palimpsest
 

[palɪm(p)sɛst]

noun

something reused or altered but still bearing visible traces of its earlier form: Sutton Place is a palimpsest of the taste of successive owners

Each story has its own mystery. A secret luring you into following the trap that was set up. What is there to find behind these clouds of pure oblivion? Do we want to find out?

Are we really here to march towards the plot twist and discover what has created the conflict? Or is there something else; a hole that needs to be filled?

Surely you must know. Think about it, please.

“You want a shot?” I asked Tao when getting my iron flask out of my pocket. It did not appear charming, carrying such an item, especially when it was filled with red vodka, but I had been through a rough week. This was my fifth visit here and I couldn’t seem to get my head around this place.

Zico’s identity remained unknown to any of the bureau for we didn’t know his real name. His motives and actual secrets were buried deep beneath the soil. He did not look like a rich landlord and wasn’t even convincing enough to make it seem like he inherited the house from some rich aunt or uncle. The words respect or guilt didn’t seem familiar to him and I tried avoiding him as much as possible, for now.

“Are you that bored?” Tao approached me and accepted the vodka, he poured it down his throat rather quickly, as if heaven’s tears fell on his tongue. “It’s been a while.”, he almost purred.

“You can say that.” I answered and sat down on one of the chairs. Tao did not question me anymore why I didn’t take what I paid Zico for. I ensured him that if he wanted me to give him his days off every week, he mustn’t ask about me. Telling him that I was an undercover cop would give him false hope of him getting out of this place.

I woke up in the middle of the night and spotted Tao on the other side of the bed. His head was turned towards me, gently leaning on his pillow, his mouth a bit open and his cheeks crimson red. The booze had given him some descent sleep.

Seconds later I got up and covered him properly, got my robe and walked towards the door. It occurred to me that infiltrating during the day was plain wrong and with Zico roaming through the hallways, each breath I took seemed and sounded suspicious to him.

Before reaching the door, the moonlight caressed a bookshelf, which drew my attention. It struck me that Tao was allowed to have books about this topic. They were not fictional, but medical. Others were about Freud, dreams and psychosis. I bit on my lip and got even more confused.

When walking through the hallway, trying to picture Tao reading these books as a passetemps, I decided that staying on this floor would be a good idea. There w