The Devil on G String: The Fifth Movement

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
Is this about God....or maybe it's about the Devil?"

A serial killer - who kills other serial killers, leaving a popular piece of classical music playing at each crime scene. The city hails the mysterious "Devil" as a hero, but the police department is determined to catch him at any cost.

Chapter 5 of the series! NOT the chapter to start with if you're new to the series, go my page and begin from the first chapter, hopefully you'll like it! If you've been following the story so far, welcome once again. More backstory on Noel and his emotions, as well as an analysis of the Devil's latest killing. The plot is thickening...

Submitted: November 12, 2012

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Submitted: November 12, 2012

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The Devil on G String

The Fifth Movement


There she stood in the meadow, alone.


The sun shone on her. Not the kind of sunlight that scorched your flesh, nor the kind that those sunbathers and assorted beach bums longed to soak up for a superficially tanned look, but the soft, mild sunlight that a gentle dawn brings, or perhaps the final farewell from a twilight orb. Bathed in its ardent glow, she looked pristinely beautiful, resembling a goddess. She wore a simple white gown and stood there, in the middle of the flowers, smiling at him. Such a radiant, sincere smile. That was one of the things he liked about her. Even when he had a bad day at work, that smile of hers never failed to remind him of the better things in life. Now, it seemed more angelic than ever, and he felt at peace just looking at it…


“Tessa,” he began. His throat felt dry and scratchy, his tongue an uncooperative lump of flesh residing his mouth.


“Tessa, please forg-“ he never got to finish those words as the meadow she was standing in completely wilted, the withered flowers quickly shriveling and dying. The sun shone brighter – brighter and brighter, until it hurt to look at Tessa, who was still standing serenely in the midst of the devastated meadow, and then it got hotter and hotter, so hot that Noel could feel his skin crackling with heat, so hot his head felt like it was literally burning. Then the screams began, terrifying screams, pleading screams, desperate screams. They got louder and louder, coalescing till they surrounded Noel like a cacophony of madness, amplifying his agony while he fried in his own skin, the women were screaming, screeching, begging, telling him to please--


“--WAKE UP!” A sharp sting on his cheek, but it hurt far less than he thought it would. Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes.


The room spun into nauseatingly clear focus: he was in a bed, with a ratty blanket draped over him. An old fan spun overhead quietly, the wind it provided giving him momentary comfort from the heat. Mira sat in a chair beside the bed. One look at her face told him she was the one who given the painful, yet timely awakening.


“What happened?” he croaked.


“What happened? I should be asking you that question! The way you were screaming in your sleep, I thought you were fighting for your life, as though you’d seen the Devil yourself –“she paused. “Sorry, bad word choice.”


“It’s okay,” he tried to assure her, although his heart was still palpitating. The fiery fog of his mind was now lifting quickly, as a rush of information flooded his brain – he remembered everything, up till the point where he fainted…


“You sure?” she seemed unconvinced, and he couldn’t blame her.


“Just a bad dream. I’m in a hospital?” she nodded.


“Yep. You conked out so quick on the floor and left me alone in that crazy room of faces, I nearly panicked. Thankfully the officer you just sent off hadn’t gone too far, so I managed to get him to radio in an ambulance…”


“…okay. Can we go over the latest crime scene? I’m sure the sweeping team has already done their job, do you have the latest reports?” his mouth felt terribly dry, hot even. Apparently his body was still recovering from that nightmare.


“Yes. But, uh, shouldn’t you take a bit more rest…?” she looked at him questioningly.


He remembered that look. It was a look he had seen before, a long time ago, when he was just a child. When he returned to school after the funeral. The teacher was just giving out a test, and when she reached his desk she stopped there. Poor child, she must have thought. Having lost his mother at such a young age. He’s in no condition to do the test; I’d better just let him skip it. He could literally see all this written on her face, as she gave him that look of pity mixed with sympathy.


He hated it.


It was an expression he wholly detested. It made him feel weak, deprived, lost. That same look would haunt him years later, after the divorce, when everyone around him started wearing it on their faces when dealing with him. Even Mira. Coincidentally, that was also when the anger and the red mist it brought along began, bubbling and boiling beneath him. He felt like smashing their faces in, pummeling them to a pulp, telling them to STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT---


“I’m fine.” He retorted, and simultaneously realised he was panting.


“If you’re sure…”


“Yes. Please get on with it.” He snapped.


“Okay. Well…toxicology reports are still rather incomplete at this time, but what we are sure of is that the Devil apparently injected him with some sort of chemical cocktail that incapacitated him – knock him out, I suppose. It also produced the simultaneous effect of placing him in a catatonic state, as we’ve both seen.”


“…how did he die? I thought they said he was alive when they found him.”


“…A slow poison was also mixed inside the cocktail, so it killed him very, very slowly. He was essentially a ticking time bomb that expired soon after that last line of crazy speech. The first medics didn’t even notice the poison that was there, there were so many other chemicals flooding his system it slipped past them. Otherwise, they would have immediately sent him to the hospital and he could still be alive. ” She said.


Silence in the room for a moment, with the fan's steady whirring the only sound in the room. Then a page was flipped.


“The faces on the wall confirmed what we first thought: the man was indeed another serial killer. One of the most prolific ones, in fact. He never surfaced on our database, but most of them never do. They’re still counting the number of victims by the number of faces…”


“And the music?” he questioned.


“That’s the strange part. It’s Bach’s Air on a G String, but…it just doesn’t fit. The dead guy’s victims were all horribly mutilated and tortured. The perp himself was a pretty twisted guy, violent and quick to anger. The music just doesn’t fit him or his crimes. It’s completely different from all the other music choices the Devil’s made.” She frowned.


“Also, there’s the question of why he slowly poisoned the victim instead of just shooting him like his other murders. What was the point of letting him live for a few short and very painful hours?” the questions kept coming.


“…how did the music play?” he replied with one himself.


“The sweepers found a spring loaded mechanism attached to a timer, on the gramophone. The moment the timer ran out, the mechanism activated, causing the record to play.” Mira read off her notes.


Noel stopped.


He was essentially a ticking time bomb….after that last line of crazy speech.


The moment the timer ran out…the record to play.


It was never about the latest victim at all.


It never had been.


The man had just been unfortunate enough to be chosen by the Devil, as part of a project. Yes, that was it, a project, or more accurately a messenger.


It was all about Noel now.


Everything had been set up to revolve around him – not the serial killer. From the inconsistent music choice, to the fact that the bound man was not immediately killed, and the post card that still lay snugly in his back pocket – the Devil had perfectly timed everything so that Noel would be the one to discover everything.


Logically, the next question would be why?


…he would not answer that yet. But he knew that if he did, he would also find the Devil. His thoughts suddenly drifted back to the dream.


It was telling him something. Nothing silly or superstitious of course, Noel never believed in that garbage. But it was a timely reminder that he needed to do something. The sooner the better.


Noel got out of bed, throwing the covers aside and putting on his coat.


“Where are you-“


“Home. I’m sorry. I feel as though I’m suffocating in this stuffy little room. I’ll be much better once I get a rest back home. Don’t worry, we’ll catch this guy. I’m sure of it,” he gave her a confident smirk, although inside his heart was doubtful.


For some reason, Mira looked infinitely sad. It was strange, seeing her that way. In all his five years of working with her, Noel had never seen the woman get this emotional before. Angry, yes. Happy, plenty. But sad? Mira Saint-Claire was NEVER sad. Or at least she never expressed it. The case had to be taking its toll on her. He made a mental note in his mind to ask her about it later. If she had any troubles he was more than willing to hear them, she could even have nightmares as well, he knew he had his own fill of them---


Tessa


He paused. Now was not the time. There were more important things to do at the moment.


Sighing, he left the room, unaware that his fate had already been sealed.


The final journey into the gaping maws of Hell had already begun – and this time, the Devil would take no survivors.


© Copyright 2017 Leo Cantus. All rights reserved.

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