“I KNOW HUGH HURLINGTHON IS YOUR SON.”
He stared down at me as if he had been waiting centuries for such confrontation. And I was a mess. My hat had flown away when I ran to get Chichikov and perspiration was noticeable on my forehead. Although, not all the sweat came from the physical exercise. I was nervous. That man should have been inside the tomb behind me. I didn’t even let him start an answer.
“Are you the same Piotr Chichikov whose name is on that gravestone?”
He removed his hat and gave me a deeply blue stare.
“Why don’t we sit?”
He invited me to the nearest bench, motioning his body in that direction. But I was mistrustful and didn’t want to let him go, so I snatched his right arm by the elbow and repeated my question.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Are you in any way related to Lord Hugh Hurlingthon?”
“Yes. Please, I won’t leave. Let’s have a seat.”
He carefully released his arm from my fingers and placed it around me. We marched to the closest bench. It had been a short walk, but the strain was heavier than any tombstone in that cemetery. Chichikov wasn’t angry or violent. His manners were very delicate, yet carried out with concern visible on his knitted brow. The sun was setting and the temperature had dropped. It was colder then than when I’d arrived.
“You’re obviously involved somehow in this...my...this story. May I ask how that came to be?”
I was so excited with the recognition of a face that my professional manners were completely numb. I had forgotten to introduce myself, to play the field a little and determine if I should present the case as a police matter.
“My name is Richard Saussure and I’m a private detective. Lord Hugh Hurlingthon hired me to find–”
“Hugh is still alive?” He interrupted me.
A grave expression made his face even longer as if the weight of his deepest fears had stretched it.
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Chichikov. He’s two hundred–”
“And thirteen years old. Oh, God!”
He clasped his head with his hands and started to rock himself in brief swinging movements, enough to try and make the world around him disappear.
“And he can’t die, sir.” I swallowed a bitter taste crawling up my throat. “He has hired me to find out why he can’t die.”
The rocking to and fro came to a sudden halt. The pendulum was returning to its natural balance. His hands moved from the temples to the mouth. God tried to escape his mouth once more time, but the intertwined phalanges created an unbreakable net and he died trapped in it. Still, Chichikov’s eyes screamed little howls of blue pain.
In what seemed like a perpetual expression of horror, Piotr stood up and then sat down. He rose again and waddled to the other side of the gravel path. Then, he turned on his axe and looked through me at a story still incomplete to my eyes. He staggered a little. I sensed he was about to fall, so I ran to catch him and managed to arrive just in time.
I held Chichikov from the waist and we stumbled back to our seat. I didn’t even know how to begin a conversation I had planned but never imagined it would become real.
“You don’t seem to be...I mean, you’re obviously in great distress. But you have no doubt that Hugh’s situation is possible.”
“I know it to be possible. I just never believed the consequences would affect him too. My poor son must lead a horrible life. Is he here, with you?” Mr. Chichikov cast a look trying to find him. But I didn’t think Piotr could have identified Hugh, even if he would’ve been standing right next to me.
“Mr. Chichikov, unlike you, your son has aged. Lord Hugh can’t walk. His sight is gone. And he...he can’t lift his arms.” Tears were running down his forever elongated face. “I’m sorry, but I need to know what happened. Please, explain it to me so I can find a way to help him. Your son wants to die, Mr. Chichikov. I believe you’re the only person who knows how it would be possible for him to accomplish such a...task.”
He was gone again, lost in the land of past times. No sound came out of him, except for the occasional sob. I assumed not every day a stranger requests your help to end your son’s life. I respected his paternal grief as much as I could. Nevertheless, Hugh deserved the justice he had sought.
“Mr. Chichikov, is he...is Hugh like you?”
“No.”
“And...what are you?”
Piotr removed his felt hat and ran his fingers through his hair. He sat up and unbuttoned his coat. Then, he caressed the brim of his hat, tracing it as if he was looking for the starting point. Luckily for both of us, his story wasn’t round, but it had certainly continued longer than it should have. An extensive sigh came out of him. He was slowly giving up on the fight against the memories of his indelible past.
“I led a life of little purpose, Mr. Saussure. I was scum. The lowest of the low of human beings. In my lifetime, my biggest pleasure came out of inflicting pain on others. Innocent others. When I died, the victim of the reckless behavior that came with my brutal lifestyle, Death decided that I’d have to pay my dues here, on Earth. And according to my results, I would have the chance to rest my soul in peace.”
“Is Piotr Chichikov your original identity?”
“No. You’re assigned a new name and personal history. And you are forced to relocate, so you won’t get recognized.”
“Are you dead right now?”
He gave a negative answer. His eyes, fixed on the gravel path, wouldn’t make contact with mine. Piotr leaned forward, resting his elbows on the knees.
“Are you alive?”
Another negative. My mind was swamped with images from the conversations held with Irupé.
“I’m in suspension. That’s what our state is called.”
I inquired about the ‘our’. There were more like him out there, people dragging their pain around because they couldn’t rest. For the first time in our prolonged encounter, he directed his eyes at me and answered my question with another question.
“Mr. Saussure, do you know what a Grim Reaper is?”
“Yes, you’re Death itself!” I replied, overwhelmed with fear and tripping over my own feet to get out of that bench.
“No, no. That’s a misconception. Please, sit down. There’s nothing to worry about. It is not your time yet. Not mine to take, anyway.”
I didn’t sit, but I stood by the side of the bench, gripping its back so tight that my knuckles were turning white. If I had let go, I would’ve fainted out of terror. I had followed Irupé’s instructions without wanting to. He noticed I wasn’t keen on resuming my position next to him, so he carried on with the explanation.
“A Grim Reaper isn’t Death. Although, a live person wouldn’t recognize Death if they saw her. She is impossible to describe. But she is also impossible to ignore. An amorphous ethereal mass of pain, grief, happiness, hate, love, relief, anxiety, peace, longing…and the list goes on and on. You see, she absorbs all the emotions and feelings a person is having while he or she dies. And that is exactly why she needs helpers: beings that look like everyday people and can merge into the living crowd of humanity without attracting attention. Some humans are marked to be Grim Reapers to reform their lives. Some are irreparable. I was lucky. I was given a chance to mend my ways.”
“And how...I mean...the–uh–the process–Death comes and…What is it...” I couldn’t form an intelligent question. “You come...and she...the person–uh. Who–? I mean…”
Piotr gave me a tired smile and understood my question wrapped up in fright.
“How does the process to take someone’s soul comes to fruition?” He leaned back. “Well, Death visits the person whose time is up the day before, most likely in their sleep, and leaves a scent on them. It’s like jasmine and rust. A salty trail for the Grim Reaper to follow. I’ve been told it’s not the same smell for all of us. There are different fragrances and I can only perceive one. Of course, people who are still alive can’t sense them. When I find the fragrance, I trace it b
ack to its owner and I have to blow over them.” He pursed his lips and almost imperceptibly, let warm air out. “The scent is a way of sealing the soul. When I blow it away, the scent carries the soul out of the body and the remains of the person are ready to receive his or her destiny. He has a heart attack. Or, a car runs over her. Or, he gets shot...Well, you know what I mean.”
I was in shock. It was impossible for me to completely grasp the immensity of the secrets that were being revealed to me. The close encounters I had experienced with Life, and now also with Death, were far more than anything the Police Academy had prepared me for. Life means childbirth and joy. Death means blood and sorrow. That was how far my street knowledge went. It was so obvious I was way over my head and that all of Grumpy Al’s concerns and warnings had been absolutely justified.
“And why are you here?”
“I traced a scent, but I lost it just before entering the cemetery. And I decided to pay a visit to Adora.”
The murky sky got even heavier. Dense black masses of rain were waiting to pour down on us. The wind was blowing cold. A storm was coming.
“And your son? What about Hugh?”
Piotr bit his lower lip and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Two hundred and fifteen years ago, I traced a scent back to the Hurlingthon manor. They were reclusive and never left the house. The only people coming in and out were the maids and the valets. I had asked around and found out they were looking for a Russian teacher for the mistress of the house. Apparently, Adora wanted to learn the language. The problem is until I’m finished with one trail I can’t find another one. So I introduced myself as a tutor. And destiny was on my side. After all, I work for Death. Frederick hired me, but the moment we met I knew it wasn’t him. He didn’t smell. No, it was his sweet wife the one who reeked of rusty jasmines. Lucky me.”
I had inadvertently slid down the back of the bench and sat, waiting for the rest of this man’s death to be told. My hat was rolling around us, propelled by the enraged wind that was twirling the trees’ branches.
“I loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her. I know it sounds repulsive. She was so delicate and refined and...I was dead. I am death. But she was marked with my scent. Death had sealed her with my fragrance. She was mine. Anyway…I couldn’t follow through, and I didn’t remove her soul. The accident where she was supposed to die never happened...only a few bruises...”
The swing. Adora’s original fate was to fall off her swing and die. And the Grim Reaper loved her so that he prevented it from happening.
“I just wanted to be close to her. I know you’re thinking I’m a disgusting stalker, but she loved me too. Her marriage to Frederick was arranged. They appreciated each other, but they weren’t in love. They never shared a bed except on their wedding night, and that had been three years before I came along.”
The letters from Addy to My Dearest were not to her husband. My Dearest was a specter who worked for Death. She really did love him. I had read it all about it.
“In spite of my being in suspension, ours was a very earthly passion. But I never thought it could be possible for me to breed a child.”
Hugh Hurlingthon was the son of Death and Love, a volatile combination that had ended in a desperate man looking for his final breath, only to find out that his breaths were unlimited. Had he been born dead?
“When Adora realized she was pregnant, the time for me to take a soul before Death would notice was running out. I had to do it. I told her who I really was, and that if I blew over her, they would die. Both of them. And that’s when we came up with the plan.”
The infamous plan was that a soul is a soul. Male or female is of no importance as gender is an anatomical difference that only carries weight within human society. They decided to exchange Adora for Frederick. And thus, Piotr took his place as Lord Frederick Hurlingthon. The Grim Reaper explained to me that when they blow over a person whose soul hasn’t been sealed, their breath removes the spirit suddenly. The body simply drops, completely empty. That was exactly what this man had done. And Frederick Hurlingthon ended up buried under the name of Piotr Chichikov, right where that tombstone was that day. They didn’t even bury him in the family graveyard to avoid raising any suspicion. Frederick’s parents were dead, and he had no siblings or close relatives. Adora was all he had.
“All the help was laid off, with the exception of the Lermontovs who were sworn to secrecy.”
Apparently, the hound dog blood ran in their veins. It hadn’t been just Marlon. I would have to see about that later.
“How did the news get to the newspaper?” Piotr faced me, surprised by my knowledge of this. “Was it you who asked for a public apology?”
“Yes, it was me. One of the servants we fired told a reporter about Frederick’s death. But after that incident was fixed, we carried out a perfectly happy life. Ady enjoyed her pregnancy and Hugh was born a happy, healthy child. But one day, almost a year after Hugh’s birth, Frederick reappeared. He came back accompanied by a female figure. I knew it was her. Death had taken human form to deal with us and set everything straight. She wanted to take our child for everything we had done and let Frederick deal with his wife. But Adora offered herself for the baby…And that’s how Hugh’s life was saved.”
“And she fell off the swing.”
“Figuratively speaking, yes. I was cast away and my sentence was prolonged. Frederick...did he treat Hugh–?”
“As if he was his own,” was my answer.
Lord Frederick had been murdered and still, he fabricated an entire web of lies so Hugh would never find out the truth. He had even changed the date on Adora’s gravestone and managed to get a false death certificate. I had been wrong: he did take his secret to his tomb. He loved Hugh, deeply.
Of course, Lord Frederick didn’t count on the fact that this boy had death running through his veins. I asked Chichikov if Hugh was dead, if that was the reason why he couldn’t die.
“No. He’s not filled with death. He’s filled with too much life. Hugh was created with all the love I didn’t give to others when I was alive.”
The tree branches were twisting and shaking. The wind would not give them a break. My hat finally crashed against my feet and I picked it up.
“My boy can’t die because he’s too alive. You see, Mr. Saussure, I didn’t lead a respectable life. And I didn’t manage myself so well when I died, either.”
Heavy black clouds were unraveling upon us. Clashing against each other, fat drops were reaching us. I had to act quickly.
“You have to come with me.”
He hesitated and eventually refused. He didn’t want to disturb Death even more.
“Don’t you want to see your son? To help him?” The pressure was getting to him. He closed his eyes, trying to avoid crying, but the sky was doing all the crying for him. “Isn’t this death about mending erroneous actions? Your son’s excessive life is wrong.”
Piotr wasn’t moving from his seat and, regardless of how much I desired it, I couldn’t drag him to the mansion. Something else had to be said on my part, something that would steer the wheel in my direction. Grumpy Al had said I needed to use what made me human. My heart. Of all the information I had gathered over those days, what fact had made my heart twist and recoil in pain?
“You had a granddaughter. She died at a young age because your son couldn’t infuse enough life into her body. Hugh might be undeniably alive, but he can’t create life. He can’t die. Yet, he’s killing everyone around him. Your son is a murderer because of you.”
XV