Lacrima: Chapter Eleven
Where Did He Go?
Job lingered outside the incense room. His hand enveloped the doorknob. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others approach.
No doubt here for the same reason I’m here, he thought. The body.
Lucille waved to him; to which he nodded. Bae followed briskly behind.
Those two have gotten close, he noticed, filing that into his observations.
“I’ll go in first,” he said, smoothing out the interaction.
He had two reasons why he wanted to go in first before everyone else. Firstly, he wanted to make sure no one tampered with the corpse. Granted, the killer could have just done that last night, but Job didn’t want to give anymore opportunities. Secondly, he himself wanted a better look at the body. Maybe he missed something in the nausea and confusion last evening. Some mark or scuff that would help him eliminate candidates and narrow down who could have killed Argus.
Smoke slithered from the gap as he stepped inside. He blinked as he stepped into the perpetually smoldering room. Only Esau knew how often Service refilled the braziers and censers which hung from chains above. A headache bloomed, radiating from just behind his forehead. Incense always did this to him. He wanted to get out quickly.
Job crossed to the center of the room. He swiveled his head.
He saw nothing but a bare floor. A few mats, but nothing else.
With a hollow gasp, he rushed out.
“The body’s not in there!” Job yelled. His eyes widened, nearly filling the lenses of his glasses. He opened the door to the incense room to show the others. Bae ventured in first. The smoke billowed out from the open door in a fragrant cloud. Through the gray haze, they saw nobody. Bae saw the incense holders, the mat, and the bamboo benches, but no Argus.
“Did someone move him?” she asked, turning to the others. The others shook their heads, looking more confused than anything. Each of them filled into the room to see what their own eyes. “What happened to him?”
“Excuse me.” Service vibrato voice trembled out from the wall-wide mirror in the back. Bae turned around to see the figure imposed on the glass. The white-gray plumes smoothed out the harsh angles and jitters of Service. “I hear some agitation in your voice. Could you please tell me who you are trying to look for?”
“Argus!”
The obscured person-image pantomimed stroking their chin before answering. “We have no guests in our database under that name. Was this an intruder?”
“No, he came here with us,” Bae explained. She blinked rapidly, hoping his body would appear in between the shuts.
“There is no guest in our database with that name. Are you sure there was another person with you?”
“Yes I-!”
Lucille stepped forward, patting Bae on the shoulder. She looked forward to the screen. “There was a human body within this room. Do you know what happened to it?”
Service paused. It didn’t even attempt a human gesture. The figure stood, hands at sides and inscrutable face forward. “Corpses are biohazards. We took the liberty of removing the body.”
Bae’s face paled. “Just like that?”
“We understand you may be upset. Please understand that our directive is to ensure our guests are safe and taken care of. A decomposing body would impede that goal, so we removed it.”
She gulped, grabbing onto Lucille who returned the hug. Service flickered out of existence. The smell of pungent lavender and sage hung grossly in the guests’ noses.
“Well,” Catherine stated. “That gives us all the more reason to put up the cameras. We need eyes on Service.”
The rest of the guests silently agreed. Catherine beckoned Konrad to follow her. The pair kept their voices low as they plotted out their camera spots.
Bae controlled her breathing, but quickly got a grip. At least, on the outside.
“We could still do a memorial service,” Lucille mentioned.
“That won’t be necessary. I just think about his family…” Bae trailed off. Lucille led her away, bringing her up the staircase.
Job wiped his glasses on his shirt. He approached the wall-spanning window. The panes segmented the glass into rows of square tiles. This window peered directly towards the shoreline and the docks. Rocks slick with rainwater piled up above the decline. It ended in gravel before being swallowed by the sea. Ever-pocked by the storm, the waters swayed and tumbled against the shore. Job had never seen water so lusciously blue. Though, he assumed that came from the blue tint of the glass. He scrutinized the glass. Service seemed to emerge from any reflection surface within the mansion. There had to be underlying machinery within the glass itself. How else could it produce images?
And you were an accomplice to the murder, Job condemned. Only Service could lock doors, so they had a role in this. Witting or not, their glitch-frayed hands dripped with blood.
He didn’t know what to think about Konrad setting up cameras. On one hand, getting more data on Service - and the mansion as a whole - could be invaluable. On the other hand, it would give him massive leverage in knowing the coming and goings of the other guests. That didn’t sit right with him: handing surveillance powers to someone who couldn’t have been more than a freshman in college, judging by his general aptitude.
Would I trust Catherine? He wondered. Moreso, but I don’t trust anyone right now. How can I?
Job resolved that he would have to assert the group’s right to access the cameras. If he framed it as a public good, perhaps it would seem more reasonable. With how the others behaved, he thought that should work.
As he looked beyond the glass, he returned his attention to the island itself. He wanted to leave. The edge of a dense forest peaked on the other end of the island. Job imagined escaping the claustrophobia, losing himself down a freshly rained trail. The tumultuous storm outside prevented such a passage. No matter how large the mansion really was - four walls always constricted with time. Already, he needed to get away from this getaway. He didn’t want to be the detective. Leave that to Sherlock or Poirot or Columbo. Job knew who he was: an ascending senior psychology student who wanted to get his psychiatry license.
His awareness shrunk from his desired escape. It returned to the literalness of the glass, his reflection, and another’s image who slid into the frame. Job caught her perfume: a subtle, autumnal faire. Lucille tapped his shoulder with a paper’s edge. He turned around and accepted the envelope. Her smile forced his own to appear. Job looked down at the sealed message.
“Another invitation?”
“You can open it if you want,” she teased. She pressed the tip of her tongue between the gap of her top and bottom teeth. “Or leave it a mystery.”
Job’s grin waned. Her words felt too prescient, too in-line with his own thoughts. He shook it off.
Thought broadcasting is a delusion, he told himself. That was just a coincidence.
He flicked open the unadhered envelope.
“Dear Job,
If you’re up to it, I was hoping you come down to the dining hall this evening at 7:00 p.m. There will be cards and dice and games of chance there for everyone. I enjoyed our conversation last evening. It was a shame that it was cut short, so let’s hope this next event can stretch however long we like.
Yours Truly,
Lucille Azure.”
The writer looked at him expectantly.
“I’ll be there,” he answered.
Lucille gripped her hands behind her back and swayed. “I thought you would. But I suppose there was a chance you wouldn’t.”
“I have nothing else to do.” The understatement sounded almost comically to both their ears.
“Yes, but I didn’t know if this hobby of ‘brooding-and-looking-out-the-window’ would’ve taken up your time,” she said, cracking a smirk.
“I think I’m brooded out for a bit.”
“Of course, but if you need a partner to brood with. Know that I have plenty of experience.”
“My brooding is more just alone time,” he said, cutting past the euphemisms. “With Argus’ death, I needed some time to process it.”
“I understand.” Her chipper tune matured to a measured tone. “It hit me too, but…” She smacked her lips. “But, I think that dwelling on a stranger’s death might do us more harm than good.”
“Maybe, but you have to admit with the circumstances-”
“I know. Sorry for cutting you off, but that’s why I wanted us to have the burial,” she explained. “Say our goodbyes and be done. What happened was a tragedy, but there’s nothing we could have done about it.”
“I agree, but that’s cold comfort for some of us,” Job said.
“I know,” she echoed, half-heartedly. “That’s why I hope people will come down for this little game night. I hope it’ll remind people what the purpose of this place is.” Lucille gestured to the space in general. “To rest. To disconnect. To heal. Hard to do that when everyone is trying to unravel a gordian knot. That’s why you put the sword to it.”
“I see what you mean,” Job considered. “Still, understand that others will grieve. We can do both: figure this out and enjoy ourselves.” He said to himself as much as her. He, after all, came to Lacrima to experience the supposed therapeutic effects, for both his future practice and his own personal reasons.
Lucille didn’t look convinced. “You already know that one should take precedence over the other, so I won’t say. There’s no need to.” Her cheery glow came back. “We can continue talking about this at game night! I still have to give the invitations to everyone else.”
“See you then.”
“Oh, hush,” she laughed. “We’ll bump into each other throughout the day. Let’s go with: see you around.” Lucille fluttered her fingers before slipping off to be her own personal courtier.
Job glanced back at the deluge outside.
This event will have to be my opportunity to trawl up potential motives. That’s all I can try and catch, he thought. He then brought his thoughts to all that Lucille said.
We all need an escape.
The rain continued to pour down in sheets.