It was getting dark.
After walking along the side of the road all day, I arrived at Saint Money. I walked with my head down and avoided the busiest streets so no one would recognize me, though the people who passed by were too preoccupied with their own lives to even glance at my way. I had rationed the supplies the officers had given me, but a bottle of water and a sandwich weren't enough to last me for a full day in the sun. I was hungry, thirsty, and my feet burned from all the walking.
Meanwhile, I reflected on my role as a hero, wondering if it had been worth it despite all the corruption in the upper ranks. They protected certain criminals and their operations, which meant they could kill, kidnap, rob, and so on, without us intervening. How many people had died because of this corruption? How many crimes went unpunished?
I couldn't stop thinking about those kidnapped teens I'd found in that safe house when I'd just been promoted to Hero. If I'd obeyed Tantrum's orders to leave, they all would have died. How many people had I let die by obeying Tantrum during my ten years as a Hero? How many crimes had I allowed to happen for fear of being fired and persecuted? Even though in the end, I was fired and persecuted anyway.
How ironic.
Perhaps I deserved everything that had happened to me in prison.
It was getting darker by the moment, and I was heading toward the Oligarchs subdivision, where I fought and lost against Dark. I still had doubts about whether I should obey Lancel; I was almost certain that everything he had promised me was a lie, but I still held out hope that if I found Dark, no one would persecute me anymore.
Once, I passed by a shop whose windows reflected everything. I stopped in front of one of them to look at myself. My hair was too long for my liking, and now a patchy, dark beard covered part of my face. I also noticed that my shirt was dirty with road dust and stained with sweat. I put my nose to one of my armpits, and naturally, it stank.
I definitely didn't look like the Hero I used to be anymore.
I continued on my way, and every now and then I saw posters with a person's photograph accompanied by the words "MISSING" or "HELP THEM FIND ME." Seeing them, I couldn't help but think of abandoned shoes. When we raided a gang's safe house, we usually found more pairs of abandoned shoes than kidnapped people or even corpses. We searched the place thoroughly, and although we often found clandestine graves with the remains of more people, there were still plenty of shoes left without an owner.
When I interrogated the gang members we arrested there, I used to ask them about the missing people. Almost all of them mocked me, saying they didn't remember everyone they had killed, much less what shoes they were wearing. A few did confess, though, that they buried the others in various locations or dissolved their bodies in acid so they would never be found. I also asked them why they kept all those shoes and why they didn't destroy or bury them. Most of them replied that they collected them, like hunters collect taxidermized heads, and a few responded that they weren't going to waste time and resources getting rid of shoes whose owners would never be found.
Maybe some of those hundreds of pairs of shoes belonged to the people on those posters.
But we will never know.
I walked past the city library and stopped. If I went in, I risked being recognized, but I was curious to know what the media had actually said about me. Besides, I might find a clue there about Dark's whereabouts. In the end, I decided to go in and immediately headed to the newspaper archive.
"Sir, you can't take the newspapers," one of the library staff told me. "Besides, you're bothering everyone here."
"I'm just going to check a couple of these and then I'm leaving," I said, looking down. "I'm not taking any of them. I promise."
He didn't insist any further and left me alone. I searched frantically and quickly found a copy of the newspaper VOX POPULI where I appeared on the front page.
"Herobert the Traitor Arrested," the headline read. I skimmed it, though practically the entire article was about Governor Diddlecrook's commitment to justice. There were also reports of robberies, murders, strikes, and gossip about Heartrice.
I kept searching until I found the newspaper from the day of the incident with Dark.
"Black Tuesday," the headline read. I read the article:
"In the early hours of Tuesday, September 27, an operation was carried out in the Oligarchs subdivisions where, thanks to intelligence work by the local police, it was located the safe house where Dark, along with the former hero Herobert VIII, was holding Olivia Dipshet, daughter of former Governor Major Dipshet, and Katya Kvolshenko, daughter of prominent businessman Kasper Kvolshenko, captive. However, upon arriving at the location, they discovered that Dark and Herobert had already murdered Olivia and many other civilians living in the neighborhood. Their victims included prominent local businesspeople, philanthropists, and even former Governor Major Dipshet. During the altercation, Herobert allowed Dark to escape with Katya, whose whereabouts remain unknown. He also attempted to escape but was apprehended by the armed forces."
Below the article was a security camera image showing Dark shooting Olivia, who was apparently trying to escape. Even though the image was blurry, I recognized the location of the incident, and it was very close to where we'd found all those destroyed SUV's and bodies, though I didn't recall seeing Olivia's body. I was almost certain that when we arrived, her body was gone because if I had seen it, I would have remembered, especially since the image showed her in the middle of the street.
Perhaps Dark or the government had hidden the body, although why would they do that?
I kept reading the article:
"It is believed that this terrorist act was retaliation by Dark and Herobert against the aforementioned businessmen, since they all have always refused to collaborate in any illegal activity."
Of all the lies in that article, that was the biggest of them all.
Next to the image of Dark shooting Olivia was a photo of a young, blonde woman.
"Any information regarding the whereabouts of Katya Kvolshenko will be rewarded."
I looked at this woman for a few seconds, her hair, her complexion, and I realized that she was the girl Dark had taken out of that SUV before leaving.
I remembered all the blood in her hair, her pale fingers. She was dead, and apparently the government didn't know. But how was that possible when there were security cameras all over the place?
Apparently, the only way to find out was to go there.
I put the newspapers back and headed toward one of the computers. There were several available, and on the nearest one, I typed Katya Kvolshenko into the search bar. News websites and her social media profiles appeared. I tried to access the latter ones, but all the profiles were private.
"They staff told us you were bothering everyone," someone said behind me. I turned to face him and found myself face to face with two officers. I kept my head down.
"I'm leaving," I told them and headed for the exit, but one of them grabbed my arm tightly and pushed me outside.
Once outside, I tried to leave, but the officer wouldn't let me go.
"How much you have?" he asked me.
"No, no, no," I replied. "I didn't take anything. I'm leaving now."
"Well, we wanna help you," said the other officer, "but the library staff reported some fucking homeless who was bothering people. So it's up to you. Either you give us all the money you have or we throw you in jail. Help us help you."
When I didn't give them an answer, they pushed me towards a police car that was parked next to the sidewalk.
"Get in," one of them told me, but I created a pair of bubble-shaped shields that covered their heads. They pounded and clawed at it with growing desperation as they ran out of air. Soon they lost consciousness and fell to the ground, and I dispelled those shields.
But right then I felt such intense hunger that I doubled over in pain. It was as if my stomach was trying to eat itself. I remained in that position for a few seconds, groaning silently, while the pain gradually subsided, until I was able to straighten up.
Considering I'd only eaten that one sandwich all day, it was no surprise I was so hungry. And the fact that magic consumes energy certainly didn't help. I needed to be much more careful when casting any spell.
"Have you already gone to the library?" a voice came from their radios. "Did you get money from that bum, or should we get a cell ready for him?"
I left the officers there on the ground and continued on my way.