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"Excuseme," a woman said, her voice a soft whisper as she edged past him to get abetter look at a display featuring several vibrantly colored butterflies. Hebarely acknowledged her; his focus was on one particular case, one that heldthe key to unlocking a flood of memories he had long repressed.
"Ah,there you are," he murmured under his breath as his gaze fell upon thefamiliar sight of an old friend. Not a human friend, but rather, a deadbug—meticulously preserved and encased behind glass.
"CanI help you with something, sir?" A museum employee approached him, hertone polite but wary as she looked at him intently. He could feel her assessinghim, and for a moment, he wondered if she knew. If she suspected it was himwho'd driven a knife into a man's chest here just the day before.
But shekept smiling politely, and he was sure she didn't suspect a thing. He knew howto play the part of an interested patron, someone who simply appreciated thebeauty of nature's creations.
"Isn'tit fascinating?" he replied smoothly, gesturing toward the display."I've always been captivated by the intricacy of these creatures."
"Indeed,their complexity is often overlooked," she agreed, relaxing slightly athis cultured response. "If you have any questions, please don't hesitateto ask."
"Thankyou," he said, nodding to dismiss her. As she walked away, he returned hisattention to the glass-encased insect. In another lifetime, they had shared aconnection that he had never been able to replicate with another living being.
Hisheart ached as he gazed upon the lifeless form, his mind racing through thepast and its myriad of emotions. The memories were both vivid and hazy, ghostlyimages that refused to be forgotten. The bond they had formed was based onmutual understanding, a tacit agreement that neither would ever betray theother.
He felta sudden surge of anger, hot and fierce like a wildfire, at those who had takenthis creature from him.
Hishands clenched into fists, but he forced himself to remain calm, to not drawattention to himself. Revenge was best served cold, after all.
Still,his eyes misted over, and he blinked back the tears threatening to spill. Heknew this bug when it had been alive, a vibrant creature full of life andenergy. They had formed an unbreakable bond, an understanding that transcendedtheir differences in species.
"Hello,old friend," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.
Herecalled how they had met one fateful day in the quiet solitude of his garden.The insect had landed delicately on his outstretched hand, its iridescent wingsshimmering in the sun. A sense of awe had filled him as if he'd been chosen forsomething greater than himself.
"Didyou know I named him Azazel?" he asked the stranger, a woman beside him,not bothering to acknowledge any reaction. "We were inseparable backthen."
Thewoman simply gave him a dirty look and moved away.
But itdidn't matter. He remembered their countless hours spent together, exploringthe hidden secrets of nature. Azazel would guide him through the undergrowth,leading him to places he never thought existed. They shared adventures,laughter, and, most importantly, trust. But then again, maybe that had justbeen a dream...
"Sucha shame, what happened to you," he murmured, his fingers itching to reachthrough the glass barrier and caress the fragile wings. "You didn'tdeserve this fate."
Histhoughts darkened, swirling like storm clouds on the horizon. His heart poundedin his chest, a fierce, primal rhythm that seemed to fuel his anger. Anyone whoharmed them, who dared to disrupt their perfect harmony, would pay dearly fortheir actions.
Hewould see to it himself.
Insectswere beautiful creatures. And he was their protector.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fionasat alone in the briefing room, the air thick with the stale smell of coffeeand old paperwork. She had spent the past while trying to draw a connectionbetween the two victims--anything, even in their bank statements--but nothingshowed up.
Herthoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone, the screendisplaying Betty's name - her elderly landlady from her apartment building.
"Hello?"she answered, trying to keep the weariness out of her voice.
"Fiona,dear, I don't want to bother you, but a man came looking for you today,"Betty began hesitantly. "Said he had information you might want."
Fionafrowned. Who would come by looking for her? She prayed it wasn't her overlypossessive ex, Mark, but passed that off--she hadn't heard from him in a longtime now.
"Didhe leave a name?" Fiona asked, her pulse quickening.
"Sorrydear, he didn't. But he said you'd asked him to look into something foryou."
"Alright,thanks, Betty. I appreciate the heads up." Fiona hung up the phone, hermind racing.
Couldit be Marcus, the witness who claimed to have seen Damien before? If so, did hefinally have new information on his real identity? These questions swirledaround in her head like a dark storm cloud, blocking out any sense of reason.It was exhausting; the endless cycle of hope and disappointment that came withchasing leads on Joslyn, her missing sister. The constant dead-ends were takingtheir toll, leaving Fiona feeling drained and defeated.
