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3
Believ
What possessed you to agree to this stupid deal? For God's sake, Believ, it's not as if you had a choice!
After a terrible night interspersed with nightmares and jolts from the torrential, erratic downpour, I get up, already exhausted and unsure of the decisions I made the night before.
Day is beginning to dawn on the horizon. There's no time for daydreaming; I could be caught.
What's the program? How do you discover the secret identity of a dead person?
The media.
I need to find a discreet hotel with acceptable internet access. In a few minutes, I should be able to find the information I need and get rid of this invasive ectoplasm.
If I'd had a working cell phone—not Eltz’s prepaid one, I mean—, I could even have carried out these searches from here, but the precautions customary in the ruthless milieu of Sin Eaters forbid me to possess one. I could be spotted and tracked down, and the consequences of such exposure would be fatal. Better to lose a little time than end up in pieces.
With no news from my stiff, I'm off. Maybe I'll be able to lose him. I check my inventory one last time, buckle my bag, and hop on my bike, heading for the nearest town.
Under the dawn rays, the road is adorned with unreal flashes that are lost in the rising mist. This damned rain has at least had the merit of bringing a little beauty to this dreary landscape.
“It's not this way.”
So I didn't dream it. He’s there.
“Hello to you too,” I murmur, teeth clenched in my helmet, without even noticing my unbearable interlocutor.
“The manor house is behind us,” he insists.
“I'm not going to the mansion,” I retort dryly.
No, but who does he think he is?
“Where then?”
“Into town.”
“And my death?”
“That's all I can think about, so don't nag me!” I shout.
He's exasperating, asking thousands of questions that demonstrate his ignorance, while he claims to be telling me how to do things! If he wants my help, he'll have to accept that I work in my own way. No more slavery!
I speed up.
Speed is the only thing that soothes me, the embrace of this air that I'm tearing through and that gives me an astonishing feeling of freedom. I'm not in control of much, and this feeling could fade as quickly as it creeps in, as it probably did for Eltz. Yet it's liberating, almost vital.
Soon the city takes shape, shimmering with the warm rays it seems to revel in. The hustle and bustle of this awakening city rumble along the concrete streets. Workers squeeze into the subway or the traffic jams, while I slip from one lane to the next with the agility of a feline. God bless motorcycles!
Eventually, I find a library whose ancient structure stands in stark contrast to the glass-and-concrete towers that surround it in an impressive wall of honor. Throughout the centuries, knowledge has always had the best places, central and unshakeable in most cases.
I park and enter the monumental hall. My light footsteps echo, ricocheting under the vaulted ceiling adorned with sculptures of plants.
“May I help you?” calls a woman, grimacing, hidden behind an imposing, dark wooden counter.
“I'd like to do some research.”
“The computer room is this way,” she points out with a limp, unenthusiastic gesture.
