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Chapter 9
As your esteemed fellows will know. My incarceration in the newly purposed Paradoxia Grande has been the most harrowing three days of my life. It would be most kind of you if you were to take mercy on my wicked soul and see fit to execute me as soon as is available. Staying one more second in this place is an unbearable torment. What lives here cannot be persuaded, it cannot be reasoned with. It returns and does not stop until it, she, has taken her prize. Something horrible. It took Rose. Whispered to him. Please do not let it kill me in this way, it is inhumane.
My death in this place is an unjust and cruel punishment not fitting to my crimes. There is something else that lives here. Something that cannot be near him, the butler. It is my hope that this message reaches a friendly and compassionate ear willing to take pity on a piteous and rancid a soul as mine.
In faith,
Angus Docks
My death in this place is an unjust and cruel punishment not fitting to my crimes. There is something else that lives here. Something that cannot be near him, the butler. It is my hope that this message reaches a friendly and compassionate ear willing to take pity on a piteous and rancid a soul as mine.
In faith,
Angus Docks
The cruel end which Angus Docks countenance now bore as an eternal witness contorted the room as each individual turned sullenly to face it. Dark nightmares swept through, embracing and entwining their creators in a miasma of dismal images from previous murders to horror film scenes. Galileo watched it all unmoved, the detective having taken stock of the situation before entering watched the butler intently. A sudden realisation sparked across the detective's face and he hurriedly took in the sights of this programmable pandora's box. His breath inaudibly escaped the question 'where's his' as the front incisors clicked quickly, his lips drawn tight on one side. One by one, however, the room seemed to be losing its haunting horrors. A tranquil scene began to fade into the surface of the walls, the point of view seemed erratic as the picture began to increase in a handsome definition. The hyper-active focus seemed to zoom in and out of trees, insects, wooden planks and endlessly arbitrary minutiae. Everything was magnified, enhanced and then returned to its setting. A log cabin appeared around a lake, suddenly they were inside the cabin. Rich red curtains, a patch zoomed up to encompass the wall in front of Galileo. Suddenly textures began to take shape. The bumps and frays of the fabric swept across the sheen red colour adding to it shadows and rivets. A wooden pallet flew into view and then quickly became displaced to the right wall as the curtain receded to a position covering one half the window. Outside through the white wooden frame was a pine wood forest, it was darkening around 4pm on a late December Tuesday and the rain gave the pines an unnaturally bright gloss. Without losing its newly written somatosensory code the curtain seemed to spread the pattern of the fabric along all its surface. The pallet, pushed to the side slowly revolving like toothpaste on a space station, returned, was stripped of all but two planks which hastily conjoined and contorted into a round table. Like the pallet it rotated as the surface was smoothed and gained a freshly polished shine. The detective switched between the process taking place and the face of the butler. Galileo's posture was rigid but his eyes relaxed and his head jerked occasionally as things jumped to and fro around the room.
The crime scene team were finally able to relax their tensions as any malignant thought seemed to be crushed and moulded into the scenery.
The detective and Galilleo sat opposite, polarised by the letter which occupied the centre of the interrogation room desk in its evidential bag. The walls were a bland magnolia and the only blemish was a slight abrasion, most likely the work of an aggressive tenant, on the wall to Galileo’s right.
“And you didn’t make him write this?”
“Of course not. You can check the tapes; I was nowhere near him.”
“You realise there is a lot of questions regarding the contents of this letter?”
“I’m sure there are.”
“And I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”
“I really hope so.”
“What happens there Galileo? In the Grande.”
“You think I killed him?”
“Who is she Galileo?”
“I don’t know, Cynthia maybe.”
“The A.I. doesn’t have the capacity to induce a man to jump chest first onto a broken bed post Galileo. I’d be hard pressed to imagine the thing that could do that. What did you show him? What did you do in that room Galileo?” The dullness of the room made Galileo miss the resplendent form and waking ripples of the Grande’s walls.
“Honestly, I wasn’t even near there. The first I knew the place was filled with paramedics and police. I honestly don’t know why they don’t realise this was a bad idea. The Grande isn’t a place for people.”
“And what does that make you Galileo? What sort of creature are you?”
“I don’t know. I thought everyone would be like this. I don’t get it Why am I the only one who knows what goes on in there isn’t real. It’s just light bouncing around. Not real. Nothing there, just white walls and lasers. A box within a box, something to appreciate into exile”
“People keep dying Galileo. One, after another after another. And you know what?”
“No.”
“I think it’s time you moved out permanently.” The detective struck a decisive blow with a pointed finger a metre from the body of Galileo
“What!”
“I think it’s time you were done with that place.”
“You can’t be serious? It’s my home.” Galileo thought of his time with sweetness, sentiment, and reflection.
“It’s a prison.” Bluntly stated.
Smiling, “Well sure, now it is.” Gesturing with exuberance, “But that can’t stay open can it? I mean that’s seven dead inmates. Seven! Surely they have to close it now?” Speaking dejectedly without truly acknowledging the harsh reality.
“Is that why you did this Galileo? Because it’s your home and they were in it?” The detective knew he was interrogating an innocent man, but, there was something curious that kept his attention.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I don’t know that, but I’m sure you’ll be happier when they’re all gone won’t you Galileo?”
“Are you holding me?”
“Don’t play that game.”
“Fine, I’ll stay as long as you want but I’m not moving out of the Grande. That’s not happening.”
“Looks like it’s my turn to make the coffee. I’ll be right back.”
The detective left the interview room casually. The navy-blue suit and black tie dressed him as a humble man. He was satisfied at the moment. Galileo felt the urge to cry well up inside him. Why was this happening? He just wanted to be left alone, in the Grande. A few moments later and the detective returned with two Styrofoam cups filled half a centimetre below the surface. The coffee had not fully diluted into the water. Galileo tasted it, he could tell the detective had added cold water.
“Not as flamboyant as yours I’m sure.” The detective thought this would act as a form of punishment to the refined sensibilities of the fool in front of him.
Galileo stared contentedly at the coffee. Sophie made bad coffee. “When I consider the taste of coffee, it is an experience of many levels.”
“Go on.”
He recalled what he had told her, not exactly but the words were all there to be used again. “At first you have the temperature. Too hot is unhappy as is too cold. However, you always want to start off with too hot, you never want a coffee just right straight away. No detective, the good coffee must start off as something too hot to handle, in both the literal and figurative sense. It has to be something that you are forced to wait for. Something where the temptation conquers you ever so slightly into that first sip. That first sip, that’s a game changer. A moment of guilty pleasure at the pain you experience, but only a sip detective. Not too much, only a little pain, a little pain we can manage. A little pain we enjoy detective. And that is only the start of the coffee, I’ve not even begun to imagine the taste, the aroma, the soothing warmth of a mug, the deep abyss of brown, the slight thickness that distinguishes it from water, a plethora of variables before milk is added and exponentially increased post milk.”
“Whatever else I may say about you Galileo, you are if nothing else the most peculiar specimen of a human mind I have ever met.”
“I’ll surely take that as the compliment it was designed to be.” The same phrase he repeated with the doctor in one of their meetings.
“Something changed in you whilst I was out, you seem surer of yourself.”
Honesty first, “I guarantee you detective I felt like crying a moment ago.”
“Then what happened?”
Then lies, “I thought of the Grande.”
“And that made you feel better did it?”
“No detective. That reminded me of what true terror is.”
“Who is she Galileo?”
“She is something detective. She is something. But I can’t tell you what. I just know she is there.” Half-truths.
“Is she a person?”
“I hope so. If not…. Then I don’t even want to think about it.” Lied Galileo.
“I’m going to get that place closed for good Galileo.”
“Then you will have to close me in it detective. I have something I need there.”
“They’re never going to be the same. That’s not how life is.”
“Truth is not so absolute as people think detective. The world is only another fabrication of the Grande. What happens inside is real detective, what’s outside. Out here. This is the lie.” Galileo bared the truth with disappointment.
“You mean like The Matrix”
“No, I mean like a thin veil between madness and objectivity. There is no difference in the Grande.”
“I can never understand you. You know. I think that’s your problem. You’re too goddamn complex.”
“On the contrary detective. I’m simple. It’s the world that is complicated. I merely decide whether I turn left, or I turn right. What happens after is anybody’s guess.”
“The letter Galileo, let’s talk about it some more. Tell me everything you can about her. What, or who, do you think she is?”
(Galileo lies.)
The crime scene team were finally able to relax their tensions as any malignant thought seemed to be crushed and moulded into the scenery.
The detective and Galilleo sat opposite, polarised by the letter which occupied the centre of the interrogation room desk in its evidential bag. The walls were a bland magnolia and the only blemish was a slight abrasion, most likely the work of an aggressive tenant, on the wall to Galileo’s right.
“And you didn’t make him write this?”
“Of course not. You can check the tapes; I was nowhere near him.”
“You realise there is a lot of questions regarding the contents of this letter?”
“I’m sure there are.”
“And I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”
“I really hope so.”
“What happens there Galileo? In the Grande.”
“You think I killed him?”
“Who is she Galileo?”
“I don’t know, Cynthia maybe.”
“The A.I. doesn’t have the capacity to induce a man to jump chest first onto a broken bed post Galileo. I’d be hard pressed to imagine the thing that could do that. What did you show him? What did you do in that room Galileo?” The dullness of the room made Galileo miss the resplendent form and waking ripples of the Grande’s walls.
“Honestly, I wasn’t even near there. The first I knew the place was filled with paramedics and police. I honestly don’t know why they don’t realise this was a bad idea. The Grande isn’t a place for people.”
“And what does that make you Galileo? What sort of creature are you?”
“I don’t know. I thought everyone would be like this. I don’t get it Why am I the only one who knows what goes on in there isn’t real. It’s just light bouncing around. Not real. Nothing there, just white walls and lasers. A box within a box, something to appreciate into exile”
“People keep dying Galileo. One, after another after another. And you know what?”
“No.”
“I think it’s time you moved out permanently.” The detective struck a decisive blow with a pointed finger a metre from the body of Galileo
“What!”
“I think it’s time you were done with that place.”
“You can’t be serious? It’s my home.” Galileo thought of his time with sweetness, sentiment, and reflection.
“It’s a prison.” Bluntly stated.
Smiling, “Well sure, now it is.” Gesturing with exuberance, “But that can’t stay open can it? I mean that’s seven dead inmates. Seven! Surely they have to close it now?” Speaking dejectedly without truly acknowledging the harsh reality.
“Is that why you did this Galileo? Because it’s your home and they were in it?” The detective knew he was interrogating an innocent man, but, there was something curious that kept his attention.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I don’t know that, but I’m sure you’ll be happier when they’re all gone won’t you Galileo?”
“Are you holding me?”
“Don’t play that game.”
“Fine, I’ll stay as long as you want but I’m not moving out of the Grande. That’s not happening.”
“Looks like it’s my turn to make the coffee. I’ll be right back.”
The detective left the interview room casually. The navy-blue suit and black tie dressed him as a humble man. He was satisfied at the moment. Galileo felt the urge to cry well up inside him. Why was this happening? He just wanted to be left alone, in the Grande. A few moments later and the detective returned with two Styrofoam cups filled half a centimetre below the surface. The coffee had not fully diluted into the water. Galileo tasted it, he could tell the detective had added cold water.
“Not as flamboyant as yours I’m sure.” The detective thought this would act as a form of punishment to the refined sensibilities of the fool in front of him.
Galileo stared contentedly at the coffee. Sophie made bad coffee. “When I consider the taste of coffee, it is an experience of many levels.”
“Go on.”
He recalled what he had told her, not exactly but the words were all there to be used again. “At first you have the temperature. Too hot is unhappy as is too cold. However, you always want to start off with too hot, you never want a coffee just right straight away. No detective, the good coffee must start off as something too hot to handle, in both the literal and figurative sense. It has to be something that you are forced to wait for. Something where the temptation conquers you ever so slightly into that first sip. That first sip, that’s a game changer. A moment of guilty pleasure at the pain you experience, but only a sip detective. Not too much, only a little pain, a little pain we can manage. A little pain we enjoy detective. And that is only the start of the coffee, I’ve not even begun to imagine the taste, the aroma, the soothing warmth of a mug, the deep abyss of brown, the slight thickness that distinguishes it from water, a plethora of variables before milk is added and exponentially increased post milk.”
“Whatever else I may say about you Galileo, you are if nothing else the most peculiar specimen of a human mind I have ever met.”
“I’ll surely take that as the compliment it was designed to be.” The same phrase he repeated with the doctor in one of their meetings.
“Something changed in you whilst I was out, you seem surer of yourself.”
Honesty first, “I guarantee you detective I felt like crying a moment ago.”
“Then what happened?”
Then lies, “I thought of the Grande.”
“And that made you feel better did it?”
“No detective. That reminded me of what true terror is.”
“Who is she Galileo?”
“She is something detective. She is something. But I can’t tell you what. I just know she is there.” Half-truths.
“Is she a person?”
“I hope so. If not…. Then I don’t even want to think about it.” Lied Galileo.
“I’m going to get that place closed for good Galileo.”
“Then you will have to close me in it detective. I have something I need there.”
“They’re never going to be the same. That’s not how life is.”
“Truth is not so absolute as people think detective. The world is only another fabrication of the Grande. What happens inside is real detective, what’s outside. Out here. This is the lie.” Galileo bared the truth with disappointment.
“You mean like The Matrix”
“No, I mean like a thin veil between madness and objectivity. There is no difference in the Grande.”
“I can never understand you. You know. I think that’s your problem. You’re too goddamn complex.”
“On the contrary detective. I’m simple. It’s the world that is complicated. I merely decide whether I turn left, or I turn right. What happens after is anybody’s guess.”
“The letter Galileo, let’s talk about it some more. Tell me everything you can about her. What, or who, do you think she is?”
(Galileo lies.)