The Affliction of Praha: A gripping murder mystery set in 1920s Czechoslovakia

by Simon Gillard

  Placing her hand over a small pistol tied to her waist, she ran her fingers along the cold metal, comfort and reassurance that safety was by her side. Looking at Juraj, she nodded, seeking affirmation that he was brave enough to accompany her on the final showdown of his brother’s vengeful killer.

  Juraj was ready—he wanted this. To face the evil and put an end to him so he could hurt no other. He nodded in reply to Lichnova and she reached towards the metal knob of the building. The door creaked open.

  Creeping into the building, Juraj stuck close behind Lichnova, hanging to her side, trying to offer what little protection he could, though in reality, they both knew it was she protecting him.

  Inside was dark and dim, light barely existing, only slightly slipping through miniature cracks and fissures of the wooden architecture. The moonlight slithered through like a single thread woven through its needle eye, barely noticeable, yet enough to illuminate specks of dust and decay fluttering through the air.

  Breathing in the wooden musky stench, his nostrils filled with corruption and darkness, every breath reminding him of his pounding heart, which thudded away like a brute boxer pumping into a full bag, each hit as protrusive as the last.

  Is this my end? How will he kill me now? Juraj questioned in a tortuous and grim dialogue, teasing at the very idea that this nature and existence had only ever been so to lead him to this very moment, which would swiftly be met with a final resolution.

  A crack and a gasp, a shadow darted out from behind a stack of boxes and towards them, moving like a masked assassin. A great heave of dust rose from the floor as Lichnova slapped down hard against it.

  Her pistol slid across the floor and away from her. Instinctively, Juraj rushed to grab it, throwing himself towards it with all his being, but he was too slow—the shadow was there first, greeting him with a vicious smile, the pair of eyes moving closer towards him, haunting and horrific.

  Juraj looked into those terrific eyes, the hate within them searing from their orifices. Lichnova laid still below, blood trickling slowly from a headwound.

  The silver barrel of the gun was pointing at Juraj, his capturer weighing down on him like a hunter standing over its trapped prey, wounded and helpless, ready to deliver the final blow.

  ‘How did you find me?’ he smirked, his teeth yellow, darkness seeping from his very being, the pale of his eyes fixed in place with reddened pupils—a mad man.

  ‘It was easy,’ replied Juraj, whispering as his breath escaped him. He was frightened at first, but now that his fate was staring him straight in the face, he no longer felt the need to be afraid of what was to come next. ‘You left too many clues—you didn’t cover your tracks. You call yourself a killer?’ Juraj spat with venom.

  The mad man laughed in reply, a cruel terrible shriek that echoed all around the wooden warehouse like a wolf howling in the moonlight, announcing to all around that his presence was be known and feared.

  ‘I did what needed to be done,’ he sneered, ‘you couldn’t possibly understand.’ The gun was wavering and shaking at Juraj, the man ready to pull the trigger at any moment.

  ‘You needed to kill Peter, and Edgar too?’ cried Juraj, anger overtaking his fear now, feeling stronger as he confronted this demon of no remorse. ‘And what of Milos, Lichnova, and me? Are we all nothing to you, just a game in your twisted reality?’

  The shadow stood straighter, arching his shoulders broadly. A cloak hid his body, a darkened figure, a spectre. Hauntingly, he laughed once more, staring down at Juraj, helpless on his knees, awaiting his execution.

  ‘You think you understand it all, don’t you? What makes you think I wanted or planned to kill any of them?’

  ‘You are a monster,’ replied Juraj, spitting blood from his mouth onto the floor, staring at his captor in disgust.

  He would be nothing without that gun, Juraj told himself.

  Vladislav leaned in closer to Juraj, almost a whisper from his ear, pressing the gun into Juraj’s chest. The wooden structure around them creaked and the wind howled further outside, but Juraj could focus on none of that. Only his adrenaline guided him into a searing vision of white light, a focus of intense magnitude as his brain desperately scrambled for some way to release himself of the situation.

  ‘I did what I must to protect what I love most, surely you can understand that, Mr Teralov?’ he snarled defensively.

  ‘Love?!’ Juraj shouted, with a maddening laughter of his own, ‘What would you know of love?’

  The pair stared brutally into each other’s eyes, a showdown of immense proportions, each daring the other to strike first. At least if he shoots me, I will have enough reason to finish him, Juraj thought, ready to attack.

  ‘I only killed Edgar because I had to—he knew too much. Our fight was never with him. And as for Milos, I pity the fool, but he was captured and blamed. He had seen me just before I killed Edgar—you both had.’

  The creature of evil confessed his sin like a patron of the church, whispering his last rites to a priest, releasing himself of burden and freeing his mind and soul before passing. A confession of epic proportions.

  ‘And now you’ll kill me, too?’ acknowledged Juraj, his tone resolute and accepting, the breath in his lungs the last he’d ever know. He felt every pulse and palpitation of his heart as it beat faster and faster still, wishing death to arrive sooner so that it may be done with.

  ‘You are mistaken,’ the killer retorted, shaking his head slowly from side to side. ‘My quarrel was never with you—it was never with any of you. I simply existed to protect the one I love most. One day, you will understand this.’

  Juraj stood suddenly, ready to grab the gun and fight to the death if he must, but the shadow jumped back, reacting quickly, the gun still pointed directly at Juraj.

  ‘And you think that by killing me and that you get to live you will protect this person?’ asked Juraj through gritted teeth, his eyes mad with disdain.

  ‘No, Mr Teralov,’ he replied, ‘only in death now can this secret be held.’

  The clerk raised the gun towards Juraj’s head. A loud bang reverberated around the warehouse, each sound bouncing off each wall and enhancing the shot further still.

  Juraj stood shaken, frozen in fear as the man in front of him fell sideways and onto the floor. A loud thud cracked bone and flesh as it hit the concrete.

  ‘What…’ murmured Juraj.

  Confused and dazed, his life had flashed momentarily before him. There was Peter and he running around in gardens, giving chase to one another, laughing joyfully. His mother hugging him, telling him how proud of him she was. Then a fair-haired woman kissing him softly and sweetly, telling him how dearly she loved him. Edgar patted him on the back, insisting on what fine accomplishment he was to behold, how grateful he was to have him by his side. And then finally, Lichnova was running ahead of him, encouraging him forward on their hunt.

  The gunshot had not been destined for Juraj. The killer had smiled with hatred as he turned the weapon around onto himself, pulling the trigger—all the while staring Juraj directly into his blue sapphire eyes.

  Those eyes, Juraj shuddered, crippling down to his knees, broken and weeping, such hate and anger held within them. There was something recognizable within them, a distant familiarity he could not place. Yet in the end, he saw what he could only describe as love. Whatever the killer may have been, it was true he had done it for his definition of love. There was no doubt in his final moments that the same life-force was within his mind as he pulled the trigger and met his fate, bestowed upon oneself.

  17.

  A rustle and a groan, a shifting of a body on the floor startled Juraj. It cannot be, he said to himself, believing the madman had been reborn into a second life, reincarnated to destroy and haunt him once more.

  The next sound was one of much comfort and relief to Juraj, as a woman’s voice softly called out his name, asking what had happened.

  ‘Lichnova,’ he spoke tenderly, a mixture of h
appiness and pain weaving into his voice. ‘I thought you were—’

  ‘You thought wrong,’ she smirked, blood covering her white teeth.

  She slowly raised her torso, legs still sprawled across the floor. Looking around the room, her eyes met the slain shadow, now no more than a flayed corpse.

  ‘And?’ she quizzed. ‘What happened to him?’

  Juraj sighed in disbelief, the panic slowly subsiding and draining away, almost distrusting his own words that slipped from his mouth as he explained the killer’s final words and action. The meaning behind it was all as much of loss to himself and, from Lichnova’s expression, equally so to her.

  ‘This is going to be one hell of a lot to write up,’ she exclaimed, a brief smile escaping her lips as she pawed at the wound on her head. ‘Damn bastard, didn’t even see him coming, right out of the darkness.’

  Juraj offered a hand to the inspector, which was gratefully taken, and he pulled her up from the ground. They stood and stared silently for a moment, the tension and electricity of the room subsiding and transcending from their bodies, dispersing outbound and away.

  Finally, Juraj felt safe.

  18.

  Juraj and Lichnova sat together back in the police townhouse, staring at the ground in disbelief and shock.

  ‘You got him Juraj, you got the person responsible for all these deaths,’ spoke Lichnova with a soft comforting tone.

  ‘I merely followed you,’ muttered Juraj with an embarrassing disposition. ‘You are the one who figured out where we could find him. How did you know?’

  ‘It’s a simple one,’ proclaimed Lichnova, tightening her bootlaces, a bloody towel thrown across her shoulder. ‘The Dock House we found him at, it’s a known place for the homeless and people who’ve got nowhere else to go. They will break in and stay awhile; I must get called out to the place at least three times a year. The rope they keep stocked in there… well, it’s the only place in the whole of Bratislava that has that type, the same that was used around Milos’ neck. Moorhouse quality.’

  ‘I guess he wasn’t so smart and sophisticated after all then?’ stammered Juraj, shaking his head in disbelief.

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ replied Lichnova. ‘Often the smartest ones are the craziest, and they don’t care much for finer things or ways of life—it is about principle and morality that matters for these types. You heard the way he spoke. “Doing it for the one he loves,” “Edgar was never meant to be involved.” The guy was cuckoo and taking his own life only confirms it. He just didn’t want to rot in jail or hang for his crime. He was a coward Juraj, and he got what he deserved.’

  The room was void of the sight of Milos now, for which Juraj felt relieved. He had stared death in the face enough times today already and could quite simply bear to see no more. No other prisoners were currently inhabited, so their voices echoed against the empty black walls.

  ‘Yeah, I suppose you are right about that,’ nodded Juraj in agreement, after a while of consolidation and reflection. He no longer had the strength to try to place himself within the mind of a madman. He finally accepted everything for what it was.

  ‘Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, Juraj?’

  ‘Do you have a first name, something more familiar I can call you by?’

  Lichnova looked at Juraj strangely for a moment, her dark green eyes fixated on him. The light caught them, making them appear like jade crystal, lost in time.

  ‘I—’ started Lichnova, then she paused. Thinking for a moment, her face turned into one of softness, then back into one of a sterner familiar formality.

  ‘It is Inspector Lichnova, Juraj. Nothing more.’

  ‘I understand,’ replied Juraj, looking slightly dejected. ‘Don’t you find it strange that you know my name, yet I do not know yours?’ he finally added, after a moment of consideration.

  ‘I do not. I knew your name long before you came to Bratislava, Juraj. The Teralov name has a long and gripping reach. The arm of your family stretches from here all the way to Košice. I am surprised nobody has approached you sooner asking for an autograph,’ she spoke with a slight smile towards the end. ‘Although you should know, not everyone adores your family and what it stands for here, as much as they do to the West.’

  Juraj smiled in reply, his features flush with energy for a moment. ‘This I am quite aware of, Inspector Lichnova. As much as you are aware of my name—as am I of its reputation. Perhaps, when all of this is over, I will shed the responsibility of my namesake, the same way as I now intend to release myself from the responsibility of any further inquiry into this dammed mess of events.’

  Looking around the room with a considered disposition, a spark of energy suddenly fluttered back into Juraj’s mind, almost at the same instantaneous moment of which he had relieved himself of further responsibility. His mind had just perceptibly refused to adhere to any further deliberation, and yet new questions sprung back into his mind in the same instant—this was a conflict of interest which had inundated and made him agonise his whole adult life. A restless mind, one which could wander and relay thoughts, feelings and circumstances in endless circles of days on end without relief or respite.

  ‘Lichnova? Do you remember, I came here in the first place for a reason, before Milos…?’

  ‘Oh, yes? We never did have the chance to discuss why. Let me guess, you have something important to tell me now.’ Lichnova stood with her hands placed upon her hips, looking down at Juraj, who nodded in affirmation, restored in his pride and resolute with fortitude.

  ‘The diary you gave me, Edgar’s,’ Juraj began, ‘I—well...’

  ‘Go on, Juraj,’ spoke Lichnova softly, noticing his red cheeks, obviously embarrassed from reading Edgar’s personal artefact. ‘I found his entry regarding the autopsy report, the last entry… I assume you read it, too?’

  ‘Of course I did, Juraj, I read most of what had been entered recently, why?’ Lichnova paced around the room as she spoke, twisting and turning back and forth, as if unsure of where to walk next.

  ‘It’s the timing Lichnova, it doesn’t add up. Edgar was in Prague on the Thursday morning and had not even decided himself to leave for Bratislava until late that evening. Yet somehow, even if the autopsy had been performed in the meantime, the report arrived on a Saturday… it is simply too soon. Someone knew where Edgar would show up even before he did. And how do we know the report was even real?’ Juraj stood too, pacing around the room in a large monotonous circle, pulling and snatching at his hair, the frustration and disillusion clearly taking its toll on the young aristocrat.

  ‘The report was real, Juraj,’ Lichnova stated bluntly, her face stony and resolute now.

  ‘How can you be sure?’ questioned Juraj in reply.

  Lichnova shuffled within her jacket pocket for a moment and revealed a pearl-white parchment letter, passing it to Juraj. ‘That’s how.’

  Intrigued with sprightly haste, Juraj looked over the document and quickly protested his apprehension with Lichnova.

  ‘Anyone could have written this, could they not?’

  ‘You are not wrong, Juraj,’ Lichnova responded agreeably, ‘but the stamp at the bottom is official—it cannot be replicated or forged so easily.’

  Juraj let out a deep sigh and concludes that the inspector was right. The stamp did indeed bear the mark of Prague’s locality correspondence and having been around enough official documentation himself, he was no stranger to its authenticity. Reading through more carefully now, Juraj analysed and absorbed every line of detail of the report. The words seemed so plain and simple: the recording of height, weight, sex, even hair and eye colour. All the features that define Juraj’s brother were listed as if he were a specification or whitepaper for a new product line. The officiality and formality struck Juraj hard for a moment, the sharpness within his chest reminding him how vulnerable he was. The loss twisted further into his being as every step closer to absolution and vindication took him a further two behind, with each move r
evealing a new set of horror and terror hidden behind the closed door. How many more must he open to be free of the demon, the silent stalker that had taken everything from him thus far?—almost everything.

  After calming himself for a moment, his vision restoring from a state of unwelcomed blurredness, he regained his sight and focus and continued to read further through the report. Then suddenly, it struck him, like a hot iron poker thrust into his naked flesh—the words jumped out from the parchment clearly and as resoundingly obvious and imperative as any he’d ever read.

  Notably high levels of mercury bichloride recorded in the victim’s blood sample, mercury concentration is 3.62 mg/L. It is the opinion of this medical examiner that the cause of death is poisoning.

  Juraj looked up from the document, his face as white as the paper from which he had just read. He had known within his heart that foul play had been involved, but to read it in writing, so formal and absolute, was quite simply a different matter. Someone, somehow, had decided to kill his brother, and he was still no closer to knowing why. Fighting back the tears, anger now seemed to overcome Juraj, replacing the desperate fear and sorrow. The reprisal within him demanded justice, yet the one best to deliver it had faded into the abyss now too.

  ‘You’ve read this, I take it?’ Juraj spat furiously.

  ‘Calm down, Juraj. You know full well I have read it. Please, I realise you are upset and angry, but you must understand, no one is to blame here,’ responded Lichnova, clearly sensing the situation on the precipice of escalation. Her training was a sound reminder to remain calm and act quickly, to encourage the soothing of diminishing and apathetic emotions. ‘Whoever killed your brother, I wish for justice as much as you do, but he was killed in Prague, and my power does not stretch that far, Juraj. You must know this. I alone cannot help you. Only the police in Prague can now.’

  ‘The police in Prague,’ repeated Juraj, shaking his head from side to side, anger still spewing and gushing visibly outward. ‘Do you know how helpful they have been thus far? Absolutely none at all. Why do you think my mother had Edgar sent for in the first place? She demanded Moscow send her their best, lest their secrets be unveiled to the world.’