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Suspended on the property's perimeter wall, she takes a deep breath and glides to the other side. She lands lightly on the carpet of leaves that heralds the end of summer and crosses the park toward the sleeping manor house.
The place is silent, with only the cries of a few nocturnal creatures tearing through the serenity of the night. A familiar flutter of wings cleaves the air, then fades as we progress, uncovered, along the moonlit gravel driveway.
Believ on my heels, I take the staircase down to the building's basement, while she struggles to pick the lock. Given the time she's taking, she can't have practiced this often; I would even bet it's her baptism of fire. Impatient to get back to my body, I sink into the half-light. For once, my condition gives me an advantage!
I slide all the way down. The messy friction of the pin in the lock evaporates into an oppressive, lifeless void. I cross the last step and enter the room, plunged into total darkness. The torches and candles are extinguished, so that I can see absolutely nothing. I'm seized by an agonizing intuition that is confirmed the moment my acolyte joins me, preceded by a diffuse halo.
My body has disappeared.
“It's gone!”
“They were quick,” says Believ with disarming calm.
“Quick to what?”
“To move you.”
I don't get it. Did I miss an episode?
I stare at her, baffled. Will she finally tell me what this is all about? Why isn't she more surprised that my body isn't back where we left it?
“You didn't think your body would be here forever, did you?”
“It was here yesterday!”
“I imagine it's being stored in a cold room while they organize your funeral.”
“Cold room? Funeral ?”
“To the morgue, to keep it cool before burying it, burning it, or both.”
How can she explain it to me with such detachment? After all, it's my body! And even if the prospect of a Viking celebration has an aura as spectacular as it is flattering, I'm not yet ready to part definitively with the flesh that embodied me so recently.
How is it that I know this people and their customs?
My capricious memory only seems willing to deliver a few isolated flashes and vague knowledge with no apparent link to my existence.
“Don't make that face. We'll find it,” she tries to reassure me despite the anxiety that seems to be overtaking her, her hand moving closer to my shoulder before passing through it.
This contact gives me a surprising tingling sensation all over my body. Was she hoping to touch me?
“We're going to have to find out who lived in this mansion,” she says thoughtfully. “The fact that your death was kept confidential leads me to believe that someone wanted to conceal it. What disturbs me is that I don't understand why.”
I nod. If I had any idea, we wouldn't be here, breaking into strangers' homes in the middle of the night.
“Couldn't we go into the mansion, since we're already here?” I suggest, eager to find out more. “The owner will probably have written down a few things or instructions. You don't deliberately store a body in your own home with no specific intention.”
“Are you crazy? I don't want to end up in jail!”
What is she babbling about now?
To my amazement, she clarifies, “You promised to do things my way, remember? I'm not a burglar, and as long as I have a choice, we'll investigate without risking my neck.”
I understand what's holding her back, but I'm running out of time! I'm dead, and my body has vanished into thin air. If we don't panic a little, I could disappear without knowing what happened to me. I don't want that!
“And then, at the risk of alarming you,” she continues, “this unprecedented situation isn't clear-cut: everything points to your body having been removed. I wouldn't want to be next on the hit list.”
Would a violent death be enough to explain my condition? There was nothing on my body to suggest that my demise was the result of an unnatural cause, apart from my young age. But why bother to rid me of my sins, if I had been murdered? What murderer would hold a ceremony for the salvation of their victim? It just doesn't make sense.
