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Klein watched the young inspector flip through his notes, but the grey-eyed inspector did not ask any questions.
“What is this strange thing?” The young police inspector turned to the end of the notes and suddenly asked, “And what does this mean? ‘Everyone will die, including me’...”
Klein made a decision in less than a second.
Putting his hand over his forehead, he answered truthfully, “I have no idea. When I woke up this morning, I felt I wasn’t quite right, as if my memories are mixed. I don’t even know why I had written such a sentence.”
“What do you remember of that night?” Officer Smith asked.
“I think …”
Klein tried to make sense of the jumbled memories.
Scenes flashed in front of his eyes, objects melting into each other. A wolf? No, a cat, but… a mouse? With fur, shifting into spikes, shifting into knives, shifting into a pen. Writing.
Writing incomprehensible text in an unfamiliar language. Secrets about the gods, secrets about—
About?
He tried again: “There was...”
Darkness covered the living room in deep shadows. Still, his vision was unnaturally sharp. He could see each pore on Naya’s face, each eyelash in intricate detail, fluttering with each blink of her eyes.
From the corner of his eyes, he saw a shadow race towards him, but when he turned his head, it was only a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Its light had been glaring in his eyes for a while now. He squinted.
Klein distantly felt a warm droplet on his upper lip, reaching his lips. His tongue darted out, bringing with it the taste and scent of iron.
Welch was bent over a notebook, scribbling on the sheet of paper lying next to it. That pen. Was it the same he saw earlier? The words were Loenese, but their meaning was still elusive.
The shadows shifted.
The scratching of the pen on paper echoed in his ears. Distracting him, preventing him from focusing on the scene in front of him.
“They were… writing.”
Klein leaned heavily on the back of the chair beside him.
Black mist rose from the ground like black ink in water, stinging his eyes. It submerged them. The scratching of the pen reverberated loudly through the water. Frustrated, Klein shook his head sharply.
With his head movement, the room tilted 90 degrees.
Naya and Welch, they were… they had stopped writing? Cold metal pressed against his open hand. A revolver. He looked up, eyes sweeping along the obscured features of his friend. Feeling, rather than recognizing the person.
Cold fingers caressed his neck. A whisper in his ear, telling him to—
A sharp sting in his face brought him back to the present.
He took a sharp breath, his eyes skittering over his room, recognizing his bed and the stove after a few seconds. There were two unfamiliar people in his room. Officers.
“Mr. Moretti.” The man in front of him sounded grave. His eyes followed every movement of Klein, his hand still half-raised.
“It’s dangerous to continue this right now.”
He offered a handkerchief.
“You’re bleeding.”
Klein’s hand shook as he accepted the handkerchief: his arm was unexpectedly heavy.
Who were these men, again?
“Have… we met before?” He looked at the handkerchief, lost at what to do with it.
“We met just a few minutes prior.” The man gazed upon Klein’s still figure, then took a step closer. The man guided Klein’s hand holding the handkerchief to Klein’s nose.
There was a wetness on his face. The moment Klein registered the copper taste in his mouth, he gagged, turning away.
“He might throw up all over you, Captain.” The second man quipped. His shirt was only half-buttoned and it was untucked.
Careless, Klein criticized. Lazy.
He drew a shallow breath.
It felt not deep enough.
He took another.
This time the air seemed to reach his lungs better.
With a shaking hand, Klein pressed the fabric against his face again.
“I’m okay,” he whispered hoarsely. His eyes scanned the room, looking for something.
“Mr. Moretti, my name is Officer Smith. This is my colleague, Officer Mitchell. We arrived a few minutes ago to question you about the deaths of your friends Madam Naya and Mr. Welch. You mentioned you had seen them last night. When asked about the details, you became lost in thought.”
Ah. Did that happen? How rude of him.
“Mr. Moretti, I think it’s best if you came with us to talk to our professional. She could protect you from your memories.”