Helen was hungry. How long had the portrait process taken? An hour and a half, at least, probably much longer. Michael would probably want to take a bite when she came out.

Waiting alone made her sick. What could take so long? She got up, opened the door. A policeman, bent over his desk, turned to her. "You're missing something?

—  I wondered how much longer it would take.

—  I don't know how much longer. I'll go and find out, if you like.

—  What's left to do? I think we're done...

—  A little more patience, please. They want to show you the portrait at your leisure. You know, it's the best lead we have.

—  But it's long. I'm getting hungry.

—  Of course you are. It's already twenty-one o'clock.

—  Already?"

Had Michael been waiting for her all this time?

"If you want, I can go and get you a sandwich. The ham and butter from the vending machine is almost edible.

—  That's okay. Thank you."

She sat down again. In five hours, Guinevere would have spent an entire day in captivity. And if her miserable testimony was really the best lead the police could come up with, she didn't stand a chance.

Kafka entered without knocking.

"Thank you for your patience, Helen. We will soon be finished. Would you please take another look at the sketches and tell me if they correspond to your memories?"

And she put the drawings of these two guys with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes under his nose. The resemblance was striking, but she didn't know if anyone would recognize them anyway. They didn't look like boys who could recite Milton and Baudelaire to you. With the sparkle in their eyes extinguished, they became unremarkable and ugly. Guinevere would never have gone with these guys.

"It's perfect.

—  In that case, I won't keep you any longer. Thank you for everything. And if you remember anything else, call me without hesitation, whatever time it is."

Helen nodded.

Michael was no longer in the waiting room. She couldn't blame him. He didn't answer to his phone.

"Good evening, Michael. It's Helen. I'm out of the police station. Call me back."

She walked. Guinevere's apartment was only five minutes away, across the river. She had the reflex to go that way before she changed her mind.

If she hadn't foolishly pushed her to go with the Penitents, they would be in full preparation for the Vade Retro. Tonight there would be full attendance.

Would the Penitent's rabble-rousers be there too? Not the same ones, no doubt. No one would be so crazy.

She walked that way. A drink would do her good. In the distance, she saw the towers of the princely palace and the bell towers of the cathedral. As she walked along, she invented all sorts of scenarios. She recognized the Penitents, called the police, saved Guinevere and apologized. Would Guinevere forgive her? No. It was unforgivable, even in her fantasies.

The Penitents would send their rabble-rousers, it was forced. There are only ten liters of blood in a body. To feed only in this way, one had to hunt without stopping.

It went past the cathedral. In front of the stairs that ran down the cliff towards Saint-Christopher Street, she hesitated and called Michael back. He still did not answer.

"It's me again. I'm going to the Vade Retro. I think the Penitents will go back there tonight. Come and join me, if you can."

If she was in front of a skinny boy, how would she react? How would she know if he was a Penitent? And if it was a Penitent, what would she do? Drag him to the toilet and hit his head on the seat to force him to talk? She had never slapped anyone before; how could she stand up to killers? Michael would know. He was big and strong. Skinny guys like the ones who had taken Guinevere, he could have taken three at a time.

She thought about calling him back, but if he didn't answer, there was certainly a good reason. He must have been sleeping at home. His hunting the night before had left him in a bad state. She imagined his frustration; having such power, witnessing all those horrible scenes, and not being able to find an address!

The narrow alley that led to the St. Christopher Street stretched out in front of her. It was then that she realized that since she had decided to return to the Vade Retro, the terror had only grown inside her. She had felt its weight on her heart without paying any attention to it, because she thought she was only worried about Guinevere. Now that the solution was obvious, as clear and luminous as the sign of the Vade Retro, her fear became so palpable that she could have hugged her.

She had to call Michael again. Whether he answered or not.

"It's me. I hope you'll take your messages."