Nathan stood petrified in the middle of the alabaster room.

“H-Hello?” the shaky voice repeated.

Nathan’s mind spun. Should he impersonate someone else? Should he tell Roy he was speaking to a classmate?

“Is anyone there?”

The call quality was poor enough to mask his identity, he decided.

“Yes. I’m listening.”

“Who are. . . you?” Roy continued asking, his speech interrupted by frequent sniffles.

“Not important. What I need from you is to tell me exactly what happened. Please, calm down, Roy, and tell me what happened,” Nathan said, resisting the urge to ask any more questions.

“I—I was sleeping in my room and when I woke up, I went to get a glass of wa-water.” There was a long pause. Nathan imagined a range of possible scenarios.

“When I went around my father’s study, I—I heard a bang. Something fell. I was scared at first, but then. . . then I decided to look at what my dad. . . what my dad was doing in there so late at night.”

There was another pause. Nathan stood motionless, his mind racing.

“When I opened the door a little, I hoped my father wouldn’t notice. . . I—I. . .” Roy broke down into incoherent sobs.

“Calm down. I can’t understand what you’re saying,” Nathan said. It took all of his self-control to avoid screaming at Roy to man up. “Take a deep breath and repeat what you just said.”

“He’s dead. He’s dead,” Roy choked. “I peered inside, and I saw my father on the ground. . . he was. . . he-he was lying in a pool of blood and he wasn’t moving. . .” he trailed off.

Nathan felt a surge of sympathy for Roy, but he could think of nothing to say. How would Roy take consolation from a stranger on the phone? The silence lingered.

“When I saw the body, I almost collapsed,” Roy said at last, slightly more composed. “I wanted to run to him, but when I opened the door. . . I saw him. The assassin. He-he was standing in front of my father’s desk.”

Roy had encountered an assassin and walked away from the situation alive? Nathan was baffled. Could this toothpick actually have killed an assassin? But how had the assassin not noticed someone approaching him? Roy hadn’t said anything about a gun. . .

“He was just standing there,” Roy continued, “looking down at something in his hand. It-it looked like a picture. A picture of some woman. She—oh my god! She was being tortured! It fell out of a book. That must’ve been what I heard. That bang. That must have been it. Oh my god.”

What woman? What book? Was she being tortured in the picture, or in the next room? Nathan shook his head, trying to clear it.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“He was holding the picture when I came in, and he was staring at it. . . he was shocked. . . shaking, I think. I just didn’t know what to do. But when I looked at my dad, I was—I was angry. . .”

So he felt angry. Understandable. But had that given him enough of an edge to kill an assassin? Nathan’s frustration rose, but he restrained it.

“I was so angry, I wanted to kill that man. Oh god, what have I done!”

Nathan couldn’t hold it in any longer. “How did you manage to kill a highly trained assassin?”

“In my father’s study. . . there’s this coffee table. It’s to the left of the entrance. . . ” Roy began hyperventilating.

“It’s all right,” Nathan said, letting go of his frustration to try to calm Roy down. “It’s all right. Please, just breathe. I know it’s hard for you, but I can’t help if you don’t tell me what happened. What does the coffee table have to do with it?”

“I’m sorry. I-I’m just—it’s. . . argh!” Roy took a moment to choke down his emotions. “On the table, there was. . . there was this letter opener. It caught my eye somehow. I was angry and I wasn’t thinking straight. I walked up to it, behind the assassin’s back. I thought he heard me opening the door, but he didn’t. He just stood there. All I could think of was revenge. I—I grabbed the letter opener and I . . .”

The rest was lost, but Nathan had enough information to put the pieces together. The assassin had been distracted by some picture of a tortured woman. Roy had said he was shaking. Was the woman someone he knew? She must have been. He’d been disturbed enough that he failed to see the tiny kid entering the study. Or maybe he had noticed. Roy certainly didn’t look like a threat. Either way, Roy must have used the letter opener to stab the assassin. But was Roy really lucky enough to make a fatal stab that way?

“Roy, calm down. Calm down and talk to me!” Nathan shouted. If the assassin were still alive but only unconscious. . .

“I’m sorry. It’s just. . . I grabbed the letter opener. . . and I went toward the assassin. He didn’t notice me at all, at first. I was barely a meter away when. . . when I stabbed in his direction. I went for his head. I really wanted to kill him. I was just about to hit him when he-he turned my way. I saw his face.”

Nathan waited, analyzing. Roy had gone for the head. Stupid, especially with a letter opener, but understandable if he’d been in shock. A horrifying thought dawned on him.

“You—you said you saw his face, right? What did he look like?” There was only one assassin that he knew. “Answer me, goddammit!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know. The only thing I saw were his bloodshot eyes and—and he was crying. He was crying and that’s all I noticed. I don’t know—I really don’t know,” Roy sobbed.

Nathan realized his blunder. His dad had taught him to be calm, level-headed no matter the situation. “I’m sorry for yelling. Let’s just say that things may have gotten a little personal,” Nathan said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I—can find out how the man looks. I just need-”

“No! Don’t! I’m still not completely sure if he’s dead, and if you wake him up somehow, you’ll be dead. We don’t want that, right? Right now, what’s important is that you get out of there. You’re calling from a landline, right?”

“Y-yes. Yes, I am. How did. . . never mind.”

Nathan began forming a plan. He didn’t need the confirmation right now. He could get that later. What he needed was to ensure that Roy stayed alive. Roy was going to be his golden ticket.

“Ok. This is what you’ll do.”

***

Brianne was working the night shift in a small coffee shop. It was deserted at this hour. With little to do, she sat at a table and dozed. A decent cup of coffee would probably have been enough to keep her awake, but there wasn’t a decent cup to be had in this shop. So she sat there, nodding off, trusting the quiet occupants of the neighborhood to behave themselves as she got through the night.

She nearly fell out of her chair when a sudden noise jerked her awake. She shook her head to clear away the fog, regaining her balance in the meanwhile. Her back straightened as she recognized the sound.

“Dr. Phil’s Coffee Shop,” she said, answering the landline phone professionally. “We are happy to serve you. How may I help you?”

“Abyssus abyssum invocat.”

Brianne blanched. “It’s been a while. I will be redirecting you now. Welcome to Occidendum!”