Man Was Not Meant to Know
Verdoux decided to remain in the study. As the others left, he found himself lost in thought. Even for a discerning man such as himself the situation was utterly bizarre. Was there, he wondered, a veiled connection between all of the parties involved, or was it sheer coincidence? Why did the house choose them, if indeed the house was sentient at all.
He paced to and fro, examining his environs to the most minute of details. The positioning of the chair at the secretoire, the number and titles of the books on the shelves, the choice of decor, including the paintings and prints which lined the walls. The way in which the rug puckered at one edge, not quite smoothed. The various accounts and ledgers kept in the secretoire, the letters, the notes, the bills. But none of this, he thought, was helpful. Something was indeed far more sinister, though he doubted it had anything to do with the choice of furnishings.
Though he'd started to go with Fox, partly out of habit and partly out of concern for her safety and partly out of a herd instinct, but he'd hung back after a moment and was now right outside the study. It bothered him, since he felt that he should be out keeping an eye on everyone, especially if Verdoux was going to stay in the study where he wouldn't be able to fight.
The door was open, and he stood in the frame for a moment before knocking. "Excuse me, Father?" he said when he noticed Verdoux happened to be focused on other things. It was imperative that he tell the priest what he knew as soon as he could, a little impatience was only natural, if not necessary.
The priest jumped, startled. He blinked a few times, then composed himself, removing his hand from the pocket in which he had placed it. He pulled at his hair a bit, then spoke in a voice of calm quite different from his mannerism. "Yes, Mr. Alderdice, may I assist you? I pray you will forgive me. I often find myself in thought at moments like these." He smiled serenely, though he was not at all oblivious to the situation at hand. Indeed, he could not keep his mind from it.
"Not at all, Father," replied Izzy, shaking his head. He entered the room and glanced around. There was an odd presence in this whole house on top of everything else. It lingered in the air like an invisible fog, but he couldn't place his finger on what it was or where it originated from. Considering the scream, he was inclined to think it malevolent. He was quiet for a moment, and then a thought popped into his head and he closed the door and spoke in a low voice. "Father, I have a very serious matter to discuss with you about some of our fellow...prisoners? Is that the right word?"
"Well, as it seems we are trapped, it might be an apt phrase, yes. However, our crimes have yet to be revealed." Fr Verdoux settled into a seat which he had uncovered previously. He folded his hands together and set them on his lap, eerily still. He eyed the young man keenly. There was something about him which was quite different from when they had met before. He seemed to be easily aggrivated, and even aggressive. It was the way of youth, he mused. He had remembered the recklessness of some of his school friends, and perhaps it was only exacerbated by the boy's peculiar circumstances.
"However," he said after a pause, "If you have something to say, I should probably hear it."
"Crimes, Father?" Izzy felt a bit awkward standing in the middle of the room, but had no place to go. He folded his arms across his chest. "No sense in delayin' it, I suppose," he said, "We've got other problems 'sides a haunted house. We likely can't do much with the tools we have here - unless the previous owner's left their kitchen knives and Bibles here. But I meant to tell you right when I saw you, Father," he paused and cleared his throat quietly, "Three of our compatriots - " And, with perfect comedic timing, there was a blood-curdling scream from one of the upstairs rooms. Izzy jumped and ran out the door, partly wondering if he was going to have gruesome evidence for his claims.
"Good heavens!" cried the priest with a start. He jumped from his chair, clutching the handle of his satchel. Luckily there was just enough light left in the day for things to be sufficiently illuminated. He stilled himself again and opened the door.
"I suspect we had best investigate this, Mr. Alderdice," Fr Antoine remarked, his voice tired. He wondered indeed if the scream were of a natural or unnatural nature. He actually found he preferred it to be the latter.
In contrast to Verdoux passiveness to the whole situation, Izzy was entirely too jumpy for someone in such a small space. "Yes I think we'd better!" he exclaimed as he ran up the stairs, following where he thought the scream had come from.
As he stalked the halls, he began to smell something unmistakably like blood. As he reached one of the middle rooms, it grew to the point where he could almost taste it, a smell like new coins permeating everything. As he went inside, the smell grew weaker, which confused him, but he assumed that it may have been psychosomatic. The room looked like it had been used for storage, the perfect place to hide a body.
There did seem to be a foul odor in the air, though it was not very strong. Unlike Mr. Alderdice, however, Verdoux smelled that most hellish of smells, sulfur. He took another whiff, trying to see if he had been mistaken, but indeed he had not. It was vague, almost unnoticable, but it remained nonetheless. As the two entered the room, it was positively frigid. Out of reflex, the priest pulled the coat of his cossack closer to himself. He reached into his inevitable satchel, feeling for the small case which contained the holy water.
"This room is not very agreeable, is it, Mr. Alderdice?" he murmured, leaning over to set down the satchel that he might open the little case and retrieve one of the vials within. He slipped it into his pocket, the sound of it clicking against the rosary beads stark in the eerie silence. He returned the case to the bag and grabbed it back up.
"No, it certainly isn't," said Izzy, covering his nose and mouth with his hand. The smell was beginning to make him dizzy, and his attention was a bit more diverted towards the priest than towards finding the body. He noticed Verdoux had a vial of holy water and smiled. "But you certainly seem prepared for it, if you don't mind me saying, Father."
"The smell is unmistakable," Verdoux replied, his brow creasing in thought. Whatever it was, it was near. "Sulfur. It is the smell of demons, of the unholy, of the Evil One. It is not as strong as I have seen in the past. Indeed, that is the most peculiar thing about it. It's a very subtle smell." As he spoke, he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He turned quickly. Nothing. And yet plenty of places for things to hide.
"Sulfur?" Izzy quirked an eyebrow, unsure as to what the priest was talking about, "Are you certain, Father? I can't say I've ever smelt sulfur in my life, but I know the smell of mea - blood better than anything." He thought for a moment and then asked, "Doesn't sulfur smell like rotting eggs? I've heard." He turned away. No, it was all in his mind. There was no one here he could have, no one bleeding. Aside from the corpse...which was not behind this chair, he discovered as he pulled it away.
"You're smelling blood, then?" the priest questioned, concerned. "I assure you that this is not at all like. It is, as you say, something like rotting eggs. Sulfur, that is. And just now--just now I thought I saw something. Did you happen to see a figure, a shadow, moving?" he asked. He found it strange that they should share the same experience and yet have to compare notes thus, as though they were writing two separate novels. He understood the individual's tendency to concentrate on certain aspects of experience, but to smell two entirely different smells? Impossible! He threw open the doors of a wardrobe and found nothing more malicious than an old coat and some rather embarrassing undergarments. He blushed in spite of himself, shutting it again.
"No, I've not seen anyone 'ere but you, Father. I'm starting to think," he moved a bookcase out of the way to find empty floorspace and no body. "Someone could have hidden back here," he murmured, though he didn't think so. Yes, Verdoux was the only one up here, and really who would miss him? Besides, Izzy hadn't had anything to eat since sometime that afternoon, and really, why not take advantage of something the vampires wouldn't touch? Faith didn't exactly deter him.
He stopped dead then, and his voice was shaky when he spoke. "Father, please leave. Shut the door if you would, please. There is nothing here worth looking at, I think, just like in the study. I know."
"Are you ill?" he asked, looking intently at the young man. "But I do think you are right. It would be ill advised of us to remain here." He stopped in his tracks, then turned back toward Alderdice, his gaze once again piercing. "It sometimes happens that some of us are more vulnerable to certain...things than others. It will not touch you unless you let it. Remember that." With this, Verdoux turned toward the door and exited, closing it behind him as advised.