Chapter Fourteen

The Jacob Syndrome

Jonathan Hazenberg studied the building in front of him, his hands carelessly resting on his pockets, his shoulders hunched and a slight tingle in his eyes. He allowed himself the time and pleasure to light a cigar as he stood in silence.

It was a cold morning in St. Agnes. As usual, the sun appeared to be too weak to grace its inhabitants with the gift of warmth, though it shared enough light to make the morning seem beautiful. It was a contrast with the spirit of the city.

St. Agnes had awoken to murder.

It wasn’t the vile crime that shocked the population though, for St. Agnes was definitely not new to homicide. The shocking aspect of the whole situation was the victim. The whispers and suspicions already filled the streets and Jonathan wished St. Agnes could be as much muted as it was cold.

He finally decided to get inside, ready to see the crime scene. As soon as he opened the door, the sickly scent of old and dry blood and dead flesh hit his nostrils. That was something he didn’t think he’d ever get used to – the smell of death.

He passed through police officers, reporters and a doctor, until he finally reached the middle of the grand living room. The room was silent, save for a few whispers – Reuben Musgrave was deeply cherished and respected, he was being mourned by everyone. He saw the Judge’s lifeless body sprawled on the floor – a most undignified fate for such an adored and important citizen. A young man with dark messy hair and a boyish face hovered over the body, taking notes and studying the corpse thoroughly. Jonathan recognized his apprentice immediately.

“Honorable Judge…” he said, after taking his cigar from his mouth, “Never thought I’d ever see you like this.”

“Chief Detective!” The young man almost jumped at the sound of his Chief’s voice, straightening himself up to his level.

“How are you doing, Patrick?”

“I could be better,” young Detective, Patrick Peterson, answered, “I think we could all be…” He spared a few seconds to gaze at the unfortunate Judge again.

“Indeed, this is a terrible loss for St. Agnes.” Jonathan sighed and approached the body. “So what can you tell me?”

“It was a single shot to the head,” Patrick replied, staring at Musgrave’s remains again, “probably cold blooded. The doctor places the time of death sometime between midnight and one in the morning. His maid found him just a couple of hours ago. So far, no one saw anything out of the ordinary. The neighbors heard the shot and confirm the doctor’s estimated time of death.”

Jonathan crouched to have a better look at the corpse. “They heard the gun shot but no one came to see what happened or looked through the window?”

Patrick shrugged. “Most of the people I talked to claim that gun shots are not that unusual to hear. One lady, Miss Catherine, she came to the window, she lives right in front of this house, but saw nothing and no one. Since there were no shouts or screams and nothing moved, my guess is they just assumed it was a drunken quarrel that ended quickly, as it so often is.”

“I want to interview these people again, personally,” Jonathan stated while straightening up, “we will talk to every single person who lives here or walked through here last night. Someone must’ve seen or heard something, even if they don’t know it.”

Patrick nodded. “I agree, Chief.”

Jonathan raised his cigar to his mouth and looked around. “I want to speak to the doctor, as well. Patrick, keep these reporters away from the corpse. Tell them I will talk to them later. The last thing this city needs is to see their Honorable Judge with a bullet on his forehead.”

Patrick nodded again and Jonathan proceeded, already walking away in a slow strut, with his apprentice eagerly following, “After this, we shall have a delicious breakfast in The Black Cat.”

“Chief?”

Jonathan turned to Patrick and smiled. “I am quite hungry, are you not?”

“I am, but-“

“Settle down, young lad.” The Chief chuckled. “The rumors of Musgrave’s murder are already flying wild through the city – you know how St. Agnes works. We have no clues as to who killed him and I suspect we won’t get much from the crime scene. The Black Cat, however, is home to some of the… darker figures, if you will, of our dear city. If any news or suspicions of anyone having any grudge or ill feelings towards the Judge exist, we will find them there.”

“Whoever did this…” Patrick said, “Has to be someone without much to lose.”

“Yes, I agree.” Jonathan let out a small cloud of grey smoke. “No one in their right mind would murder someone as high profile as Reuben Musgrave. Either the murderer has nothing to lose, or he really trusts himself to not be caught.”

“Well, it seems like we’ll have to prove him wrong.” Patrick smiled with confidence.

Jonathan returned the expression. “Let’s find and capture this madman.”

***

“Did you do this?”

Victor raised his eyes from the papers he was studying as soon as the newspaper hit the table. He took off his reading glasses to stare at a very angry looking Preshea.

“Good morning, Preshea.” He smiled, putting his glasses on again and unfolding the newspaper she so hastily threw at him.

“Did you do this?” she repeated, her tone even more severe, one of her hands leaving her hip, where it had previously been and pointing to the paper, like a mother furiously scolding her child.

Victor changed his attention to the newspaper and immediately understood what she was talking about. On the front page, in big bold letters, it stood the title: Honorable Judge Found Murdered, next to it was a grey picture of Reuben’s corpse.

“Oh!” He smiled wider, with false surprise and a hint of mockery. “We made the front page.”

Preshea didn’t share his careless feelings on it, though. She was clearly angry. “How could you do this?”

“With a gun, some resentment and a whole lot of entitlement,” he continued to make fun of it, his eyes still set on the article. When she didn’t answer, he returned his gaze to her, his smile fading. “It had to be done. I told you I would.”

“How…” She sighed with fury and little patience. “Do you realize what you’ve done?” She was close to screaming at him.

“Yes.” He smiled mischievously again. “It is called justice.”

“You murdered! You killed one of the most important, most highly esteemed, most recognized men in the city!”

“Yes, isn’t it great?” He returned his attention towards the article, reading it with interest and motioned for the chair in front of him. “I was torn between the judge and the lawyer, but Ethel figured we should start big.” Her glare didn’t soften and Victor sighed, still in a good mood. “Settle down, Preshea. They’ll never get me.”

“Oh, you don’t think they’ll find it interesting, that as soon as three strangers arrive at St. Agnes, the Honorable Judge shows up dead?”

“No,” he calmly replied, “it actually plays in my favor. You see, as a new citizen, I am actually the person with the least reasons to murder someone, especially if I never even met him. Besides, even if they do find it interesting, they will never have the physical evidence to put me in that room. And you seem to be forgetting – this damned city is hardly a stranger to crime and murder.”

Preshea walked in circles in front of his table, apparently too agitated to sit down or stand still. “Regardless, you are missing the point!”

“No.” He was looking at her again. “You are.” Victor rested the paper on the table and looked at Preshea with the same kind of serious and dangerous attitude she was already used to. “Did you think I was joking? Did you think I didn’t really mean it?” Preshea stopped in front of him, her eyes shined with sadness and disappointment. “It was always meant to be this way. My father… he always talked to me of dignity, of honor, of friendship, loyalty… family. Protect the family at all costs.”

“Which one of his teachings included murder?” she attacked, her fury returned.

“I did what had to be done!” Victor’s tone was also rising, his eyes colder than ever, but instead of an angry frown, he actually displayed a grin. “In a way, it is almost poetic.”

“Do you really think he would be proud?” she was almost whispering now, “That he would condone one second of this… this madness?”

“Protect the family at all costs!” he simply answered, his tone tough and final. Victor returned his vision and interest back to the newspaper, adjusting his glasses.

Preshea didn’t seem ready to give up, though. “I doubt he ever meant at the cost of your soul! I doubt he meant at the cost of other’s lives!”

“Preshea, if anything, I did this city a service. You should be thanking me. The man was a filthy corrupt with strong moral flaws and questionable habits - hardly someone to waste our tears and concerns over. Who knows how many more innocent men he put behind bars to rot and die, all for the exchange of dirty money. St. Agnes is actually a better place without him - though still far from being a great place, at all.”

“It doesn’t matter! It is not your place to judge or punish!”

“I beg to differ,” he replied with tranquility, turning a page. “You see, I believe that, from the moment he sentenced my father to die in jail, I gained every right to do so. I think that, after all he took from me, his life barely covers the price he had to pay.”

Preshea finally sat in the chair opposite from Victor. She sighed, sounding tired and worried, like her anger finally dissipated and transformed into despair. Victor never took his eyes from the newspaper.

“Jonathan Hazenberg… He has been called to investigate.” She looked at Victor as if she was making a most important revelation, probably a reason why he should be as concerned and upset as she was. Victor merely glanced at her, not appearing any less calm than before. She felt the need to elaborate. “He’s the best Chief Detective this city has ever seen since Samuel Black himself!” Her gaze intensified, like she was giving him a warning. “He will not rest until he finds you.”

Victor chuckled, his unconcerned attitude shocking her. “Let him come.”

Silence fell into the room. Victor finished reading the article, carefully folded the newspaper and returned it to Preshea, looking more amused after reading it. Preshea didn’t even look at him, she just stared into her hands, looking miserable.

“Who did it?” she whispered, breaking the quietness. “You or Ethel? Who pressed the trigger?”

She finally looked at him and, after seeing his grin, she understood. It was then that Preshea Eudora Carwin couldn’t hold it in anymore. She cried. She cried with desperation, her face hidden behind her open hands.

Victor remained untouched though, his grin still present on his lips as he returned to the papers he was studying before she interrupted.

“Why, dear Preshea… I had no idea you so cared for Musgrave.”

“I’m not crying for Musgrave!” she furiously told him, as she looked at him with fresh tears still travelling down her cheeks. “Don’t you understand?” Her anger turned into sadness again, a sadness so deep, it was like she pitied him. She looked at him as if he, instead of Reuben, had been killed. “Don’t you understand?” she repeated in a whisper, “Can’t you see? I’m not crying for him… I’m crying for you.”

***

Ethel sat in her favorite couch, next to the tall windows of her living room. It had always been her favorite spot when she was a child, though now it was certainly less clean, less beautiful and less comfortable. She curled her legs, so that her feet were on top of the fluffy pillows in a most un-lady like position. She didn’t mind wrinkling her gown. She took a sip of her red wine and stared at the world outside, clutching her glass to her chest as if she was Joshua and the drink was her Jacob.

It was raining, like it almost always was in St. Agnes – but she liked it. Ethel loved the rain, the grey skies, the sound of thunder, the strength of the wind, the smell of moist earth. Ethel loved a good storm, especially from that particular spot where, a decade earlier, a fire would be blooming on the fireplace just behind her, lighting up the room and warming her body and soul. Her mother would be sitting on the ground, not afraid to wrinkle her dress, playing dolls with Selina or she would be sitting right behind her, holding her close, sitting in the most un-lady like position, gently and patiently brushing her hair. Back then, the room breathed and was alive.

Ethel was interrupted from her mental journey by the sound of rough scraping. She looked to her right, fully prepared to scare away whoever was disturbing her peace. Her annoyed glance fell right on the small, blonde girl that had haunted her every step ever since she returned to St. Agnes. Alice returned her stare, while trying to brush her really long, knotted hair with visible difficulty. Ethel noticed how she struggled and forcibly pushed the brush down, effectively breaking her hair. She didn’t flinch though, even though it was clearly painful – Ethel admired that, even if she would never say it aloud.

She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes, cursing her inability to just ignore the useless kid. “You’re doing it wrong.”

Alice ignored her and kept ruining her hair.

“Seriously, you stupid little girl, you’re breaking your hair.”

“I think I know how to brush my own hair, thank you very much.” She replied, visibly uninterested in Ethel’s reasoning.

Ethel shrugged and returned her gaze towards the outside. It was getting darker. She tried to get lost in her thoughts again, but the sound of Alice’s brush furiously ripping apart her hair wouldn’t let her concentrate. It annoyed her greatly.

“Oh, enough of this! Girl, get over here now.”

“No,” Alice replied, defiant and stubborn.

“Get over here now, so that I can properly do it for you,” Ethel said, through gritted teeth, in what could be interpreted as a great effort to not be scary.

“Why do you care what I do with my hair?” Alice asked, almost angry. “Just leave me alone.”

“Because it is getting on my nerves and I rather do it than hear it,” Ethel answered. “Now, don’t make me get up and get you or I’ll swear, I’ll rip each and every one of your pretty little hairs one by one with my own hands!”

Alice frowned and took a deep breath. Apparently deciding it would be better to not cross the older woman, she got up - with not even a hint of a smile or gratitude on her hardened expression - and walked towards Ethel’s couch, obviously against her will. She basically threw her brush at Ethel and sat in front of her, her back stiffened and her arms crossed, in the perfect stance for a childish tantrum. Ethel actually grinned – it was the first time she saw Alice act like the child she was.

Ethel changed her position on the couch slightly, so as to make herself more comfortable for the task ahead. She grabbed the brush and began to gently unknot the child’s hair from its tips.

“This is how you do it,” she mumbled. “You start from the bottom, so as to not break it and you do it firmly but gently.” She looked at the girl’s perfectly straight and long, golden hair and couldn’t stop thinking that, if it was pitch black in color, it would be exactly like Selina’s.

“You are lucky,” she began, “your hair is beautiful and strong. It’s a shame you don’t treat it right. You should take better care of it.”

Slowly, but surely, Alice’s stance softened and her arms actually fell to her sides, like she was finally relaxing. “Thank you,” she whispered. Ethel pretended not to hear.

“I always wished I had hair like this,” she admitted, talking more to herself than necessarily to the child. “I always enjoyed brushing my sister’s hair, while secretly envying her. My own is too unruly and wild, it’s impossible to properly brush.”

“I like your hair,” Alice said, in a tone that actually surprised Ethel – it was the first time she heard her speak without coldness or accusation. She actually sounded like a little girl. “I think it suits you.” Ethel chose to ignore her once again.

“Where is your pest of a brother?” she asked, aching to return to normal behavior towards the girl, “I’ve never seen one of you without the other. I seriously hope he’s not being a scamp-“

“He’s sleeping,” Alice interrupted, her tone suddenly more stern.

“I can safely bet my soul that he’s clutching that stupid dog while he’s at it,” Ethel continued, knowing full well she was riling Alice up. “What is it with the kid and the creepy stuffed dog, by the way?”

Alice shrugged and remained silent. Ethel sighed and continued brushing the girl’s hair with an uncharacteristic delicateness.

“I’ve seen dogs with better cared fur,” she commented. “Really, didn’t your mother ever teach you how to properly-“

“I don’t have a mother.” Alice was stern and cold again, her shoulders stiffening.

“Well, neither do I,” Ethel continued. “Still, while I had her, she taught me how to be a proper woman.” Alice snorted and, to her own amazement, Ethel didn’t feel mocked or insulted, she actually grinned with pride. “Well, she did. I just choose to not be.”

Alice chuckled lightly. It was so quick and it was over so fast, Ethel wondered if she had imagined it. Not to mention how completely out of character it seemed. Ethel couldn’t imagine the girl giggling or laughing or doing anything other than frown and stare emotionless. She had never even seen her smile, much less anything else remotely joyful.

A few moments of silence settled in and Ethel was grateful for them. Until, against everything she expected, Alice broke it.

“No one had ever brushed my hair before.” Her tone was sad and it slightly disgusted Ethel. She was beginning to think she quite missed stone cold Alice.

“That explains a lot,” Ethel muttered. “I mean, I’m sure your mother-“

“I don’t have a mother,” Alice repeated, even more vehemently than before.

“I know, that much is obvious, but before she passed-“

“You don’t understand, do you?” the child asked. “I don’t have a mother and I never had one. I never had an older sister, either. No one to teach me such things. The Sisters tried, but there were so many of us, they never had time for things like this.”

Ethel suddenly stopped moving, her arm still raised in mid-air.

“You never had a mother?” she repeated. “What do you mean, you never had a mother? You had to have one at some point.”

Alice shrugged. “As far as I can remember, me and Josh have always lived at the orphanage.”

“You came from the orphanage…” Ethel repeated again, trying to sound as cold and insensitive as always, but finding it more difficult, much to her displeasure. It was hard to keep stoically uncaring when she could so deeply relate, to an extent. It was hard to hate the little girl sitting in front of her, when she reminded her so much of her own past.

Ethel resumed the brushing, undecided if she hated the child more for making her remember or otherwise. She sounded angry when she asked, “Your parents left you there?” She was well aware of how insensitive the question was, but it didn’t bother her.

“Yes. I don’t remember, but Sister Mary said so.” The child seemed as unaffected by it as Ethel. “I guess… That makes it worse.” Her chilled tone contrasted with her words and defeated stance.

“It does.” Ethel’s uncaring response contrasted with the gentle way in which she kept stroking Alice’s hair. “Why are you not there, now? What made you decide to come here and be a nuisance in my life?”

Alice didn’t answer, so Ethel decided to keep pressing, “Didn’t you like the orphanage?”

The young girl shrugged again. “It was alright. I don’t know any better.”

“You are so chillingly sober,” Ethel commented, not sure if she was impressed or annoyed by it. “Why did you leave? Why won’t you go back?”

Again, the girl allowed for silence to settle, the only sounds were the ones from the outside – the wind violently dancing with the trees and the rain softly landing on the windows.

“The day we escaped,” Alice finally began, “a man and a woman came to the orphanage.” Ethel remained silent, listening with curiosity and continuing her treatment of the golden hair. Alice sighed and decided to continue, not seeming to exactly mind if the older woman was interested or not, like she just really needed to lift a heavy weight, “They were looking for a child to call their own. They wanted a son.”

She sighed again and Ethel could almost guess what was coming.

“I remember the look on the woman’s face.” Alice lifted her head, she was now staring at the ceiling and even though her words were heavy, her voice was almost empty. “I remember how her eyes shone and how wide she smiled when she saw my brother for the first time. It amazed me… and terrified me. She chose him. With a single glance, she looked at Joshua and decided that he was the one. He was her son.”

Ethel was still silent and Alice continued, as if talking to herself.

“The worst part was that Joshua seemed to really like her as well. It was so painful to see them play with each other, enjoy each other, laugh with each other the whole afternoon… and all I could do was watch.”

The older woman stopped brushing. She just listened, seemingly transported to another place and another time.

“Later that afternoon, I heard the woman and man talk to Sister Mary. They…” Alice took a deep breath. If one wasn’t listening to her icy tone, one would think the child was almost crying. “They were discussing Joshua’s adoption. The woman wanted to take him with her right away, but Sister Mary asked them to return the next day. She thought Joshua needed time to understand… Understand why he would never see me again. And I knew… I knew I had to do something. I knew I was going to lose my brother. I knew they’d take Joshua away from me and we would never see each other again. I knew he would be happy and loved and that he would forget me and I would be all alone.” Alice’s voice was mechanical.

“I couldn’t bear the thought. I’ll never be able to live without Joshua, he’s… He’s all I have.” She raised her head again, her chin high as if she was defying someone. “I knew I had to do something. So, when night came, I woke Joshua up and we ran and we hid. It was the only way.” Then, her shoulders dropped again, her eyes back on the floor, like she had been defeated, like she was ashamed. “Joshua doesn’t even know anything. He didn’t understand, he just followed me because I asked him to. Because that’s what we always do. We stick together.” She nodded. “It was the only way.”

Ethel resumed her previous task of brushing the child’s mane, as if nothing had interrupted her and as if nothing had been said. She was determined to ignore every single feeling of understanding and familiarity the girl might have awakened in her.

“Are you going to warn the orphanage?” If Alice was scared or afraid of what Ethel might do, she didn’t show it.

The black haired woman took her time answering. She thought about it for a few minutes, carefully digesting this new information and processing her possibilities.

She could finally be free of them.

She could go to the orphanage, tell them exactly where Alice and Joshua were hiding and they’d be picking them up before sunset. But the more she thought about it… Why would Alice tell her something like that, knowing perfectly well what she could do to them? Then again, if she delivered them, Alice would certainly seek revenge and tell the world who they really were and what they were doing.

Who would believe such a mad story, anyway? Coming from the mouth and mind of a child, no less?

But all that was needed was one person to consider it and it could risk everything, it could ruin them - especially now, after the Judge’s murder, with police and detectives involved, desperate to find the culprit and to follow any sort of lead.

Not to mention Selina, who would certainly hate her for it. And Victor, he would be furious if she was ever so careless.

Besides, as much as it pained her to admit, she could actually relate to Alice. She knew, better than anyone, what she had felt the moment Joshua was chosen to leave - to leave her and her life forever. She had been through it twice, after all. Ethel knew what it was like to be left behind, to be left alone. As much as it cost her, Ethel actually wanted little annoying, emotionless, angry Alice to succeed.

Though it was mostly for her own siblings that she was doing this, she thought.

Alice was steady and tense, waiting for Ethel’s reply.

Why would she trust such information on her, out of everyone, to begin with? The girl was clearly dense.

Ethel took a deep breath. “No,” she finally replied, “I am not.”

Alice’s body immediately relaxed and she said nothing more. Ethel wasn’t quite sure what was happening, she was only certain that it was extremely uncomfortable to both.

A few moments later, Alice spoke again, “I know I was selfish.” And for the first time, Ethel could actually sense a feeling of sadness in the girl’s voice, maybe even fear and doubt. She was sounding like a child again, even though her words were way too old for her.

Alice slowly turned in her seat, looking at Ethel with her strong, dark blue eyes. They shined and her voice showed weakness, though her features certainly did not.

“I know I was selfish, but I don’t regret it.” She seemed to study Ethel for a while, before finally deciding to ask the question that seemed to be on her mind, begging to come out, “Does it make me a bad person?”

Ethel returned her gaze, replying with honesty, like she always did, “No.”

Alice’s breathing seemed to have become deeper, as if she was relieved.

“Does it make me a bad sister?”

"Yes."

Alice seemed frightened by the answer. Nevertheless, she asked a new one.

"Do you think... Do you think he'll hate me?"

Ethel was ruthless. “Yes.” Alice looked down, appearing almost sad, though not quite accomplishing it. Ethel suspected the girl really had no idea on how to express her feelings through her face.

“But,” Ethel continued, “I think you were very brave.” Alice immediately looked up, her eyes shining with hope. “I wish I had the same kind of courage, back when I was your age. I wish… I wish I’d done the same.”

And then something amazing happened. For the first time, since she had first met the stupid little girl, Ethel saw it - and she was strangely glad to be witnessing it.

She saw the traces of the child that should’ve always been there.

Alice was smiling.

***

Victor closed the door behind Preshea, after he had walked her out of the house. He really didn’t want to dwell on anything she had said to him. He’d much rather spend his time planning his next move – and that was a thought that excited him.

She would have to understand. It was just too late.

When he turned around, he noticed the young kid he had allowed inside his house, watching him, half hidden behind a wall. The little boy yawed and rubbed his eyes, clutching the same stuffed toy he always carried around to his chest.

Victor didn’t even think about him twice. He walked past the child, almost absent mindedly messing up his hair as he playfully stroked the boy’s head.

Before he had taken more than a couple of steps away from the boy though, the child spoke to him.

“You did a very bad thing.”

Victor froze immediately, feeling temporarily paralyzed by the boy’s outburst. He turned, to look at him. “What did you say?”

The boy did not look like the child he was used to see running around his house. He looked defiant, serious, accusing.

“You did a very bad thing,” he repeated. “You and witch lady, you do bad things.”

Victor approached him, moving slowly and carefully, as if he was afraid to scare the boy away. He crouched right in front of him, their faces almost at the same level. Victor almost smiled. Instead of scaring or confusing him, the boy’s words actually entertained him.

“Who told you that?”

The boy seemed to recoil, though just a little. His eyes still looked at Victor with accusing intensity. “Jacob did.”

Victor grinned and looked the young boy straight in his eyes, rather amused.

“You think this is bad?” he whispered. “This is just the beginning.”