With a sigh Psychopomp stood up and dusted off her clothes. After letting out a bit yawn, she said: ‘I guess that was it.’ He looked up. ‘What?’ ‘That was the end of my story.’ ‘Seriously?’ Hopping from one leg to the other, she continued: ‘I wouldn’t know what else to tell you.’
He was stunned. Was this really it? When he did not answer, she continued: ‘I mean, I could tell you about how I was involved in some pretty epic police chases, Or about the times I had to come up with some strategic masterplans to break into a few hospitals. But you probably learned all about that when you read through my files at the police department.’
Still startled, he said: ‘I don’t know what you expected to achieve by telling me your story. You could have told me about Eurydice from the beginning.’ ‘I don’t think you would have believed me if I did.’ ‘Then still, I don’t understand anything about you. And if you think you’ve convinced me that whatever you’re doing is right, you’re wrong.’ ‘I never wanted you to agree with me. I just wanted you to listen to my side of the story. And maybe, I wanted you see where I am coming from.’
After a few stretches, she grabbed his chain with which he was still bound to the wall. 'You fulfilled your end of the deal, now it's time for me to do my part.' A small click, signifying the opening of the lock.
He was free, he was actually free. Psychopomp fumbled around in the pocket of her jacket for a while. 'Give me your hands.', she said. He did. In his hands she laid a small object covered in a leather. An old pocket knife. 'Stand up.', Psychopomp said. He did. For a moment they stood, looking eye to eye. Then, she went to her knees, the palms of her hands raised up as if to give him control. But she never lost eye contact. 'Go ahead .', she said. Two words, two small words from a woman on her knees. The whole gesture was as dramatic as anything she had ever done. A caricature of surrender. Yet somehow, that woman radiated a strength, a power that seemed to burst through her being, leaping out of every crack and pore.
‘I’ll let you live.’ Psychopomp cocked her head at the side. ‘Really?’ ‘I’d be a hypocrite if I let you live. Besides, it’s not like I would kill Psychopomp if I killed you.’ He took a last look at Psychopomp’s den. ‘But I do have one condition. I’ll let you live if you tell me your name.’ ‘Well, Psychopomp of course.’ ‘Your real name.’ She chuckled that now so recognizable chuckle. Extremely infuriating, but also strangely familiar now. ‘Sounds like an easy question. However, I do not have an easy answer. In my travels through the galaxy and beyond, I’ve had countless names. If you want my original name to hold me accountable for my acts, I’m afraid those who knew it are long gone.’ ‘Then give me the name you most identify with.’ ‘I identify with all of my many names.’ He was starting to doubt whether he had made the right decision. ‘But I guess, if you want to know the name my closest companions call me...’ She slowly rose back up from the ground and offered Dante her hand. ‘...Then I guess, Red would be the name.’
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When he took her hand, she swiftly wrapped her arm around his neck. And without him being able to do a thing, the world became dark again.
‘I got the information on the Purple Eye smuggler you needed.’ Dante looked up from his desk. He nodded with a friendly smile. ‘Thank you Clay.’
It had been three months since he had woken up alone at the police station. They had wanted to know everything about what had taken place between him and Psychopomp. Dante had told anyone who had asked that he had no memory of the whole ordeal. They had no prove that anything else was true. Still, they did not trust him. He was delicately kicked off of the Psychopomp case. He had made a scene, screamed that this was his life’s work they were talking about. That had silenced everyone’s suspicions. For now.
He had not talked to Psychopomp since then. Still, she left him messages, in the typical, theatrical Psychopomp way. A while back the news showed a large graffiti tag plastered all over one of the city halls. ‘Red says hello’, it said. The new officers on the Psychopomp case immediately discussed whether or not a new bandit of death was involved in Psychopomp syndicate.
With a sigh Dante stood up from his desk to have his lunch break. On his way to the cafeteria he ran into sergeant Crews. ‘It’s a beautiful day. You should go for a stroll, Dante.’, Crews said. ‘I think I will.’, Dante answered. As they passed, he got goose bumps. He always did when they crossed paths nowadays. And every time a voice in the back of his mind would whisper: ‘He’s already gone.’
He had managed to ignore the voice. Dante wasn’t about to kill anyone. He wasn’t Psychopomp or one of Psychopomp’s followers. But he couldn’t deny that he had seen something that shook him to his core. Something that was impossible to unsee. And the world would forever be changed, because of it.
