“How about you let her go, and then I come in?” Hugo called.
“We don’t have much time. If you want to be a part of this, I suggest you come in now.”
“A part of what?”
“Let me put it another way,” the Scarab said. “If you don’t come in, then I’ll kill the dancer. You have five seconds and my word that you won’t be shot when you walk in the door.”
“The word of a serial killer isn’t worth much to me, Villier.”
“It’s all I can offer. And I want you to see this, so please, come in.”
It was given as an order, but under the harsh tone Hugo heard a plea. He stepped past the window to the open door. With his gun raised, he peered into the apartment.
The living room was dark, lit only by red candles that Villier had fixed to every wall, twenty at least. He’d cleared the place of furniture, too, except for a trestle that bore a wooden coffin. The legs looked unstable, wooden boards nailed in the shape of an A, and under one end of the trestle sat an antique mining plunger, its handle extended. Wires led from the top of the device, disappearing toward the back wall. Behind the coffin, Amelia Rousseau sat on the floor, her eyes red from crying but now open and staring at Hugo, hope flickering.
The Scarab stood at the end of the trestle, one hand on the coffin. His gun lay on the trestle, and Hugo’s stomach turned when he saw beside it several large knives and what looked like a folded sheet of plastic. The Scarab had attached a length of rope to the trestle legs nearest him.
“You can shoot me,” Villier said. “And then I’ll fall down, taking the legs away. Can you guess what happens after that?”
Hugo’s eyes went to the plunger.
“And that,” Villier said, “is nailed down, so don’t bother trying to shoot it out of the way. You might hit it a couple of times, but you won’t destroy it before I can get to it.”
“What are you doing?” Hugo asked.
Villier picked up the scarab amulet. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
Hugo had, of course, but he wasn’t going to say it out loud, to tell Amelia Rousseau that her heart was destined for the box. Instead, he said, “It won’t work, you know.”
The Scarab laughed. “You don’t know the first thing about what works and what doesn’t.”
“Your mother is dead. Nothing can change that. This,” he waved a hand at the coffin, “this collection of bones and skin. That’s all they are. Killing her, killing me. Even killing yourself, nothing will change the fact that your mother is dead.”
“Is that what they teach you in America?” Villier sneered. “How do they know what happens, how can anyone know?” His fingertips brushed the top of the plunger. “No one can know until it’s done. I feel the power of these bones every time I touch them. And do you really think I’m the only one? Why would we preserve them if they were worthless? No, these aren’t just bones, as you say. Why would we have hundreds of acres in this city alone, filled with the bones of the worthy if we didn’t believe that something lies within them?”
“That’s why we have cremation,” Hugo said. “Most people have figured out that whatever makes us human, call it a spirit or soul, whatever you want, disappears forever when we die. There is no resurrection for us, Villier. Not for me, not for you. And not for your mother.”
“Cremation?” Villier laughed. “Even when people cremate their loved ones, they take the ashes somewhere special to scatter them, or they bury them in family plots beside the bones of their ancestors.”
“Superstition, that’s all. Those acts are done for the living, not for the dead, which means you gain nothing by killing that girl. Or even yourself.”
“Ah, because that’s your job. To kill me.”
“I’d rather not,” Hugo said.
“I don’t believe you. After I killed your friend, the policeman, I’m sure you would like your revenge. You come from the only civilized country in the world with the death penalty, what is that but revenge? It’s an American specialty.”
Hugo allowed a small smile. “Except that Capitaine Garcia isn’t dead.”
Villier’s face was stone. “You expect me to believe that? I shot him in the heart.”
“You shot him in the bulletproof vest.”
“You lie.”
“You want to call him and see?”
Uncertainty swept over the Scarab’s eyes, like a rainsquall that suddenly disappears. “It doesn’t matter. None of that matters.”
Hugo recognized a tone of finality in Villier’s voice, but he needed to keep the man talking. “Where do I fit into this?”
“You have some qualities I admire. At first, I wanted you to tell everyone why I did this. That’s why I didn’t kill you in Castet. Now that you have figured it out, I’m guessing you’ve already told people. So you can merge with me.”
“Merge?”
“When we go up, we go up together and stay that way forever.” A smile, like rock cracking, spread over Villier’s lips. “Are you ready?”
Chapter Forty-four
Amelia Rousseau screeched as the Scarab picked up his gun. He swung it slowly toward her, his eyes never leaving Hugo.
“Non, please, please,” she begged, the metal handcuffs rattling against the pipe as she tugged frantically.
“Wait,” Hugo said. His gun was aimed at Villier’s chest but he didn’t want to shoot, didn’t dare shoot. He needed to buy more time. “You said you wanted me to understand, you said I’d figured it all out. But I haven’t.”
Villier’s finger twitched over the trigger but he held Hugo’s eye. “What?”
“You’re telling me there are explosives attached to those wires.”
“Oui.”
“I don’t understand. Why go to all that trouble?”
The Scarab cocked his head a fraction, as if he couldn’t understand why Hugo was asking, as if the answer were obvious. “I need fire,” he said. “I need fire to do it. If I have explosives in here, that’s how I die, blown to pieces. I can’t have it be that way because there can be no fusion, no re-creation in an explosion. I need the magic of fire.”
“So the explosives are downstairs, they create your magical fire.”
“If I have done everything right, this place will be an inferno in about seven seconds. There is a lot of gasoline downstairs.” He paused. “That’s how she died, so it’s how I have to die for us to be together again.”
“Why not just set a fire? Use gasoline or fire starters, for heaven’s sake, like you did in Castet.”
“In Castet I was destroying. Here, I just told you, I have to do it the same way.”
“The same way as what? How exactly do you see this ending?”
“It’s simple,” Villier said. “You will swap places with her. Then I can put the coffin on the ground and,” he looked at Amelia Rousseau, “take her heart.”
“And who pushes the plunger?”
“You do,” Villier said matter-of-factly.
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because you will be chained up and if you don’t, I will shoot you.” The merest of shrugs. “If you do, there is a chance you will survive the explosion and fire. C’est possible.”
“And if I hadn’t come?”
“Then the trestle would have worked. I pull the rope and it happens automatically.”
“Carefully planned,” Hugo said. “But I still don’t believe that you killed your mother. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I told you I did.” Villier’s voice hardened. “I don’t lie.”
“Somehow he made you, your father. Tell me what happened.”
“I just told you. The same way we’re doing this today.” Villier licked his lips, his eyes flicking over Hugo’s shoulder as if checking they were still alone. “It took time, years, but he found her and brought her back. Told her I was in trouble. He took her up to the barn said I was there and wouldn’t come down.”