Mater Dolorosa

Tonight, I run through Paris…

The Commune has only just ended…

The world is in fire and blood, but that does not matter. A contract is a contract!

Crying is pointless, bad speeches, it will all fade away…

S.A.S. told me: “I'm counting on you. You're the only one who can do it.”

So I am going to do it, because someone has to. Sometimes a man must go all the way, but I am no longer a man. I am more than that…

I run through Paris…

It is raining…

The wet streets throw the sound of my boots back at me…

I pass the demi-mondaine and hesitate for a moment… No!

The rain falls, and I remember this conversation:

“You know, my friend, the vampire is an animal. Whatever we do, the Beast always lies in wait, ready to rise again at the slightest lapse.”

I remember what he replied:

“Do you know what separates the vampire from the animal, my good man?”

“No…”

“The Mediterranean…”

I burst out laughing. Good answer. He really is very sharp, a genius of conspiracy and repartee, a true character from a novel…

That is where my thoughts have taken me, and I am still running through Paris…

I am nearly there…

The rain grows heavier. The weather matches my mood…

I reach the door, but go through the garden. I jump the wall and slip among the shadows. No one can see me. It is my trade…

I enter the house…

Everything is silent…

I move through the place, a ghost in rooms emptied of all life…

And I find her…

At last, there she is, sitting before the fireplace and looking at an old watch. She strokes its face and seems sad… She is always sad, lost in thought, her eternal little notebook beside her…

I reappear in front of her. She starts in surprise…

I look at her gently and she calms down. I approach the chair where she is sitting and offer her a hand to help her rise…

She looks at me and asks:

“Who are you?”

I introduce myself. She seems surprised…

“That is a Russian name, isn't it?” she asks.

“Indeed. I come from Moscow, Madame…”

As I drive my scalpel into the woman's pubis and draw it up along her abdominal wall to her diaphragm, disembowelling her cleanly and neatly, I answer calmly:

“But all my friends call me Bogdan…”

Bogdan