CAR 12

Leaning crookedly against the door, Dennis scanned the space given to him with unsettled eyes. The window was half open. It had been pouring all afternoon… Dennis approached the windowsill beyond the bed and was struggling to close the window.

A strange card was placed neatly on Dennis’s desk.

How had he only just discovered it? It was a thin card, similar in color to the walnut desk.

The envelope had been torn open, as if someone had already checked it. The only person who would send a card to Dennis was Marquis Quachi. As expected, it was his handwriting.

𝓣𝓸 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓻𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓷.

𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓪𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓹 𝓲𝓷 𝓪 𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮.

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓾𝓽𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓫𝓵𝔂 𝓷𝓸𝓲𝓼𝔂.

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓪𝔂 𝓯𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓾𝓭𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝓜𝓪𝓳𝓮𝓼𝓽𝔂 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓴.

𝓞𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓷𝓸 𝓼𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓷𝓮𝔀𝓼, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓸𝔀 𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓼.

𝓜𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱 𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻,

𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓫𝓫𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓭 𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓶, 𝓘 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓰𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓪 𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓽.

Dennis’s hand, holding the card, trembled. A long sigh followed.

𝓛𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓡𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮.

𝓝𝓸 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓼 ‘𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓸𝓷.’

𝓤𝓷𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝔂 𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓭𝓾𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻, 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓷 𝓲𝓼 𝓪 𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭.

𝓝𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓱𝓲𝓶.

𝓑𝓮 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓶𝔂 𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓹𝓾𝓽 𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮.

𝓘 𝓫𝓮𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓶𝓪𝓷’𝓼 𝓵𝓾𝓬𝓴 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾.

𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓯𝓪𝓻 𝓪𝔀𝓪𝔂.

Dennis tore the card to shreds. He looked down at his palm with a sour face. Soon, Dennis shoved the finely torn pieces of the card into his throat. It was the first thing he had learned from Quachi. As was ingrained in him, he chewed and swallowed the card, steeped in anguish.

Heavy raindrops beat against the window. Dennis originally preferred this kind of weather. Because it was a climate suitable for covering or burying things.

But now his head was dizzy with a different kind of ringing besides the rain.

He heard the sound of death crawling.

Like a long, many-legged insect, like a dry vine crumbling from a wall. Like his mother who drowned trying to retrieve a galleon that had fallen into the lake, Vittorio’s axe-work, which had crushed all ten of Laurent’s fingers, in his vision…

Someone knocked on Dennis’s door.

Dennis turned to look at the door. The figure beyond the door waited patiently for Dennis. Dennis pressed his ear to the door. Not the slightest noise could be heard other than the downpour battering the window.

When he reluctantly opened the door, the first thing he saw was Laurent’s head. Laurent’s head, eyes closed and bloodless, was, of course, missing a body below the neck. The tips of Laurent’s ears and nose were pale and dry.

Its mouth was half open, and a tongue, protruding slightly, was visible between the purplish lips. Laurent’s bluish head was… grotesque and alien.

The man who had wrapped Laurent’s neck with a fine handkerchief smiled at Dennis. He was holding Laurent’s head in both hands. He smelled of fish.

“Hello.”

It was Vittorio.

The hallway, with the lights now out, was dark. He held out Laurent’s head to the dumbfounded Dennis. As if it didn’t matter that Dennis wouldn’t take it, he leaned his large body crookedly against the doorway.

“Did you check your gift?”

“…”

“Poor Dennis Kahler.”

My poor teacher. Muttering so, Vittorio stepped into Dennis’s room. When the door closed, the inside seemed to be completely filled by Vittorio.

His presence and bizarre behavior overwhelmed Dennis. Water of an unknown origin dripped from his dazzling blond hair. Drip, drip.

“Don’t you need a roommate?”

“Please…”

“The inside is so bleak, I think you must be very lonely.”

“I’d like you to leave.”

“As it happens, I’ve lost my roommate too.”

At the request to leave, Vittorio’s smile vanished. The more Dennis retreated, the closer Vittorio came. Soon, Dennis’s calves touched the low bed, and there was nowhere left to run. Vittorio Bonaparte was like a disaster.

Dennis looked at the window.

“Are you going to jump?”

Before he could stop him, Vittorio pressed his body close. Laurent’s head was sandwiched between him and Dennis. Dennis turned his head away from Laurent’s head, which was touching his chest. Dennis opened his mouth as if to scream.

“I really don’t know… what you want to do with me.”

“…”

“Just kill me now. You must have already seen the letter Quachi sent…”

In an instant, Laurent’s head tumbled to the floor. His strong grip seized Dennis’s cheek, preventing him from finishing his earnest plea.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“…”

“You should be begging me to let you live, Teacher.”

It was also in an instant that Vittorio bit Dennis’s lips savagely. Opening his jaws like a beast, he devoured both Dennis’s upper and lower lips. He bit down so hard that Dennis even tasted the faint taste of blood.

Vittorio’s tongue licked greedily at Dennis’s teeth. When he resisted opening his mouth, Vittorio’s thumb and forefinger pressed hard against Dennis’s cheeks. Through the gap that opened reflexively, a long, thick tongue like a snake invaded.

The arrogant Vittorio had his other hand thrust into his own pants pocket. Dennis, on the other hand, had no choice but to cling to Vittorio’s arm like a lifeline to keep from being bent backward.

It was a kiss so persistent it could bend one’s entire body. With a wet and explicit moan, Dennis’s tongue was sucked deeply. Even the tip of his tongue was at Vittorio’s mercy.

It was the first time he had ever been kissed for so long. Even after pulling out of Dennis’s mouth, Vittorio licked and sucked crudely at Dennis’s jaw and cheeks for a while.

Someone who admired Vittorio, or was out of their mind, might have drooled at the long, persistent kiss, but…

Dennis felt as if his face had been thoroughly fucked, as if it were his asshole. Vittorio sneered at Dennis’s face, flushed but accompanied by despair and bewilderment.

What would happen to him now? Vittorio, who had been looking down with a blank expression at Dennis despairing over his own situation, suddenly thrust a hand into his pants.

Dennis’s two hands once again tried to stop Vittorio with all their might. Regardless, Vittorio grabbed Dennis’s penis completely.

“Have you ever used it?”

“…”

“I’m asking if you’ve ever fucked.”

Vittorio, holding Dennis’s member as if to burst it, asked bluntly. The vocabulary that flowed from the prince’s mouth was so vulgar it was diverse. When Dennis remained silent, Vittorio grabbed his short pubic hair. Dennis groaned in pain.

He never had. He had never suffered such a humiliation. He had served a few ladies as instructed by Quachi with his mouth, but noble people, as they often are, did not want the likes of Dennis to dare enter them.

He admitted it. His ignorance that a man could unilaterally press down and pound another man’s body. The foolish years of deliberately turning a blind eye to the world of the abnormal…

In Vittorio’s huge hand, Dennis gradually grew in size. When his fingertips grazed the foreskin, he groaned reflexively. His lower abdomen churned with the urge to urinate. It felt as if he would be crushed by Vittorio right then and there. His penis, his life, his guaranteed freedom…

“Just keep doing what you’re doing now.”

“Ah, huh…”

“So that I, having lost interest in this situation, don’t hunt you.”

He was gently pressing on the opening to prevent Dennis from ejaculating easily. Dennis’s waist bent in half. Soon, Vittorio violently pushed away Dennis, whose whole body had turned red. Thrown onto the bed, Dennis finally exhaled.

Dennis was standing in the middle of a downpour.

He headed for the annex, Laurent’s head tucked under his arm. It was difficult to even open his eyes in the fierce rain. The blood that had been caked all over Dennis’s body had also been washed away long ago.

He glanced for a moment at the spot where Violette dei’s head had been crushed. A strange light glinted in Dennis’s eyes. He approached the spot, holding Laurent’s hair.

Dennis Kahler dug into the soft earth with his bare hands. He hadn’t even brought a shovel, so he had no choice but to dig at the ground like a dog. He clawed at the ground until the roots of a nearby tree were all exposed.

And he stared at the pit for a long time. This narrow, deep crevice felt like his own grave. If he were to put his own head in here instead of Laurent’s… A cozy-looking death lay at Dennis’s feet.

Dennis suddenly looked up at the annex. Even in such a fierce downpour, the window of Vittorio’s practice room was wide open. He was probably looking down at Dennis ominously.

“…Son of a bitch who thinks nothing of his teacher.”

Dennis picked up Laurent’s head. He shoved it into the cozy pit meant only for Laurent Remitte’s head. Squatting down, Dennis slowly sprinkled handfuls of the dirt he had dug up earlier.

Dennis recalled Laurent’s dance moves. His fervent gaze as he looked at Vittorio with envy, the freckles covering his whole body, and his attempts to be violent that were nothing but clumsy.

Soon, Dennis, realizing something, spat out a single word.

“Shit, fuck…”

It was probably rolling around somewhere. Dennis sighed.

🩰

The next day, Dennis visited the nurse’s office.