Wednesday, 19th October 1949
19:39
"The first beings on earth were not made from clay. They were children born from mounds of white phosphorus."
Click. Click. Click. The lighter flicked, spitting sparks from its flint. I pressed it against the cigarette, the paper spiraling into white ash. I hovered the flame around my hand. The metal casing of the lighter was cold.
"Cookie or bread… something nice to keep me going these mornings," I murmured to myself.
I peered up longingly in thought. Snow pirouetted its way down, stroking my face and melting.
"Bread."
The snow made a coarse, repetitive crunch beneath my boots, my boots displacing it to the side. The streets were ploughed with thick snow and ice, terribly scattered. A tall streetlamp loomed over a café, its light refracting through the shaved diamonds of snow, creating a luminescent spectacle.
I opened the door into the café, a small bell ringing as I walked in. A young woman with silver-white hair looked at me.
"G'mornin."
"Morning to you too," I responded, making my way to a seat.
"What would you like today? Actually, let me guess. Bread and coffee?" she spoke.
"How d'ya know?" I queried.
"It's the usual for you on Wednesdays," she smiled.
"Ahh…"
I pulled a newspaper from my bag, the paper rustling between my fingertips, some ink rubbing onto my skin.
"The witch trials have become quite mainstream," I murmured to myself.
"It's a big thing, really. That many people died, and nobody knows why," the man next to me responded.
I peered over at him as he looked back at me, smiling.
"You took your time, Menrva," my friend jeered.
"Sure did. Snow's killing my feet."
"Oh, don't be like that. Look at how thick your boots are. Look at my shoes!"
I looked down, smiling. "You're the one who brought them."
"That's why I have to wear them," he retorted.
"Anyway, I remember last time when I came over to look at the bodies, you said you saw a man with brown hair or something, fleeing the scene. Didn't you? Also did you identify the gun, you can use that to trace recent buyers, blackmarket and all."
"Yep. We followed it all up quite recently, actually."
"And?"
"Well…" He began, furrowing his eyebrows in thought.
"For starters the bullet quite frankly doesn't exist. There is none of it's kind, nonetheless it looks old, like it's from another world, or time."
I frowned, rubbing my chin with my thumb and index finger.
He continued, "We spoke to a man who may have caught a glimpse of him or seen him around the area. He said something about the man not seeming right. He was human, he could tell that for sure. However, the man seemed ready to snap at any moment."
"You sure? It couldn't just be the cold or something?"
"No, no. Nothing like that. Said he looked ordinary—well-kept. Well-spoken. Well-fed. Plain clothing. But there was just a wrongness to him. Like you could feel an aura emanating from the man. He said it wasn't evil, but it wasn't good. He compared it to staring at a painting that kept shifting every time you looked away. He could feel wrath seeping through the man's skin. Hadn't it been for that, he said he would've queried him. And hadn't it been for that, we would've had a big lead by now. Which ought to be a shame."
"I mean… you sure he wasn't rattled, seeing that many deaths? Anyone would crack under that amount of pressure and fear. Surely we shouldn't just jump—"
"No. The man kept insisting. There was a wrongness to him. He said he didn't blink once. But most of all, it was the face he wore that scared the witness the most. The man was smiling. It wasn't out of evil or joy or malice. Just lifeless. The kind that doesn't reach the eyes, like it didn't belong there. He said his eyes were shaking and watering, as if he were about to cry, but his face didn't speak that at all. It was pure unrequited wrath. That's the part that stuck with me."
The woman with silver hair came over to me, handing me coffee.
I took a sip as she looked at me, nodding my head in approval, holding out a small note to her. I turned back to my friend, ushering him to continue.
"You know the way that eyes can be seen as the gateway to the soul? When he looked, he said he felt dirty. And grimy. Sinful. As if he'd seen something he wasn't meant to. He said he showered three times over and still felt dirty. And that was it. All the man had to say. He looked rattled. Depraved. S.A.D and all that. Maybe it is supernatural. Ghosts and stuff. Maybe the man we are chasing is a ghost. Maybe we are chasing more than one person."
I smiled, a bit scared myself. "You don't need to scare me like that, ya know."
"I don't mean to." He smiled back, standing up to leave. As he reached the door, he pressed his hand against the wooden frame.
"Oh, I almost forgot. When that man was leaving, he muttered something. Two words. Over and over. He was in a near inconsolable state."
"What were they?"
"Jupiter and Wrath."
"Wrath?"
"It's one of the seven deadly sins. It's as if sin has been manifested in flesh."
"Wrath…" I murmured.
I stared at the curling steam from my coffee. Wrath. That made sense. Too much sense.