wants to redo them.”
Vauvert walked up to the building. He could not see any windows, but there was a large wooden door. It was locked.
“Ever been here?” he asked.
“What for?” Captain Nadal protested. “There’s nobody here. The Saint-Clairs died a long time ago.”
“Did you know their daughter Judith?”
“The sick one? Yes, sure…” He shrugged. “But that shit’s old. What can I say? She must have inherited the property when her folks died. And she must have died years ago, too. She had some kind of disease, you know…”
Vauvert pointed at the small building.
“Okay, let’s take a look in there.”
“You are out of your fucking mind,” Nadal said.
“It’s private property,” Lascrosse added. “You can’t.”
“Look, we believe that Judith Saint-Clair is still alive,” Vauvert said, cutting him off. “And we suspect that she’s killed dozens of people.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Nadal asked in an alarmed voice.
“I’m telling you the truth. She abducted one of our colleagues, and we have reason to believe that she’s going to kill her if we don’t find her. She may be in Paris now, but it’s possible that she lives here most of the time. We’re going to go in there, and then we’ll know for sure. Okay?”
The three officers looked at each other, far from convinced.
“Now, move back.”
He raised his Smith amp; Wesson and shot the lock twice.
Leroy gave the door a hard kick. The remains of the lock fell to the ground, and the door opened.
Revealing a dark entryway.
“Can’t see a thing,” Leroy said. “I’m going in.”
Everything happened in a split second. Vauvert sensed it even before he heard the click of the mechanism the moment his colleague set foot in the building.
“Erwan!” he yelled.
There was a sharp whiz.
“Look out!”
The blade shot out, and Leroy couldn’t move fast enough. The projectile grazed his shoulder. Leroy howled in pain.
“Down! Everybody!” Vauvert shouted.
There was another click. Then another.
The blades nearly shaved Leroy’s skull as they whizzed toward Lascrosse.
The boy stood frozen in the path of the blades.
Shock registered on his face when the first blade struck him in the throat. A second later, another blade flew into his forehead.
The projectile had all but decapitated him. His head slumped to the side, and from his slit throat, a crimson geyser shot into the air. He raised his hands as though trying to put his head back in place, but his cervical vertebrae snapped with a sharp crack
Still more blades raced toward them.
“Pierre! Oh, shit!” Captain Nadal moaned. “No! Christ, no! Shit! Shit!”
Lascrosse remained on his feet another few seconds, his severed arteries spurting all around him.
Then a final blade hit his neck again and finished severing his head.
His torso crumpled.
His head fell into the grass.
63
Eva has stopped screaming.
She doesn’t have enough strength anymore.
She doesn’t have any chance of getting out.
She’s way too little.
When the man is done slitting Justyna’s throat, when her sister’s blood is done spurting every which way, he sighs and says “ohh…” as though it is the most beautiful thing in the world. He opens his arms and lets go of the little girl’s body. Justyna collapses on the basement floor with a horrible, dull sound.
The lifeless body continues to pour out blood, bringing with it the smell of death.
The red stream works its way toward Eva. Toward her white skirt.
The man raises his eyes in her direction.
“One mistake righted,” he says.
Then he approaches her.
Eva has thrust her hand into a cardboard box. Mrs. Rieux stores old cooking utensils in there. She grabs what feels like a huge kitchen knife. It looks very sharp. She closes her little fingers around the handle.
Pulling the knife out of the box, she stands up.
The man with the white hair stares at her. They are in the basement. There is almost no light, and yet her eyes are perfectly adjusted to the darkness. Just like those of this man. She has never seen a grownup with her kind of white hair before. She’s never thought about anyone else having it. Mommy told her that she and Justyna had a special look, something from their father.
The man gets closer. She is frozen with fear, yes. But for some strange reason, she cannot help grinning, in spite of herself.
The harder she clutches the knife, the more she grins.
When the man leans over her, she lunges.
She drives the knife into his chest, the wild desire to kill him giving her strength she did not know she had. Stunned, he clutches the little girl’s hand with his own large old-man hand. He looks at her the way Mommy does sometimes. With tremendous love in his eyes.
“Oh,” he says.
Just that.
Now he is on his knees, the bad man, while she, Eva, looks straight into his eyes. And in his red eyes, she sees admiration.
He reaches for her. He grabs her. She bites him. Drawing blood. The salty taste fills her mouth.
He pulls her toward him, and she drives the knife even deeper into his chest. Blood trickles from his mouth as he whispers in her ear, “Eva.”
The man rests his white lips on her forehead. She can smell his strange fragrance. The smell of old reptiles? She doesn’t know why this image comes to mind. It reminds her of the crocodiles at the zoo, lying still and staring with their glassy eyes-until they opened their jaws.
“I know why… I came back, now… Because I was wrong…”
Eva doesn’t understand what he’s talking about. She tries to get away from him, but he’s still clutching her hand.
“Eva, my child…” the man whispers in her ear. “You have no idea how proud you make me.”
And deep inside, she recognizes something-something that has been waiting to be discovered. It’s a dark part of herself that is enjoying this moment and doesn’t want it to end, ever.
While at the same time, the rest of her screams with rage and disgust.
Eva finally manages to pull away.
She opens her mouth and finds enough energy to scream.
It’s her own scream that wakes her up.
She opens her eyes.
