The mood in the salon was as frigid as the snow and ice outside. Nobody seemed inclined to speak and were all lost in their own thoughts. Mitch sat near the windows smoking a pipe, and Methaeus sat in a chair, deep in prayer. They had re-lit the fire that had gone out overnight, but the heat offred little in the way of comfort for those trapped in a cage of ice.
Matin sat on the sofa, sniffling and occasionally muttering something under his breath. A cup of hot tea left untouched in front of him was quickly becoming cool. Dean, who was pacing nearby, paused for a moment and turned towards his grieving friend.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" he asked.
"What is it?" Matin replied, his voice hollow.
His tone made it clear that he didn't want to speak at all, but Dean pushed on.
"What happened last night? Why was the front door left open?" Dean asked quietly, He didn't want the children, who were huddled at the other end of the room, to hear.
Matin didn't respond for a good long while. Dean was sure he was going to outright ignore the question. However, eventually he started speaking in a whisper.
"I couldn't sleep last night. I was just so angry and frustrated. Mother insisted that I stay in her bedroom for safety, but that was uncomfortable for me, so I went down to the study to read and calm my nerves."
Matin spoke like a machine, relaying the information with little variation in tone.
"At one point I fell asleep and had a horrible nightmare, and when I woke up, the lights were out and I started panicking. I searched for the door, but when I found it, I couldn't open it. I was trapped there. It took a long time, but I eventually managed to force it open. Someone had pushed a chest of drawers in front of the door, trapping me inside."
Matin took a deep breath.
"When I went upstairs to mother's room, the door was open, and she wasn't there."
"You eventually went outside to look for her?" Dean asked.
Matin nodded.
"She wasn't anywhere in the guest house. I was worried she'd gone outside looking for me, so I went looking outside. And then when I saw her, I..."
Matin couldn't continue and instead bowed his head, panting.
"What was the point of it all? All my work and study, all of it. All of it."
Matin began to rapidly mutter under his breath, and Dean decided to leave him be for the moment. He turned to face the two men who had stayed at the guest house the night before.
"Besides Matin and Marianne, it was only you two here last night, correct?"
The two of them looked at each other and then nodded at Dean
"Then the only people who could have locked his door were you two."
Methaeus grimaced, but Mitch gave no outward sign of discomfort or guilt. An arms dealer and the Abbot himself. Not exactly the most trustworthy of people in Dean's eyes.
"One of you had to have locked Matin in the study." He said, feeling his muscles tense up.
Methaeus furrowed his thick brows and sighed.
"You can't be certain of that." Mitch mumbled.
"Why not?"
Mitch sighed loudly before scratching the back of his head.
"First, you're taking Matin here at his word without any solid evidence. Everyone took some time to keep watch last night, and none of us noticed a chest of drawers pushed against the study's door."
Dean narrowed his eyes as he locked eyes with Mitch. He had no rebuttal, only that he didn't want to doubt his friend. He knew that was shortsighted, so he held his tongue.
"Besides, being complicit in murder is usually bad for business. Marianne was a business partner of mine. I had little reason to end her life." He added dryly.
"You'd do anything for money." Dean accused.
Mitch chuckled softly.
"Business is all about risk versus reward. I don't like taking big risks, and killing is one of the biggest risks of all. I can live off much safer investments."
Mitch's confidence caused Dean to falter a little. In the end, just like always, he couldn't really trust anybody here, not even Matin. In that case, what was he to do? Drive them all out at gunpoint? That sounded like something Marianne would have done.
He turned to look at the group of kids and sister Layota behind them. They were defenseless. Without him, they'd surely fall victim to the madness of this monastery. Yes, now that Matin was absorbed in grief, he was the only one who could protect them. He couldn't trust anyone except perhaps Cait.
Joan, having noticed his gaze, got up from where she was sitting and approached him.
"I heard from Cait that you used to live here too. Is that true?"
Her question brought Dean's mind back to simpler times when they all used to play together, Nicolas and Maria included.
"A long time ago." He replied.
"So you were friends with Maria, Rosetta and the others then?"
"Guess you could say that. We were only kids at the time though, I don't remember much."
"Do you remember how many of you played together back then?"
That question seemed oddly specific. Even so, Dean remembered back to his childhood. He could remember running around the courtyard with Matin, Maria, Nicolas and Rosetta. There was also Addi, who had been very young at the time.
"It was me, Matin, Nicolas, Maria, Rosetta and Addi as far as I can remember."
"Oh, do you remember anyone else?"
A flash of pain pierced Dean's head, and he quickly raised his hand to his forehead
No, no, no. That has nothing to do with the here and now. There was no one else, just us six.
Joan looked at him expectantly. But aside from the adults, who he was never on friendly terms with, he couldn't remember anyone else.
Dean shook his head, dispelling the remaining pain.
"Being forgotten can be much more painful that being hated," Joan said.
Dean narrowed his eyes at her strange words. Was she implying that he had forgotten someone? He put more effort into recalling his past. While he did feel like something was missing, he couldn't specify why.
"Do you mean Cait?" he asked.
The way she had treated him so familiarly since her rescue went well beyond simple gratitude. He wondered if he had known her when he was younger. She'd said she'd lived in the monastery her whole life after all.
"Cait can't be the one. You have just as much chance of meeting her back then as you did in meeting me," Joan said.
Joan wouldn't have even been born the last time he'd been to the monastery. What she was saying sounded like utter nonsense. Well, nothing new there.
"Sorry, kid, I'm not really capable of calmly remembering my past right now."
So much had gone wrong since he'd arrived a few days ago. Four people who had been, for better or worse, part of his life were now dead. All signs pointed to Nicolas and Maria. At this rate, it was unlikely that they'd be left alone.
"You look scary, like you want to hurt someone." Joan said with a nervous tremble in her voice.
He did want to kill someone. The thought surprised him. He'd never been a violent person, but the anger that now festered within him threatened to boil over if he didn't find an outlet. There was no need to frighten children over it, though.
"Sorry, I'm just worried about everyone," he said with a weak smile.
"You don't have to be worried. We'll be just fine with the Goddess protecting us."
Dean smiled and ruffled her hair, causing her to scowl at him. It was impressive that she could maintain a level head while most adults, including himself, were losing themselves.
He had to think of something. A way out of this mess that didn't involve running away. Barricading themselves in was no longer an option. It never really had been due to the size of the guest house. Also, Dean was no longer sure who he could trust. There was a possibility that a wolf or two had snuck in with the sheep. He looked over at Methaeus and Mitch. A gun dealer with business ties to Oscar and the Abbot of the monastery, who probably knew a lot more than he was letting on. Then there was Matin, who remained silent. Had he really been locked in the study all night? No, he had to trust Matin. There had to be one capable person he could trust. If he couldn't manage that, then all truly was lost.
Thinking about things himself was getting him nowhere. He got up and walked over towards Matin.
"Hey man, you good to talk? We need to decide what to do next."
Matin looked up at him. The skin around his eyes was red and raw, which looked particularly off-putting on his pale skin.
"If it's about getting back at the people who killed mother, then I'm all ears."
Dean was taken aback by Matin's appearance and manner of speech. Dean could understand, he would have liked nothing better than to see Nicolas eat dirt for what he'd done. And yet, fear caused him to hesitate. He'd never seriously injured, let alone killed someone before. Even with anger blowing his sails, he still found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move forward.
"Was there anyone else in the guest house last night?" Dean asked.
"Besides myself, Mother, Mitch and Methaeus? No, I don't think so."
One of them had to have been the one to lock Matin in the study. If he could just find out who, he could expel them and allow himself to relax a little more.
"Do you think Methaeus or Mitch could've locked you in?"
Matin thought for a moment.
"Methaeus was supposed to be on patrol around that time, though I was so caught up in my studies, it could have been Mother's turn to keep watch."
So the watch rotation meant that Marianne would have been the next person awake.
"Hey Methaeus." Dean said aloud, calling Methaeus over to join them.
Methaeus nodded formally before slowly making his way over to the two young men. Despite his age, he stood straight and impervious.
"Did you swap lookout shifts with Marianne last night?" Dean asked, getting to the point.
Methaeus nodded.
"I finished my shift around midnight and made my way to her room. When I arrived, the door was open and nobody was inside. I assumed she had already left for her shift and went to bed soon after."
"You went to bed despite someone being missing?"
"My apologies, but when you get to my age, exhaustion begins to take a heavy toll. Marianne always marched to the beat of her own drum, so I assumed she had already started her patrol." Methaeus said.
Dean stopped himself for a moment and really looked at the old man's features.
The skin covering his face drooped slightly like an un-ironed blanket, and the darkness around his eyes was so deep, it reminded Dean of the eye hollows of a skull. If the man had looked old before the incident, he looked like he was on death's door now.
"Marianne could have left of her own volition. Maybe she locked Matin inside to keep him safe?" Dean thought aloud.
This caused Matin to slam the table, causing everyone in the room to jump.
"Mother wouldn't have done that! She wanted us to stay safe in the bedroom. It was my fault for sneaking out just to go read some books. She probably went off looking for me. It's because of me!"
Matin's outburst seemed to sap his own strength, and he fell backwards onto the sofa. Silence followed as everyone became lost in their own thoughts once again.
"Going around accusing people isn't going to help us." Layota said, adding her own thoughts on the matter.
"Even if there's a chance someone with nefarious intentions is with us, the worst thing we can do is tire ourselves out looking for them. For now, let's calm down and rest. We won't get anything done if we're all worked up like this."
Almost everyone quickly agreed with Layota's statement. Dean didn't. In fact, he thought that what Layota said could only work in Nicolas' favor.
He shook his head. She was right about one thing; suspecting everyone was just going to drain his energy and stress him out. He still held a weapon. As long as he kept his wits about him, he could keep things from getting worse. He could simply rely on himself.
"How about some tea to calm our nerves?" Layota suggested.
"Yes, I could do with something warm." Methaeus concurred.
"Cait and Joan, dears, could you give me a hand?"
Both Cait and Joan followed Layota out of the living room. When they left, Matin approached Dean, a sharp look trained on the doorway the women had just left through.
"I think you should go with them." Matin said.
Dean looked sideways at his friend, a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips.
"You thinking the women can't handle things on their own?" he quipped.
Matin shook his head.
"No, that's not what I meant. It's Cait. I don't think we should leave her alone with those two."
Dean's smile fell from his face. His weak attempt at humor forgotten.
"What are you on about?" Dean asked, temper flaring slightly at Matin's sudden accusation.
Matin looked Dean right in the eye and smiled. The look made Dean stiffen. It didn't suit the quiet, studious Matin he knew.
"You're so quick to distrust everyone except her, the stranger found chained up in the cathedral. Why?"
Dean took a deep breath.
"Why? Because I trust what I can see. She's been with me since she left the cell and hasn't done a thing. If anything, it's strange that everyone suspects her without any evidence!"
"Can you be sure she was tied up for as long as she claimed to be?"
"Well, no. But taking one look at her and you can tell she hadn't had decent exercise in months. She also had welts on her wrists where the iron cuffs rubbed against her skin."
No, he could trust Cait. Whatever had gotten Matin suspicious of her was clearly the result of his grief.
"Being weak hasn't stopped you from suspecting Methaeus though. Why the preferential treatment? Shouldn't you suspect everyone? What about the matron or Joan? Can you be sure they're trustworthy?"
"What, you're suspecting an old lady and a child now?"
Dean couldn't believe what his friend was saying.
"Joan's always been a little strange. She's always seen herself as the Priestess even when Addi was alive, and just because Layota is pleasant on the outside, doesn't mean she isn't also hiding something more...cruel."
"This is ridiculous." Dean spat.
Matin shrugged.
"Just think about what I said, ok? Watch out for Cait."
Dean didn't answer. Matin, having said his piece, returned to staring a hole in the floor.
After a short while, the women returned holding trays filled with hot cups of tea.
Dean watched as they handed the tea out to everyone. Eventually, Cait approached him and handed him a cup before taking one for herself and sitting down next to him.
Smiling, she took a small sip. Dean eyed his tea with trepidation.
He remembered how she had thrown herself in front of him when the cult members had pointed their guns at him. There was no way she'd poison him now. He took a sip and felt the warm tea flow into him. He sighed and felt his muscles relax a bit.
He noticed Cait staring at him.
"Tastes good." He offered.
The tension left her shoulders, and she smiled.
"Thank you. I haven't made tea for a long time, so I was nervous."
"With everything going on, this is what made you nervous?" Dean asked with a smile.
"I'm not afraid of dying." She said. "What really scares me is being useless and... being forgotten."
"Well, the two go hand in hand, don't they?" Dean asked.
Cait gave him a confused look.
"What do you mean?" She asked.
"Well, unless you;re famous, you'll be forgotten after a generation or two after your death. Heck, even the most famous people are forgotten eventually."
Cait's expression darkened at Dean's words, and she looked away from him.
"That doesn't sound like you." She said bitterly.
Dean clicked his tongue. He'd gone and said something extremely negative. The situation was getting to him after all.
"It's been a difficult few days. Sorry, I'm not trying to be negative. I still think life is worth living despite all that."
"I see, you should try to live happily while alive, right?" Cait asked.
Dean looked over in surprise.
"Wow, you hit the nail on the head. Just live happily and don't worry about what happens after you're gone." He said, waving his hand dismissively.
"You've seen how people treat me." Cait said suddenly.
Dean sat up. Her words getting his attention.
"I need to make up for what I've done. A person like me isn't allowed to enjoy life. Not yet, anyway."
There was a grim determination in her voice, and Dean couldn't guess where it had come from. He desperately wanted to find out why she was hated, even by herself.
"Well then, tell me how I can help you. If you want me to talk to the others on your behalf, I will. But you have to tell me what exactly is going on." He said, desperate to get anything out of her.
Cait didn't reply. Instead, she looked at him with sad, apologetic eyes before getting up and walking away towards Layota and Joan.
"What's with her?" He mumbled, slouching back in his chair.
Dean couldn't make heads or tales of Cait. Well, the same could be said for most of the people who lived here. Yet she was by far the strangest of the lot. Dean took his tea and sipped it once more.
They spent the remainder of the day holed up in the salon. By the time night came, everyone was exhausted. Because of this, Dean decided to take the first shift along with Mitch. Cait had volunteered to keep watch too, but everyone aside from Dean and Layota had been against it.
It was decided that everyone would stay in the upstairs VIP room as it was by far the largest and most comfortable room in the building. It also reduced the chance of someone breaking in from the outside and attacking someone who was on their own.
Everybody had worked together to ensure all doors and windows were locked, but Dean decided to look around a second time by himself. When he got back to the main hall, he found Mitch leaning against the wall. He wasn't visibly armed, but Dean knew better than to assume he was helpless. Taking a chair he'd borrowed from the dining room, Dean sat down facing the main entrance. All interior doors, aside from the VIP guest room, had been locked from the outside.
Every once in a while he'd look back at Mitch, who had barely moved an inch. Deep down, Dean had a feeling he had to keep an eye on him too.
"You'll get a pain in your neck looking about like that," Mitch said.
"Just doing some muscle stretches." Dean replied casually.
"You're keeping a watch on me too. You're a busy man. Well, you got the right idea."
Dean heard the snapping of a lighter as Mitch began smoking.
"Seems strange to worry about someone's neck when you're smoking that stuff," Dean muttered.
"Oh, does smoking bother you?"
"Not at all."
In fact, Dean used to smoke himself. He had nothing against it personally. What he did take issue with was the man's profession.
"The people who killed Oscar and are threatening us now. They're using your weapons," Dean said.
"So it would seem." Mitch replied.
"Why bring weapons to a place like this in the first place?"
"The reason doesn't matter. Oscar had the money, so I sold him the equipment."
"Very professional. How does it feel knowing you might be killed by your own weapons?." Dean asked.
Mitch chuckled. At least it sounded vaguely like a chuckle. It might have been a grunt.
"It's par for the course in my profession, but you're overreacting if you think those drunken children are any real threat."
Dean narrowed his eyelids.
"Four people are dead. I don't think this is overreacting. They're clearly dangerous," Dean said.
"I think they've only killed Oscar and possibly Marianne, and she wasn't even shot. A terrible loss of potential profit that," Mitch said in a tone that lacked any sort of respect for the dead.
The man really didn't have any sense of urgency. He was relaxed as if he were chatting to someone at a bar.
"So what? You came here for the money?"
"Oscar and Marianne were valuable clients."
Dean thought he heard a hint of sadness in the man's voice. Evidently, it was more about the loss of money than the life of the person themselves.
"Money doesn't necessarily lead to happiness or fulfillment." Dean said.
"I don't consider money a road to happiness." Mitch said flatly.
"Then why go on about it so much?"
Dean was surprised. He had taken Mitch for the strong, silent type, but the man seemed to have no trouble talking. Well, talking was a good way to stay awake.
"Money does more than buy things. It does not make you happy, but it gives you the time and means to achieve happiness, depending on how you use it."
"And how is that going for you?" Dean asked.
He looked at the arms dealer. As far he knew, the man had never shown a genuine smile or a kind-hearted laugh. Most of the time, he looked downright miserable. Perhaps this was the result of devoting one's life to money.
Mitch didn't answer straightaway. He took a drag of his cigarette and looked up at the ceiling. Dean had to fight a sudden bout of drowsiness in the silence. He would have to go and make a coffee soon, by the looks of it.
"Do you think a beggar sleeping on the streets of the capital is capable of finding happiness?" Mitch asked after a long pause.
Dean had lived in the capital for many years. The hopeless faces of those without a home never lit up even when offered money.
"Well no, but I've seen plenty of rich and affluent people who are crushed by depression and turn to drugs or worse acts to get by."
"And which of those do you think are more common in this world?" Mitch asked.
Dean didn't answer. Of course, there were probably more unhappy beggars than unhappy millionaires. To Dean, the answer lay with neither extreme. It was about how you perceived the world.
"A lot of the folk around here seem unusually receptive to the idea of dying. What do you make of that?" Mitch asked, suddenly changing the subject.
The question caught Dean off-guard. He turned to look at the man again. He recalled how Nicolas promised those who followed him another chance at life. He remembered how Joan was not as saddened by the deaths of others as a child aught to be.
"I don't like how they're using death as a means of escape. Thinking there's another life after this one is ridiculous."
"Exactly," Mitch said. "You may think I'm unhappy. I can see it in your eyes. But unlike them, I'm treating this as the only life I got, and I'll live it my way until I croak. Money makes doing that easy."
Dean hated how similar their outlooks were on life, with the only difference being the importance they put on wealth. Well, that was probably only in the context of this crazy place. Put them in a regular neighborhood, and their similarities would seem non-existent.
Dean blinked again and took a deep breath. For a moment he'd felt his consciousness slipping. The stress was probably getting to him. He gripped his rifle harder, determined to stay awake. Even so, the drowsiness hit once again, with considerably more force.
"What..." He mumbled.
He made to stand up. At least, he thought he did. His consciousness left him before he even noticed something was terribly wrong.