S. Cedric - Of Fever and Blood

Two officers helped their colleague to his feet. As Deveraux passed Vauvert, he shot him the kind of hateful glare Vauvert had often gotten from the criminals he busted. Vauvert looked away and checked the time on his cell phone. He vaguely heard Deveraux demand to see Internal Affairs again as the other officers tried to calm him down.

Chief O waited until they were out of sight. Then, clearly angry, he turned to Vauvert.

“Dammit who the hell do you think you are?” he bellowed.

“I’m sincerely sorry, chief. That dumb piece of…”

“I don’t want to hear it!” O thundered. “You lied to me! I would have helped you out anyway, and maybe I would even have covered your ass if you had just had the guts to be straight with me. Now let me tell you, I won’t cry if you lose your badge over this. We do take assaulting colleagues very seriously here!”

“That’s funny, you talk just like my boss, Kiowski,” Vauvert said with a forced smile.

O made an exasperated gesture and turned to his men around them.

“Chris, Florian, this man is in custody. He’s not going anywhere, even to take a piss. Internal Affairs will be here soon. They will sort this out. As for the rest of you guys, I want you back at your desks. Now! Then he turned to Vauvert. “I hope you’re proud of yourself. Like we need Internal Affairs around here right now!”

Vauvert said nothing. At this point, each word was a waste of time.

He waited for the furious chief to head back to his office. Then he looked over the two officers burdened with keeping an eye on him. Both wore dismayed expressions.

Leroy stepped in front of his colleagues. His face was solemn.

“Are you nuts? Or just plain stupid?”

“I should be asking you that. How can you work with such an asshole?”

“That’s not the point!” Leroy snapped. “Eva is in danger, we’re running out of time, and you, you have nothing better to do than bring administrative shit down on all of us. Jean-Luc Deveraux is an asshole, but he’s a good cop. Since this morning, he’s been busting his ass trying to find Eva, just like the rest of us here!”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Vauvert responded. “Good cop or not, an asshole is an asshole. And in our line of work, that’s extremely dangerous. It screws everything up.” He rose to his feet. “Anyway, you’re absolutely right. We’ve wasted too much time already.”

As he started walking toward the stairs, the two officers rushed to stop him.

“Sorry,” one of them said, grabbing his arm, “but we can’t let you do that.”

Vauvert shook off the hand and glared at the officer.

“You’re in custody, don’t you understand?”

“He’s right,” Leroy said. “Don’t make things even worse for yourself.”

“God dammit, guys,” Vauvert growled, “Eva’s going to get cut up like a piece of meat if we don’t do anything. Do you want her death on your conscience? Is that what you want? Sorry, but I’m not having it on mine.”

He started down the stairs as the two stunned cops watched.

“So? We’re not stopping him?” Benavente said. “Our asses are going to get kicked.”

“Yeah,” Mangin said.

Leroy, meanwhile, ran into Svarta’s office to retrieve the books about the Dacians. Then he flew down the stairs behind the giant.

“Wait! Wait for me, for Christ’s sake!”

When she opens her eyes, she is six years old.

Mommy is explaining how important it is to always lock the doors. And the windows. You never know who might try to sneak into the house. There are bad men out there who are waiting for a mother and her two little girls to forget to lock everything so that they can sneak in unnoticed. That is also why you must never talk to strangers. Never, ever tell them where you live.

She tells them this over and over again every day. It is hard for children to understand, but if Mommy is telling them this with such conviction, it must be very important. All little girls must have to do this, after all. Always lock their bedroom doors. And when they walk down the street, always check over their shoulder to make sure no one is following.

“Mommy,” Justyna asks, sitting next to Eva in the back seat. “Do we have to move again?”

“No, sweetie,” Mommy tells her. “We are going to stay here. Mrs. Rieux is taking good care of you when I’m not home.”

“But we don’t get to stay here forever, do we?” Eva asks.

Mommy doesn’t say anything.

She parks in front of Mrs. Rieux’s house. She lives just down the street-their new street, because they have been here for only six months. Mrs. Rieux, she is their babysitter. She is from those islands on the other side of the world where people have honey-colored skin and eyes full of laughter. When she is not taking care of Eva and Justyna, she cleans people’s homes. Mrs. Rieux is very nice. Her weathered, heavily wrinkled face has seen its share of children, and she knows what it is like to take care of them. She and Mommy became friends right away. To this day, Mrs. Rieux is the only person Mommy actually trusts, the only person the twins are allowed to talk to.

“Mommy has to go to work now,” she says, kissing each of them. “You will behave, won’t you?”

And the two little girls nod. They always behave. Mrs. Rieux sets her wrinkled hands on their shoulders as they watch the car drive away.

“Come on, my ’lil treasures, do you feel like drawing?”

As they go inside the house, Eva turns one last time to see Mommy’s car disappear at the end of the street.

This is the last time she will ever see her.

Because the river of darkness is coming.

The black river drowning everything but the fiery pain in her leg.

Wake up, Eva.

You have to be strong.

Wake… up.

It is the pain that pulls her back.

Or a little girl’s whisper in her ear, maybe.

But the pain erases everything else. This smoldering fire in the flesh of her thigh, in her mutilated hips, deep in her open wounds.

She tells herself that she is not six years old. She doesn’t want to be six anymore.

She tries to calm her breathing.

She remembers where she is now.

Lying down, bound, helpless.

She’s almost surprised to still be alive. This means that the psychopath who has kidnapped her hasn’t severed any arteries. In fact, it seems that she has stopped bleeding.

For now.

And deep inside, she is horrified by what lies ahead.

Calm down. Do not panic.

Easy to say. Her heart is pounding. Whenever she tries to gather her thoughts, she is overwhelmed with dread. And pain, following like a flame running along a ribbon of gunpowder.

She has the feeling that she might be alone.

She stops breathing for a few seconds.

No sound.

Her jailer is actually gone.

But for how long?

Drawing a long-and painful-breath, she tries to turn her head to the side. Moving her neck launches lightning bolts in her retinas. She can feel the air on her wounds.

Keep your mind clear.

She’s got to find a way to get out of here. False hope or not, she has to try.

Now.

Her eyes, usually shielded behind shades, can adjust to the darkness. She can see the support beams in the ceiling above her. She is being held in the basement of a house, maybe one that is not too old. The wood in the beams still looks fresh.

As she lifts her head, she can see steps at the far side of this basement. But there are no windows. No way anyone could hear her if she called for help.

“Help!” she screams all the same. “Can anyone hear me? Help me!”