, old envelope I was searching for. I let the drawer hang open as I paced back to the desk and slid the envelope over to her.

“What is this?” She asked with her fingers hovering inches away from the envelope.

“Your bias.” I stared into her eyes and waited, but no words left her lips. “An old friend of mine or I suppose I should say he pretended to be my friend. A man by the name of Alex Worth. He went investigating down this path before. Much like you, he accused me of these murders and presented me with this envelope. He could never find any hard evidence, so he gave me this. I suppose it was to rattle my cage.”

“I’ve heard of him. They say he’s quite the investigator. So, you weren’t really surprised when I showed up were you. What exactly is in here anyways?”

“Go ahead, open it.” She grabbed the envelope and pulled out a piece of stained paper with the very same symbol she described etched on it.

“Is this...?” She looked up at me wide eyed.

“The very same paper they found in my mother’s hand when she was killed. The first time they caught a glimpse of this man they call Azrael.” I answered.

“Not a bad tactic. Though clearly it didn’t seem to work.”

“It worked. I was spiraling for a while after I received that. Also, to answer your question, yes, I was surprised that you would come here and accuse me.” My brow furrowed and I stared deep into her eyes. “Alex was one thing. He pretended to be my friend with the sole purpose of getting close to me and learning more about his target. That hurt, but I understand his purpose and determination. If anything, it just made me weary of befriending strangers again.”

Eclipse set the paper down on the table and covered it with the envelope. She looked at me confusedly.

“At least I didn’t pretend.”

“You were actually someone I trusted.” I continued. “I believed the world of you. I had nobody and nothing when you came into my life. You were the only person I trusted for years. You helped me connect with people. You brought me new life. At least that’s what I thought. So, you can imagine the things going through my mind when the one person I thought would believe in me accuses me, not only of committing such heinous crimes, but killing my own parents as well.”

“I never said you-,”

“I was sixteen when I found them!” I screamed. “I sat there while the poison slowly took their last breath away and I could do nothing, NOTHING to save them. So, who the hell are you to accuse me? Who are you to put all of this on me!”

“I’m sorry, Harry. It may not seem fair. It may not seem right, but I won’t change my mind.” She cleared her throat and spoke up, but she could not meet my eyes. “The last thing I realized was the nail in the coffin.”

“Please, indulge me. What does it matter anymore? My hope for you to see reason has long since vanished.” I sat back in my chair and looked at my watch again. Nine thirty.