The Magician

The Kingdom of Hypocrisy is in political turmoil

The Marshal commits the crimes

The Tax collector pays tribute to his king

The High Priest lives in decadence

Only the Magician can fix the kingdom

“NYPD, OPEN UP!”

“You have no warrant, I know you don’t”

With that short conversation, a temper just as kicked the door down. Sergeant Isaac Shields strode into the room confidently, a pistol in his left hand and a warrant in his right. He smiled as three other officers entered the room and began to search it. 

“You know what, exactly?” The sergeant seemed to judge the guilt of the man from his eyes alone. It was as if a lion became the judge, jury, and executioner for a meek gazelle. Just as the courtroom adjourned, the other officers had evidently found something. In the back of the apartment, several illegally registered weapons were discovered. The man, a long time gunrunner, knew when he was beaten and gave himself to the police.

The clock struck nine at the Bank of New York. ‘Closing time,’ head bank teller Ariel O’Neil thought. Just a short bus ride home, a nice hot meal, and shower, and a book before bed. It was a normal night of relaxation. And, like many of her plans, her night went off without any problems. Ariel smiled as she looked into the mirror, focusing on the color of her eyes, absentmindedly brushing her hair.

‘Nine o’clock, the night has just begun,’ Father Gabriel looked at his watch. He knew most of the old ladies would leave the church and return to their homes. Most would return to empty homes, a thought which stung the priest. He always knew to count his blessings. He knew to thank God for what he had. And right now, he had a house full of prodigal sons and daughters that needed forgiveness. ‘This will be a long night,’ Father Gabriel thought.

High in his tower, he thought and thought,

Finally, an idea split his brain, as he began to write.

The Tax collector, the High Priest, and the Marshall all awoke

A letter at the door, with a date and time,

Little did they know, for their execution

Sergeant Shields knocked on the door of the gothic style mansion in the middle of the New York woods. He looked at his watch and once more at the note. ‘May 26th, at 3:00, beyond Sylvan road and Ia Street,’ was written in neat handwriting. He knocked once more on the door, this time to the answer of a wonderful looking young lady. Shields guessed she was about 28, with stylish new clothes he had seen young people wear on the streets. The girl had shoulder-length brown hair and a fair complexion. The Sergeant almost forgot why he had knocked on the door, he was deep in thought.

“Hello, my name is Isaac Shields, I received a letter to meet someone here?”

“Very strange then, Mr. Shields, I received the same letter, and so did the man behind you apparently.”

The Sergeant turned to face the man that had just pulled in front of the house in a fancy black car. The man was old, about 60 years or so, dressed in a priest’s attire. The man held the same confused face that the Sergeant and the woman had. The priest walked up to the two other people and gestured to the door.

Once they had walked into the foyer, they all sat down and presented their letters. Each letter was handwritten on a normal 8.5 x 11-inch white paper. The handwriting was neat and fancy, almost like calligraphy. It was impossible to tell who the writer was, as everyone in the room had submitted written samples to the de facto interrogation. No matches.

“Well, whoever wants us here, it has something to do with our work,” Isaac said. “He addressed us by our titles, or at least what they would be in Narnia. Shall we look around this house?”

A quick search of the house revealed nothing but a singular letter. The letter read, in calligraphic handwriting. The Sergeant put on his glasses to read the note;

“The Kingdom of Hypocrisy is in political turmoil

The Marshal commits the crimes

The Tax collector pays tribute to his king

The High Priest lives in decadence

Only the Magician can fix the kingdom

High in his tower, he thought and thought,

Finally, an idea split his brain, as he began to write.

The Tax collector, the High Priest, and the Marshall all awoke

A letter at the door, with a date and time,

Little did they know, for their execution”

“So, now this lunatic is going to kill us, eh?” Shields’ eyes began to wander to the other two as he had said this. He knew one of them was this Magician. ‘Some people call priests magicians, so maybe it's padre over here. Then again, it could be the girl, because of the old idea the women were witches. After all, she wouldn’t give herself away by calling herself a witch. It would be too revealing for her.’ The Sergeant's eyes ran back and forth from the rooms of his suspects' minds.

Ariel looked into the mirror that was the Sergeant’s glasses. ‘I know I’m not this wizard, I have never been here before. Then, why does this mansion look familiar? Why did I know where the key was? I can’t let them know this, otherwise, they’ll suspect me for sure. I should bide my time and wait.’

Father Gabriel looked into the eyes of the others as if he was giving a confession. He was the first to speak. “I understand why I would be the most suspicious, Sergeant, but I can promise you I have no such idea. However, years of looking into the eyes of sinners, killers, and liars tell me that Mrs. O’Neil knows something.”

“Is that right, Mrs. O’Neil? You can tell us, we won’t convict without evidence,” The Sergeant said with a warming smile.

‘That Father is quick. Only someone with an acute intelligence could have called this meeting.’ The bank teller took a deep breath and began to explain, “When I arrived here, I recognized the building. However, I don’t know how or why. Even walking through the buildings, I knew where everything was. That is also why I was in the building when you arrived, Sergeant. I knew where the spare key was hidden.”

The Sergeant ate the testimony and let it sit in his stomach. His suspicions for both of his suspects only grew stronger. “Well, Father, why don’t you tell us something,” the Sergeant said after a long while. “You explained how you knew Mrs. O’Neil knew something, why don’t you look into my eyes and tell me what you see.”

The Priest matched the cold gaze of the Sergeant. It was barely a second before the Priest told the congregation, “You have done something very bad.”

“So have you, father. May God forgive you, and may He forgive me.”

Without a second thought, Sergeant Shields retrieved his weapon. A deafening bang, a splatter of blood, and a scream, and then, silence. The Priest was dead on the ground, the Sergeant standing over the body and the Bank teller cowering on the couch. 

“Why… Why…” The Bank teller repeated for a while until reality had hit her. “Why did you kill him?” 

“I knew him. The Priest, he was a suspect in a murder. There was no evidence, but I know he killed one of his Brothers. They questioned his extravagant spending, citing how they should forsake decadence. Well, if he didn’t stop, he would have been kicked out of the Church. He shouldn’t have walked free from that court.”

“But he did! You shouldn’t have killed him!” Anger replaced the fear that gripped the Bank teller. “You had no right! You are no judge!”

“Shut up! He brought me and you here to kill us. It's obvious why he would want to kill me, I was the one that investigated him. What did he want with you?”

Silence again. Even more deafening than the gunshot, the silence weighed on both of them, until the Bank teller finally spoke. “I… I was in charge of his finances. I embezzled money from the bank but wanted to stop. I went to confession and told him what I was doing. He threatened me, blackmail. I was to continue and give him a percentage of what I stole. I didn’t want to! But, I couldn’t lose this job.

Silence once more, except for the house shaking in the wind. The Sergeant stood motionless, the gun still in his hand. His finger toyed with the trigger. Finally, he placed the gun on the table and sat across from the woman.

“You realize you committed a crime, correct?”

“You killed an unarmed civilian.”

“He was a criminal!”

“He was a man. He was human!”

“Shut up! I know what I did. I saved our lives. Look, he probably has a weapon on him!”

The Sergeant moved over to the lifeless corpse and searched his pockets. Nothing showed up but a singular card. Try Again!

“God… he was innocent… what did I… you… you can’t tell anyone about this.”

“I… I have to… I’m sorry.”

“No, you… it is you then… if it wasn’t him.”

Realization passed through both of their faces. Their eyes locked to find the open doorways. Then, both of their eyes drifted slowly downwards to the gun. The Bank teller was quicker.

“I… I have to arrest you. I’m sorry.”

“You won’t!” The Sergeant jumped toward the girl as another shot rang out through the old house. Two corpses littered the once spotless floor. A young woman stood between both of them, a gun in her hand. However, she is no murderer. 

Just then, the Bank teller turned to the doorway, where a silhouette awaited. A tall, skinny man with a large, wide-brimmed hat covered his head, with a long, black trench coat around his body. He was a tall, skinny man with a pair of dark spectacles. He walked towards the woman, standing a good 3 inches taller than her. With no particular accent, the man asked her, “Do you know who I am?”

“The Magician.”

He smiled an evil smile. “The Magician is also called the Executioner.” The stranger produced a long knife. The woman knew she could not kill him. ‘Too much blood, too many crimes. But, I won’t let this man win. He made a fool of all of us, turning us against each other.’ Finally, she looked into the man’s eyes. She made a final request.

“Let me look into your soul.”

“Very well, brave little sheep. Look into the wolf’s gaze.” The man removed his hat, revealing a bald head with many tattoos. The tattoos were a singular word, each in different languages. The woman noticed Norweigian, Romanian, Hindi, and Serbian. The man noticed the woman’s curiosity and answered the unanswered question.

“These are the many names I have been given.” Finally, the man threw his glasses to the ground and allowed her to see the name stitched across his eyes.

Vampire

“You have seen my soul. So, what now little lamb? Will you keep looking into the abyss? Because the abyss has many names.”

One gunshot. Silence.