AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"I am strong. I am timeless. I am here to be admired." He muttered the words as he washed the gold away, looking with distaste at the color of his naked skin.
Just a structure. A metallic form, something stronger and more powerful than humanity, more timeless than a lifespan.
Like the Eiffel Tower, which he could see from his window.
Stepping out of the shower, grasping a towel, he slung it around his waist and walked over to that incredible view. There was the tower, strong, enduring, made of steel. Visible now as evening fell, there was a strange romance about it that pulled at his heart.
Statues, sculptures, structures. Their order and their indestructible nature spoke to his soul. That was why he created his statues, following the rules, the guidelines, that only he could see.
He was one of the immortal, he thought, with a swelling of pride. He was a figure in the night, an entity that would last longer than any of them.
Hunting down his statues in the States had been thrilling. It had taught him what his true calling was. But here in Paris, with its arts and culture, the history and workmanship evident in every angle, every direction, this felt like more.
It felt like he belonged here.
"It was such a good decision." He nodded in approval. "Coming here was the right thing, for sure."
It was an exciting city, and there was so much more of it to explore. Perhaps he'd take a walk now, scope out some more likely places where his next statue could be found.
He might even take the time to enjoy a meal, to experience what the tourists did. There were some good restaurants nearby. It would be a change, for a moment, to come down from his pedestal and to act like an ordinary person. Then, he could stroll through the streets, keeping an eye out for exactly the right place.
He knew what he needed, and where he had to go. He kept his props with him, in his bag. Everything he required was there, packed neatly away.
Of course, his hands did the most critical job of all, and he stared down at them in silent approval.
They were strong, long fingered, and yet sensitive. These hands could grab a victim and crush her to death around her neck in a few moments. Wrapped in gloves, it didn't matter if the victim tore or ripped at his fingers for a few seconds. He wasn't worried. They were cheap, ordinary gloves, to be found anywhere, and they wouldn’t lead back to him. Look at all the street performers, after all. It was very common for mime artists and clowns to wear gloves.
It was only after death that the real mastery began. And then, he was ready, with his brushes and his sponges, putting the finishing touches, the artful highlights, and strokes to make his victims' dead faces appear exactly as if they had been molded from gold.
Goldenface. He nodded to himself. He liked that name. He liked the power and the danger it held.
Smiling, he thought of the Parisian night waiting to be explored, and the powerful addition he was going to make to what was already out there.
He glanced at the window again, and then away, and then at the bag that lay beside him. It would take him an hour to put on his disguise and apply that golden paint again. He was longing for it, but for now, it would be better to go out without it. Just in case. He needed to seem normal, ordinary, and not to attract attention. Another tourist, nothing more. Quickly, he dressed.
He headed out of his apartment, into the corridor. From somewhere, he could hear a shouted argument. Closer by, a baby cried. Life was going on and people were living it.
His mouth twisted as he hurried down the stairs. There was an elevator, but he never took it. He liked to walk and climb. To be fit and strong. That helped him in the moments when strength was needed. You could not neglect the health and power of your body.
Outside, the evening had cooled, and a breeze wafted across the road, bringing a delicious whiff of scents from the perfumery shop across the street from the apartment.
He was clad all in black, to blend in. If there was a color that defined Parisians, black was it. They loved their black coats, their dark pants, their black scarves, and gloves.
He smiled and allowed himself to breathe deeply. For a moment, he felt almost...normal. Just a regular guy, taking a walk in the night. No one was watching him. No one was suspicious.
It felt good. He needed to keep it that way. But at the same time, he couldn’t forget that he was more than this.
Now, he brought the image of the map into his mind. He'd looked at it earlier and he had a good recall of the area, and of the streets. He knew where his next statue should be placed. The walk would allow him to assess the site in more detail.
He walked, winding his way through the streets, his eyes and ears open. He'd been careful to change his route each night, never taking the same route twice. After all, although he knew where the street cameras were, one still couldn’t be too careful.
And as he walked, he felt that sense of power and freedom. He was a man invisible, a figure who created golden beauty, and the Paris night was his playground. His new hunting ground. A place where beautiful statues, and great opportunities, waited. Where he knew he could become more than he was now. He would channel the power within the city and let it feed him.
Purposefully, he headed off, ready to prepare for his next statue.
CHAPTER TEN
This man was running over the bridge crossing the Seine River. The minute he'd seen that Wyatt was a plainclothes police officer, he'd taken off and was racing away. Fear clenched at Juliette's stomach as she raced in pursuit, because in the darkness, in this crowded area that was thronged with tourists, there was a serious risk he might get away.
