Page 25 of Seth
His mind trailed from Hans to Seth, vividly recreated the moonlit night and the handsome face of death, covered with blood. Seth didn’t bore him. Seth didn’t make him feel boring either. Quite the opposite, winding him up, teasing him brought Gustavo so much joy he was scared he might get addicted and lose himself in this game. Every time they met, his blood ran quicker. Being close to Seth was like living a second youth, as every encounter excited him and made him feel alive.
The sudden urge to see Seth straightened his back and guided his hand toward the top drawer of his desk. Pulling a black file out, Gustavo flipped it open. He scrolled through Seth’s dossier again, looking for clues.
Diego was right; Seth’s biography missed pieces and was scattered. He had been homeschooled until graduation, and even though he was the only son of the multi-millionaire, he didn’t attend a prestigious university abroad but went to the local one.
His medical record was scarce, but the police report from the fire in the teen church summer camp from twelve years ago stated that the only survivor, Seth Mayr, received multiple severe burns as well as a chemical throat burn.
What burns?
The attached pictures of the camp portrayed the best example of the German Renaissance Revival architecture. Red brick and whitewashed columns created a modest ensemble of constructions joined under the same roof with a crow-stepped gable above the church wing. The latest picture revealed a burned-down, abandoned skeleton of the building. Black smears around the broken windows told a horrific story of raging fire. The building had never been restored, and Gustavo wondered if the still-fresh memory of the tragedy was the reason for it being abandoned, or was it something else, something hidden from the public eye. The police investigation had been promptly closed for lack of corpus delicti4, but Gustavo couldn’t stop staring at the black smears of fire over the red bricks. Somehow it made him wonder if the fire was artificially accelerated.
Putting the photo card away, Gustavo picked an article from the Architect Digest. He skipped the generic biography and skimmed through an interview to the list of Seth’s projects.
His instincts kicked in speeding his blood as he stared at the separate files of Seth’s already finished projects. The titles viZZion, Breath, and Flames warmed his insides with a hunch.There’s something about the buildings, after all. The murder site wasn’t accidental, I’m sure of it.
Examining the variety of the forms and designs, Gustavo felt a powerful tug. The sharp lines combined with gentle curves, the play of light and colors, and the way the sun glinted off the edges mesmerized Gustavo, still the images lacked dimension. No matter how hard Gustavo tried to feel the energy the buildings emitted, the optical pressure, the powerful impact, he wasn’t able to fully imagine the grandiosity of constructions.
Getting to his feet, he grabbed his jacket and deserted his office.
* * *
For the firsttimein years, Gustavo drove alone. He hadn’t alerted his security team or asked Diego to accompany him. Partly because he didn’t trust Diego to remain serious, let alone helpful; partly because he wondered if someone’s presence, a skeptical eye, would ruin the atmosphere for him, wouldn’t let him feel the energy streaming within those buildings. It was silly, but with Seth’s creations, he wanted to be alone.
The drive from Vienna to Salzburg5took Gustavo almost three hours, but even before he breached the city’s boundaries, he knew his hunch hadn’t mislead him. Three red towers, gently curved, licked the clear blue sky, red-hued glass encasing the sinuous forms.
Gustavo didn’t need the GPS to find his way to Flames. The mirrored glass, like a cluster of tiny stars, blazed above the city, visible from every corner. The closer he got, the tighter his fingers clasped the wheel. By the time he parked, his knuckles ached with pressure. Palms damp, his chest tightened with a constricted breath as he looked up.
With an effort, he let go of the wheel, pushed the door open, and stepped out of the well-conditioned vehicle into the suffocating, loud street that stunk of sun-burnt dust. The heat assaulted him from all directions. He winced as every cell of his body shrunk in protest, and the last remains of the coolness escaped from under his shirt. The asphalt melted around him, miasma rising in the air in the visible waves, making the surroundings surreal.
Loosening his collar, Gustavo raised his head, squinted. From below, the buildings appeared gigantic, intimidating, yet somehow delicate. The sun, glinting off, created an illusion of molten glass. The smooth surface rippled, bringing the solid constructions of the skyscrapers to life, and Gustavo wondered if the mirrors were flat or had a texture and dimension.
The longer Gustavo observed, the sharper he sensed the aura of danger the buildings emitted—the same aura that surrounded Seth. Even without Seth’s “signature”, neodymium glass, Gustavo didn’t doubt that it was his creation.
He stalked around the towers, looking up. From below, Flames instilled awe. He wondered how constructions of such shapes could support megatons of glass and steel and not fold under its own weight.
But no matter how long he stared up, he didn’t receive answers to his questions. That disappointed. A part of him had been sure that once he saw the building, he would be able to comprehend the design, to connect with Seth’s mind, and understand the meaning of the bloody ritual. He’d been sure that Seth had left a message in plain sight where he explained the darkest corners of his soul.
If I were him, where would I leave my watermark?Ambling toward the small square surrounded by the towers, he dragged his gaze around.Somewhere where everyone can see, but no one notices.
A glint caught his eyes. He froze. In the middle of the square, red and yellow glass sculpture sparkled under the sun. Gustavo had seen something similar, on the Murano islands6, but not in such scale or form.
The explosion of glass looked like real fire. It sent chills down his spine and brought him closer. He explored the tongues that carried a painful resemblance to human faces, molten and distorted. The longer he studied the glass the more details he noticed. At some point, he shifted left, and an ugly head of a bald man whose skin burned down to bones glared at him with black, empty eye sockets, mouth gaping, jaw hanging on the tiny threads of ligaments. Even the sun, glinting off the glass, added to the illusion of white, bare bones peeking from below the ulcerated skin.
Gustavo stepped aside and shook his head. The illusion dispersed, and the sculpture, once again, became just a fire explosion.
Curiosity forced Gustavo to circle the square. On his way, he discovered more faces hidden in the glass. He clicked his tongue, amused.What do I see?
He rounded the sculpture again, examining a delicate and intricate work filled with anguish, pain, and death encased in the glass with horrifying realism. Drowning in contemplation, he almost missed a simple metal plate embedded into the paving stone before the sculpture. He squatted in front of it and ran his finger over the engravings.“Purifying fire. Seth Mayr.”
“Purifying fire, huh?” he whispered, and a wide grin invaded his face. His gaze jumped from the sculpture to the buildings, then back to the metal plate. “I was right; this is his message.”
Grabbing his phone, Gustavo took hundreds of photographs from every angle, wondering if the faces he saw would be identical to the faces of the fire victims of the church summer camp.
Almost four hours later,in his office, Gustavo clicked through the pictures on his laptop showing fire tongues that resembled distorted faces. A police report with the photographs of the fire victims lay open on his desk; still, Gustavo couldn’t confirm their identities. The textures and glass distorted faces to the point where it was impossible to determine their age, let alone establish any resemblance.
He sensed that the buildings were the key to Seth’s past, to his motives, yet he didn’t know how to read them.
* * *
