Seven Days

by Patrick Senécal

  “That evening, when he told me about it, he was upset, but also . . . tormented. He was sitting in the living room, telling me what had happened for the tenth time, and he would go blank for seconds on end, as if he were seeing the whole thing again in his head . . .”

  She thought some more, her fingers on her chin.

  “I remember asking him what bothered him so much. He said, ‘Even if it was only a dog, it was horrible . . . unbearable. But the worst thing is that in Denis’s place I would probably have reacted the same way.’ I told him that would have been quite normal, quite human. Then he answered very solemnly, ‘I know. That’s what scares me the most.’ ”

  Mercure nodded slightly. His eyes glimmered. Fragments of images and sounds were running through his mind, trying to coalesce into a clear idea. Sylvie remained silent, struck by these memories that must have been tucked away in a corner of her brain for a long time. Finally, she said apologetically, “I’m sorry I didn’t think of this story sooner, but frankly, I put it out of my mind a long time ago, and I don’t see how it’s related to . . . You think there’s a connection?”

  “I won’t bother you anymore, Ms. Jutras,” Mercure said softly. At least I hope not.”

  “You have something, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He thanked her again and walked quickly to his car, holding his coat over his head. Inside the car, he took out his notebook and wrote. He reread his notes, his pen to his lips, thinking. Then he dialed a number on his cell phone. Wagner answered.

  “I’ll be there in five minutes,” Mercure said.

  “You found a way to get Hamel to call us again?”

  “Maybe . . .”

  * * *

  A little after three in the afternoon, Bruno heard the sound of an engine. Since Morin’s telephone call, he had hardly budged, waiting. He had just been telling himself that Morin must not have informed the police after all and that everything could continue as before . . . and then he heard a vehicle.

  Stiffly, he got up and looked out the kitchen window, ready to run to the monster’s room and put a bullet in his brain. But he was surprised to see a familiar pickup truck coming down the dirt lane.

  For a moment, Bruno was completely taken aback. It had never occurred to him that Morin would come himself. After a moment of hesitation, he shoved the revolver under his belt and put on his coat. Of course, there was no question of actually shooting him. But if necessary, the gun could provide a persuasive argument. After making sure it was invisible under the coat, he walked toward the door. But then he had another idea. He quickly went and got the little suitcase that contained all the money he had left, and took out a hundred dollars and put it in his wallet. Then he went out with the suitcase.

  The temperature had fallen and it was still raining. Bruno stayed on the porch, protected by the little wooden roof, with the suitcase at his feet, while the truck pulled up about thirty meters from the house, beside the Chevy. Morin got out. Very relaxed, with a toothpick protruding from his smile, he stayed close to his truck and greeted Bruno.

  “Ah! I’m glad to see you without your disguise. But you don’t look like you’re in very good shape.”

  “I think I was quite clear, Mr. Morin,” Bruno said in a calm voice. “If you came here even once, the whole deal was off. We had an agreement.”

  “Yeah, well, I thought we might need to renegotiate . . .”

  He looked confident and cocky, which made Bruno nervous. He even started walking toward the house, saying, “Couldn’t we talk inside? It’s raining, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “We’ll stay outside.”

  Morin stopped and smiled knowingly.

  “That’s right, you have a guest.”

  Bruno stood with his hands in his pockets and did not answer, but his heart was pounding. Morin scratched his wet head.

  “I figured it out yesterday. Considering how long they’ve been talking about it on TV, it was about time, huh? And I also realized you must have hidden all the money ahead of time. And that gave me some ideas . . .”

  “You think it was a good idea coming here?”

  “We’ll have to decide that together, Dr. Hamel.”

  A gust of wind sent a few drops of rain onto Bruno’s face. Morin played with the toothpick in his mouth a few seconds, and then he said, “You’d better tell me right away where the rest of the money is hidden, don’t you think?”

  “It’s out of the question.”

  “Listen . . .”

  Morin looked around, then turned back to Bruno. He looked almost conspiratorial.

  “That guy you’re holding prisoner, I hate him as much as you do.”

  “That would surprise me.”

  “What I mean is, as far as I’m concerned, child rapists should be hung up by the balls. If you kill him on Monday, I won’t lose any sleep over it. So why don’t we settle this here and now? You tell me where the other two bundles of money are, and we won’t bother each other anymore.”

  “I’m tempted to believe you, but I can’t take any risks. The money I hid is my guarantee that you’ll leave me in peace until Monday.”

  “I don’t feel like busting my ass two more times to get that money.”

  “You call driving a few kilometers for seven thousand dollars busting your ass? Most people would crawl on their bellies for that much money.”

  The toothpick stopped moving in Morin’s mouth and his cockiness gave way to anxiety.

  “Listen, Hamel, I need that money, and fast!”

  “I can give you what I have left . . .”

  He picked up the little suitcase and tossed it to him. It landed on the muddy ground a meter from Morin.

  “There’s about a thousand dollars in there.”

  “No, no, that’s not enough!” Morin exclaimed.

  Bruno shook his head. Maybe Morin didn’t have any debts. Maybe he’d lost all his money gambling and he wanted more to play again and again . . .

  “Where are you losing your money, Morin? At the casino? At the track? There’s a racetrack in Trois-Rivières, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  His indignation was so false that Bruno knew he had guessed right. But it didn’t matter; he couldn’t take the risk of revealing the hiding places ahead of time. It was as simple as that.

  “Sorry,” he said. “We’ll continue as before.”

  Morin’s eyes flashed.

  “And what if I didn’t give you a choice?”

  “What? By going to the police? Go ahead. But as soon as I see the slightest sign of a cop around here, I’ll kill my prisoner. The police will only find a corpse, which is what I’ve been planning from the beginning. I’ll be arrested, but since I intended to turn myself in on Monday, that won’t make any difference either. Not only will your going to the police change nothing, but you’ll also be out fourteen thousand dollars.”

  But that didn’t faze Morin at all. If anything, his assurance seemed to be gradually coming back.

  “What would be even better would be if I went and got your prisoner and took him to the cops myself,” he said, swelling his chest and spreading his arms to emphasize what a poor match Bruno’s puny physique was for his muscles. Bruno thought fast.

  “If the cops arrest me, you’ll be in as much trouble as I will!”

  “Come on! I was paid to build something weird, that’s all! And when I finally understood what was going on, I was so shocked that my conscience as a good citizen ordered me to stop the butchery.”

  His smile had come back. He thought he was pretty smart now.

  “You’re not coming in,” declared the doctor in a voice he hoped was threatening.

  “Don’t try to act tough, Hamel. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “And what do you think I’ve been doing with my prisoner for the past five days?”

  Morin chuckled.

  “That doesn’t count. He killed your daughte
r . . . So either you tell me right away where the two other payments are or I’m going in to get your friend.”

  Although it was not exposed to the rain, Bruno’s skin was getting damp. He could feel the revolver against his belly . . . He was hesitant to pull it out.

  To threaten . . . just to threaten . . .

  He took a deep breath and said in an uncertain voice, “That’s out of the question.”

  Morin nodded. He spat out his toothpick and walked heavily toward the house. Bruno quickly walked down the few steps of the porch, raised his arms awkwardly, and ordered Morin not to come in. But Morin gave him a punch in the chin, a powerful blow that sent him flying two meters back onto the wet grass. Despite his dizziness, Bruno hurriedly pulled out his revolver and, still on his back, waved it at Morin, shouting at him to stop. Morin, his foot on the first step, turned around. When he saw the revolver, there was a hint of doubt in his eyes. Then his mouth twisted into a smile of contemptuous defiance and he climbed the second step.

  The revolver started to shake in Bruno’s hand, and his head was spinning, preventing him from thinking coherently. Suddenly it struck him that it was all over! If Morin left with his prisoner, it would all have been for nothing, because not only would the monster not be dead but Bruno would not have had his satisfaction, he would not have climbed to the top of the ladder! He wouldn’t even have come close! It would all be a failure, from start to finish! A complete waste!

  No way! The monster was his and he wasn’t finished with him! The monster belonged to him!

  He fired.

  The bullet missed Morin by so much that it did not even hit the house. Nevertheless, the bang made him jump off the steps. He had just enough time to turn a shocked face toward his assailant when Bruno fired a second shot, screaming with rage. This time, the bullet hit the front of the house very close to Morin’s head, and he threw himself facedown in a mud puddle with his hands over his head.

  Bruno stood up and walked menacingly toward him, pointing the gun. Morin had turned onto his back and was holding up his muddy hands to protect himself. Bruno, his jaw clenched, now saw Morin only as an obstacle, with no real personality, an obstacle that could spoil everything and that absolutely had to be eliminated. His finger was about to squeeze the trigger a third time . . .

  . . . when suddenly, he heard a growl. He thought it was thunder, but when he heard the sound again, he recognized it as the growl of a dog that was about to attack. He looked around frantically. That dog again, again and again and again . . . !

  Without thinking, he screamed and fired toward the woods.

  The growling stopped.

  Still pointing the gun, Bruno turned toward Morin again, but he was so dazed, it was as if he were seeing him for the first time. Still lying in the mud, Morin was wide-eyed with fear. Bruno examined the gun nervously, and after a moment, lowered it. He took a few steps back, looked around as if he did not recognize his surroundings. Wiping the rain from his face with his sleeve, he said in a weak voice, “The choice is yours, Morin.”

  He hobbled toward the porch and climbed stiffly up the steps, feeling heavier than ever. Behind him, Morin stood up and, after a moment’s hesitation, picked up the suitcase. Without even glancing at him, Bruno opened the door of the house and went inside.

  He took off his coat as if it weighed a ton. In the living room, he put the revolver down on the little table. Then, very slowly, he sat down in the armchair, laid his hands on the arms and looked at the wall in front of him.

  He vaguely heard the sound of an engine starting and then gradually moving away.

  He put his hands over his face and gave a long sigh.

  * * *

  “Are you ready?” asked Josée.

  Standing in the middle of the living room with her suitcase at her feet, Sylvie looked around the room and then answered yes.

  “And you’re sure about your decision?” asked her sister.

  That morning after Mercure left, Sylvie had asked Josée if she could stay at her place in Sherbrooke until it was all over.

  She couldn’t take it anymore. She did not feel capable of waiting for the end of this tragedy, her tragedy, in this house that constantly reminded her of what their life had been and, therefore, what it would never be again. She no longer felt capable of talking to the police or pushing away the reporters that were harassing her. And she would not have the strength, on Monday, to witness the outcome. It was over between her and Bruno, she knew that, so why wait? Why stay?

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she said.

  But she then thought of something and went up to Jasmine’s bedroom. There she took a framed photo of her daughter from the dresser. She looked at it for a long time, and left the room with it in her hand.

  Outside, the rain was cold. The two sisters got into Josée’s car; as the vehicle moved away, Sylvie took one last look at her house.

  She held the photo of her daughter against her heart and closed her eyes.

  * * *

  On TVA, they showed a few dozen people demonstrating on a busy street, defying the rain, while the reporter’s voice explained, “. . . support for Bruno Hamel’s cause has gone beyond the boundaries of Drummondville this afternoon. There were demonstrations reported in Victoriaville and Trois-Rivières, with close to a hundred people at each one, and even a few scattered groups in Montreal.”

  That was followed by interviews with two or three people who said they agreed with what Bruno was doing. Watching the report, Bruno took another slug of beer. He had sworn he would not drink during the day, but after Morin left, he had needed it too much. In any case, he’d only had two in the last few hours.

  As on the day before, Bruno was not able to feel really happy at this support; he was too disturbed by these images. How could these people talk that way about something they didn’t know? What was the meaning of these demonstrations?

  What was the meaning of all this?

  He rubbed his eyes, suddenly weary. For the first time, he considered finishing off the monster immediately.

  He rejected the idea right away. What had gotten into him? He had two days left! Plus the evening, which had barely begun! Two days to work off his feelings, to find some satisfaction, to . . . to . . .

  Hearing Mercure’s name on television suddenly brought his attention back to the screen.

  “. . . Hervé Mercure, of Drummondville, who is heading up the investigation and who is on the line now. Good afternoon, Detective Sergeant Mercure.”

  “Good afternoon.”

  Bruno recognized the soft, hoarse voice. He would have liked to put a face to that voice.

  “So, are there still no clues as to where Bruno Hamel is?”

  “No clues.”

  Bruno smiled. Mercure lied well. Because of course, the police were looking for him in Longueuil right now.

  “. . . and that’s why I wanted to take advantage of your news report to appeal to Dr. Hamel one last time to turn himself in immediately, to put an end to this insane plan.”

  “You think he’s listening to us?”

  “We have reason to believe that he watches the news, yes. So, Dr. Hamel, if you can hear me, I’m asking you to stop everything.”

  Bruno chuckled scornfully. Did this cop really hope to get to him with this pathetic appeal?

  “That’s the message you wanted to send, Inspector?”

  “I also wanted to talk to him about the dog.”

  Bruno’s whole body stiffened.

  “The dog?”

  “Yes. I think he’ll understand what I mean.”

  The news anchor let him continue. Mercure’s voice became lower, more solemn, but also softer.

  “Dr. Hamel, I know you’re haunted by the growling of a dog, that you hear it constantly around you, within you. I know that it’s starting to make you . . . let’s say . . . very nervous. Because you don’t understand why you’re haunted by that dog.”

  Bruno felt a little dizzy. How could Mercure possibly k
now that? Had he given himself away during his calls?

  “But I understand, Dr. Hamel.”

  Bruno held his breath.

  “I know what that dog is.”

  “You goddamn liar!” screamed Bruno, leaning forward on the couch.

  “Maybe you think I’m bluffing, but I swear it’s true. Your partner, Sylvie, knows it too. She’s the one who put us on the track.”

  Bruno was panting, his face tense with anxiety. On the television, the news anchor, despite his professional detachment, seemed a bit disconcerted by the policeman’s strange speech.

  “Your obsession with that dog is making you lose control, Dr. Hamel. And as long as you don’t know what the dog means, it will never leave you alone.”

  “Liar! Liar! You’re nothing but a damn liar, Mercure!” Bruno started screaming again, standing up and pointing a furious finger at the television.

  “Well, there it is. Detective Sergeant Mercure, I hope that your . . . ah . . . message gets across.”

  “Thank you for giving me this time on air.”

  Bruno abruptly turned off the television and started grumbling incoherently. That cop was bluffing! He wanted to get Bruno to call him again so he could try to manipulate him! Mercure knew nothing about that dog, nothing at all!

  But Bruno still could not calm down.

  He walked to his room to put on his disguise, and then stopped. Good God! He certainly wasn’t going to go out and call! Not again! He swore and kicked the bathroom door. Echoing the noise, he heard a dog growling outside. He dashed to the door, opened it, and screamed at the forest, “Shut up! You hear me, you filthy dog? Just shut up!”

  The only answer was the sound of the rain in the dark forest. He went back in and paced nervously back and forth.

  And as long as you don’t know what the dog means, it will never leave you alone.

  Finally he put on his disguise and his coat. When he was about to leave, he had an idea and went and got Josh’s binoculars, which he had come across not long before. He went out and got into his car, telling himself he was an idiot. But he wanted to know where those dog growls were coming from. He absolutely had to know.