“THE BIRTH CERTIFICATE FOR HUGH HURLINGTHON BELONGS TO ME. Hugh is my first name. My parents were Lady Adora and Lord Frederick. My mother died giving birth to me and my father didn’t recover from this terrible loss. He never remarried. I was raised by a number of excellent governesses throughout my formative years. You’ll find a list of all them in the green folder. The most significant one (who also stayed the longest) was Miss Hildred Milford. You’ll see a star next to her name. I doubt there is any of her family alive. And if indeed they are, I don’t believe they have any kind of knowledge about my situation...but it could be worth a try. As a young man eager to please my father, I attended law school to eventually take over the management of our lands. I despised it, but all I ever wanted was my father’s approval and if becoming a lawyer was necessary for me to fulfill his expectations, then so be it. I had a good number of friends at college, all coming from noble families. There is a list of them, too, but Anthony Maliccioni was my closest and dearest friend, and we remained in touch over the years. Our wives were close as well, and eventually the Maliccionis moved to the property to our left. I assume their descendants are still the owners of that estate. They had two boys: Albert and Edward. I always hoped one of them would marry my Emily...but I guess it was never meant to be. Alicia, his wife, left us first. And when Anthony died I lost all contact with the boys. Last thing I knew was that they were both married and living abroad. At this point, I assume they’re dead, like most of the people I used to know. It was Alicia who introduced me to Greta, in a party at Anthony’s house. My lovely Greta and I married when I was thirty-one and she was twenty-two. A couple of years later Emily was born. You can find paintings of them around the house. Every day I thank God I still have my memory intact, so I can remember their faces...Although, there are some things I would like to forget.”
The rhythm of Lord Hurlingthon’s breath changed. He was trying to fish the next memory out of a very dark pond.
“Emily died when she was only five years old. She barely had any chance to savor life. Her medical records and the list of doctors who treated her are also among the papers. She contracted scarlet fever and it was severe from the very first day. Doctors said her body couldn’t fight back the disease and it was actually debilitating sooner than it should, as if she was letting death in. Her tiny body was too fragile...too breakable...too thin...If I had known then what I know now about my...condition, things would’ve been different. I could have spared us the pain. My poor Greta...she deserved better. I am convinced it all has some connection. I feel it. We didn’t have any other children. It was too sinister to even try to think about having another baby. I don’t believe we could’ve endured it. The idea of filling our aching void with a life that was initially not wanted was...revolting. It still is. We bore the grief the best way we could. It wasn’t perfect, but the immense rock-solid sorrow crushing our chests gradually lifted and we could breathe again. Slowly, steadily. Not a deep relaxing breath, but just enough for the occasional grasp and some shallow breathing. Enough to survive. My Greta and I parted ways after forty years of marriage, and I hoped to follow her soon enough. Obviously, I’ve failed. Anthony died seven years after my wife, and all I had left was Marlon’s family and this estate.”
I was unintentionally at the edge of my seat. Failing to die must be the most unexpected deception.
“I waited and waited. But death never came, as if I had fallen off her to-do list. Years went by and I felt fine. I took a swim in the lake for my hundredth birthday, trying to convince myself that I should be proud and celebrate my longevity, my good health. I did it every year for my birthday. I stopped when I turned a hundred and fifty-five. It was disheartening. And this constant state of depression debilitated me severely. By the time I turned a hundred and seventy-four I was too weak to stand on my own. Eight years later, my eyes stopped working properly. That’s when I started hiring people to do this work for me.”
I was so absorbed by this man’s story that I had forgotten to pay attention as a professional: to take notes and to try and follow the scent of a lie so I could discover what on earth was going on there. But this person and his fantastic tale had me enraptured, and the sadness on his screechy voice was so palpable that my true mission had slipped off my mind.
He remained silent, and I realized I had to step in. Lord Hurlingthon was waiting for my brilliant input to this puzzling matter. I had none. My mind was flat and numb with amazement.
“Hire people…to manage the estate, you mean?”
“No. To find out what is wrong with me.”
“I see...Well, I’m sorry to ask the next question, Lord Hurlingthon, but it is necessary for me to understand all the facts. It’s a delicate matter...”
“Yes, I’ve tried to commit suicide before. On numerous occasions, in fact. I’ve tried shooting myself, but the gun always got stuck. I even hired hit men five different times. The last one, warned by my previous experiences, was so committed to fulfill his job that when the gun didn’t work, he attacked me with a hammer. I was left in pretty bad shape, but not dead. After a month in bed, I was on my feet again. I also tried to hang myself, but the first and the second time the rope gave in and I landed on the ground. The third time Marlon found me and took me down, despite all my protests. The fourth and last time I locked myself in the studio, so no one could reach me. I hung from that rope for two days until my servants kicked down the door. I only had a few bruises round my neck. That was all. I tried to drown in the lake. That didn’t work either. But the most frightening suicide attempts were those when I sliced open the veins in my wrists. The flesh, the veins, the skin...all healed in less than two minutes. I actually timed it the second time I did it. It is impossible for me to bleed out.”
“Perhaps with some medicine? Have you asked your doctors to...help you?”
“Mr. Saussure!” Marlon barked behind me.
“Marlon, please. He is doing his job, just as the rest of them. Be at peace. Yes, Mr. Saussure. I had intentions of an overdose, whether by doing it myself or with the help of a physician. But I never got anything more than a mild intoxication. All my medical records are in a box Marlon will give you.”
“I already did, milord.”
“As with everything else, there is a list of all my doctors. The current one is Dr. Pierce. He runs a private practice. Surely you would like to check all the facts with him...”
“I am not sure I’m the right person for this, Lord Hurlingthon. Maybe a priest would be more suitable. Or a pastor, whatever your beliefs are.” Or the Dalai Lama for all that matter. Anyone but me.
“Well, either they don’t believe me, or they are too busy, or they think I have a mental issue, but they can’t help me. You see, no member of a religious congregation would recommend suicide as a solution.”
Right.
“The last thing I’ve tried was a shaman my cook’s niece contacted for me. But I was told that, when he was here, he wouldn’t cross the gates. He refused to see me and ran away.”
“When was this?” I needed to talk to this woman, maybe even the shaman. What was I thinking? I was not taking this case.
“Two years ago.”
“You’ll have to understand that this line of investigation will be my first. This is an incredibly abnormal case, a most peculiar situation.”
“There isn’t a single person on this planet able to help me that I haven’t contacted already, Mr. Saussure. No one specializes on people that can’t die. It’s seen as a blessing. I need your expertise to release me from the reality of this curse.”
I was trapped. How could I say no? Money would be no object, so how could I refuse him when he was not hiring me but asking for my help?
“I don’t wish to upset you, but you’re not...uh...”
“Normal?”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s not necessary. You don’t unsettle me. Over the years, I’ve learned that rage is the most useless emotion we humans can engage in. I’ll take sadnes
s and misery over rage any day, Mr. Saussure. And God knows I’ve had my fair share of those. Rage is a waste of time and energy. I used to be very angry about my condition, but it didn’t help me at all. Now, I’m burned-out. I just want my heart to stop beating. Do you understand, Mr. Saussure?”
“Yes, I do.”
No, I really didn’t. I didn’t understand the desire to stop one’s heart, but I did understand wanting something to cease so badly that you would do anything to achieve it.
“Don’t make me beg. I’m afraid that if I lose all hope I’ll go mad. Who will take care of me? Marlon is not getting any younger. Please, save me from the embarrassment of having to entrust my body to a stranger.”
My heart sunk to my ankles then jumped back up to my throat and stayed there, as I tried to find the answer stuck inside my mouth.
“I’ll see what I can do. Give me a week to sort through all this paperwork and find a place to start. I can’t make any promises.”
“Anything you can get is better than this absurd nothingness I’m in. I appreciate your effort and calmness, Mr. Saussure.”
As I walked to the door overburdened with papers of every shape, size and color, I took one more look at Lord Hurlingthon. What on earth could possibly possess him to come up with a lie like this? What did he gain from this type of outrageous situation? If anything, he just looked worn-out from life and devastated by the exhausting recollection of past events. And how did he find me? I was just a regular detective with a small office downtown.
“If you don’t mind my asking, Lord Hurlingthon, where did you learn about me?”
“The maid that had contacted the shaman, Lucy, found an ad in the local newspaper. She asked around and it seems you always finish the job. So of course, she recommended you.”
Thanks a lot, Lucy. But it was right. A few weeks ago I had placed an ad in the paper. The business was a bit slow so I thought it couldn’t hurt. Wrong thinking.
I wasn’t completely out the door when Marlon slammed it behind me. Boy, that man did not like me. It was pouring rain, but the fresh damp air was good on me after my deadly lockup. Now all I needed was a cup of coffee. And to think.
I had a lot to think about.
III