[Background Music Video: Dragoş Miron – Capoeira]
Emilian stared blankly at the empty wall in front of him. Now that the adrenaline rush from the killing had subsided, leaving him feeling numb, his eyes seemed hollow, devoid of light. At first glance, it seemed as though all human feelings had deserted him.
The only task remaining was to dispose of Marie-Rose's body, as he had been instructed. He felt at ease, secure in the knowledge that the org's protective umbrella would prevent any possibility of his indictment.
He had locked eyes with her for several seconds as she took her last breath, relishing each step toward her demise. Though her body was still warm, checking her nostrils confirmed that she was no longer breathing. He felt no remorse, yet the gruesome events kept replaying in his mind. A strange coldness enveloped the room as he placed Marie-Rose's body into the bathtub, covering it with a thick layer of pre-prepared ice cubes. The body needed to be preserved until it could reach its designated final destination, as instructed.
The night had been incredibly exhausting for Emilian, and soon he found himself lying in her bed, indifferent, with his eyes closed. The sheets filled his senses with a feminine scent, and amidst it, he could detect the middle note of roses, concealed under the alluring top note.
Despite his exhaustion, sleep eluded him, as random images from the previous hours kept flashing before his mind's eye, replaying the gruesome scenes. Yet, no guilt burdened his feelings. That woman deserved what she got. The only sensation he experienced was the strange chill in the air around him, as cold as the iciness of his own heart, immune to human emotions.
Haunted by fragments of the horrific memories playing in his mind, he attempted to fall asleep. Yet, every time he approached the edge of slumber, the entire earlier scene would replay, keeping him awake. Strangely, the dreams were always about Marie-Rose, with an aura of ominous gloom shrouding her face.
Bang! Crack!
A sudden loud explosion, followed by a crack, jerked him out of his daze. Dazed and disoriented, he moved to investigate the source of the sound. This was the last room in the apartment, and there was only one bathroom on the opposite side of the hall. The other rooms were further down the hall.
The bathroom door was swaying open with cracking sounds, as if lazily blown by the wind. Shards of glass were scattered all over the tiled floor, with the mirror on the wall completely shattered. He turned on the light to survey the damages, trying to understand the cause of the bizarre accident. The bathroom resembled the aftermath of a car crash, though the glass shards seemed too small, defying the laws of physics, almost like the result of an implosion.
As he searched inside the bathroom, the light suddenly turned off, only to turn on again shortly after. This pattern repeated in an endless loop, and when he looked up at the hanging bulb, it was swinging heavily, as if pushed by an external force.
In need of a sturdy piece of furniture to reach the swinging cord, he returned to the bedroom to find a stool. But as he entered the room, one of the drawers of the old wooden dresser lost its grip and opened by itself. Despite his efforts to close it, all the other furniture doors in the room swung open simultaneously, in an eerie, unsynchronized motion.
The chair he had thought of using flew through the air and crashed against the wall, narrowly missing his head. The light continued its erratic dance, and the curtains were almost torn apart, as if caught in a strong wind. He checked all the windows, finding them sealed shut. However, before he could finish his thought, a strong gust of wind blew one of the windows open, sending objects flying in its wake.
He sensed a presence before him, though nothing was visible. Suddenly, he felt as though he were being choked, struggling for breath, his lungs burning. Tears stung his eyes as the sensation of suffocation overwhelmed him. Just as he thought his end was near, the pressure on his neck dissipated, as if it had been an illusion.
His bladder had given way, the wetness on his crotch reaching him before the smell of urine did. He hurried back to the bathroom, overcome with the urge to vomit.
As he approached the bathroom, ready to relieve his stomach, he was greeted by a familiar figure. Marie-Rose stood three steps away from the doorway, between the door and the sink. With her chin slightly tilted down, her eyes sunken and filled with a glint of hatred, she seemed poised to deliver the final blow to her prey. Had she come back from the dead? The question vanished as he noticed no trace of blood on her clothes or the floor.
On closer inspection, he realized he could see through her form, yet she appeared to possess a solidity that belied her ghostly appearance. Her afterlife specter had become a mass of solid air, fueled by the intensity of the pain he had inflicted upon her.
"Is this some kind of trick?" he asked, scanning his surroundings, suddenly feeling dread. If there were any devices projecting holograms, there would be a telltale ray of light piercing through the darkness like in a cinema, but there was none.
The ghostly figure took a step forward, advancing toward him. Terror spiked within him as her otherworldly voice resounded within the tiled walls of the bathroom enclosure.
"Hey, demon, are you satisfied now that you took me away from Jayden?"
Her question carried a tone of cynicism, though her underlying rage remained barely contained.
Ever since she had been stabbed, Marie-Rose had been determined to uncover who had ordered her death. The revelation that Emilian was involved in her murder was shocking, but the bigger question remained: was there someone else behind it? Could the motive have been as simple as Emilian's envy at not being chosen as the main character? The shadow of doubt weighed heavily on Marie-Rose's heart. She had long harbored suspicions about certain individuals who seemed to be perpetually trailing her, but this new revelation left her bewildered.
Emilian recoiled at her accusation, suddenly feeling a wave of relief that she didn't know the whole story.
"Took you away from Jayden? You old hag, are you tripping? You've never been with him." he spoke with newfound confidence, attempting to intimidate her and create the impression that he knew everything about her. His informers couldn't be mistaken, confirming the power of his intuition and discoveries. He had the upper hand, and he needed to put her in her place.
"Say the wrong word, you'll be hanged man!" the voice of a famous artist suddenly blared from a radio device, catching Emilian off guard.
Malevolent laughter followed, and the music's slowed speed took on the quality of a deep, ominous growl. Despite the eerie background music, Marie-Rose persisted in her claims.
"How can you be so sure of that?" she asked, leaving him in suspense as she took another step forward.
"You ugly witch! It was just your imagination. You just fell in love with a picture, you fool!" Emilian's words, laced with newfound confidence, pierced through Marie-Rose's already shattered heart. Perhaps he didn't know the truth after all.
Relieved, Marie-Rose sighed inwardly. So he must still be confusing Jayden for Anne's boyfriend or one of the many individuals who resembled his description and whom she had mentioned in passing. It was amusing, really, how since realizing they had no access to her latest writings, they relied solely on her conversations. They were always all ears whenever she spoke in the office.
"Picture? Picture, you demon?" she inquired.