Jeldrik arrived at home just after four. Viktor was not home. He had probably just left for rehearsals. A year ago, he had turned his passion into his profession and started playing the cello in a big orchestra. They had met two years ago, when Jeldrik was twenty-three and Viktor twenty-eight years old. Jeldrik was in his fourth year of mage school and Viktor had no idea that mages existed. Jeldrik’s friends had been making fun of him for being on non-mage dating apps, but he did not care. He understood where they were coming from – being in a mixed relationship increased the potential for conflict. At the same time, Jeldrik was romantic enough to believe that with the right person that difference could be overcome. And while he had been right, it had not been as easy as he had imagined.
Jeldrik had no energy to cook. He ordered some sushi and threw himself onto the sofa, staring at the black TV screen. The longer he stared, the more it looked like the TV was on and showed Argon’s marked body. He could see the cuts in eerie detail, the blood still gushing out of the wounds, which had not even happened anymore when they had arrived on the actual crime scene. The way the murderer had disfigured the victim seemed deliberate to Jeldrik, as if the wounds were not just inflicted for the purpose of killing, but to convey some sort of message. Jeldrik took out his notebook and drew a messy sketch of the body and where it had been cut. He was determined, despite the DMCI having lost the case, to find out if there was more behind the bloody X and the slit throat. If Argon had become the victim of a hate crime, would murders done in a similar fashion happen in the next few weeks? Or was it more personal than that? And if so, who had Argon been and who hated him enough to kill him?
The doorbell tore him violently out of his thought. He rushed to the door and opened it. It was the delivery man. He took the sushi and went back to the living room. He turned on the TV. The black screen reminded him too much of Argon. And maybe some could find some programme that distracted him from all the thoughts that were circling in his head.
It was quarter to nine when Jeldrik heard a key turning in the lock and, a few seconds later, Viktor’s voice calling: “Hey Jeldrik!”
“Hey!” Jeldrik called back. “How was the rehearsal?” He turned off the TV, took the empty sushi box and brought it to the kitchen, not without stopping in the hallway to give Viktor a kiss.
“I didn’t feel it today,” answered Viktor. “Erik picked me out twice and criticised me in front of everyone.” Erik was Viktor’s conductor and took turns in being the biggest asshole or the most brilliant mind whenever Viktor mentioned him. “He even asked me if I feel ready for the concert next week, as if I haven’t done a perfect job every other day!”
“What a bastard!” responded Jeldrik from the kitchen. Then he walked back into the hallway and took Viktor’s cello case and carried it behind the living room door.
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“Thanks,” exclaimed Viktor and fell onto the sofa, sighing heavily. Jeldrik lay down on top of him. He weighed slightly more than Viktor, so Viktor gasped and tried to push the other man off him. Without success. He gave up. “How was your day?” he managed to squeeze out.
“I saw a corpse today,” Jeldrik said, having forgotten for a second what had happened in the presence of his boyfriend. He rolled off Viktor and lay next to him.
“You saw what?” Viktor sat up on one elbow.
“A dead person. A man. And we went to his apartment and I found him.”
There was a short pause. Then: “Was it bad?”
“Yes. He was … mutilated.” And suddenly he realised he was crying. No gentle crying either. He bawled as he had never bawled in his life. It had come without warning. He was aware of the shame shooting through his body and was about to get up and go to the bedroom. But when he felt Viktor pulling him closer and taking him in his arms, the shame disappeared. Jeldrik had at no point expected to be this affected by today’s events. And yet here he was, sobbing into Viktor’s shirt, unable to control himself.
He had no idea how long it took before he calmed down enough to wipe some of his tears away. He could hardly see through his swollen, wet eyes. With his clarity of mind came another feeling. He could not point a finger at it at first. Out of nowhere, he thought of him steeping into Argon’s bedroom and the MMS snatching the case from under the DMCI’s nose, until he realised that it was anger he felt. No, rage. What had happened today had obviously done a great deal to him. He had seen his first dead body, he had started to feel like a proper DMCI investigator, if only for a very short time. And then the MMS was marching and made all of that not count? His distress without redemption? His excitement without payoff? No. He would not accept that. He leapt up into a sitting position. Viktor let out a surprised gasp.
“You know what?” Viktor looked at his boyfriend. “Fuck the MMS! I’m going to look into this case.”
“The MMS?” Viktor looked very confused. His eyes were red and slightly swollen, too, and Jeldrik felt a burst of love for this man rush through his body.
“Yes, the MMS. They took the case and literally pushed Gabriel out of the victim’s apartment. But I don’t want to have experienced all this without knowing how it ends.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Viktor asked carefully. “I don’t think Gabriel would appreciate that.”
Jeldrik’s stubborn motivation was dampened a bit by Viktor’s concern.
“Maybe,” he said and leaned back on the sofa, contemplating his plan. “But I can’t just let this go, can I?”
“I don’t know, Jeldrik.” Viktor looked helplessly at his boyfriend. “Maybe let’s talk about it tomorrow? You might think differently after a good night’s sleep. And if not … I guess it’s not illegal to do some research. I don’t really know how you would realise your plan anyway.”
Neither knew Jeldrik. And yet he was determined to try.
“You’re probably right about the good night’s sleep though.”
