After their friend had left them at the cave, Jack and Will had walked back to the hotel, discussing Paul’s strange behavior.

“I’ve never seen him like that...”

“It’s as if the mask scared him,” mused Will.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“How would you know?”

“And how would you?”

Will groaned.

“Either way,” continued Jack, “he’s troubled, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe he just needs time... though to be honest, I’d much rather he didn’t try to get the mask.”

Jack sighed. “There you go being negative again.”

“Not negative. Realistic. There’s really no point in doing this...”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” pointed out Jack.

“Yes. We have. And you’ve never once given me a clear and sensible reason for wanting to take the mask.”

“It’s a mask for crying out loud! By definition, it’s supposed to come off!”

Will preferred not to respond to that. There was no point when his friend got into that type of mind frame.

They were quiet for the rest of the way.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” grumbled Jack as he entered his room.

He locked it behind him and let himself fall on the bed.

He was so tired.

And thirsty.

With a grimace, he forced himself back up and went to grab a bottle of water from the cooler.

He paused as he walked past the desk.

There was an envelope sitting there, with his name written on it.

He opened it, though he could easily guess what it would contain.

And he was correct... it was yet another threatening letter. This was, what, the fifth since he had been assigned to Qojja in general, and the mask in particular? Though, to be fair, he had only started receiving those after he’d become a head supervisor for the team that studied the Face of Xian.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“It is blasphemy but to set your gaze on that which cannot be contemplated.

“It is blasphemy but to pretend to comprehend that which cannot be comprehended.

“It is blasphemy but to attempt to take that which cannot be taken.

“For that which cannot be taken cannot be given, or held, or worn, by any whose true self has not embraced the light that cannot be shone.

“And that, too, is blasphemy.

“Beware, for the time will come when all blasphemies shall be punished.

“Soon.”

The letters were never signed, but always contained that same touch of madness and fanaticism that made his skin crawl.

He crumpled the note and threw it into the incinerator.

What did they want from him?

He was a historian. It was his job to study the mask.

Did they really expect him to just go away?

And then what? Nobody else would come to replace him?

These people were totally disconnected from reality.

What was more troubling, though, was that each of those letters had always been placed inside his room. Hotel security could not explain it—though the explanation seemed fairly obvious to him: an employee had placed the envelopes in his room and then deleted all surveillance footage of their doing so. It wasn’t so complicated. But the staff refused to even consider such a possibility.

He sighed as he grabbed the bottle and headed back to bed.

***

His name was Herman Hobbs.

He was a chunky, shifty-eyed guy who, though officially a money lender, was known as a fence for stolen items. But the police did not trouble him much as he often helped them as an informant as well.

Ward had dealt with him several times in the past, and though he did not particularly like the fellow, he would never have pegged him as a killer—much less a professional one.

And yet, it was his name that had come up after Susan’s description and the sketch produced were run through the system.

The man was picked up and brought to the station. He never tried to resist, though he denied any involvement in the case.

“Then how come our witness’ description is such a perfect match?” Brown slid the sketch in front of him. “That looks like you, doesn’t it?”

Hobbs shifted in his chair. “I don’t know. She must have been confused. Or maybe I have a twin.”

Ward snorted. “Yeah, right. You better spill the beans, Herman. It’s murder we’re talking about here. You could be going away for a long time...”

“Hey, I’ve always been on your side, guys. I swear I had nothing to do with this!”

Brown placed a picture of Susan before him. “So you’ve never met this woman?”

“How would I know?” he asked. “I meet a lot of people every day. Often in dark places... it’s hard to tell what people look like sometimes.”

“She said you gave her a truth serum.”

He grimaced. “I wouldn’t even know where to get something like that.”

“So your defense is that she lied?”

“Maybe she’s confused, is all I’m saying.”

“Yeah, yeah, you have a twin who gives out truth serums for free. I get it.”

“Look, I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but I ain’t done nothing... I don’t know no murderers! But I can give you a drug dealer. I’ve heard of—”

“Stop wasting our time!” interrupted Brown. “We have enough evidence as it is to lock you up. The only question is for how long. And that will depend on your level of cooperation.”

Hobbs opened his mouth as if he was going to protest again, but then reconsidered.

His attitude changed, then.

He sat back and straightened his posture. A peacefulness came over him. He was no longer antsy or looking away.

His eyes met Brown’s and there was a serene coldness in them.

“I think I’d like a lawyer now.”