Chapter I.VIII
Vitaly Ivolginsky
Always Visible (Another Prayer for the Dying Horror Genre)
First Act — Tempo De Construção Novamente
Chapter I.VIII
They got out of the car, and Galbraith, straightening the hem of his jacket, looked around. After the urban look of the center, it was a little unusual to be in the suburbs – no tall buildings, no bright signs, no mess of cars, only rare one- and two-storey cottages surrounded by wooden fences, tall grass with trampled paths and luxurious green crowns of trees… This rural idyll was slightly spoiled by an ambulance and a couple of police sedans standing nearby. Apparently the man from the Federal Bureau of Investigation they came here with, was only an aid to the head of the response service who had already arrived here. Galbraith, standing by the car and looking at the two-story house, for a moment remembered his childhood years spent in Gloucester. Father’s wooden house, apple orchards, river…
“Come now, inspector”, Matt lightly pushed Galbraith on the shoulder. “Come into the house”.
All four passed through the threshold of the gate. An elderly woman with a white scarf on her head ran out to meet them.
“At last, a professional from F.B.I!”, she shouted joyfully.
Galbraith, standing next to the doctor, looked at like a man in a black jacket, giving this village simpleton a stern look, walked past her. The woman seemed surprised by that behavior of person form Federal Bureau of Investigation. She stopped in her tracks, looking after the man entering the house.
“Can you explain to us what the exactly happened?”, Galbraith turned to this woman.
She, hearing the inspector’s voice, stopped looking at the house and quickly turned to the speaker. At the same time, her face, furrowed with deep wrinkles, expressed some bewilderment mixed with annoyance.
“And you are an inspector, as I understand it?”, she said with some uncertainty.
Apparently, it was a surprise to her that the Federal Bureau of Investigation would also send an ordinary policeman along with their man. At the first glance at her, Galbraith had the feeling that like she thinks the cops are worse than the F.B.I. guys – at least that’s what one might think, looking at her face, which expressed barely concealed contempt for the one who appeared before her at that very moment.
“I was called here like everyone else”, after a slight hesitation, Galbraith answered.
By “everyone” Galbraith meant both the response service and himself, the F.B.I. agent and the doctor. The latter, by the way, at that time stood with his hands on his hips next to him, and with a slight grin looked at the woman with a scarf on her head, who, however, did not pay much attention to him, but simply raised her hands to her temples and took a deep breath, as if gathering strength. After that, she looked up at Galbraith.
“All right, I got it”, she said with such a tone when in fact nothing is got. “Anyway, I’m walking past the Yonce’s house and I hear a shot…”
“We should sit down and discuss it calmly”, Matt interrupted her.
The woman, looking strangely at the doctor, went forward into the house, he immediately followed her. Galbraith, hearing a familiar surname, hesitated a little and ended up being the last to enter. They found themselves in the spacious hallway of a typical country cottage – There was a bench along the wall, above which hangers with clothes hung in several rows, a carpet lay on the floor, and vases with fresh flowers were placed in the corners of the hallway.
“Are we to remove our shoes before entering the house?”, Matt asked cheerfully.
“The weather is nice outside now, this is not necessary”, the woman answered boredly.
They went into the hall. On the left hand there was a staircase leading to the second floor, on the left there was a door leading to the living room. What immediately caught eye was a large mirror in a gilded frame, which hung on the wall near the threshold. The general decoration of the house suggested that the owner was a rich man. So, he thought, here is the house, where it all happens…
He was torn from his thoughts by an old voice – a woman with a white scarf on her head began to talk about what had happened.
“So, I heard a shot and, sensing something was wrong, I ran to the Yonces, fortunately the gate and the front door were open”.
“Did this seem strange to you?”, Galbraith asked the woman, referring to her last words about the doors.
“Of course. I thought that robbers had broken into their house”.
“Okay, go ahead”.
“I run into the house, and there, right next to this mirror, Ivette is lying on the floor…”
The woman with a white scarf on her head suddenly fell silent. Apparently, this picture was still standing before her eyes. It was not difficult for Galbraith to guess that the witness had missis Yonce in mind.
“Let me guess – the lady of the house shot herself with a pistol?”, said the inspector.
“That’s right…”, the woman’s voice trembled. “Parabellum was lying on the floor in front of her…”
“Did you see the bullet mark on her body?”
“I… I saw blood flowing from her forehead…”
The woman pulled out a handkerchief and put it to her eyes. It seemed like she was about to cry
“Okay, madame…”, the inspector expected her to say her name, but she did not hear his words
“Well, what we are and will stagnate?”, suddenly a stern voice rang out.
From the bathtub, located directly opposite the entrance to the house, an F.B.I. man came out and approached the trinity crowded around the mirror. Galbraith looked at him. The agent’s words – or rather, the intonation with which he pronounced them – seemed to him somewhat inappropriate in this situation. But the witness, hearing his voice, immediately blew her nose and hid her handkerchief.
“So, that you have taken hereafter?”, Galbraith asked.
“I immediately went upstairs where the phone was”, the woman continued. “I called the police, they arrived with paramedics”.
“Has missis Yonce’s body been taken away yet?”
“You should have seen their car outside”, the witness answered somewhat rudely
“Very well, I understand”.
Suddenly Galbraith felt tired. He got tired of asking questions for no reason, as if the whole mood of the professional inspector had disappeared somewhere. He turned to the man from Federal Bureau of Investigation:
“They were obviously waiting for you here more than me, so I’ll get out of your way”.
The agent, who had previously stood quietly behind the woman, looked at Galbraith with some kind of contemptuous look and took over the inspector’s initiative – that is, he began to ask questions with a hurried intonation to a woman with a white scarf on her head, and the latter was clearly much more pleasant to communicate with him, which was clearly audible in her much more confident voice than before. Galbraith went towards the bath, to rinse your hands and face after a long car ride, but, without taking even three steps, he suddenly stopped in place – he felt someone’s intent look on him. His whole body froze, as if in a daze. But after a couple of seconds this strange paralysis passed. Galbraith turned his head and looked to the left – where there was a staircase to the second floor, covered with a fleecy carpet.
There was a little girl standing on the top steps. Holding the carved wood railing with her left hand, she looked down with some apprehension at the policemen gathered in the hall. She was wearing a brown velvet dress with a pattern of orange circles, ending just above the knees, which gave the baby’s figure a touching and homely look. Her black hair was styled with such elegant simplicity, that Galbraith immediately made the assumption that she was apparently getting ready to go for a walk, but the sight of unfamiliar men gathered in her house made her freeze in place in indecision.
Woman with a white scarf on her head, who previously answered questions from an F.B.I. agent, noticing the girl, she immediately turned to her and smiled.
“Don’t be afraid, it’s just the police, come down!”, she shouted to the child in a soothing tone.
After that, woman headed towards the exit of the house, throwing over her shoulder:
“Well, I got to go, messrs. I think the young lady can tell you anything else”.
The F.B.I. agent looked after her with obvious annoyance. Then he turned to the baby girl, who, meanwhile, was already slowly descending the stairs into the hall. With his arms folded across his chest, he slightly pushed the toe of his shoe forward and muttered inaudibly:
“So, so, so…”
Galbraith, noticing some uncertainty on the face of the man from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, thought that he had apparently never had to interrogate children. The girl finally came down the stairs. It was clear from her face that she was afraid to come closer. Galbraith had a fleeting thought that she had apparently never seen strangers in the house. Well, yes, what kind of guests could her pharmaceutist father have, he wondered…
“Your name?”, suddenly the voice of an F.B.I. agent pierced the silence.
The little girl pulled back – she was apparently frightened by the eagerness with which this tall, broad-shouldered man with a stern face addressed her. And he, lowering his hands, repeated his question again. Notes of dissatisfaction began to grow in his voice. Galbraith, who was already beginning to feel sorry for this unpleasant man, decided that he would have to come to his rescue, since otherwise they won’t succeed to get a word out of this girl.
Inspector, trying to walk as slowly as possible, moved towards the child. She, turning her gaze from the agent to himself, began to back away, to the stairs. Galbraith stopped and, trying to give his voice as gentle an intonation as possible, addressed her:
“Don’t be scared, sweetie. We just want you to gave us the essence of things. Good?”
The girl, who a moment ago was already preparing to run up the stairs, relaxed at the first sounds of Galbraith’s baritone voice and even took a couple of steps towards him. The inspector exchanged glances with the F.B.I. agent, as if telling him “look at me do it!”.
“Will you tell us what your name is?”, he asked the child.
The girl stopped moving her head around and looked at Galbraith. Her eyes of an indefinite dark colour with some kind of cunning squint looked the inspector up and down and, as it seemed to him, sparkled brightly. She slightly bent her knees and tilted her head a trifle.
“Delia”, the inspector heard her gentle voice.
Having said this, the girl brushed aside a strand of hair that had fallen on her face and smiled at the inspector with her charming smile. Hearing her name, Galbraith involuntarily remembered Pharqraut – or rather, his investigation. After all, “Delia” is a name of Greek origin…
“Listen, Delia, you won’t say a few words about how your mom, well, that’s the most…”, he began
“Ascended unto heaven?”, Delia said suddenly.
“Did she tell you that herself?”, Galbraith was stunned by her remark.
“Yes”, the girl nodded. “Mommy took daddy’s gun and told me not to cry when she will ascend unto heaven”.
“Lord, what was going on here”, Galbraith thought. “It feels like I’m not the only one who’s been went mad lately…”
“Did your mother never ascended before, when she giving herself injections?”, a man from the F.B.I. intervened.
Delia gave him a frightened look.
“Do not listen to him, he was only joking”, the inspector immediately began to calm her down.
Galbraith throw an angry look over his shoulder – “Don’t talk nonsense, fool!”. But the agent either ignored the silent message of inspector or just did not take it into account. Instead, he quickly walked up to Delia.
“Tell me, where is your father?”, man said loudly.
The little girl stepped back. The agent came even closer.
“Do you know where he might be now?”, he continued, raising his voice.
Galbraith realized that he needed to put an end to this so that sedition would not occur. He rushed at the agent with the agility of an athlete. He began to break away from the inspector’s grasping hands, continuing to look at the child.
“Why won’t you speak?”, the man was already screaming.
“Easy, tiger!”, Galbraith hissed angrily in his ear. “If you don’t know how to work with children and only attack them, then stay where you are and don’t interfere. It’s clear?”
Delia laughed as if she had witnessed the funniest thing that could ever happen. Dimples appeared on her plump cheeks and her eyes sparkled. Apparently, the sight of a mustachioed middle-aged man clinging tightly to a young guy, had about the same effect on her as a fight between two monkeys at the zoological garden. She could be understood – a little girl would never dare to attack an adult full of life and energy, towering over her like a mountain.
The sound of her gentle laughter had a beneficial effect on the man from Federal Bureau of Investigation. When Galbraith released him from his grip, the broad-shouldered guy with a confused look sank onto the bench that stood in the hallway. The rosy-cheeked medic Matt, who had been quietly standing by the mirror all this time, involuntarily clapped his hands.
“Bravo, mister inspector, bravo!”, he exclaimed with delight.
Galbraith couldn’t help but smile at Matt before he looked at Delia. The girl stopped laughing, and her face took on a calm, almost peaceful expression.
“So, Delia, your mother’s got the gun. What did she do before that?”, inspector addressed the child
Delia looked up at Galbraith and raised her hand to her head, apparently trying to remember what happened in the morning. About three seconds later she replied:
“Before this, mommy was lying in bed”.
“Are you saying that…”, the agent began, but inspector, shaking his finger at him, turned to Delia.
“I went to her and asked when dad would be back. She said she didn’t know and wept”.
“The pieces of the puzzle all start to come together”, thought Galbraith. “The girl did not know where her father was, but her mother was already aware that he had been in an accident. Yeah…”
“I began to console mommy, but she asked me to go for a walk. I didn’t want to leave her alone, but I obeyed”, Delia said.
“And when did you return?”, asked Galbraith.
“After half an hour. I went home and saw mommy standing in front of the mirror. I asked her what she was doing, but she raised hand with the gun to head”.
“You said a minute ago that she told you something before that?”, the inspector couldn’t resist.
“When mommy fell, I ran to her and she whispered to me not to cry”.
“I don’t trust it”, thought Galbraith. “Usually, after being shot in the head, a person is unable to utter a word…”
“Was it true?”, he asked little girl.
“Her voice was almost inaudible. But I understood from her eyes what she wanted to say”, answered the child.
“Okay, Delia”.
Inspector straightened his back and thought about what to do next. Baby girl, having told him everything she knew, now simply stood still and batted her long eyelashes.
“Do you have relatives in the center?”, then it dawned on Galbraith:
“Relatives?”, Delia didn’t seem to understand what she was told.
“Well, uncle, aunt, grandmother…”, he began to list.
“I only have dad and mom”, the girl answered.
“From now on, it’s only dad…”, the inspector said gloomily
“Appositely when will he come?”, the child perked up a little
“He’s sick, he needs to get treatment”, Galbraith avoided a direct answer.
In fact, it was the honest truth. Galbraith had not heard from the Adventist Medical Center, so he believed that her father was already on the road to recovery.
“And when will he be cured?”, Delia kept asking
“I can’t say, the disease is serious”, he rasped.
The inspector thought where else the child could be assigned, to keep an eye on her. They can’t leave Delia alone in this house, where before her eyes died the a person close to her.
