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He remains silent, as if newly aware of the difficulties that await us if we’re to unravel the mysteries surrounding his existence.
What did he think? That we would get drunk playing a life-size game of Clue? Having said that, I believed it too, imagining that a few searches on the network would allow me to learn more. That doesn't prove anything, except that I'm dealing with an illustrious stranger who no one was interested in, despite his intriguingly haughty appearance.
A terrible crash resounds in the street, followed by the honking of horns and an anxious hubbub. I rush to the square and freeze in front of a terrible realization: a pickup truck has crossed the road and come to rest right next to my precious motorcycle, mowing it down in the process. Taken care of by passers-by, including a police officer, the driver is conscious. My bike, on the other hand, is suffering from multiple contusions, which suggest the worst.
As if I didn't have enough trouble as it is!
I slip discreetly into the crowd and straighten my mount away from the scene of the drama. Apparently, none of the parts were twisted in the impact.
I cling to the handlebars in despair and ride away, my mind already occupied by the scale of the repairs needed to get my bike back in shape.
A motel. I have to find a motel. The rest can wait.
After a day's research, I realize how difficult it will be to use the services of a Sin Eater. But the urgency is there: my children's bodies are waiting in a cold room; soon they’ll be cremated. And there are so many others like them, waiting to be purified before the final journey. Why on earth is it so complicated?
Eltz's journal
4
The Ghost
“How much longer are you going to sulk?”
Believ is silent. It's already been two hours since she uttered a word, apart from a few grunts and insults whose meaning I don't know.
The accident to her motorcycle seems to be affecting her more than it should. It's just a means of transport; there's no need to make a fuss!
When she tried to start it right in the middle of our motel room, where she'd rolled out a translucent tarpaulin, her machine made a strange noise, coughed, then folded up in the same silence as its owner. The impact wasn't just cosmetic, if Believ's determination is anything to go by, as she dismantles every single part she can get her hands on.
“And then what?” I try to keep the one-sided conversation going.
All I get from her is the umpteenth grunt, albeit more eloquent than the previous ones.
With her forearm, she wipes away a drop of sweat that beads on her temple, covering her alabaster skin with sludge. This girl is astonishing. Who would believe that underneath that fragile, doll-like exterior lies a brilliant mechanic who doubles as an accomplished Sin Eater?
“Hand me the blue key,” she orders, pointing to a set of tools spread out on the floor.
“The blue one? Which one is that?”
Could it be that I've forgotten a few basic details, in addition to my own life? Blue is the hue of the sky, of the sea sometimes, but I'm unable to recognize it among the objects in front of me. Could it be that my vision is impaired?
“Forget it. You don't even have a body,” she laments, standing up to pick up the object, which for me is just a shade of gray, barely more intense than the others.
I'm suddenly struck by the obvious: I can only see in black and white. As for perspective, I can hardly grasp it; everything my eyes perceive seems to be on the same plane!
There's another detail that annoys me even more: how can I fathom those around me without perceiving their nuances?
“Believ, what color are your eyes?”
“Gray.”
Well, at least I'm not missing anything there. Whatever their hue, the sadness in them seems unchanging.
“A problem?” she asks, suddenly concerned.
“I can't make out the colors.”
“It's only now that you're realizing it?”
