Curse

"Thanks for coming down again, Grace."  Detective Bob Langdon shakes my hand stiffly.  "This one calls himself Curse.  Claims he can help with your case.  Seems a bit off to me."

"Whackjob of the day, huh?" I twirl a long strand of hair I've pulled loose from my ponytail. "Why did you bring him in? He a suspect?"

"I didn't. He arrived this morning. Said he knows something about what happened to you."

It's been three weeks since I was first brought to the station to help ID the men who attacked me. The police haven't tabbed a single one. I smooth one of my eyebrows with my fingers, letting the caress drift down my cheek to trace the rough scabs that still decorate my face.

"And what's that?"

"Said he wanted to wait till you were here."

I take a long look at the man seated in the interrogation room. His face is shrouded beneath a hood of long, brown hair. Unkempt, but not unclean. A day's worth of stubble darkens his cheeks, and his age is hard to place. Maybe a bit younger than thirty, or perhaps just north of forty, but most likely somewhere between.  His white button-down shirt looks crisp and clean, but his black leather jacket stands out. Really it's a worn-out gray, and I notice a few unsightly holes near the shoulders and elbows.  Still, I know my fashion, and the shell is quality leather with a boxy sort of cut that was once high style--decades ago. Suppose that makes sense though, seeing as the jacket looks to have seen more winters than the man himself.

"You seen him before?" Langdon asks.

"Nope. I'm certain."

Langdon starts to say something else, but pauses when the man in interrogation places his wallet on the table.

"Glad you're here, Grace. You'll want to see these."

A chill goes through me at the sound of my name. He goes back into his jacket, and soon, four wallets sit on the table.

Langdon storms out and bursts into the interrogation room.  "The hell are those?"

Curse looks up, and for the first time I notice something strange about his eyes--even where the light hits them, there's no shine, no glimmer.  He smiles, and it's a serpent's smile, the kind where the crow's feet stay hidden no matter how brightly the pearly-whites flash.

"They're wallets, detective. I think Miss Matthews will agree they belong to the men who hurt her." He bows his head slightly while his smile widens. "Belonged, that is."

"What have you done?" Langdon shouts. He touches a hand to his gun.

Curse waves a hand. "Oh nothing like that. Don't be silly, Detective. I would never ordinarily involve myself.  I just happened upon these men. Terrible accident, really.  No hope for saving them, so I came in to report it.  But I saw they had some of the items that got stolen from Miss Matthews, and I put two-and-two together."

"Oh, so you're a math genius now."  

Well, Miss Matthews is one of my favorite writers, and I recently saw her editorial about what happened. Good stuff; you should read it.  She's a gifted journalist.  Perhaps you caught her exposé on CrossTech?  I reckon maybe these guys wanted to shut her up."

"Right."  Langdon scowls. "Well don't get any ideas about skipping town before we check this out.  Curse.  The hell kind of name is that, anyway?"

The man laughs, then turns away from Langdon and stares straight into the two-way mirror. Straight at me.

"The name I want Grace to use when she writes about me."