Beast swallowed, calculating in his head. Maybe there was a grain of truth in the warped reality of Laurent’s story. Laurent had been covered in blood when he arrived. He had been scared, and his body had borne signs of assault, but Fane? Had Laurent somehow dealt with his trauma by imagining he was someone else? “So you traveled in time. You killed a serial killer, and you have absolutely no one looking for you?”
Laurent huffed, as if it were he who had reasons to be frustrated. “How else do you want me to prove it? Are the clothes I arrived in not enough? I could tell you more of how people lived in my time, but I don’t know what is common knowledge and what isn’t.”
Beast swallowed. The lady at the dry cleaners had told him Laurent’s clothes were a fantastic recreation of a historical outfit, but that proved nothing. He might as well have been a re-enactor. “I don’t know, Laurent. Maybe you can’t. Maybe I should have taken you to see a doctor instead of trying to date you.”
“But you have taken me to one. And even though I was so frightened, you were with me through it all. I’m trying to be as honest with you as I can be.”
Beast swallowed, looking at him with tension pulling at his muscles. He wanted to believe every word, because otherwise the whirlwind relationship that had made him happier than he’d been in years would turn out to be a sham. “I don’t know... something about Fane maybe? Like, did he tell you what he did with the bodies?” Worst case scenario, if the whole Laurent Mercier fantasy had any basis in truth, maybe Laurent would take him to the body of the man he’d killed.
Laurent sat up straighter. “Have they not been found? He is a known murderer, is he not?”
“They found two bodies buried in the cellar, but he had kept souvenirs from many other men who disappeared around that time. Almost thirty, but the location of other bodies remains a mystery.”
“I… I know where he buried Marcel Knowles. The one whose arm he… kept.” Laurent’s face scrunched with disgust, as if he could smell the rotting flesh. “He was a baker, and a good man.”
Beast exhaled, watching Laurent in silence. “I know nothing of an arm. Where would that guy be buried then?” he asked, trying to keep his cool despite the anger simmering beneath skin. And the worst thing was that he didn’t know whether his feelings were justifiable or not, because if Laurent honestly believed all this then how was he to blame for his conduct?
“There is a large rock nearby the old well, not far from the building. I know it’s still there. When I came to meet Fane, the ground next to it had been recently disturbed. Now I believe it’s where he must have buried the poor man.”
Beast knew the rock. Maybe if he proved to Laurent that the whole thing had happened in his head, Laurent would be able to confront the truth. If he had enough strength in him not to break the shovel in sheer helpless anger.
“So if we go there and dig, we will find bones, is that right? Can you promise me this?”
“If, as you say, they have never been found, then… yes, I believe we will find the bones. Will you believe me then?”
Beast counted to ten in his mind. “And if we don’t find them, will you either tell me the truth or go to a psychiatrist with me?”
Laurent picked on a few hairs on Beast’s forearm and nodded.
Beast huffed, sitting on his haunches, somewhat helpless. Then what now? Was he to really get a shovel and dig? He could ask the others for help, but that would have put Laurent in a horrible position.
“This is insane.”
Laurent stood up, and picked up his clothes. “Maybe it is. I never thought this kind of witchcraft possible, and yet here I am!”
Beast got to his feet and stormed to the pile of clothes left behind after the most disappointing sexual encounter of his entire life. “Sure. Fine. Let’s dig.”
Laurent was rapidly putting on the outfit, as if he had the right to be angry. “And I hate that so many people call me ‘kid’. In my time, I was considered a grown man, able to fend for himself. And tall.”
“Well, now you’re a kid. And short. And fucking mean and manipulative. Just face it,” Beast said, pulling up his jeans.
Laurent pursed his lips and threw Beast a stormy glance. “At least I don’t spew curse words all the time,” he spat, but it fell flat, and he had to know this. Swearing was hardly an issue when put on the scales opposite all the things Laurent was throwing at Beast. Laurent pulled on his hoodie and zipped it up as if he were readying for war.