The return journey to Prague was a solemn one. He had expected at the very least to have been returning under the condition of Edgar departing to Moscow—a shake of hands, a job well done on tracking down the killer, solving the mystery, leaving Juraj to return to Prague with the consolations and explanations for his mother.
This was not the case—he was alone now.
Lichnova had done all she could in the matter. She had led them both to uncover Edgar’s murder, but he still felt no closer to the reasoning for why they had come to Bratislava in the first place, to unearth the truth and reason for the execution of his brother, hewn down like a lumberjack taking his axe to a tree.
As the train bobbed and bounced, rattled and shook, so too did Juraj’s mind—the foundations of his being questioning all that had transpired, the brutality and savagery of it all.
What did Vladislav mean by saying he was protecting the one he loved?
The hours passed and Juraj slipped in and out of consciousness, having barely slept for what felt like days upon days now. He was desperately fatigued and both mentally and physically drained. The unrelenting assault and chase for answers had spent all of his gusto and the momentum was dying within his soul, wore thin like too little butter spread across a piece of toast.
‘Tea, sir?’
Startled into awareness, Juraj looked up from his slumber, bent over the table. A waitress was offering him refreshment.
‘Oh, no thank you.’
‘Very well, sir.’ she replied with a smile, giving a slight curtsy as she turned to offer other occupants their own.
The waitress reminded him in some way of his own love back at home. Lost in the solace and yearning to be with her again, he reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve a picture of her he always had carried secretly close by.
A look of clarity and astonishment struck over Juraj’s face in that instant, realising before how Edgar had mentioned losing the brooch he had discovered upon Peter’s body. Recollection shattered him out of the abyss and now reminded him of how Lenka had told Edgar she thought the brooch was a gift from Peter to Juraj, but that did not make any sense to him.
Could it be that the brooch was never meant for Juraj at all? And if so, who else, if not for he or Lenka?
Thoughts wrestled and dogged Juraj’s mind, and before he could even begin to twist and turn the pages buried deep within the alleys of his mind, the train announced its proud arrival in Prague.
Home.
He had never felt too far from it on the long escapade away, yet everything had changed since he had last left the city he had adored so much, for so very long.
With only one purpose on his mind, Juraj made his way with vengeance towards the Grand Hotel. He rode the tram from the station to the city centre, and from there, briskly drove through the streets, his legs hammering hard into the ground, his face red and flustered with anger. He now carried the weight of three persons on his shoulders, to avenge them and bring righteousness and resolution home to his mother. He had his target in sight.
Storming through the entrance of the hotel, resembling a burst of light from a star as it implodes into nothing, and then, suddenly, explodes into his full magnificent brilliance, the doors erupted as he announced himself to all and any who were present.
‘Where is he?’ he shouted angrily, slamming his fist down onto the wooden counter of the service desk. ‘Bring me the manager, now!’
No attendance was required, as the loud commotion had alerted Jozef, who sheepishly emerged from around a corner. He ushered Juraj closer, begging and bargaining for them to speak quietly and in private.
‘Much is at stake,’ pleaded the manager. ‘I beg of you, please, come with me, let us speak alone.’
A queer pair of eyes watched them from a distance, ominously observing and loitering within earshot. Jozef, shifting around suspiciously like a sack of nerves, looked up at the character beseechingly, almost personifying the request for no harm to be done to him.
‘Sit down, Juraj,’ started Jozef. ‘Please, for God’s sake, don’t look at me like that, sit!’
Enraged and impatient, the deceit and lies were all too much for Juraj. He clasped his hands suddenly around the manager’s throat, starting to squeeze as his face turned purple, and his eyes widening with fear.
‘Wait,’ begged Jozef, wheezing with spent breath, the air thinning around him, his feet thrashing against the smooth floor, leaving black rubber in its wake. ‘There is much you do not know, please… someone here tortures me as much as they do you!’
Bent on his revenge and moral duty to restore the balance of virtue, Juraj floundered and loosened his grip. The manager gasped, coughed and spat as his hands met his own throat, peeling at his skin, desperate to restore and find new breath.
A flash of realisation struck Juraj like a hot iron, a resounding confirmation that he had not yet pieced together the puzzle that had so far alluded him.
Edgar had spoken of losing the brooch on their journey
