How to Make a Sinner Sleep

108 | notes; three knocks on the wall

Niklas tilted his head to the skies, to the somber clouds that were beginning to engulf the sun. The night of the Blood Moon approached, and he wondered, how that silly friend of his had spent the past years.

Alone in his room again, but without the forceful company of Noah's warmth? Without the teasing of his friends, the noisiness that faded his aching loneliness?

He was growing more desperate for answers in the vast sea of all his mistakes. That night, another had been made.

The faerie, gently and fearfully, had stared inside the closed house. "...this is unexpected," she'd said hesitantly. "I'm certain, I called for the spirits he wanted to see most. Why are his emotions spiraling—"

"That's normal. That woman, even though she won't harm him, will make him chaotic. But if she has the chance to speak with him—"

"It isn't her that's found him," said the faerie slowly. "She is not the one he wanted to see. It's all the others, all the lives he's reaped. I'm afraid, dear human, receiving comfort is not what he wanted."

Niklas dropped to a squat, exhaling shakily into his hands. He cursed under his breath. How did he not know? "Of course," he muttered bitterly. "That bastard wants to be punished. That's why. I miscalculated."

Nicola crouched down beside him, her voice soothing. "You're not omnipotent, Niklas, much as you'd like to be. Even I couldn't be aware of the extent of his self-loathing."

"I made a mistake."

"Yes, however, Noah has entered there with him. They'll be alright."

Niklas didn't want to make any more mistakes, drawing further from his foolish friend rather than bringing that man closer.

How much more did he have to do?

How much was he capable of?

A man dressed in a suit walked behind him, smiling softly. Raymond's curious but gentle voice simmered in the light breeze. "Are you thinking about him, Mr. Astors?"

Niklas' gaze dropped, flickering to his old professor as he shrugged helplessly. "Yeah. I have been for the past three years."

"Forgive me for prying, ah, but I am curious—but of course, you can refuse to answer whatever you please—oh I'm rambling again."

Niklas smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets as he turned. The old, creaking house they'd vacationed in once stood proudly behind him. The garden hadn't been tended to, mossy green creeping over the planes of wood.

He yawned into his hands, looking up at the dusted windows. "What is it? I'll probably answer. Why not?"

Raymond smoothened the creases of his vest, a journal held in his hand. It was similar to the worn leather that Holly always carried around, their expanse of endless thoughts scribbled on paper. His was a little thicker, stuffed with papers.

"I keep updated with my students, past and present, and gossip runs rampant even in my old age. I heard that you succeeded in the investigator exam and immediately took on several cases. Violent, terrible cases."

The other's lips curled mischievously, reaching the glint of his cerulean eyes. "You're wondering why," he remarked. "What's your theory, Prof?"

"Were you looking for ties to Kaden Chauvet?"

Niklas laughed airily, moving towards the creaking stairs that led to the door, his feet brushing past a twisted cobweb that hung underneath a step. "I was, yeah. I was certain that the influx of deaths had to be related to him in some way. I just didn't know how."