13 Mink Street

Chapter 11: Demonkin

"Tiz!"

"Yes?"

That sensation, the one where your heart feels ready to tear itself out your throat, Karon suddenly realized that it was no metaphor, but the plain truth. He stared at the child's drawing, the lines suddenly resolving into a face he recognized. The killer’s name, that word had slipped out before he could rein it in. And then, somehow already at the door, the killer appeared. He answered softly. That gentle sound continued to thunder in Karon’s ears.

He instantly snapped upright from his seat on the edge of the spring bed, closing the notebook in his hands.

"Were you calling for me?" Tiz asked.

"I... yes. I need something."

Tiz nodded. "I have something for you, too."

Karon gave a dry laugh. "What a coincidence, Grandpa."

"Come to my study."

"Alright, Grandpa."

Tiz turned and walked away. As soon as he heard the study door, Karon reopened the notebook and ripped out the incriminating page, crumpling it. He glanced back at the glass of milk on his desk. For a moment, he considered swallowing the page, but ended up shoving it in his pocket instead.

He left his room and went to Tiz’s study. There was nothing remarkable about the room. No extravagance, no distinct marks, just a chandelier shedding its unchanging light. Karon recalled how, the other night, Tiz had chosen to use candles instead.

Tiz sat behind his desk while Karon dragged a chair over and sat in it, arranging himself with practiced ease. Anyone watching would have seen nothing amiss. For the moment, the drawing would have to wait. Everything faded away. The thoughts of those so-called parents blurred to the periphery of his own memory. Even if the picture revealed the truth, even if Tiz had done it, the details were immaterial. Survival was all that mattered.

"Will you speak first, or shall I?" Tiz asked.

"You go ahead, Grandpa."

"Your uncle told me about what happened today, as well as the new job he wants to arrange for you at the company. You seem more agreeable now, and are even willing to help others with their own burdens?"

Karon replied, "It was only after living in anguish myself for so long that I learned to listen, understand, and how to make such burdens lighter for others."

"And you’re willing to do these things?"

"I am."

"Why?"

"Because I am an Immers. If I can help the family, I should. It’s not just about the business, but the people. My... my family."

"There’s an opening for a deacon at the Mink Street church. If you want to counsel and help others, that position might fit you better."

"I don't want to be a deacon."

"Oh? Why not?"

"I want to act for myself, rather than beneath a mask or in a god's name."

"Is there a difference?"

"There is."

"And what is it?"

"I believe the bonds between family are their own. They weren't forged by some god. Family doesn’t need a god to serve as a lubricant."

"Go on."

"Uncle Mason needs money. Aunt Mary needs money. Aunt Winnie—since her divorce—needs money, too."

"Our family isn’t short of money."

"But we’re not wealthy enough."

"In truth, I never wanted to see my children spending their whole lives chasing after money. There will never be enough, and there are things in this world that matter more."

"But the things that matter are hard to reach when there isn’t enough money."

Silence followed. Tiz said nothing, and Karon left things as they were.

After a time, the older man spoke again, "Do you like money that much?"

Karon answered, "Grandpa, as I said, my uncle, my aunts, Mina, Lent, and Clarice as they grow up, all of them need money. If my family needs something, it’s my responsibility to find it."

Tiz reached for his teacup, only for Karon to stand up and pick up the thermos on the edge of the desk. "Fresh tea leaves, Grandpa?"

Tiz shook his head, so Karon just poured more hot water. He then set the thermos down and returned to his seat.

"You really believe you can provide what your family needs in this way? I know you made twenty thousand rupi today, but tell me, why did that gentleman pay you so generously?"

"Because he saw value."

"And that is precisely the problem; few people recognize value. Of those who do, fewer still both have money and are willing to part with it."

"I'll find another way. I believe I can do it."

"Very well." Tiz lifted his teacup. "Now, tell me what's troubling you."

"Grandpa, I want to resume my studies."

"Oh? You wish to return to school?"

"Yes, Grandpa."

"Just now you said you want to work for the family, helping us earn money."

"I don't have to go to classes every day. I can continue helping around the house while studying on my own, though I do need your help with the registration."

"You're thinking about university as well?"

"I am."

"And where would you go?"

"Saint John University in Veyn. I’ve heard it’s among the best in the world."

"It is. But do you really think you can attend that university?"

"If I work hard enough, keeping up with my studies and my responsibilities—"

Tiz shook his head. "No, that isn’t what I’m asking."

Karon hesitated. "What do you mean, Grandpa?"

Tiz set his tea back down. "I’m old now. When people reach my age, they long for quiet, and they want to keep their children close."

Karon could only stare. This wasn’t at all how he’d imagined things going. In his mind, leaving for university had seemed like the perfect solution for both of them. He knew Tiz had always understood that he was not really Karon, and he knew that Tiz knew. Leaving Roja City, leaving Swillen itself, would have been a clean break, his chance for freedom. For Tiz, his grandson would remain alive in his memories, just living far away and studying, kept at a just enough distance for beauty and dreams. Shouldn’t that satisfy them both?

Tiz sipped his tea again. "I won’t feel at peace if you go."

"But Grandpa... I'm grown. In Roja City, fifteen is already considered adulthood."

Tiz watched him. "To me, you’re still a child. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless... I am dead. Before I die, you will not leave this family. Of course, you might try to run away. You can try it, if you like.”

Karon opened his lips as if to speak, but then drew a quiet breath and allowed his tension to ease into something softer. He rose, managing a smile. "The truth is, I could never bear to leave you, Grandpa. Being close to you is my greatest happiness."

Tiz nodded, then glanced toward the door; a gentle dismissal. Karon turned away. His smile faded. Only a grave heaviness remained.

As he reached the doorway, Tiz called out behind him, "One more thing."

Karon paused, his smile returning like a mask. "Grandpa, is there something else?"

"The hospital called. He’s awake. I have business at the church tomorrow, so visit Mr. Hoffen for me."

"Yes, Grandpa. Thank god; may He bless us. Mr. Hoffen is finally alright."

"Mmm. Go rest."

"You too, Grandpa."

***

Karon slipped back to his room. Lent, already washed and settled into bed, sat up as soon as Karon came in. "Karon, Mom asked me to remind you to eat your snack."

"Alright, I know." Karon noticed the three hundred rupi slipped under his glass of milk. He closed his eyes for a moment, drew a thousand-rupi note from his drawer, added the three hundred to it, and then walked over to Lent.

"Karon, I can’t—"

"Give me your hand."

"Karon..."

"Give it."

Reluctantly, Lent held out his hand. Karon placed one thousand three hundred rupi in Lent’s palm. Then, he lowered his head to bring his face close to Lent’s, and spoke each word slowly, “Don’t ignore what I tell you.”

Lent pursed his lips tightly, but eventually nodded.

Karon straightened, suddenly realizing it was unfair to let the emotions that had built up with Tiz spill over onto Lent. He reached out and gently patted Lent on the head, his tone softening, “Your big brother can earn money. I’m not short on cash. Just don’t let your mother know, and don’t spend it recklessly.”

“Yes,” Lent quietly assented. “I understand. I’ll listen to you”

"Go to bed."

"Good night, Karon."

"Good night."

He settled down at his desk as the lamplight’s glow surrounded him, soft and yellow. From his pocket, he drew a crumpled page. He intended to unfold it, but halfway, he changed his mind. He crumpled it even smaller, drained his milk in one gulp, and then dropped the paper into the empty glass and mashed it with a spoon until it dissolved away.

That was done, Karon leaned against his palm. In his mind, Tiz's words lingered: I won’t feel at peace if you go... unless I am dead.

He let out a slow, tired breath.

Karon bit deep into the bread, feeling helpless. A curse came to mind that he could not speak aloud. Tiz had intended to kill him once before, and might even still want to, yet in the end, he hadn’t actually done it. Until that day came, Karon would continue under Tiz’s roof, eating the food, drinking the water, using the things, and sleeping in the beds. It hardly seemed fair to complain. What else could be done? He opened his hands, half resigned. “I wish Grandpa a long, long life.”

If Tiz refused to let him leave, Karon could only hope that Tiz would live forever, as there was another way to interpret the old man’s words. There was a boast Ron often made, swearing that he would spend his last rupi before dying. If one day Tiz fell ill and decided his end was near, then, before leaving...

Karon licked his lips and forced a weak laugh. “Maybe he’ll take me with him.”

***

Back in the study, the black cat, Poelle, stalked across the table. “He goes on about earning money for the family. Always mentioning family! So touching, so moving. Tiz, are you taken in by this? He uses that word ‘family’ to bind himself to you and to stay alive. Every line he gives you, it’s just for his own survival. Tell me, Tiz: do you actually believe any of it, or are you lying to yourself?”

Tiz sat there, silent.

Poelle continued to pace back and forth along the desk, her tail flicking. “Look at you! Is this really Inquisitor Tiz? It seems like you’ve grown old at last; starting to care about family, letting your office slip from your grasp. Have you forgotten about the blood on your hands? Your son and daughter-in-law you killed? Yet now, facing a grandson, you hesitate? You have more than one grandson!”

Tiz’s gaze shifted to the cat. Beneath his quiet stare, Poelle drew back cautiously.

Finally, Tiz spoke, “Order—Cage.”

Darkness unfurled from his body, sweeping over his desk and closing it off in a heartbeat. Everything was sealed.

“Tiz, what are you doing? Don’t be rash! I’m trying to wake you up, to warn you! Help you—”

Tiz’s hand came down hard up on Poelle’s back, pinning her in place.

“Aaaaaaaaah!” The scream slid into a strangled yowl, “Meeeeooooow!”

Tiz stared at the struggling cat, eyes steady, his expression unreadable. His voice was soft and flat, “Are you teaching me how to act?”

***

Nothing happened at the house that morning. Mina, Lent, and Clarice had left for school. After finishing the breakfast Aunt Winnie had prepared, Karon went downstairs to find Paul and Ron both by the flowerbeds, talking quietly.

“Good morning, Young Master Karon.”

“Good morning, Young Master.”

Ron sounded especially cheerful, flush from the five hundred rupi he’d pocketed the day before.

Karon turned to Paul. “Do you need the car later?”

Paul shook his head. “No calls so far.”

Ron chimed in, “I think today will be easy. Mr. Mason and Ms. Mary haven’t even gotten up yet.”

It seemed that his uncle and aunt were sleeping in, making the most of the rare lull.

“Paul, could you take me to the hospital? I need to visit Mr. Hoffen for Grandpa.”

“Of course, Young Master.” The Immers family car was not meant for personal errands, but a hospital visit was never questioned.

Inside the hearse, where both the living and the dead suffered, Karon took his place on the bench while letting out a slow sigh. “We could just get a new hearse, you know. This one’s been modified. A real hearse has a groove down the middle for the coffin, proper seats with armrests down each side, and more space overall. Mr. Mason’s long wanted a new one, but Ms. Winnie won’t have it.”

Paul started the engine, rolling the hearse quietly out onto Mink Street.

“Paul, take the turn there. Let’s go past the row of townhouses.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

“Never mind. Turn back. Let’s go straight to the hospital; no detours.”

“Yes, Young Master.” Paul gave no sign of impatience. He had a steadier personality than Ron, though with a little money, Ron could instantly change.

Karon had intended to pass by the home of his uncle’s old flame, hoping to catch another glimpse of that upstairs window. However, without Tiz in the car, he had changed his mind.

About ten minutes later, Paul pulled up to the hospital. “I’ll wait here, Young Master.”

“Alright.” Karon climbed out, making his way to the wards. As he started up the steps, he was struck by the sudden realization that while he was visiting a patient, he hadn’t even brought fruit.

Fruit first, or flowers? He paused at the sliding doors, indecisive. After a moment, he cast the thought off with a careless shrug.

"Hello, could you tell me which room Mr. Hoffen is in?"

"Mr. Hoffen? One moment, please; let me check."

"Thank you."

"You’re welcome."

The young nurse flipped through the register, again and again slipping glances at Karon. There was a faint, playful smile on her lips.

Karon returned her smile, though his was the picture of patient politeness. He had gotten used to such reactions since inheriting a face that drew so much attention. It was a nuisance at times. The nurse, he could tell, was stalling a bit longer than necessary so she could get another look.

"Here it is: Mr. Hoffen, room 301, bed two."

"Thank you."

"Would you like me to show you the way?"

"There’s no need, thank you."

Karon took the stairs. Room 301 was just off the landing for the third floor. He opened the door to find two beds. Hoffen lay awake on one, while a middle-aged woman in faded uniform slept on the other. Soft snores rising from her. She was clearly undisturbed by the sound of the door.

She’s just slacking off, he thought as he started forward to rouse her. However, Hoffen spoke first, "She works three jobs and is exhausted. Let her rest a bit longer."

Karon turned to Hoffen. Bandages wrapped the old man’s head, and an open newspaper lay close to his hand. He appeared to be alert, and more or less on the mend.

"I heard you woke up and came straight over to see you," Karon stated, easing down at the side of the bed. He had brought nothing.

A cold, thin smile flitted across Hoffen's lips. "You must be disappointed I survived."

Karon shook his head. "If that was what I wanted, you’d never have made it to the hospital alive."

Hoffen’s brow furrowed. "You’re not even going to pretend anymore?"

"What is there to pretend? I’m Karon. My illness just changed me. Almost dying will do that to you."

"And Tiz still lets you live. Why?"

"I’m his grandson. What a strange thing for you to say."

"You really don’t know what you are?"

"I told you: I’m Karon."

Hoffen tilted his chin, allowing the crucifix hanging from his neck to catch the light. "Take it off."

"Alright." Karon reached out and unclasped the cross.

“I’m about to tell you exactly what you are.”

“A philosophy professor, after all,” Karon stated. “I’d be quite happy to discuss philosophy with you.”

"Wait."

"What is it?"

"With your hand, grab the crucifix."

Karon looked at the cross in his hand, unmoving.

"What’s wrong? Are you frightened?"

"No."

"Then grab it. The moment you do, you’ll know exactly what you are."

"Mr. Hoffen, fortune-telling is a fine pastime, but too much can cause you to lose track of reality."

"If you’re that thing, and you willingly touch it, your soul will be erased."

"Is this a story?"

"It is, so play your part. Let this story finish."

Karon hesitated.

"What’s left to think about? Grab it. Or are you lying to yourself as well?" Hoffen's voice quavered. "I can’t imagine why Tiz leaves you alive. Maybe he’s just grown old..."

Hoffen’s eyes flared. He didn’t blink as he watched Karon, seated beside him, press the crucifix flat in his left palm.

One second. Three. Ten. Half a minute. Karon did not stir.

Hoffen braced himself against his mattress, trying to sit up. Just then, Karon suddenly lunged forward, a sharp shout cracking the air, "Ha!"

"Ahh—!" Hoffen recoiled, collapsing back onto his pillow, raw terror on his face.

Karon flicked the cross down beside Hoffen’s head, spread his arms, and then slowly spun in place. "You said it would destroy my soul, but see? I’m perfectly fine."

"Impossible. It’s impossible..." Hoffen whispered, again and again.

"Get some rest, Mr. Hoffen. I’ll come by again in a while. Maybe your mind will be clearer next time." Karon tapped his forehead in a sarcastic gesture. "Goodbye."

He left the room.

His soul wasn't consumed by an instrument of purification. Was I wrong? Is he really not demonkin?

After going down the stairs, the nurse greeted him with another bright smile, which Karon returned before slipping away. He didn’t head for the parking lot, but instead ducked into a quiet corner of the hospital garden. Crouching low, he pressed his right hand over his mouth while flailing his left arm and shuddering. "Damn... damn, that hurts!"

At last, he grew still again, though his breathing was ragged. Only then did he slowly turn his left hand so that the palm pointed upward.

At the center a cross-shaped brand was burned. It was a raw, bloodless wound that looked as if the flesh had been cauterized from within.

Karon stared at the burn scar in a heavy silence. For a long time, he said nothing. At last, a faint whisper broke free, uncertain and fragile, "So... what am I really?"