Ghoul
Lost in the dark, tangled in silken threads, I coughed as I kicked up more dust. I cleared my throat and kept walking. The Catacombs were twisted, but I knew the general direction I needed to go. As long as I kept on track with my marks I would find my way back to the right path.
I came to a fork in the tunnels. One side I had marked while still lost. Time to try the other side then. I left letters and arrows in glowing paint before proceeding. Soon I found another mark, one before I had gotten off track. I reoriented myself and headed for my destination.
A large doorway loomed in front of me. Its arch was made of skulls. The faint light of my torch only made the sockets seem empty, as if they were glaring malevolence upon my head. I approached slowly and silently, listening for any movement aside from dripping water or scurrying rats.
The room was large and open. This section of the Catacombs was supposedly closed to the public, but someone had been making themselves at home. There were chairs, a table, candles, and even a book case. There was another room connected to it, but the electric light of my torch didn't reach that far.
I stepped into the room and began to explore. The book case had a selection of books ranging from horror to self-help. The table was big enough for six people to sit at it easily, and had a long black tablecloth that reached the floor. At one end of the table was a stack of letters addressed to Persephone Noir. What an obvious alias that was.
I had just started to look through the letters when I heard voices approaching. I flicked off my torch and dove under the table. I almost screeched in pain when I hit my head on the underside, but kept quiet.
Footsteps drew near, as did the squeaking of wheels. Then I heard the clicking of a lighter, and the darkness faded. Then I heard grunting and faint squeaks. I just barely peeked beneath the tablecloth; I could make out two pairs of feet and a coffin being carried between them. I resumed my position under the table. Based on the dull thump I heard, though, they left the coffin in the other room.
As the footsteps came back, I heard a female voice say, "...and the last payment should have covered another delivery. I don't understand why you only brought half the usual amount."
"It's risky," replied a male voice. "I can only sneak out the ones that were supposed to be cremated, and even that draws suspicion. I might not be able to get the rest until next week."
The woman sighed, then replied, "Well, as long as it's no later than that. But if you can't keep up your end of the bargain, I might have to reconsider our terms."
I heard the wheels squeaking again, and footsteps left the room. There was another sigh, and the second set of footsteps headed to the other room.
I waited a moment, then climbed out from under the table. I had found her, all right. Gertrude Jones, ran away from home. Her parents asked me to find her. And why not the police? Because, as they told me in the strictest confidence, their daughter was a ghoul and that could cause... issues with the authorities. So I had to track her down myself, and finally ended up in Paris.
I stood up, dusted myself off, and headed toward the back room. I stood by the door and cleared my throat.
Gertrude whirled toward me, looking away from the coffin. She was tall, thin, and pale with long dark hair. She looked down at the cleaver she was holding and set it on a table next to the corpse. "I... um... this isn't what it looks like."
"It's all right, I know. My name is Lucy Harker. I'm a private detective. Your parents asked me to find you."
Gertrude snorted. "Well, tell them I'm fine. I'm not going back there." She picked the knife back up and hovered over the corpse. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm busy."
I raised my eyebrows. "Most people would not call squatting in the Catacombs fine."
Gertrude rolled her eyes. "Well, given my... dietary needs there aren't a lot of other options without drawing attention to myself. Besides, I still get out. I have a job, I made friends, I'm learning how to paint. That's way more than I would ever get back home." She used a cleaver and started hacking apart the body in front of her. "I was practically a prisoner. Never allowed to go outside except at night, never allowed to make friends, never allowed to have a life." As she spoke and chopped, she stole glances at me. Probably wondering if I would get intimidated by the macabre scene, but I had too much experience for that trick to work.
"Well, you are legally an adult so I can't make you do anything. But I should point out that you also are not living here legally and getting caught would be complicated."
Gertrude paused. "I know, but I'm not going back to my family. I know they were trying to protect me but I just can't live like that."
I handed her a letter. "They said to give you this if I found you, and to tell you they're sorry in case you didn't read it." I also jotted down my hotel room on the back of my business card and handed it to her. "If you do want my help, this is where you can find me."
The next day I heard a knock on my door first thing in the morning. I opened it and Gertrude stood there sheepishly. "I, um... wanted to ask you for advice."
I ushered her in. She took a deep breath, handed me the letter, and stared out the window. "Read it for yourself."
I did so. "Dear Gertrude," it began. "We are so sorry for everything..." I skimmed through the apologies and the pleas to come back. When I had finished I handed it to Gertrude.
"What did you want to ask?"
"I want to see them again but..." she sat on the bed. "But they didn't say anything would change. I'm afraid that I'll go back and they'll go right back to 'protecting' me." She bit her lips. "They're my family and I love them but I just can't risk that. So... what do you think I should do?"
I frowned. "It's not easy to say. Staying here isn't a good idea for the reasons I mentioned, but you have good reasons not to go back."
Getrude groaned and flopped back onto the bed. "How helpful."
"Well..." I said hesitantly, and she fixed me in her gaze. "I could help you get back to the States, and bail you out if your family does try to keep you under lock and key." I winked. "Of course, you'd have to hire me so I could consider you a client..."
Gertrude grinned. "Done. I can be ready to move out at the end of the week." She scribbled on the hotel notepad. "Here's my email address so we can work out the flights and your rates. Stay in touch, private eye." She giggled. "I always wanted to say that."
I smiled. "Can do."
We did keep in touch, but Gertrude didn't need me to bail her out. Apparently her family respected her independence enough to let her get her own apartment, though she said they weren't happy about it and won't talk to her. Last I heard she was taking forensics classes at the community college while holding down a job at a funeral home. Her explanation: "It's not like I'm freaked out by bodies."
It's always good to resolve a case successfully.