"Memories and possibilities are even more hideous than realities."

H. P. Lovercraft

...

The door slammed opened with a deafening sound, making Klein jump harshly on his large grey sofa, awaking from a deep sleep with no dream to remember.

A bunch of policemen entered the room drown in thick darkness, only scattered by a faint purple light coming from the small lamp on the wall, wearing their dark suits and pointing their guns everywhere, especially at Klein's chest, which had been enlightened with a bright red dot.

The silver-blonde man sat up and rubbed his eyes with the back of his pale hands, accompanying the gesture with a sleepy yawn. His blue eyes scrutinized everyone around him, and after, he leaned back mockingly, lifting his feet over a coffee table.

He didn't have any respect for policemen, nor the slightest drop of fear of their guns. He wasn't a brave person; bravery is for dumb. Jude Klein knew every weak point on those men, whose he had escaped several times before, so he held a big amount of confidence.

He remembered the time when he was a poor kid, and he loved to make tricks for people. Magic tricks. Those gave him money for food and for his dying mother. Some afternoon he will never forget, he heeded among the crowd an old lady wearing a golden ring, and he tried to use it for his magic trick. The boy intended to make it appear on someone else's hand at the public. Although, before he could finish, the lady called for a policeman standing not too far from the observant crowd. She claimed little Jude rubbed her, and the policeman tried to catch him. Obviously, he failed, mostly due to the intelligence of the younger Klein and his knowledge about self-defence and the slippery alleys of the lowest part of the town, which he memorized like the palm of his hand. Since that day, Jude abandoned his magic career and changed it for a more lucrative one. A thief.

"Put them down, he's not our man."

It said a low, rough voice approaching from the back, accompanied by the jolting of heavy boots. A bald head and a coffee bearded face, with big cold ocean eyes, entered the room, trespassing the crowd of guns and stepping in front of Jude, who was now leaning cross-legged on the sofa, with his arms folded over his chest, and a teasing smirk drawn on his face.

The man was young but mature. A deep blue uniform and a bulletproof vest over it were dressing his big, hefty figure. He must've been at least six feet tall, cause the other men looked a bit short next to him.

"Are you aware that if the killer would've been here you all would be dead man by now?"

Jude's tone was so irritatingly sarcastic and mean Jorah couldn't bear him, but he was resigned to it. He barely understood why the blonde demon had been assigned to cooperate with the police, as he never requested someone's help on the case.

It was true that Klein was useful, especially in such a complicated serial killer case, but it was better to be unemployed than working next to him. Jude Klein was arrogant, extremely annoying and sarcastic 28 hours a day, but what was really terrifying was his lack of human feelings. Jorah had never seen the man be sad or moved for something, or caring about anyone but himself.

His poor assistant was suffering all the time his childish attitude and his constant criticism. He wasn't sure why Jude had chosen to investigate murders, but certainly, it wasn't just because he wanted to help others. At least that was Detective Jorah Stone's impression, and it seemed to be as well for anyone else on the team, or the police station.

"Next time you should bring him to the station, so we don't screw up your plan"

Jorah barked at him, with a tone that was now as mockingly as Jude's.

"Where is the body?" He asked, scratching the back of his hairless head.

Klein lowered his eyes, staring for a second at the stained carpet before answering with a grievous tone.

"Behind that door." He said pointing his finger to the white door that led to his bedchamber. Jorah noticed the seriousness of the situation, as Klein's face became darker.

The policeman ordered his team to go through the door with a quick military gesture of his hand. They followed his command and entered the room carefully and almost without making echoes with their boots.

"It's cleared, sire"

One of them said addressing to Jorah with the most respectful look someone can give.

"Oh, what a surprise. You guys always bring so much drama. Of course, it's clear. Do you think I'd be here if it wasn't?"

Once again Jude and his drop of a terrible mood.

"You could be coerced. Is precaution. "

"I would make him kill me first"

"I'm sure he wouldn't need much of your effort"

"I'm sure he would escape after and would never be found. Just like he did that night three years ago, because of your "rules and precautions. Things like that happen when you are in charge, my dear Jorah."

The bald detective took a deep breath and looked back to his men, still standing behind him, expecting any order. He felt the urge of grabbing one of the assault rifles and shut Klein down. He breathed again instead and left a soft sigh to release his thin reddish lips.

"Well, we found him now... And you're alive because of my stupid rules and precautions."

"He found me... And seems he did a long time ago now, enough to plan all of this...If only you would've listened to me that night, and the rest of these three extensive years..."

Jorah's expression was pure astonishment. Suddenly, a glance of uneasiness took over Jude's face, as his cheeks reached a slight pink taint as if he was angry. However, Klein was never angry, or happy, or sad. He was usually a weird mixture between frustration and anxiety, excitement and curiosity. Jorah continued carefully, almost teasing him to explore this new expression he had never shown before.

"But I didn't. I listened to the evidence, to what my eyes saw there. I followed my training. I can't ignore the evidence and listen to someone who never even received a proper education..."

"Pardon?"

Jude sat up and raised his tone. He was clearly showing up some anger now.

"Yes, you listened to the evidence you wanted to see. You were wrong. So wrong and now...now he killed him. Perhaps this...uneducated child has a better touch for solving crimes than you do."

"Slow down Hercule Poirot. Why are you so upset? I didn't even know you could get upset. Who did he kill?"

"Look inside the room Jorah"

The detective walked across the room, pushing aside his men, and entering Jude's bedchamber. He had to cover his face in front of the death smell and the drowsiness in that room. It was disgustingly bitter and suffocating, penetrating formalin smell, so hard to endure the detective had to come out before he could appreciate the scene to the detail.

"Why does it smell so bad in there. Oh, Lord!!"

Jorah sat down in the sofa corner holding his head with his hands and nailing his elbows over his thighs, still gasping and panting for air, hoping to erase that scent of the face of the earth.

"Have you forgotten already how The Painter works smell like?"

Jude was still leaning on the sofa, staring at the ceiling and wishing to have a smoke. His voice was sarcastic as usual, and the glance of anger had erased by now.

"Seems I did, but perhaps it's more shocking since it's someone I met in there..."

Jude knew what he meant, but he closed his eyes and remained still and calmed. He knew Jorah loathed him for being...different.

For Jude, understanding people's feelings had constantly been hard. He couldn't get them, and when he did, he consistently found them unnecessary. A deep silence filled the room, while the team was standing outside Klein's bedchamber, only one of them observing marvelled at the murky living painting of Titian.

Everyone else seemed to be too affected to stare even.

"He was my friend Jorah, in case you forgot, and he's in there because of you."

The policeman stood up in an anger squall, but he forced himself to stand still as he knew, even though it was hard to admit, that Klein was right. Klein told him to keep hunting the painter, smoothly and silently, secretly; even so, Jorah didn't listen.

He thought it was just Klein's usual obsession with things; he was so eager for finishing that case, for giving it a closure; he ignored completely his intuition and all he knew about this man; how ruthless he was, how beastly and how brilliant The Painter had become through those years.

The detective walked outside the flat, stepping harshly with his awfully heavy boots over the carpet, as he turned, facing Klein once more.

"I'm not the only one who made mistakes here."

He walked furiously throughout the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Outside his men were casually chatting, but they shut up as soon they noticed Jorah's face. He told them to go back to their car and wait for further instructions. Then he pulled out the phone from his pocket, dialling the forensics' number. While ringing, Jorah took out a yellow filtered cigarette and lit it up. He felt the smoke filling up his lungs, and escaping warmly throughout his nose and mouth. A charming female voice answered politely on the other line, agreeing to be right there, as soon as she heard the name of the beast spoken.

Jorah walked away from the white door, advancing through the halls and taking the elevator. He felt the need to stop it for a while. He didn't know what to do.

He wished his life could be stopped like that machine, so he could have time to think, to re-evaluate the facts and find a solution. He had thought years ago his biggest problem was solved, and now it was all happening again and seemed to be worsened this time. Jorah needed a mental break to prepare for the worse. He didn't have a plan for this.

He was terrified.

...

A/N: The picture above is an inspiration for the front door of Klein's apartment.Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Don't you want to know what will happen next??? Give me a vote if you liked this chapter. Thanks for reading:))

Phoenix.