Page 119
Clement stops snarling now.
He blinks, sensing the changed atmosphere in the room.
“Was it who?” he asks.
Baptiste moves to the tiny desk, grabbing a piece of loose paper lying on it and drawing something.
A ring with a distinctive crest.
“That’s it,” he says, holding the paper aloft. “That’s what I saw.”
We all go silent for a moment.
I remember that unique ring on a hand that rested on my shoulder during my parents’ funeral.
Cromwell’s hand.
“What are you talking about? That’s... that’s my family’s ring.”
Clement’s stuttering.
“Yes, it is,” Baptiste replies slowly, still coming to terms with it. “That is your family’s ring, and I saw it that night.”
“That’s been in the Auclair family for generations,” Clement says. “As far back as when our ancestors came to the New World from France. What’s that got to do with anything?”
Baptiste places the paper back down on the desk and continues drawing.
A key.
“What the hell is this, Baptiste?” Clement asks as I just stand frozen in disbelief. “What are you doing? That’s Father’s tattoo.”
“Can’t you see?” I ask him gently. “Can’t you tell what Baptiste is trying to show us?”
Clement’s shaking his head.
“No. Fucking shut up. Both of you. Shut the fuck up.”
“Listen to Baptiste,” I say. “Listen to what he’s telling us.”
“He wouldn’t do this. That’s not him. You two are insane.”
Baptiste puts down his pen and slowly turns to his best friend.
“Clement... your father, Cromwell... the new Supreme Elder... he’s the one who attacked me in New Orleans.”
“He can’t...”
It’s my turn to speak the unspeakable.
“He’s the Masked Killer, Clement.”
Pause.
Silence.
No one moves.
It can’t be, and yet it makes total sense, and all of us know it. Even Clement with all his protestations. He can’t deny the facts.
