Chapter 40: Masquerade Hotel

  8 September 2018, 11.40 pm. The phone rang once, twice and on the third ring, Felix picked up.

  “Hello-hello…”

  “There is no need to pick me up today,” Dante said, phone sandwiched between his shoulder and his ear. The briefcase strap cut into his shoulder, and he rolled his shoulder in hopes of getting rid of the biting feeling.

  “You’re still working on the case?” Felix’s voice came through hollow, accompanied by the faint sound of running water in the background. There was a disgusting squelch and plops of solid hitting water.

  Dante placed a hand on the briefcase slung across his chest. Inside sat a file Mikami had given him: reproduced documents that had been rendered unreadable by bloodstains. He could hand them over to Felix now. Be done with it. Walk away clean.

  The strap of the briefcase squeaked in protest as Dante squeezed it. Some changes in his life were unwelcome – Felix crashing on his couch, for instance – but this slower, murder-mystery twist was something he wanted to savour a little longer.

  “I have some documents. I will review them.” And I will quit after this.

  “Alright, keep me in the loop.” A harsh grunt, then the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing. “You can hand the case over to me whenever you want.”

  He ate something horribly spicy, didn’t he? Dante sighed and hung up. His mind snapped back to the case. Tie up loose ends and wash my hands of this. It was better to deliver a solid case with evidence first – in all fairness to the culprit, whoever they were. Felix could do whatever he wants afterwards.

  Dante rifled through racks of clothing, hangers scraping against metal. He eventually settled on something careless: white shirt, leather khaki jacket, ripped navy jeans. The kind of outfit that said not a detective loud enough for anyone watching, but an unfashionable slob.

  Dante thought about Nova as he threw his shopping into the under-seat storage space built into the motorcycle seat he bought. The automatic feeder has more than enough food to last a week, he thought. It’ll be fine.

  The first thing he did after checking into the hotel was press down on the mattress. Far too soft. His back would hate him in the morning.

  He had been staying in Yokohama ever since the murders occurred. Mikami had handed the case over completely, offering more than a few unwelcome pats on the back, wishing him luck with the kind of enthusiasm that meant thank god it is not my problem for now. The detective seemed pleased their suspicions about Dr. Faust had merit, saving face from what could have been another cold case. Meanwhile, the police’s Media Relations team was doing a decent job spinning believable stories, steering the public away from dangerous speculation. The censure placed on the hospital staff seemed effective. But who would believe their side of the story anyway?

  Dante pulled out his working document and spread it across the desk. Case details. Evidence gathered so far. He flipped through Ace's notes, deciphering the teenager's scrawls. “Sea Paradise visit in the late afternoon,” he muttered, tracing the doodle of a clownfish Ace had drawn absentmindedly in the margins. “Mother says that they are picking up father from work...”

  He would tail the Fausts tomorrow. The objective would be to map out the doctor's true feelings about his family. If Dr. Faust did not show up at the aquarium, it would mean all he had left for them was indifference.

  Dante picked up the reproduced reports and skimmed through them. It was a research proposal written by Dr. Faust.

  Human experimentation… Reversal of death by neurological criteria through the usage of intrathecal bioactive peptides, stem cells, and median nerve stimulation.

  Dante fell down a Wikipedia rabbit hole, tabs multiplying across his laptop screen as he parsed the terminology. Possibly a cover for what he is going to do, he thought.

  The key ingredient listed in the proposal was deceased persons, valuable sources of Cursed Essence.

  Dante briefly considered the possibility of Dr. Faust using his family for experimentation. “Striking this close to home?” he thought aloud. The words fell into the empty room.

  Not rational. It would draw more attention to himself.

  Dante rocked back in his chair, the front legs lifting off the carpet. He needed to change his thinking. Get inside Dr. Faust's head. But how? His mind ran in loops until it tired itself out. With a sigh, Dante pushed away from the desk and headed for the bathroom.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  A hot bath ought to loosen him up enough for another round of thinking.

  The bath water ran hot – almost scalding. Steam began fogging the mirror as Dante stripped quickly, deliberately averting his eyes from his reflection in the glass doors. He eased into the tub with a hiss, submerging as much of his upper body as the water level allowed. The heat worked into his back muscles, unknotting tension he had been carrying for days. His mind began to clear.

  Just as Dr. Faust is meticulous about the executions, I have to think just as deeply, just as widely, to cover all bases. He had long eliminated the possibility of Dr. Faust being related to a sorcerer or an Aberrant. Given his age, he should have caught the attention of either the Sanctum or the Academy in Florence. To go unnoticed for roughly two decades was ludicrous.

  The God Hands quite liked toying with adolescents. They would find less joy in torturing adults.

  Dr. Johann Faust had been considering divorce for a while, thought Dante as he leaned back, his head touching the porcelain rim of the bathtub. But why hand over the divorce papers right after the murder?

  A small part of Dante considered the possibility that Dr. Faust was putting up an act for them. Performing for an audience he somehow knew was watching. But there was no way he could have detected them at his house. Enigma had concealed their shadows perfectly.

  Who is his mistress? Initially, Dante had intended to tail him, but he did not want to drag Ace into unexpected danger. Moreover, being hasty only served to put the doctor on edge.

  Everything was mere postulation. The strongest evidence they had was Ace's Vision. He needed something more. Something equivalent to a smoking gun.

  Something that would not require Ace to testify in front of the higher-ups.

  He needed to get Ace untangled from this web. Quickly. The creeping feeling that this case was more than it seemed had sunk claws into his gut and would not let go.

  Maybe I should have explained my rationale to him instead.

  Dante watched a drop of condensation trailing down the glass door, strangely mesmerised by it. His eyelids felt incredibly heavy; the toll of lack of sleep and a lengthy investigation was setting in. The drowsiness was relentless this time, pulling him down into the warm embrace of sleep. He thought about calling Shiro tomorrow morning to remind him to keep a closer eye on Ace.

  Call at seven, call at seven, call at sev…

  Darkness swallowed him whole.

  3.06 am. Dante vaguely remembered clambering out of the lukewarm water. Slipping on his bathrobe. Finding his glove. The last thing he saw was the glowing numbers on the nightstand clock. He lowered his eyelids in a slow blink.

  The next time he opened his eyes, it was not to check the time. It was because Scarlet was hitting him. The Regalia manifested as black tendrils that lashed against his face, insistent and sharp. One tendril stabbed toward the clock: a little past seven-thirty.

  Dante bolted upright, fumbling through tangled sheets for his phone while wiping drool from the side of his mouth. He was one click away from toggling on his alarm. There were also several missed calls from Ace, presumably to protest his removal from the investigation. He hopped on one leg while yanking up his pants with the other hand, phone wedged haphazardly between his shoulder and ear. “Shiro-san, keep a close watch on Ace today… No, I’m fine,” he sighed before hanging up.

  Within ten minutes, Dante hit the road.

  The Fausts’ residence sat quiet and still in the morning light. Too quiet. The house was empty, which struck him as odd at first, but he quickly thought of plausible explanations. Breakfast out. Early stroll at the park. Grocery shopping. All without Dr. Faust, of course.

  Dante slipped into the residence through Kayla’s open window. He headed straight for the master bedroom. He may have access to stolen material. Journals. Something.

  Dante searched methodically. Drawers. Closets. Under the bed. Nothing. There were no signs of a struggle in the house either. Everything was in order, but somehow, Dante could not shake off the feeling that he was missing something. He went down to the living room, and his eye spied the empty fish tank.

  Ace had mentioned that the oxygen pump could have been faulty, so he checked. Is there a switch? His fingers crept around the back of the tank until he felt it and flipped it.

  The pump hummed to life.

  Tongue clicking against his teeth, Dante slid off his Regalia and positioned it over his eye. It latched on with familiar pressure. The world bled red. Traces of Cursed Essence glowed faintly in the tank. In the kitchen. Small amounts, easily missed.

  What am I doing? I should just hand it over to–

  The Regalia hummed, alerting him as his eyes drifted over a spot. His eyes widened as he saw what it was showing him.

  Right at the entrance, there was a tiny spatter of Cursed Essence.

  Dante's breath caught. He unsheathed his sword – just for security – and began studying every surface with new urgency. He dropped to his knees, putting his face close to the rug, examining every clothed surface he could find. When he saw the blood splatter that was covered by a cushion on the couch, his body went cold.

  Not Cursed Essence.

  Blood.

  9 September 2018, 7.56 am. Dante stood in the middle of the Faust living room, phone already in his hand. His thumb scrolled through contacts with mechanical precision until he found the number.

  He pressed ‘Call’.

  When the line connected with a click, Dante spoke with a deadpan voice. He had to tighten his grip on his phone as he revealed his findings. “Mikami? It’s Higashino. Dr. Johann Faust’s wife, Elizabeth Faust, and his children – Oliver and Kayla Faust – are missing.”