Seth by Nero Seal

The sun beat the ground,and every passing car raised a cloud of shimmering dust in the air. It floated on the waves of heat radiating from the melting asphalt. Seth stood in an almost non-existent shadow, behind the corner of the Vienna Central Hospital, a baseball cap low on his eyes. In front of the rear entrance, a delivery man huffed as he unloaded the contents of the truck into a rolling cage, filling the air with quiet rustles of his gloves brushing against cardboard boxes.

Turning on his heel, Seth sneaked around the corner and through the glass doors of the front entrance. Steps quick and confident, he strutted through the blue corridors illuminated by tube lamps. Seth grabbed an empty rolling cage and rolled it to the glass doors to peek outside. The rear doors of the truck stood open; the driver loomed nearby. A smoldering cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth as his attention fixed on his phone. Judging by his thumbs speedily tapping the screen, he entertained himself by playing some arcade game.

Holding his breath, Seth rolled the cage out of the hospital and toward the truck. The driver didn’t raise his head even when Seth loaded the rolling cage with four cylinders of nitrous oxide¹. He was about to flee when a consignment note stuck to the side of a nearest box drew his attention. The content description stating Halothane² and Ketamine³.

Without a second thought, he grabbed the box and jumped to the ground. Tugging the baseball cap even lower, he rolled the cage into the rear entrance and back through the corridor toward the front doors. No one stopped him; no one asked him of his business when he strolled past the security guard and to the main parking lot. After loading the cylinders into the black van he’d illegally bought from a street junkie years ago, he hopped in the vehicle and drove away.

* * *

Water dust washedover Seth’s face with every gust of wind. The new moon graced cloudless sky; its reflection rippled in the water of the Danube River as Seth drove the boat up the current. His matte, black full-body swimsuit absorbed light and blended with the shades of the night. Around six hundred feet away from the pier, he turned off the engine and sculled the rest of the way, slowly dipping the paddles in the water not to create any noise.

When he dropped the puddles, a low whimper of distress reached him from behind. He smirked, shifted to the bow, and patted the dog hiding under the bench. The Border Collie sniffed his palm, laid back its ears, and whined again. Sad, brown eyes watched him with obedience and resignation.

Finding a bitch in heat was harder than Seth imagined, but eventually, money solved even this problem. He rubbed the dog behind the ear and mouthed, “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

He reached for the backpack, plucked out the night vision binoculars, and examined the sleeping mansion towering behind lush gardens. A lone Doberman trotted over the pier and toward an orange tree, lifted a leg. Seth smiled, patted the collie with a free hand.

Following the dog, two male shadows stalked over the pier. Relaxed postures and flickering lights of lit-up cigarettes suggested that no one ever attacked this place. The river carried the smells and sounds, washing Seth in shards of a conversation and cigarette smoke. He held his breath, revolted. Unlike the aromatic scent of burning wood, tobacco had a bitter tang that made him gag.

His hand mechanically patted the dog as he waited for the guards to vanish in the dark. When a hush fell on the ground, interrupted only by the wind playing with foliage and occasional barking, Seth slipped off the boat into the water. Holding the rope in one hand, he swam toward the pier, hauling the boat behind.

Water lashed, throwing him closer and closer to the vertical metal piles supporting the pier. To reach the blind spot of the cameras, Seth had to cling to the shadows of the bank, but the current was stronger here. Even the wind seemed to rebel against him. It kept thrusting the wide, low boat to the piles, threatening to crash it against the pier.

Concerned that the noise might attract dogs or guards, Seth threw the rope over his shoulder and squeezed his body between the pier and boat to use it as a buffer. The collie jumped to its feet, twirled, and whined. It gave him a distressed look as if wondering if it should jump into the water too.

“Sit,” Seth hissed, worried that the animal would throw herself into the river causing the water to wash out the potent heat scent essential for his plan to work. The animal lowered its head but followed the order. Seth kept swimming.

Upon reaching the pier, he thrust the boat away and lifted his head over the wooden planks to look around. Spotting the cameras directed to the water, he drew perspective lines in his mind’s eye. Lowering his head, he swam six feet farther before lifting again.

His palms gripped the wood, ready to lift up, when a powerful wave threw the boat at the pier. Air left his lungs as the wooden bow crashed against his spine. His ears rang, and he had to loop his elbow around the pile in front of him as the night lost a few shades to darkness. With a weakening hand, he pushed the boat aside and it knocked against the pier with a low thud.

Seth cringed, fighting for the next breath. His ears strained, muscles tensed, ready to swim away and haul the boat with him, but not a sound disturbed the night. Even the dogs seemed to be sleeping.

Now or never…

Palms against the pier, Seth lifted out of the water. He stole a glance around, then hoisted the boat closer to the pier. Beckoning the dog with one finger, he waited for the nervous animal to approach before he grabbed the collie’s front leg and yanked the animal out of the boat. The dog whimpered and scurried to the side, claws scratching the wood. Gaining the ground under her feet and a safe distance from him, she sniffed the air.

Seth slipped back into the water, hooked one arm over the gunwale, and grabbed the backpack. His hand searched the contents, found the ultrasonic dog repellent, pressed the button. The collie jerked, gave him an offended stare, and jogged away, tail between her legs.

Aggressive barking cut the air as the trained dogs, hearing the sound too, woke up and rushed toward the pier. A dozen paws slapped against the pavement. The collie squealed and galloped toward the garden. Seth froze, waiting, hoping that people like Gustavo wouldn’t want to deal with bitches in heat, hence all the dogs would be males, hopefully not fixed, or he would need a better plan. Black, taut animals, zipping past him, stumbled over the spot where the bitch stood a moment ago, sniffed the air, then changed direction, and chased after her.

Seth smirked, hauled the boat to the pier, and tied the rope to a girder. He got out of the water and unloaded the shield from the boat. Metal clanked when he fastened a wide heavy toolbelt around his middle, stuffed with tools and the necessities—tranquilizer darts, syringes with Ketamine, radio signal jammer, long, glass spikes, and a pepper spray. He slipped the dry tennis shoes on and, holding the shield in front of him, moved toward the trees, where it would be easier for him to blend with the thick foliage. He knew the shield, though bending light, wasn’t completely invisible, but he hoped that Gustavo’s people wouldn’t be watching the monitors too closely.

Following the orange tree line, he stalked in the shadows toward the small building with shuttered windows. Hidden from the public eye, it drowned in greenery.

At home, when he’d examined the electricity plan, the number of cords leading to this facility from the power distribution center made him suspect that the building served as a server room or a guardhouse. The humming coming from the building confirmed his suspicion.

Barking and howling slashed the hush. The commotion the dogs created carried throughout the garden and didn’t escape the guards’ attention. Heavy boots stomped past him, following the noise.

“What’s with the dogs?” A rough voice asked.

“How do I know? Let’s go, finish the round. I’m starving,” another voice replied.

“You go; I’ll be right back, just check the dogs,” the first voice rustled from afar.

Seth smiled. Yes, let’s go and check the dogs.

He trailed the guard, his tennis shoes silent in the night. With his shoulder pressed against the rough bark of a tree, Seth glanced up, but either he grew night blind or the garden didn’t have any cameras.

“What the hell?” The guard approached the Dobermans swarming around the collie, trying to mount her. The black and white bitch swirled and whimpered, avoiding another stud jumping her. “Where did you come from?”

The guard reached for the radio, pressed the button. Seth cast the shield aside. A syringe glinted in his hand as he rear-choked the wide neck of the guard with his elbow, needle stabbing into his neck. The guard’s fingers released the button as his arms floundered.

“It’s air, so don’t move. I hit your artery; if I inject you, a bubble of air enters your aorta and gets sucked into your brain or heart, causing a gas embolism. You’ll die within minutes.” Seth breathed into the man’s ear. The rifle, hanging on the guard’s shoulder, pressed into Seth’s hip as he flattened his chest against the man’s back to tighten the choke.

The radio came to life. “Base to First? Respond.”

“Go ahead.” Seth stirred the needle in the neck. “Say that everything is quiet, and the dogs are just being playful.”

The guard’s neck moistened under Seth’s hold. “They will kill me.”

“Not if I kill you first. Report or die.”

The man nodded, slowly lifted his hand, then pressed the radio’s button. “First to Base. Everything is quiet; just the damn dogs are going crazy.”

As soon as the guard released the button, Seth asked, “How many people are in the house?”

“T-three. Please, remove the needle.”

“I don’t believe you.” He stirred the needle again.

“DeSilva is a private person. N-no one stays at night in the mansion. Only the live-in butler and guards.”

“Is that so? Where are the rest of the guards?”

“In the guardhouse. N-next to the power distribution center.”

Seth pressed the plunger. The guard jerked, hands flying up. His back tensed, eyes bulged, and he tried to scream, but Seth tightened his hold. “Don’t worry, I lied. You won’t die, not now anyway.”

After a few seconds of struggling, the guard’s back relaxed, his hands dropped, and Seth lowered to his knees to rest the man on the grass. He snatched the radio attached to the guard’s shoulder and shoved it into one of the pockets of his tool belt, then dragged the sleeping man into the bushes nearby.

Trying to blink off the black “flies” invading his vision, he returned to the shield but wavered as his gaze lingered over the rifle lost in the grass. He’d never held a fire weapon before. He didn’t even know how to reload it or remove the safety. Still, he picked it up and threw it over his shoulder.

A stray branch caught his face when he returned to the building he assumed was a server room. With a screwdriver, he disconnected the air conditioners. The low humming died. Seth shrank back into the shadows, hand pushing the tool back into the belt. The servers, overheating, should fail within minutes. He hoped that the records from the security cameras were also stored there. If his hunch didn’t mislead him, whatever happened next wouldn’t be recorded.

Most of the way to the water, he jogged through the bushes and slowed down only to pass the areas observed by CCTV. Entering the blind spot area on the pier, he approached the boat and pulled out two N₂O cylinders, strapped together by a Velcro belt. Throwing them over his shoulder, he picked up his backpack and scurried back.

With his back rested against a wide pine tree, he observed the guardhouse. Its architectural plan drifted through his memory. Two rooms, a one-story building with an air conditioning system located on the roof. Metal rolling shutters shielded rare windows. He watched longer, noticing that two cameras had a mistiming. Every minute they created a fifteen second blind spot in the surveillance.

He waited for another minute to reconfirm his calculations, then jogged forward. He propped the shield against the wall with the concave side facing him, stepped onto the grip, and reached up, happy that he’d used the polycarbonate instead of the frail Plexiglass. The shield strained, plowed the ground with the edge, but held his weight.

Pushing a tiny screw into the rotation gear, Seth jammed one camera. He jumped to the ground and shielded up as the second camera turned. Releasing a breath, he counted forty-five seconds before repeating his ministrations with the second camera.

Once again, he propped the shield against the wall, then used the grip as a stepladder to climb the roof. His body was tired, or the weight he carried was too heavy for him as it took him two attempts before he managed to pull up. In the bluish moonlight, he didn’t need a flashlight to disable the air conditioning system and close the airflow on itself. Working quickly, he connected the cylinders to the self-made diffuser. Medical chemistry had never been his strongest subject, so he doubted his idea would work. Still, he connected the laughing gas to his self-made diffuser filled with Halothane, then attached it all to the air circulation system. He could only hope that the anesthetics would be enough to put everyone inside the building to sleep. Otherwise, he would have to learn how to use the rifle and quickly.

He tossed the backpack aside and hung his upper body over the roof. It took him a mere minute to direct the attention of two more cameras away from the door before he slipped to the ground. Catching his breath, he explored the metal door with the electronic lock. The initial thought to wedge the door evaporated as the seams between the jamb and door appeared to be hair-thin. He would have to hammer the wedges to make them stay. Doing so would wake up the whole forest.

Humming his concern, he activated the radio signal jammer, plucked out a tube with instant cold welding liquid, and squirted it into the hinges and seams. He wished he had more time to jam it properly, but the sharp, chemical smell of Halothane was hard to miss.

The architect in him cringed. This kind of manipulation wouldn’t prevent a professional guard from breaking down the door, but he only needed it to withstand a few minutes of an uncoordinated attack. Or that was how long he estimated for the drug to take effect.

He shrugged the rifle off his shoulder, flipped it around examining the construction. He drew a mental projection sketch, explaining the principles of the activating mechanism. His fingers ran over the black surface and turned the small switch above the trigger from safe to fire.

Standing in front of the door with the rifle pointed forward, he waited for people inside to smell the medicine. He had no desire to kill anyone except Gustavo tonight, but he came for Justin, and he would kill anyone who stood in his way.

To his surprise, panic never erupted inside the building. Someone attempted to open the door, bumped it a few times, but the noises died within a minute.

With a shrug, Seth swept toward the three-story, red and white building. The façade boasted prominent curves and twists so characteristic to Central European Baroque architecture style.

* * *

Gustavo’s mansion greetedhim with an unlocked door and a faint scent of spice and wood. In the gloom, the carved wood of the hall harbored a cozy, warm atmosphere. Just like Gustavo’s soft, low voice, it encouraged relaxation.

An old, spiral wooden staircase led upstairs. From above, a weak moonlight streamed through the glass dome and silvered the banisters. Classic and elegant, the interior flirted with Seth, bewitched him with intricate ornaments. Unable to stop himself, Seth ran his hand over the wood, enjoying the smooth texture.

Seth carried no affection for Baroque. It was too complex, too curved, too heavily gilded. But now, examining the carved chestnut, polished with a semi-matte finish that accented the natural texture of the wood, he admired the design and the architect solutions. Unlike the façade of the building, the interior’s plan was asymmetrical.

A few doors led away from the hall; the designs of each door looked unique but the overall effect proved harmonious. The staircase was asymmetrical too. A wooden ribbon stretched throughout the stories finishing the loop with a long, rectangular balcony on the third floor. Along with the dome, it created the center of the architectural ensemble. Next to the dome, the roof boasted a large rectangular skylight.

Seth’s gaze lowered to his surroundings. Below the balcony, a gray stone fireplace occupied the center of the wall. Opposite to it, another door boasted elaborate carving. Seth wanted to stay longer, to explore every curve of the wood, every cranny, but he didn’t know for how long the medication he’d sprayed into the guardhouse would last. More than that, he needed to find Justin.

He pushed the door open and entered a spacious, tall room filled with books and antiques. In the middle of it, three sofas bracketed a low table that opposed a bar, glasses glinting in the night. Another stair led to a mezzanine where tall bookcases streamed up to the ceiling, stuffed with books. A variety of displays and the wide desk in front of the window suggested it was a library, an office, or both.

Seth knew he shouldn’t be wasting his time exploring the interiors. Still, he entered the room and shut the door.

The house captivated him with the harmony of forms, colors, and something else, invisible to the eye. Seth knew that whoever built this house loved it. He suspected there must be a story behind it, and that sense of mystery captured his imagination.

He stole around the dark office. From time to time, his palm touched different objects learning their textures. He almost reached the tall, arched windows when the papers scattered over the desk drew his attention.

Before he knew it, he held a photograph in his hands, thumbs caressing the familiar forms of the glass sculpture he created. The faces, cast in glass, stared at him with black eye sockets.

It’s been a while since he saw “Purifying fire”, and now confusion swirled in his stomach as he wasn’t sure how to react. Unlike his latest creations, he didn’t love it. Just like the rest of his sculptures, the glass preserved his memories, but these he craved to forget. Long ago, Flames helped him to ease the pain and humiliation that shattered his soul and inflicted the first wounds on the body of the ancient god from his dreams. The reminder of those events was unwelcome. He dropped the photo card to the floor, picked another one, then one more. His gaze stumbled over the black, curious eyes that looked at him, through him, from the old photograph.

Thick saliva filled his mouth and made it hard to swallow. Seth didn’t expect to feel anything when he skimmed through the files, but now, looking at the painfully familiar face of the boy he once knew, a vortex of unsettled emotions arose in the desert of his soul. Having no time to analyze his reaction, he shoved the picture in the toolbelt, shook his head, and forced his attention to the desk.

He flipped through the remained papers so quickly that the edges cut his fingers and washed in red. Photographs and dossiers flickered before his eyes.

The realization that Gustavo investigated his past and explored his creations touched his mind and made him feel both exposed and entertained. A part of him wanted to light a match and burn everything. Another part was curious how far this game could go on and what else this man could find in the shards of memories sealed in glass.

He took the police report from the burned-down summer camp, read the notes. The photographs of the victims mixed with the pictures of the sculpture confirmed his suspicion. Gustavo had already established this connection.

A weird satisfaction returned, similar to that he’d experienced upon receiving the chest with the bloody sand. The attention to the detail, every face, and line of the sculpture made him wonder why they mattered to Gustavo, just like that sand packed in the antique chest.

Seth shrunk back, realizing that the feeling swelling in his chest resembled hope. The hope for understanding, for connection.

A scornful snort escaped his mouth as he gave another critical eye to the mess on the desk. The amount of work Gustavo had done impressed him. However, it made him wonder why a person of such status and power wasted his time on something like this. What’s the real reason behind his curiosity? Did I kill someone important to him?

The thought had weight. He rummaged through the papers until his fingers picked up a separate file. The feeling of intrusion aggravated as he opened the dossier. Sad, serious eyes stared at him from the first page. The eyes he loved to the point of madness—Justin’s eyes.

His cheek twitched as he forced himself to flip forward. A tiny biography occupied only half a page.

So little… The dossier made Justin look insignificant, almost non-existent. As if he was just a handful of words. His vision glitched, refusing to read the lines as he leafed through to the autopsy report. They cut him open…

The thought of someone else touching Justin’s body, cutting his skin, examining his organs, splashed darkness in his heart. He looked for the name of the pathologist or hospital details but found nothing. The report was printed on a clean sheet and didn’t have a date or anything to help identify the facility where the autopsy took place.

I should burn this. His gaze traveled over the carved wood, stopped on the antique canvas hung on the walls. He knew they were originals without turning the lights on. Too bad. This is such a beautiful house.But first, I need to find Justin.