The Man from Griffintown

By Markus

2022. Russia attacks Ukraine, bombards the largest nuclear power plant in Europe, taunts NATO and asks China for military aid. The prescient thriller by Markus (written in 2018) takes the reader up to 2036 and into the heart of a world reinventing itself faster and faster between singularity and transhumanism. Do you really want to know what our future will look like?

That morning, Georges Delson had no idea his sudden discovery would bring an end to the world as we know it.

"A protagonist’s invisibility ignites a distinctive thriller jampacked
with plot. - Kirkus Reviews"


Translated from French by Sheryl Curtis.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Éditions Sylvain Harvey
• Release date: Jun 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9782924782583

Markus

A former journalist converted into business, Markus is the author of a dozen books worldwide. Some thematic writings, three collections of short stories and illustrations as well as this anticipation thriller. Thanks to the media and critical success of "The Man from Griffintown", the author now dreams of bringing his work to the screen.

Book preview

Prologue

Georges would be turning 50 in a few weeks. He worked in an office. He was sedentary. Too much so. Sitting all the time, on his chair, in front of his computer, in his car. No sports for a quarter of a century. No willpower when it came to eating well.

When he was younger, he’d been athletic. Running all the time. Two to four hours a day! He’d weighed 155 lbs. and was well over six feet tall. Now he’d hit 240 lbs. He’d stopped running, but not eating. In the past, he ate well to give his body the energy it needed for the physical activity he forced on it. At almost 50, he ate compulsively to calm his stress and, more particularly, because he wasn’t motivated to take charge of his life. He didn’t like society, didn’t like people all that much. He had no real family; he was going to die someday… So, what was the point?

Recently, his body had sent him several alarming messages.

First, he felt unwell one morning while taking his shower. As he stepped out of the stall, he felt lightheaded. For the first time in his life, Georges just had enough time to lie down on the floor before blacking out. Only his head hit the floor, striking the arch of his left eyebrow. A very light blow, fortunately.

He went back to bed a few seconds after that incident, then lost consciousness again. A third time, seated on the toilet. He grabbed his telephone, which he’d brought with him by chance. The ambulance arrived ten minutes later… Most impressive. They shaved his chest in several places, applied about a dozen electrodes and connected him to some device… So many tests! Georges was afraid, yet at the same time he didn’t really care. He was tired. Perhaps a little depressed as well. The paramedics placed him on a stretcher and, as soon as they reached the hospital, they took him to the shock room where he lost consciousness a fourth time.

Electrocardiogram, pulmonary embolism, blood tests, brain scan… They asked him terrifying questions: Does anyone in your family suffer from heart disease? How many of your close relatives died at your age? Have you ever had a brain scan?

Just then, Georges had a flash of a picture of his mother, taken before her death… Mom, what are you doing here? he thought.

The vision faded from his imagination when the doctor called him.

Sir? Sir?

They asked him one final question: When you feel like you’re going to black out, how does it start?

Georges explained that it started in his stomach and he felt as if he were being filled up to the top of his head, like a vase, before he fell...

The doctor said he could leave the shock room. After that, Georges found himself in a sort of corridor surrounded by green curtains, hooked up to an IV drip to keep his energy and hydration levels up, his cell phone on hand so he could contact God only knew who. They kept him 24 hours, then sent him home. After many tests... Atypical vasovagal syncope. Apparently, he was exhausted.

Life went on. But it had still been quite a shock. During those 24 hours, all the horrors of the world had passed through his mind. Health… It isn’t until you think you’re losing it that you realize there’s no greater treasure. Georges decided to change his lifestyle. But sadly, he didn’t stick to his decision.

Two years later, in a hotel, six in the morning, same story! Two fainting spells. Back to the ER, back to the shock room, same questions, same tests. All to reach the same conclusion: You’re very tired, sir. You have to change your lifestyle.

And life went on. That second time had also been quite a shock. Once again, Georges decided to change his lifestyle. And for a second time, he didn’t stick to that wise decision.

This time, the doctor did some research and requested a sleep test. Georges never dreamed. That meant he never slept deeply enough. So, after a few weeks, they discovered his fainting spells were no doubt caused by severe sleep apnea. He was prescribed a machine to help him breathe at night. A mask connected to a humidifying ventilator by means of a tube that was almost as large as he was. He stopped snoring immediately and dreamed every night. But, lying in his bed, he looked like a dying man.

Two years passed. Then, one Sunday as Georges was tidying up, he bent to lift a box that was too heavy for him when he suddenly felt his back crack. A vertebra had just given out. The worst pain of his life! Literally like being stabbed! Lying on the floor, moaning, he immediately called 911 on his cell phone, which never left his side. The ambulance arrived 30 minutes later and, once again, he was taken to the hospital, to the ER department.

Of course, he was forbidden to move about in the event that his spine had been damaged. A large shot of morphine, then the next day he was able to leave after all. In slippers since, the day before, he hadn’t had time to put on his shoes before leaving his apartment with the paramedics. This was followed by a series of all kinds of appointments to check his bone density. The medical professionals all agreed his injury was an abnormal one. Georges was far too young to suffer from osteoporosis!

He was given tests for four months until, a few days before Christmas, he realized that his physician, Dr. Sofia Makine, was looking for bone cancer, though she hadn’t actually told him so.

But Dr. Makine didn’t find cancer. Despite his age, Georges was actually suffering from osteoporosis. After a rather painful biopsy, he was diagnosed with a genetic defect. According to the explanations he was given, he was born with a porosity problem that caused a loss of bone density. Dr. Makine prescribed a daily dose of calcium, Vitamin D pills, a large dose, once a week, along with a daily injection in his thigh of a medication intended to improve his body’s natural ability to rebuild bones.

Life went on. For a third time, it had been quite a shock. Georges decided to change his lifestyle and for the third time he didn’t stick to his decision.

In short, he had to sleep each night with a mechanical respirator, live day after day with a back he no longer really trusted, developing tendinitis in his shoulders over and over again for fear of demanding too much of his spine and hearing another crack. Two wonderful health issues he could have done without!

Once again, his self-improvement project failed. But this time, he didn’t want to fail. He wanted to take back his body and not succumb to laziness like before. Because, in the end, he could find no other reason for his situation. Laziness leading to depression leading in turn to fatigue, even to giving up and failing. Georges knew all this, and yet, he was still unable to find the courage he needed.

Despite making an enormous effort to become someone as an adult, he’d never managed to do so. In his life, he encountered many people who were as rich and happy as he’d dreamed of being. Their success wasn’t the result of their own hard work but due in part to a little boost, and he hated them for it as much as he wished to be in their shoes. Trust-fund babies, heirs, athletes, artists. And those he hated the most: models. Particularly those who seemed to look down at him with contempt from their billboards. Rich and famous, a bona fide Queen just for being beautiful? Too bad for those dying of thirst in Africa! They should just be better looking!

He’d never understood how such injustice could be possible. He found it cruel, although he’d like to enjoy that cruelty someday, to be the one people look at, not the one doing the looking! To put it bluntly, Georges was a jealous, frustrated man.

Turning 50 soon, 240 lbs., working as an insurance agent. He was unable to see what lay ahead of him. Unlucky in love, he was living alone in a small apartment in Griffintown. To some extent, he’d lost his way.

That was the conclusion he’d reached yesterday, before the morning’s incident made him Master of the World...

BOOK 1: SURPRISE GUEST AT THE G7

The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.

Oscar Wilde

IMPORTANT: Everything in this book is false.

PART 1

DISAPPEAR

Was it because of all those hospital tests? The X-rays? The scintigraphy? Had Georges been exposed to something unusual?

Whatever the reason, that morning, as he wiped away the steam on the mirror produced by the hot shower, he realized his reflection had disappeared. He picked up a towel to clean the mirror, threw some cold water on his face... No, this morning, his reflection was not visible.

First, he thought that all his crazy thoughts had driven him insane. Then, that he was dreaming… He pinched himself several times, went to the entrance where another mirror hung… Honestly, his body had disappeared. He was there and yet he wasn’t! He ran to his bed to see if he would find his dead body there... No!

He was quite alive, he’d just taken a shower, there was coffee brewing in the kitchen, he could touch, see, hear, taste, feel and experience. But he’d disappeared! He was quite invisible!

A few minutes later, sitting on the couch, he thought about the suddenness of the phenomena. On the blank screen of the television in front of him, he saw the cup he lifted to his mouth to drink, but not his arm or even the rest of his body. Only the reflection of his cup!

It was almost 7:30 a.m. and his neighbor would soon be leaving her apartment to go to work. Her dog barked as it always did a few minutes before she left, abandoning him for the day.

Georges rushed to the door of his apartment, opened it and closed it without allowing the latch to catch so he’d be able get back in just by pushing on the door. And there he was, naked as a newborn baby, in the hallway of his building. After the handle turned on the neighbor’s door, he saw her step out, say goodbye to her dog, place the key in the lock, turn it, and pull it back out, head toward the elevator, walk straight past him without glancing in his direction, press the elevator button, enter it and disappear.

Well, that was that! She hadn’t seen him although he was standing right in front of her! Georges went back into his own apartment, enthralled and pensive.

The invisible man. The book, the movie. Immense power. His first thought was that he should remain anonymous. No one should ever know about this! The second was more pecuniary: Anything was possible now! The third was fear. Who will take care of me? The fourth, obviously: Will I have to live completely naked for the rest of my days? And the fifth, closely related to the previous one: If the phenomenon is only temporary, when—and especially where—will I reappear?

Where should I start? thought Georges. No one would wonder where he had gone, apart from his boss but, once he hadn’t seen Georges for a week or two, he’d forget all about him. His apartment: If he stopped working, he wouldn’t be able to pay his rent and would have to leave, but where would he go? A hotel? All things considered, he could easily go to live in a luxury hotel in downtown Montreal, since no one would see him!

And what about his breathing device? He’d need it to sleep. And his medications? He could take what he needed from drug stores. His things? When you’re invisible you no longer need anything since you can help yourself to whatever you want without being seen. But what about objects? People would see them floating through the air! What should he do? And he would no longer be able to use his car since people would see a vehicle driving with no one at the steering wheel!!! What had seemed to him at first to be a miracle was quickly becoming an organizational hell.

What if he revealed his secret to someone who would keep silent? Someone he’d pay off, make rich as a result of his new condition, ensuring they wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone. Who would he choose?

The next day, after mulling things over and over in his mind, his stomach empty, Georges waited at the door for his neighbor to leave so he could sneak into her apartment just as she was on her way out. It was a piece of cake, apart from the fact that her dog continued to bark after its mistress had entered the elevator. Georges hadn’t thought the little hairball would be able to identify him, to see him in a way. He made breakfast and went back out, leaving the apartment exactly as it had been when the neighbor had left for work.

After coming and going for two or three days, he managed to muzzle the dog and lock it up in the bedroom every morning, releasing it shortly before five o’clock in the afternoon.

Yet Georges had to accept the idea that he would have to go out soon to get food. Fortunately, it was summer in Montreal, and clothes weren’t necessary. It was hot and the weather was lovely.

In order to be able to stay in his apartment as long as possible, he’d decided to save all of his money for rent and had asked his bank to send him two 50-cheque booklets. He didn’t have enough money in his account to pay the rent for 100 months, but he saw no harm in ordering two booklets. He was charting unknown waters, after all!

The time came for him to go out in public. He had spent two weeks living indoors, both at his place and his neighbor’s. He had come up with all kinds of schemes.

It was nightfall when he left the building for the first time. He went out by the door for the underground parking area at the back of the building. He headed for the IGA supermarket, which was about to close.

Sitting down to feast among the aisles, he declared his first evening outside a success. Not completely in the dark, since the glow from the emergency exits lit the space, allowing him to see quite clearly.

He set out on similar expeditions several evenings, keeping to within a few dozen meters of his apartment. Once his meal was over, he’d stretch out on the couch in the manager’s office and wait for daylight to wake him and send him back home. The life of a true vampire!

Week after week, Georges grew more and more free and comfortable! He was venturing farther from his apartment and, against all expectations, was growing accustomed to his new life. He was as free as a bird. The entire world belonged to him… All he had to do was help himself!

After yet another week, he had over a dozen stolen valuables in his bedroom, including a Chopard Mille Miglia watch, a Rolex Daytona gold watch and a rose gold Cartier Caliber watch with an alligator wrist band! He would walk into a neighborhood shop just as the owner was setting the alarm system, as Georges watched on. The he would turn it off a second after the owner left and serve himself as if he were the richest client in the world! Without paying, of course, leaving the owner to discover the theft and explain whatever could possibly have happened to his insurance company...

Over time, Georges took greater and greater liberties.

At Place des Arts, he danced on the stage with the ballerinas of the Grands Ballets Canadiens; at the Saputo Stadium he took to the field together with the Impact players; at the Bell Centre he sang alongside Depeche Mode and the Red Hot Chili Peppers...

He had fun stealing luxury cars and driving at over 200 km/h on the highway, running from police who, once the car stopped, discovered it was empty! He always delighted in the expression on the officer’s face! And Georges found it even more amusing when the officer, inspecting the empty vehicle parked in the emergency stopping lane, turned to see his own vehicle race past him with no one at the wheel. As if by magic!

Little by little, growing in comfort and confidence, Georges realized that his invisibility gave him the power of God. He could be anywhere, possess everything, destroy, build, steal, rape and even kill if he wanted to.

*****

Nearly a month and a half later, his training period over, he began to truly master his new condition.

No one knew a thing. He slept in his bed with his respirator each night, stole Vitamin D and calcium from a nearby drug store, and had no problems finding his meals. As for his injections, they required preparations and he would have to do without.

He did wonder about the winter in Quebec, when people just can’t go walking about the streets stark naked. Little by little, after making a copy of the key for the supermarket next door and learning the code for the alarm system, Georges stockpiled enough food to keep him going over the cold months so he could avoid going out.

One day, he read H.G. Wells’ novel The Invisible Man. It was available on the Internet in PDF format. Very slow at the beginning. Not much actually happens. Then you reach the end and discover how tough it would have been to live in that time. Georges, whose apartment was in Griffintown, was amused to learn that Wells’ invisible man was named Griffin!

On the Internet, people wrote about invisibility capes, extremely costly laboratory experiments, metamaterials, a concept difficult to grasp… It was easy to find ridiculous photos that were supposed to demonstrate convincing results. And, of course, Harry Potter’s famous cloak! How to refract light or use it to make something invisible. In under 10 minutes, he had gained an overview of the matter: an immense collective fantasy, but no results, no magic formula.

At the end of this soporific reading, he congratulated himself for having remained anonymous, certain that some army or some major world power would want to make the most of his exceptional condition. Just imagine how much he could get away with… These possibilities had, moreover, become the driving force behind his existence after eight or nine weeks of invisibility. What should he do? Become a superhero and kill the bad guys? Why not? But in today’s world it’s hard to know who is good and who isn’t.

And what about women? He could take them all by force. Any one! Am I a rapist? Am I a killer? Stealing was nothing… Objects are of no importance! They fill our daily lives, sometimes transforming into an obsession...

For the weak? For the frustrated? For the rich, of course. Those who have lost hope since, like Georges, they can have anything with a snap of their fingers. Except that, for Georges, possessions no longer meant anything since he alone would know what he possessed. Whereas, for the vast majority of people, the purpose of possessions is to make their neighbors jealous.

Georges had enjoyed himself in recent days, it was true. Yet now he wanted to right a few injustices he’d suffered during his professional life. For that, he wanted to use his power to punish a few people who had treated him badly. The law has no hold on invisible people. When he was still visible, he had thought about settling accounts many times. Sometimes, certain bosses were so abusive he thought accounts were settled far too infrequently! Because of the law, of course. But Georges believed he was now above the law.

In his case, three situations in particular seemed to require interventions.

He went to the home of X (white, male, 45 years old, slim, brown hair combed back, tortoiseshell glasses, very slightly effeminate), liar, abuser. He watched him with his family, followed him to work. Went along when the man visited his mistresses. He soon realized X had a pattern, always did the same things. After a few days of observation, Georges filmed him naked with several different women in the most incredible positions. One evening he stayed in the man’s office after Mr. X had left and, that night, sent a very risqué video of him to all his clients, partners and employees. To his wife as well, of course.

And in order to savor his revenge all the more, he went to X’s home the next morning. After waking, the man went to his kitchen. While the poor guy thought he was alone, Georges picked up a long butcher knife and raised it up to his face. When he saw the knife floating in the air, X suddenly turned white and fainted. Georges caught the man as he fell, to keep him from getting hurt, placed him on the floor, then left, letting the inferno generated by the video unfurl over X.

Later, when he arrived at the office of Mr. Y (white, male, 53 years old, almost completely bald, fat, always very well dressed, rings on each finger), Georges realized the man was still as much of a thief as ever and was hiding his vice beneath fake religious beliefs. Mr. Y boasted about his faith. But only the abundance of things, particularly those acquired at the expense of others, held any meaning for him. Georges planned a good joke to set him on the right path...

God spoke directly to Y, referring to him by name, while he was pretending to pray in a place of worship, surrounded by his family and other believers.

In a deep voice that came from above, Georges called out, saying: Y, THIS IS GOD SPEAKING TO YOU! Astonishing those who witnessed the scene, Georges ordered Y to abandon all his professional activities, give his wealth to the poor and reach out to God by becoming a representative of his religion, living in poverty and serving others.

Chaos swept over the pews immediately! Some people fell to their knees, others shouted, women wept… Even better: Certain visionaries started kissing Y’s hands.

At that very moment, Georges knew exactly what was going on in Y’s head and it was for that reason he’d wanted to take action in front of so many witnesses. Y’s religion was not that of God for the blind; his true religion, his only religion, was money!

When he returned home that evening, Y found himself surrounded by many highly placed religious officials. His telephone never once stopped ringing and journalists had turned out in large numbers. Georges, who was also there, held back his laughter. He took great pleasure in Y’s growing stress. In a state of general panic, the man was unable to grasp the scope of the events.

At one point during the evening, when Y had escaped to his bedroom, isolating himself from the uproar and trying to catch his breath, Georges added a little oil to the fire. As Y sat on his bed, Georges struck the man with his right hand and, in the same deep voice said, Y, YOU ARE THE CHOSEN ONE! Then he made his escape through an open window, leaving the hell of the mad to envelope his whipping boy.

Z (white, male, 60-something, dyed black, curly hair, a three-day stubble, irises as black as his pupils) was a real bastard. Not only did his word mean nothing, but he enjoyed betraying his friends and loved ones and was prepared to do anything at all in his desire to crush others. He enjoyed seeing his neighbors suffer. And whenever that happened, rather than reaching out to the unfortunate person, he added to the other’s pain through words or by failing to take action, enjoying the scene even more. A real heart of stone!

That night, Z, whom Georges had been following all evening, was alone at home. He had gone home drunk, collapsed on his bed and fallen asleep within a second.

When he woke, he was still lying on his mattress, but he was naked and gagged, his arms and legs each tied to a corner of the bed. Naturally, he panicked when he discovered his situation which was, at the least, unpleasant and did not bode well.

Gently, Georges bent over him and whispered in his ear, Are you afraid? One can imagine hearing a voice without a face upset Z even more than the actual question! Georges blew on his face, then added, You do understand I can do anything I want with you, don’t you?

Z was sweating buckets, his body tense to the point of breaking. The very man who had so enjoyed the suffering of others and who, as a result of Georges’ gag, was finding it hard to breathe pissed on himself.

As Z watched, Georges picked up his telephone, dialed 911 and before removing the man’s gag said, Now, Z, you won’t hurt anyone ever again, will you? Otherwise, the invisible man will come back to visit you.

Panicked, Z nodded several times. Then Georges left, letting the hell of fear wash over Z.

Those were the first steps taken by the invisible man from Griffintown.

*****

When police captain Stéphane Laroche arrived at the scene, Z’s arms and legs were still tied to the four corners of his bed. She asked the officers accompanying her to cover his naked body and then release him. That was done within a minute. The man was panting noisily, as if very out of breath… Obviously, the captain thought, the poor guy just experienced a very stressful event.

What happened to you? she asked him.

In a state of shock, Z demanded water, which he gulped down. The liquid trickled over his neck and his chest… He was unable to catch his breath. After many long seconds, he finally said, anxiously, Someone spoke to me, but I couldn’t see him! It was a male voice. I felt his breath on my face, but I couldn’t see him! But I know he was there… Like a spirit or something… Then I saw my phone fly through the air and stop in front of my eyes. After someone dialed 911, the voice told me he was an invisible man and he’d come back if I continued to hurt people...

Z drank some more water without spilling it on himself and was starting to regain his composure.

Did you recognize the voice, Mr. Z? asked Captain Laroche.

No well, it didn’t ring a bell I don’t know, actually, since he was whispering.

Who have you hurt, Mr. Z? Enough to find yourself in such a situation? I don’t know, stammered Z who, after the terrible warning, was no doubt starting to reconsider his behavior. Do you want to press charges?

I don’t know! This is terribly stressful, can’t you see? I don’t know who was here. A man, a demon, who knows? I want to be left alone. Please go, and tomorrow I’ll make myself available, if you want. No, I’m not going to press charges. Excuse me… against who? There was no one here!

Z got up from his bed, headed for a door and disappeared behind it, leaving the police officer with the vision of his soft, white buttocks.

Captain Laroche walked over to one of the officers and instructed him, Find out what type of work he does and if people have ever pressed charges against him. If that’s the case, ask them to come in to the station for questioning. Search the rest of the room and take prints off the phone, particularly the 9 and 1 buttons.

The crime scene police went to work immediately. On the cell phone, the key piece of evidence, the investigating officers found nothing, no trace of fingerprints. After 45 minutes, the police left the apartment and returned to the police station. They were only there for a few minutes since, just as she was heading toward her office to write her report, Captain Laroche was intercepted by her commanding officer who mentioned another inexplicable incident involving flying objects and a voice that came out of nowhere.

The young, 40-something brunette turned on her heel, calling her officers, and they all climbed into the van to head to the scene of the second case that was causing such a stir. People were talking about a miracle, an appearance by God in a place of worship downtown! That certainly intrigued the police captain.

The whole experience had stressed Y out. And that was putting it mildly! In the midst of a gathering, God had addressed him, telling Y to follow Him and give all his possessions to the poor. Holy objects had moved about in the air and a deep voice had said that Y was the Chosen One. It was all too much for him! Particularly for the type of man he was: greedy, incapable of love, literally crazy for money. An imposter who attended places of worship to hide his terrible disease.

Can you describe what happened today, Mr. Y? asked Captain Laroche.

Y related the facts, including the slap to his face.

Are you saying, Mr. Y, that objects went flying through the air? Can you tell me more about that?

Yes, during the ceremony, a voice seemed to call down from the ceiling. It said my name, and holy objects started floating in the air. But there was no one holding them. It was like magic! Then, the disciples moved toward me and started to touch my head, shoulders, hands… Some of them kneeled in front of me. One even lay down to kiss my shoes!

And the voice… Was that the first time you’d heard it?

Yes, I think so...

When you went home, when you were slapped, the voice spoke to you again, but this time it was closer… Did it sound familiar?

No, not at all! Everyone heard it, Ms. Police Captain. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do! Was that God talking to me?

Although the captain understood Mr. Y’s discomfort, she had to continue with her investigation.

Is there anyone in your circle, individuals who might be angry with you for some reason? Have you done something that might have harmed someone?

No, well… Perhaps… You know, business is business!

What is your business?

I’m in insurance...

Do you have any enemies?

Captain, do you believe this is all some joke? Revenge, plain and simple? Then how do you explain the supernatural aspect of what happened and in front of everyone?

Mr. Y was unable to settle down. The officers examined his room while, a few streets away, others were inspecting the flying objects. Unfortunately, they found no clues. Yet, for Captain Laroche it seemed obvious the day’s two incidents were connected and God had nothing whatsoever to do with them.

Mr. Y was offered psychological counseling but refused, preferring to remain alone. Soon all the officers had gone, leaving him in peace. Yet panic continued to rise in his throat. He feared the voice would come back at any moment.

Once again, the captain headed back to the police station. A journalist who had caught wind of the two events was waiting for her there. Joren Leendert, from the Journal de Montréal.

I have nothing to tell you, Mr. Leendert! the captain declared.

Flying objects, God speaking, invisible men… You call that nothing?

I have nothing for now. The events described by the two individuals we questioned are still under investigation.

You must admit, Captain Laroche, the events are quite astonishing! Particularly in the case of Mr. Y. Dozens of witnesses, and people are already talking about a divine appearance, comparing it to Fatima! Do you think it could be the work of God? Or some trickster? A magician, perhaps? Ah… Poor Canada!

Magic, well that’s a serious lead… admitted the police captain. It’s tough to say… I believe we’ll get more results by questioning the victims rather than the perpetrator, she murmured.

Absolutely, Captain! During my own investigation, I uncovered several similarities between your two victims. And I’ve already got a bit of a lead…

Which is?

The individuals in question are both rich men, they’re both from Montreal and they work in insurance...

In the case of Mr. Z, Stéphane had not been aware of that information.

Perhaps, you should look into their employees, continued the journalist. What do you think? I learned that Mr. Z is no altar boy and that his employees don’t think highly of him...

Revenge? That’s the great journalist’s lead?

It’s something, at least!

Mr. Leendert, do you think we spend all day sleeping? Our officers are already interviewing the employees of Mr. Y and Mr. Z...

And?

And, for the time being, nothing’s come up. They all have alibis that check out. We’re also examining the places where the events took place. Please go now, Mr. Leendert. I won’t keep you since I have two reports to write up for my superiors… All I think, for now, is that the two events are connected. I believe that the person we’re looking for didn’t act alone, since setting up an invisible man act takes several people. I also believe that the attacker will be found in the victims’ personal or professional circles. But nothing I’ve told you is official. It’s just my opinion.

So, God hasn’t come back for the final judgement?

That’s all for today, Mr. Leendert, replied the captain, motioning for him to leave her office.

*****

Do you realize how much pain you’ve caused us? You bastard! If your children see this shit! And what about me? Publicly humiliated! I wish I’d never met you! And your employees, seeing you on hands and knees, doing... doing… doing that to that slut… You son of a bitch! You’re a perverted old pig! Pack your bags and get out! WE DON’T EVER WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN!!!

Ten minutes earlier, X’s wife had gotten up and, while waiting for the coffee to finish dripping, had picked up her iPad to check her email. Almost all ads, like usual. All sorts of discounts… Makeup, clothing, jewelry, shoes, trips… But not this morning. This morning she also received an email from her husband. An email sent from his office during the night.

X didn’t understand what was happening. He’d gotten up before her and, when a kitchen knife had come to life before his eyes and threatened him only minutes earlier, he’d fainted. He came to lying on the floor. And now he was watching a video of him with one of his sales representatives.

The world was falling apart under his feet. He couldn’t understand it… The knife made no sense… Yet, he hadn’t been dreaming! The tip of the blade had touched his forehead and he’d fainted.

As a terrible wave of insults washed over him, he grabbed the iPad from his wife’s hands and, in a flash of clarity, connected to the office server and did what was needed to recall the email that had been sent during the night. Success!

Shut up! he shouted at his wife, before explaining what he was doing.

How many people got that email? she asked after pulling herself together. Can you find out?

Yes, I’m looking into it… Wait… Two people opened it… including you.

Luckily, Mr. X and his wife were morning people. Since the worst had been avoided, all he had to do was call the only employee who had opened the email during the night. Five minutes later, the employee in question had been warned: He was not, under any circumstances, to view, forward or keep the video. He wasn’t to mention the matter to anyone, or his employer, who had many resources, would punish him. The employee, a rather reasonable young man, agreed, assuring X that he hadn’t forwarded the clip to anyone and hadn’t saved it.

Everything had returned to order in a few minutes, except for X’s wife, who continued to fume. As far as she was concerned, however, she’d avoided the worst: public humiliation.

But for X, who was no imbecile, the fact remained that he’d been assaulted that morning. First, a long knife had been pointed at him and then the video had been sent. That demonstrated a clear desire to harm him both personally and professionally.

Once he regained consciousness, he’d also realized that he hadn’t been injured, although a fall like that should have left its mark… His attacker merely wanted to frighten and humiliate him—not kill him—forcing him to fully experience the intended humiliation.

So, X had a choice: He could press charges or investigate on his own. He opted for the second alternative. In his mind, the method of the attack was unimportant; it was a matter of vengeance by an employee.

The next morning, a Saturday, X found Le Journal de Montréal on the doorstep of his home. A beautiful home in Outremont. One that begged questions like: What does he do to afford such a beautiful home? or Does he come from money? or Did he win the lottery?

The answer: none of the above. X did, however, have a very lucrative profession. He owned a company that provided surveillance and alarm systems for medium and large firms. Moreover, he had contracts with the Canadian Armed Forces and the government.

As he did every Saturday, before going to sit down on his terrace to read the newspaper, X unfolded the thick edition and took out the sections that were of no interest to him, first of all the one written by Joren Leendert, tossing them into the recycling bin. This morning, however, the large headline of the newspaper supplement caught his attention: God, invisible man or magic? Two victims in shock after inexplicable appearances!

That was enough for him to drop the entire newspaper into the bin and focus on the article by Joren Leendert.

It mentioned two incidents reported to the police during the course of the week. Two unexplained events. The names of the victims were not indicated. X turned on his TV, switched to the Radio-Canada network and hit the story right off… There was a great deal of commentary. One individual spoke about a settling of accounts between rival gangs; another went into great detail about a miracle and divine appearance. The guest speakers included a magician, a religious dignitary and the Mayor of Montreal.

The first guest, clearly amused, claimed that such staging required a great deal of preparation, involving the use of costly techniques to create illusions. Reconnaissance as well. No doubt the perpetrator had followed his victims for several days, learning their habits.

The second, more serious, believed the two events were precursors announcing even more serious incidents to come. According to him, the victims were mere vehicles chosen by God to deliver a message to the world: Repent!

People have to stop thinking only of themselves and start serving others! he said. Otherwise, God will punish us all!

The Mayor of Montreal considered it all an immense masquerade using spectacular means, a hoax the police would stop in the coming days.

So X was the third victim of the missing—or invisible—attacker. Without wasting a second, he contacted the editorial desk at Le Journal de Montréal and left a voicemail message for Joren Leendert. The journalist called him back within the hour. Thirty minutes later, Mr. Leendert rang the doorbell of X’s sumptuous home.

X opened the door, directed the journalist to his office and offered him a drink, which Leendert refused, focused as he was on learning the reason for the urgent meeting. X related what had happened to him, keeping the matter of the video to himself. Of course, the journalist immediately made the connection with Y and Z...

Do you work in insurance, Mr. X? Leendert asked.

No sir. My company specializes in high-end surveillance and security systems.

Damn! thought Joren, who had been hoping to show off his investigative skills and impress the other man.

"The other