Lacrima: Chapter Fifteen

Master's Office

Job glided the tines of his fork over the mottled yellow and white slab of egg substitute. Seasoned with rosemary and paprika, the breakfast turned out to be tastier than expected. Still, he struggled to go for another bite. His appetite eluded him. In its place, all-consuming thoughts.

Last night, the dream came to him again.

Same glass-bitten feet. Same phantasmagoric angel. Same crimson sky.

And the same invading passenger of guilt and trespass.

That feeling hung on to him even as he sat for breakfast. Though the initial cut came from outside his mind (at least, that’s what Job assumed), the scar tissue ran deeper into his memories. A similar feeling came over him when he visited his childhood synagogue: Aleichem Shalom. He didn’t expect such an overwhelming wrongness to go over him. Not a single brick or pew was out of place since he left. But looked on with the apostate’s eyes, the place of worship no longer held comfort, but forbiddenness. Once a son of a rabbi, now a child of secular education and psychology. His father and mother still loved him, even when he pivoted from a Religious Studies degree into one for Psychology. However, he knew they disagreed with the decision. The pain was evident in their diminishingly less frequent phone calls.

“Do you remember Rebecca?” Mother had asked. “ She still talks about you.”

“You know, a dual-majored Psychology-Religious Studies rabbi would be a real tour-de-force, Job,” Father had encouraged. Imagined excitement mounted before quickly falling. “But, do as you will.”

“We still love you, but…” Mother had said on another occasion. “It’s hard to give that love when you sit among us and don’t feel the same faith.”

“Be careful out there, Job,” Father commanded more than warned. “Don’t let the world lead you away from light.”

To every wayward jab and passive aggressive guidance, Job played the obedient son. Meekly, he cycled through “Of course,” “I’m still figuring things out,” and “I’m just wrestling with the Almighty right now.” That last one deeply pleased Father, as it appealed to him as a rabbi. Job could never be fully honest with his parents or himself. Though he long abandoned the idea the Almighty is real, the commandants - carved into him since birth - he still grudgingly held.

It took him a month to start taking on Saturday shifts at his job.

Two months had to pass before he started casually dating women: kissing them and becoming more comfortable with intimacy without marriage.

Even now, he wouldn’t dare eat pork. One time, his roommate slid him some bacon at Job’s asking, but he left the crinkled slab of taboo meat on the plate. It stayed there the whole day, growing cold and unpalatable.

With friends, he easily dismissed the Almighty as a myth. His old religious laws were nothing but arbitrary rules made up by temple elite and urban kings.

Alone, though, he still felt a presence. Watching eyes from on-high. His transgressions cut into the flesh of a being he denied the existence of. The cognitive dissonance tore Job into disparate, wounding truths. Stepping into that synagogue only poured salt in those bloody tears. He wanted to walk in and feel comforted. To maybe feel that love and care and awe-striking power that the Almighty exuded. But no peace fell upon him. Instead, he received an answer. Raw and bright and burning.

You are not welcome here.

Job had walked out before crossing into the main body of Aleichem Shalom.

That same drenching guilt dripped off him when he woke up that second morning on Lacrima. While the sweat came off with a long, hot shower, the taboo-sense festered. Job didn’t dry his hair, but let it hang cold and heavy on his shoulders.

He finally shoveled a forkful of the moderately spiced “egg” into his mouth and chewed. Job washed it down with some orange juice.

Konrad O’Flannery entered unceremoniously, making himself humble. His ludicrous height made this coldly comical to Job. However, the last thing he wanted to do with Konrad was to alienate him.

“Take a seat.” He offered the chairs, gesturing with the fork.

Sheepishly, Konrad took the closest seat: opposite of Job’s head of the table.

“How are the eggs?” Konrad asked, thinking Job wanted little to do with him. After all, Job seemed off the past day or so. He assumed the reclusive college student wanted space. Especially considering the death of Argus, the disappearance of Catherine, and the subsequent loss of Bae. When Konrad gave Lucille and Job the news of Bae’s katabasis, Lucille took it poorly. She shut down, said ‘Good night’ in a brisk, sharp tone, and left for her room. He could’ve sworn Lucille muttered something ‘Why did he let her…’ as she ascended the stairs.

Job, meanwhile, left without another word and escaped to the East Wing.

Konrad trusted Bae: strong of body and mind. She would supersede Orpheus and Ishtar in their own descent, as she will bring back their friend from the underworld. He just wanted to check the cameras, take notes for Catherine’s sake, and wait patiently. He hoped everyone would be alright. That worked in the evening, but doubt crept into him by the time he tried to sleep.

Hope didn’t save Uncle Ezekiel or Mom or Dad or Delilah.

Maybe hope worked differently here in Lacrima than in Macon?

Konrad grimly realized it did, but not the way he wanted.

His family had a glimmer of hope, but all of them were extinguished.

Catherine and Bae were utterly lost in the dark. What hope saved Argus, afterall?

His doubts and hunger brought him to the dining hall. Konrad worried Job didn’t want him there. This, he would later thank, was absolutely wrong.

“They’re alright,” Job answered Konrad’s egg question. “It seems all the food here just keeps you going. Just enough spice to be tasty. Just nutritious enough to keep you alive. Just enough, but never fully satisfying.”

“I’d say that’s a common theme here.” Konrad assumed Job was trying to toy with him. He suspected that a hidden agenda underlaid his words against Catherine in their game of Werewolf. Perhaps that prompted Catherine to leave. But Konrad couldn’t be sure.

“Yes, mysteries in mysteries. Wrapped in enigmas. Yadda yadda,” Job said flippantly. He rolled his eyes. “I’m getting sick of it.”

“I can understand that frustration.” Konrad scooted his chair deeper into the table. “I think Catherine felt that too.”

“Wholeheartedly, I agree.” Emboldened, Job took another bite. “She came here to figure out the mansion. This agonizing detente with Service drove her to shortcuts.”

“She’s been so deliberate, though, I can’t imagine her making such an action.”

“You don’t have to imagine.” Job set the fork down. “Just believe it. I’ll tell you something I overheard between Bae and Catherine before Catherine made the plunge.”

“That’s right, you were in the hallway,” Konrad remembered.

“Just barely, but just enough to hear their conversation.” Job paused. “Bae was trying to reach out in her own way to Catherine. Catherine said something very interesting: ‘Service lied.’”

Konrad rubbed his necklace. “Okay?”

“She continued on, brandishing the card Service gave us. We thought Service could only hear us by taking in auditory stimulus. It even told us that.”

“Yes, that’s why they couldn’t give a straight answer as to Argus’ death.”

“But it would have to be able to see. Think of how we voted.”

“We pointed to the cards…” His dark eyebrows jumped. “Oh, I see now.”

Job cracked a smile. “You’re getting it. I think Catherine realized that all of her interviewing with Service was suspect. Who knows how often it lied to her? She had to get her information from the source.”

“So, it was a hasty decision,” Konrad concluded. “But it’s a smarty person-kinda hasty decision.”

“Catherine’s intelligent, no doubt, but she is also driven,” Job said. “Sometimes these two attributes collide. I’ve met too many of those types at university.” He picked up his fork again, but within an iron grip. He deliberated, knitting his brow, before speaking, “I’m about to tell you something because I cannot keep it to myself any longer.”

“What is it?”

Job passed his utensil between his fingers before pinching it properly. “I don’t think Argus took his own life, nor do I think it was an accident. I think we have a killer in our party.”

Konrad inched back, taking it in. “Without a doubt?”

“It’s the most likely answer. Here’s why I think that.” Job unburdened himself of his solitary duty. He detailed his explanation, measuring whether Konrad understood each step of the way. Though Konrad fumbled here and there, he finally caught the rhythm of the logic. After all had been said, Konrad bit his lip.

“Your assumption hinges on both the sign of struggle, the sneaker scuffs, and the necessary knowledge of Service to lock the pool room door,” Konrad said. “You think Catherine’s the prime suspect, then?”

Impressed, Job whistled. “How did you deduce that?”

“You weren’t exactly subtle during Werewolf. You were trying to get a rise out of Catherine, maybe push her,” Konrad explained. “It makes more sense now. Catherine is the one most likely, with our current knowledge, since she’s the one who has spent the most time trying to understand Service’s functions. She would be the most probable of us to figure out the locking capability.”

“You’ve got it.” Job snapped his fingers.

“This is a lot to give me,” Konrad muttered. His forehead creased. “You must trust me.”

“I trust your honesty, most of all.”

“Either way, you want me to help you?” Konrad asked.

“I would appreciate it or I just want you in the know because I truly think you can’t be the killer.”

Solemn, Konrad nodded. “You understand that I despise the idea that Catherine is a killer.”

“Very much so. However, she might not be the murderer.”

“Then, Bae would be?” Konrad tried to push Job away from this idea. It was ridiculous and horribly damning for both of them.

“How did you guess that one too?”

“Why else would you extend me into your inner circle of investigation? The prime suspects are both gone underneath our very feet. You’re desperate.” Konrad knew that feeling all too well.

“You’re good,” Job marvelled. “I lucked out by choosing you. I wanted to let Lucille know, but I think you’ll make a better partner.”

“And who says I’ll help you?” Konrad stood up from the table. “I’m not implicating either of them!”

“Woah!” Job dropped his fork and held up both hands. He joined Konrad in standing up. “This is just an investigation.”

“One where you’ll find the killer, true or not?”

“I thought you understood my line of reasoning.”

“I do,” Konrad affirmed. “I don’t agree with it.”

“Who else besides a guest could it be-” As Job rounded the syllable, he remembered that Konrad had already told him who he thought the culprit may have been.

“Right,” Konrad said, seeing the thought hit Job. He leaned forward to whisper across the table. “I still think Service is trying to get us.”

“Have you thought that Service might be the murder weapon?”

“Sure, with what you’ve said… Maybe…” Konrad gritted his teeth. “Job, I don’t want one of us to be a murderer. Think: Occam’s Razor. We know Service had to be involved in Argus’ death. It is as suspect as anyone else.”

“I could also invoke Occam’s Razor,” Job said. “Service isn’t a person. You’re putting motivation onto a thing that has no motivation. Someone had to pull the trigger. The gun can’t fire on its own.”

“Maybe it’s more than an AI!”

“It would be stupid not to admit that!” Job replied. “But, we cannot assume it had murderous intent. Not even war drones or automated turrets, machines that undoubtedly kill people, have that.”

“But Service is not a weapon,” Konrad stated. “It’s so much more than that. No wonder Catherine dove inside of it”

Job sighed, knowing they reached an impasse. He needed Konrad above his need to feel correct.

“Let me be clear: I want your theory to be correct!” Job clarified. “But I truly believe there is a killer, regardless of my feelings on the subject. Konrad, if we are to find the cause of Argus’ death and to unravel the mysteries of the mansion, we would benefit to work together. If we find evidence Service is some kind of hyper-human-like intelligence, I would gladly throw my idea of any of us being the killer out the window.”

Konrad hung his head. “How would we find that evidence?”

“Who would know Service the best?”

“Catherine.”

Job shook his head. “Who created Service?”

“Esau.” The name had an alien texture. So remote was the host that Konrad forgot he was the writer of the invitations. “But we can’t ask him. We don’t know where he is.”

And if we did, Konrad thought, There wouldn’t be any mystery.

“Short of the man himself.” Job raised a finger and pointed toward the outside of the dining room. “We’ll just have to go rifling through his stuff. If his relative Argus thought it was important enough, we should follow his lead.”

“Wait, Argus and Esau are related?”

“Right, I forgot to add that detail.” Job produced Argus’ driver’s license and slid it across the table. Konrad saw the Nebbel name and his mouth opened.

“At least Catherine kept me in the loop.” He glided the card back to Job, but it only made it halfway. Job rounded the table to grab it.

“Now you’re in my loop.” Job pinched the card, put it away in his pocket, and came up to Konrad. “And you’ll be in the loop for the rest of this investigation. What do you say, partner?”

Konrad regarded the offer, narrowed his eyes, sighed, and then accepted. “I say: let’s find what’s in that office, partner.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Right as the investigation partners broke their handshake, Lucille entered the dining hall. She glanced at the two, called Service for a spot of tea, and received in on a rolling cart through the ever-present waterfall. Lucille picked up the dainty blue porcelain cup and tested the heat. Her lips backed away - too hot. She put on a smile.

“Morning, Job,” she trilled. “Morning, Konrad.”

The two bid their good mornings. Lucille replaced Job at the head of the table with her saucer and cup in hand. “What are you two up to?”

“We’re going to check out Esau’s office,” Job said. He saw little issue with telling her. The locked office wasn’t a secret to any of the guests. For a second, he wondered if he should include Lucille as another person in their investigation.

No, he concluded. I only wanted one person to bring into what I know. I’m already taking a risk by making Konrad my deputy, but I ended up going with him since he’s least likely to be the killer. From what I’ve seen…

That last caveat troubled him, but he knew he couldn’t get through this alone.

Lucille was my first choice as my confidant, but Konrad won out in the end after consideration of his character. Lucille Azure has too many unknowns for me to be comfortable. But I can’t deny spending more time with her was an appealing idea.

“It’s locked, is it not?” Lucille asked. “You told me to try to open it.”

“Through Service, yes, but who says we have to ask nicely?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she admitted. “Lacrima was nice until people started tampering with the mansion. Argus probably went looking where he shouldn’t and got killed for it. Catherine and Bae - you know how the mansion took them as well.” She set the teacup down and rubbed her temples. Veins gripped the sides of her face. “Can’t we just relax?”

“Not when we can potentially save two people,” Konrad said. “We need to learn more.”

“Maybe his office will elucidate the mystery,” she said. She shrugged. “Maybe it won’t.”

“We can’t put this genie back into the bottle,” Job brought up.

Lucille breathed in. “Suppose we can’t.” The frustration fumed out of her and exhaled out of her like exhaust. Her usual calm returned. “I’ll wait here until you return. If you return at all.”

“We won’t be long,” Job replied. He waved her away, as he tapped Konrad along out of the dining room. Lucille gave a narrow side eye before pouring another cup from the kettle.

“She’s not happy,” Konrad whispered.

“Lucille doesn’t want any part of this,” Job noticed. “That’s reasonable.”

Or suspect, depending on who it is. I eliminated her from the game first because I thought I needed to observe her the least. Lucille wears her emotions on sleeve, much like Konrad, just more out-going. Then again, that could be a facade. If so, she’s doing a much better job of keeping it than Argus did.

I don’t think it is Lucille, but who knows? I don’t.

That’s the problem.

The pair shuffled their way to the locked door of Esau Nebbel’s office. Struck apart from the rest of the mansion, the door held a unique tableau. Wooden flowers and vines bloomed as smooth, luscious carvings in the mahogany. Crown motifs surrounded the more organic flourishes. Twisted, warped strands of iron made up the doorknob. So irregular that it made holding the knob an uncomfortable affair. The edges of metal bit into Job as he finagled the unmoving piece. When he looked at his palm, a latticework of pink lines imprinted on his flesh.

Job shook off the stings from his hand. “Could we brute force it?”

“Like break the lock?” Konrad asked, examining the mechanism. He flipped open his wallet and pulled out a random plastic gift card to Raising Cane’s. Muttering, “it wasn’t even that good,” he slid the card into the gap between the frame and the door. He moved it along this outline. Its passage came to an abrupt halt right above the knob. Konrad pulled out the card and did the same to the very top. Job watched, unsure of what his new partner was doing, but nodded along. Finally, Konrad hit another block on the very bottom of the door before pulling himself up. “Just our luck. There’s four mechanisms. One just above and one just below doorknob and two opposite each other on the top and bottom. To break-in with force, we’d have to deal with those four.”

Job squatted down to the twisted iron doorknob. “No key either. So lockpicking is out of the equation.”

“Wait, do you know how to pick a lock?” Konrad said, returning his neglected gift card back to his wallet.

“No, do you?”

Konrad shook his head.

“Well.” Job dusted himself off. “Nevermind about lockpicking then.” He breathed in, planted his foot, and lifted the other. With a wild strike, he kicked the lowest corner of the door. It didn’t budge. Not even a thump. Jaw clenched, all Job accomplished was bruising his foot. “Too damn thick.”

“Esau really didn’t want anyone in his office.”

“You don’t say.”

“Honestly, it would probably be easier to go a different way,” Konrad chatted idly.

“Like a window,” Job thought aloud. “This mansion is more glass than plaster anyway.”

“You’re saying we could bust in through a window?”

“Worth a shot.”

“Wait.” Catherine’s map of the mansion came to Konrad’s mind. “This whole mansion is a ring. If I’m oriented correctly, Esau’s office - if it does have a window - wouldn’t be on the outside we came in from.”

Job pondered this. “Right, if there are windows, they would point into the courtyard.”

“That gives us our next step.”

Job assented to Konrad’s motion by following him to the courtyard entrance. A glass set of doors with bubbled window panes. Even in the climate controlled mansion interior, the slits in the glass let in shards of cold. He heard the wind squeal and howl against the door. A coatrack held up complementary raincoats for the presumed guests. They were thin, see-through plastic articles. The coats squeaked as they slid over Konrad and Job’s bodies. Konrad’s didn’t go much farther past his knees, while Job’s hung off his broad shoulders and couldn’t come together into the middle.

Grabbing the door, Job braced himself. The storm never let up for a second during their time at Lacrima. Banshee keening and a never ceasing volley of rain reminded the guests of the mansion that the world outside did indeed exist. Though, outside didn’t seem much of a better alternative to the cold, secluded rooms of the mansion.

Never allowing the soil to rest and absorb the water, large puddles pooled in the turf outside. A scant few trees broke up the onslaught, but they buckled and swayed to the weather’s whim. In the center, a gazebo, minimalist in design with blocky posts holding up a black, tiered roof, sat in the courtyard - slick with rain. Job tensed his arm before sliding open the door. Immediately, sheets of freezing rain pelted him. He pulled down on the front of the plastic hood. His foot stepped into one of the courtyard’s myriad tiny lakes. Weighty coldness climbed through the toes, to the ankles, and into his shin. He disregarded it and soldiered through the mist composed of suspended droplets. Breathing proved difficult. The air’s humidity and coldness gave a drowning sensation with each pull of breath. This ordeal only lasted the handful of seconds it took the pair to squish through the turf, carefully not slip on the black brickwork of the path, and gingerly ascend the slick steps up to the central gazebo.

Job assessed the bench: utterly wet and didn’t look comfortable even if it were dry. So, the two huddled in the center of the entirety of the mansion complex. Rubbing the water from his water, Job’s sight settled on a plain wall.

That’s where the indoor pool is. He noticed the high rectangular windows on the top. And across from that…

Shivering frantically, Konrad pointed to the opposite section. “The office does have a window!”

Job joined in looking at this sight. Disappointingly, the window gave insight into Esau’s office, for the room itself was suspended in gloom. The light lines embedded in the wall gave the smallest easing of that darkness, but not much else.

“I need a closer look,” he said, understanding that he would have to risk the frigid storm.

Konrad nodded and gave him a pat on the shoulder for reassurance. Job felt comforted by that.

He locked onto the office window as he stepped out from the modest protection of the structure. Another deep puddle caught his foot. Mud gripped his shoe. Job had to plant the other foot to wrestle the first out. A gale struck him, forcing him to walk towards the window at an angle. Wind caught the underside of his raincoat and whipped it up into the sky. It landed against the side of the mansion. Job faced the full immensity of the storm. Within a second, his clothes became wet then sopping then drenched. His hair eventually stopped being tossed by the wind as the water weighed it down to his scalp and neck. Job stumbled against a tree to catch a humid breath, but the upturned branches gave little shielding.

His jaws rattled against one another in a percussion of teeth. The coldness and forceful jittering of his muscles made him sore.

Job could barely see past his now rain-clouded glasses. Even if he reached the glass, would his eyes fail him?

Job reached both arms out wide.

He flicked his palms open.

With the last step, his hands adhered to the window and Job drew himself to the glass. A nod made his glasses slide down to the tip of his nose. Naked eyes searched the dim interior of Esau’s office for a secret entrance. A trapdoor? An auspicious bookshelf with a false book in the stacks? Being this close afforded him sight of more vague details. There weren’t many fixtures in the office itself. Maybe some cabinets shelves in the back. He couldn’t be sure. In the cast of the window’s light, he could make out a grand desk. While a thoroughly modern leather-upholstered chair paired with it, the desk itself looked carved in an age before time. It reminded him simultaneously of Scrooge’s money-changing desk when he first saw A Christmas Carol in college; a chimerical prop he spotted in an antique store with a first date whose name he’d rather forget; and, most blasphemously of all, the altar at Aleichem Shalom. Beyond that vague impression, the particular details remained cloaked.

An item laid right on top was the opposite of cloaked: a book. Some serpentine sigil ran along the cover. Mounted atop the snake was a lion’s head crowned by a semi-circle of a sun. The lion-headed snake glowered, fangs bared. A pen rested in a niche beside it.

“Service, can you open this window?”

Service rose up from the bottom of the glass and filled the entirety of the window Job absorbed himself into. “Apologies, Job Bezalel, we cannot open any windows within the mansion.”

A more arresting question seized him, as he called out: “Service, could you bring me that book?”

“I’m afraid I cannot see which book you are referring to. Could you be more specific?”

This game frustrated him. “The lion-headed snake covered one. It lays right on top of Esau’s desk. Hand me Esau’s book.”

Just as he feared that Service would not provide, it said: “Give us one moment.”

Skeletal, electrical blue limbs rose up from below in the office. The fingers rested on the book before pulling it from its resting place. Remarkably, no dust came off the desk or book. Job wiped his glasses and returned them back to properly frame his eyes. He whipped his head around before finally noticing the book between his feet stop undisturbed grass. Promptly, he snatched it up, held it to the warmth of his chest, and ran his way back to the courtyard door. Konrad took his cue and followed on his heel. Job, by sheer luck and with the alacrity afforded by an adrenaline spike, dodged the footfalls before ripping the door open and stepping inside. He fell to his knees, but never let his arms fall.

Konrad hitched the coat on a hook before stooping over Job, still shivering, panting, and trembling. At first, Konrad offered his hand, but Job snapped one foot up before the other. On his own, neglecting his new partner, he rose up with his prize. Finally, Job held the book out from his chest, as if wrenching his own heart from its cavity. Konrad squinted at him.

“What happened?”

“I think I found another way of learning about our host,” Job said. “I asked and I received.”

He opened the first page.

PROPERTY OF ESAU NEBBEL

THOUGHT CATCHER ON THE LACRIMA PROJECT

STARTED 2/9/2020