The Imitation Phantom

Chapter 11

The Taking of An Angel

Erik didn't know how they got into his house. He didn't know who they were or what they wanted. All he knew was that he woke up in what he assumed to be morning and found a note. Not a note at the entrance to his house or in his main room. Not stuck under the door. No.

He woke up in what he assumed to be morning to find a note tacked onto his bedpost by the point of a letter opener.

He was exhausted. The investigation kept him on his toes. He knew someone was in his tunnels, someone followed him from time to time. He knew he was a hunted man. There were no leads and the questions were piling up. It dragged at his thoughts and weighed in his bones, sapped him of strength and appetite. He was losing weight fast and his energy was all but gone.

But had he slept so deeply as to be completely ignorant of the intruder?

They didn't want him dead, of that he was sure now. No, if they wanted him dead they would have killed him by now. They wanted him to suffer.

Staring at the piece of paper, his heart in his throat and his lungs struggling to breathe air that was not tainted by terror, he felt trapped. Whoever this was, they knew him well. They knew how far back to stay so he couldn't catch them when they followed. They knew the length of his Punjab and how quickly they could get away from it. They knew his habits and movements, his pathways. They had done their homework. But why?

With shaking hands, he pulled the note down and brought it to his face. A small picture had been tacked behind it. It fluttered to the floor. Bending slowly, he picked it up. It was a woman, smiling slyly at the camera. It was aged and wrinkled, dirty from years of dirt and oil, as though someone had run their fingers across it many times. He knew those eyes and thin lips, the high cheekbones and thick brows. He knew this face but her name escaped him.

He had never seen her smiling. Crying, pleading, praying. But never smiling. He had seen her in her last moments... Before he killed her.

The picture fell from his numb hands. The notepaper rattled loudly as he tried to hold it still.

"Today is a very special day, Erik. It was a very special day forty two years ago when you took away my love, my angel. For no other reason than it was a very, very special day for Sultana Esther Alinejad. Today is that anniversary. It's your turn."

"Lunette." He whispered. Snatching the photo from the floor, he sprinted from his room. He took the tunnel entrance instead of the lake. Dread soaked into his bones and horror, fear, terror like he'd never known constricted his muscles, his lungs. He couldn't run fast enough, couldn't squeeze past every trap and narrow corridor in time. Visions of her lying alone, dying, in pain, drowning in a pool of blood filled his mind. He threw open the door to the alley, only to crash into a smaller body.

"Oh!" Lunette tumbled to the stones, staring up at him with wide eyes.

"Lunette!" He yanked her to her feet, his eyes flitting over her small, startled form. "You're alright." He breathed. "You're alright, thank God."

"Of course I'm alright. What-" She was cut off with a muffled grunt when he pulled her into his arms. "Erik?" She murmured.

His heart thundered in his ears and blood throbbed in his veins. He gasped in the city air, trying to calm his shattered nerves. Lunette waited for whatever had terrified him to pass. She listened to his rattled breathing and pounding heart, listened to his whispered prayer. "Erik?" She tried again. She rubbed his back in soothing circles.

Pulling away finally, he held the note out. Lunette read it quickly, her eyes widening. "Mon Dieu... What... We must bring this to Inspector Legard!"