Chapter 28: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 8

His heart raced even more. He didn't believe Rose was really dead, it was just that... How the hell had he guessed? Adams was still convinced the corpse was real, but he hadn't expected him to even suspect the plan. You look very relaxed, you must have planned to deceive me with a fake corpse. He hadn't said it exactly like that, but come on. What an absurd leap of logic!

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" Adams mocked.

"Okay. You're right, we planned to humiliate you that way."

"We planned. I just told you, she's dead. It's not a fake corpse, how many times do I have to tell you?"

Sam frowned, thoughtful. Was it possible he was right? It was certainly strange that Rose hadn't appeared yet, revealing the farce for what it was. There had been no reason to prolong that moment from the beginning. But then who had killed her?

Because, for once, he hadn't been the culprit.

I should be the only murderer in the building, fucking hell, he thought.

If another killer was on the loose, a killer who had gotten rid of Rose for unknown reasons, that significantly complicated things for him. A crazy, dangerous person had exposed the corpse in such a way to ensure everyone would see it right away.

Her position on the table, the cut on her neck, the contrast between her blood and all the white on the table that was being stained red.

Everything was prepared to maximize the impact with a cold-bloodedness that would be admirable if the son of a bitch in question hadn't ruined his plans.

"You have to be out of your mind to plan to fake your own death, for God's sake," one of the adults muttered.

It was heard clearly anyway since no one seemed to have the guts to confront Adams, so they were quiet as schoolchildren and barely moving from their spots. Waiting, observing.

"I know I said before that I had ruled you out as a suspect, but that wasn't entirely true. Any good detective doesn't discard a possibility so easily. But now I'm pretty sure. You're not pretending, you're not acting your surprise, your pain. You're not that good at it. Well, what can you do? At least now you have a motivation to help me find the real killer instead of getting in my way with tasteless pranks."

For a moment Sam seriously considered accusing Adams of having killed her.

Insisting, making it sound convincing, even though he knew it was pure nonsense and at most would only make him sweat a little. Tempting, but he dismissed the idea immediately. There were better ways to waste time.

"Don't you care at all that she's dead?" Violet asked, almost shouting. "That you failed to protect her?"

Adams shrugged.

"Of course it's a shame that someone so young had to die like this, but I'm here to do my job. And she's not my family."

Violet immediately turned her back and ran away.

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"What do you think, Samuel?" Adams asked. "Am I some kind of monster or something?"

"What I think is that you should have left this job a long time ago."

A diplomatic response and also true. Obviously it hadn't done him any good. Adams himself was a worn-out corpse. Did he work to live or live to work? He didn't think he knew how to answer him, so he wouldn't bother asking the question. Besides, he didn't give a damn.

"True, true, but I'm a useless guy. I have no other way to earn my bread, you know? It is what it is."

Sam looked at Rose one last time, swallowing hard. Then he looked around, wondering which of the gathered adults was the killer. They hadn't even had breakfast and had gone through a roller coaster of emotions, first the horror of seeing the corpse, another corpse, then, he imagined, a brief margin of hope as they debated between Adams' explanation and his own.

He tried to see which face hadn't changed, who had known from the beginning, and it was useless. He hadn't been paying attention to the adults. He had been rubbing his hands, thinking that another plan had gone perfectly, with a certain pride as if Rose hadn't done it all.

And now...

Sam shook his head and left without saying anything to anyone. The crowd parted to let him pass at first. Most remained as if frozen by another tragedy, he had to avoid them or push them out of the way. Any of them could be the killer. How the hell could he find him? He needed time to think, to elaborate another plan. It would be difficult because he didn't even have a starting point. Once again the lack of information biting him in the ass.

Violet, Christina and Anabelle might know more, who could have wanted to do this to Rose. No, the killer didn't have to have a special motive or connection to her.

Like him.

He killed for the sake of killing, in an order decided by the opportunities that presented themselves or simple whim. That was a serious problem. He couldn't even imagine the motive for the murder, so how did he expect to find him, let alone get rid of him? Damn, damn, he thought. There's no room in this mansion for two killers, fucker. I'll rip your guts out.

He wasn't going to let anyone intrude on his territory.

Footsteps behind him, close. He turned around quickly and almost collided with Christina. Ah, yes. He had forgotten about her. He had to pay attention to her feelings, even if it was somewhat boring. Ignoring her at a time like this would create a rift in their relationship. The other Sam had done most of the work, so it would be a shame to ruin it now when he had just started to reap its fruits.

"I'm sorry I gave you false hope." From the surprise, his voice trembled as if he really regretted it. As if he were repressing his inner pain, he realized. Everything had its advantages. He would take advantage of what he could to give authenticity to his charade and compensate for his poor acting skills.

"Maybe Adams..." She gave up soon, sighing deeply. "I never liked Rose. She never made it easy for me, but that doesn't mean I wanted to see her like this. Slaughtered like a..."

She fell silent and stumbled forward, seeking refuge in his arms. Of course, she was his little sister, she had no qualms about being vulnerable in front of her big brother. Rather, she was used to it. The pride of the older sister was another story.

"When will this nightmare end?"

Well, there's still quite a bit to go, little sister, he thought as he hugged her. We are a large family.

"I'll do what I can. No, we'll do what we can."

He could recruit the help of both sisters. After all, it wasn't like they were looking for him. You could say he had greater freedom of movement. It didn't make up for the great unknown of another killer roaming the same hallways, the unknown of whether he could be the next target, but it was true.

The hunter becomes the hunted.

Ha, he wasn't going to let that happen. He wasn't fighting for something as insignificant as the inheritance of a human who had probably just inherited it in turn from his old bastard of a father.

He was here to sit on the throne of hell, to obtain powers beyond human comprehension.

Therefore, he couldn't allow the mysterious killer to be more than a small stone in the path.

His ascent had only just begun. No plan, but he still had many cards to play. Sooner or later he would tear him from the shadows and let him wither under the light.

Besides, maybe it was just what he needed.

It could serve as the perfect scapegoat. Adams had stopped suspecting him. For the moment, at least, but if he handed him a culprit on a silver platter it would end forever. Case closed.

The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 8: END