Rebekah smoked a cigarette out her window. She had a third story apartment so nobody could see her.
Rain pattered on the half open windows. She could see the whole city and she watched it like a bird of prey.
Flat roofs and billowing chimneys. A testament to her mood.
The grey concrete that gave the image of sad sandcastles, built from the ashes of what came before.
Tench was in the college now, doing well by his teachers words. Whether or not they're lying is to be seen. She was seeing him the day after tomorrow.
She had another job today, in the university district itself. A teacher.
She wondered if her protégé knew him.
Questions and questions always there are more.
—
She walked the wide streets of the university district passing a corner of a colossal building of concrete and copper. Metals blemished by time.
She rounded it to a crowd of people. Students probably.
Pushing her way into the building she heard admonishing chants and cries, condemning their 'failure to act.' She ignored the admonition.
Behind her she heard something shatter. Then followed the roar of a guard and a wave of declarations.
'What did he do." They cried, as if assault was justified by there cause.
She wished Torrin were there with her, people always moved for him. People feared him.
She passed by framed class photos. Awards and achievements. Many of them belonged to the victim. Many more belonged to people they had blackmailed.
Up the stairs she went, passing guards on the way. Being checked by everyone she passed. Some more intimately than others.
Inner guard knew who they were and as Torrin would put it.
'They like to swing their dicks whilst they can.'
She made it past the harassment to the scene.
It was similar to the last victim but there was no pedestal to elevate him and he was faced down.
The killer respected him less maybe.
She scanned the room, an old empire building. Hard concrete as if to represent the sins of the father. Concrete always.
This wasn't his home, this was a place the killer had found. To fit the scene.
She doubted it would take them long to get his address.
He was naked. Writing on his back, that was new.
It looked as if it was made with a hot knife. The scent of burnt skin loomed the air.
Even the hair on his head was shaved to make room.
The pile of hair set aside. Unimportant.
On a set of scales sat near his head, his
tongue was weighed against a piece of religious scripture.
Written by the old bishop. 'The natural and appropriate fear of the other." It was called.
Not very subtle. Perhaps he was a conservative. She mused as she rounded the body.
By his feet, his eyes were weighted on another set. Against a newspaper.
The head line was about the population crisis, from when the emergency accommodations had started popping up.
She noted it down with the rest.
The words were jagged, misshapen.
Something about architecture and gods expression through it.
He was an architecture teacher then. She could assume. The engineers and builders had always preferred the old ways. Effort was a lost on them the last century.
His remains had taken up much of the floor, a rug was rolled up to make room for the portrait. She went to look at it then.
"Rebekah." A tired, familiar voice called to her.
Arron stood in the door frame, small for a man. Powerful in presence.
"Arron." She said in return. The conclave didn't have honorifics. "Unexpected I must say." She continued politely. She pressed a hand to her builders mark. A habit instilled by her farther.
"A teacher this time?" He asked.
"Yes, with a thesis carved on his back." She explained, gesturing to the victim.
"So he's either smart or thinks he's smart." Arron mused. Strolling into the room.
They both looked at the body for a long time then.
"Do you ever think we could stop things like this from happening?" She asked.
Arron didn't say anything, his eyes took on a haunted glow.
"No, we can't." He said coldly. "We can only ruin our minds and nights of rest. Hope for a future we will never live to see." He was only in his forties but the poor man could have passed for sixty in that moment. Ghostly as he was.
He thought Rebekah a zealot. But never seemed to notice the irony in that.
"He will slip up. If we don't catch him first." Rebekah affirmed him taking her eyes back away from the body, looking at the man.
He didn't seem to hear it at first. Then he nodded.
"Get inspectors questioning students. Especially those out the front. Check immigrants or those who have family who are." He said in a commanding voice. "For some reason neither guard wants to admit it could be a local."
"In a city with a population of two million?" Rebekah asked. Arron only raised his eyebrows. Exasperation clear.
"The Empire didn't treat them too well." Arron finished.
"That's one way to put it." She blurted, insensitively.
He was only one man, we were only fifty agents. They tried.
He took this comment with unusual quietness, he was usually far quicker to anger. Something was wrong.
Whether he was okay or not wasn't her concern, she just needed him to work. She understood her place far better than Arron thought. No matter how much she hated it, she was good at it. And she owed him.
"What's happening Arron." She asked him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"You'll know when you need to." He said back stonily, guard back up. He pulled back her hand.
He sighed.
"How's your protege coming along?" He asked.
She told him of Tench hoping it might cheer him up a little.
Rebekah was never known for her happy attitude; being in a room with Arron could be like being in the mountains.
"He will probably be done in six months." She finished. "His teachers tell me he is quick thinking and intuitive." She said with a voice a proud mother. That surprised her at first.
But it actually made the old sod smile.
"You'd like him." She told her old teacher. He nodded in return.
"What will you do now?" Arron asked. Looking back at the body, quickly scanning the room. Hands to hips.
"Local guard station probably." She said mirroring the pose. "See what I can get out of them." Her mentor nodded.
"Shouldn't be much." He chuckled and ambled toward the door. Rebekah followed sparing the dead teacher one more look.
Then changing her mind about leaving. She had something to check.
She said her goodbyes to Arron and he was on his way.
She didn't know why but the rug had her interest. A cigarette hanging from her mouth she drifted over, crouched and picked it up.
Took it away from the body's feet, unraveled it half way in the kitchen. another rug of the marionette, hubris disguised as culture.
Feels heavy. She thought, laying the thing on a table.
The rug had a page in it. 'Too little. Too late." It said, she unrolled the rug on a small coffee table.
Something hard, metallic struck the ground as she unrolled it.
Ticking.
She grabbed the letter. Bolted for the door.
The bomb went off. The dark came screaming.
Then.
Nothing.