Yeah, most awaited chapter Ever!

No, not really, but this is one of my more favorable ones. I really hope you guys like it! And like I said before in my first chapter, I do this story based on a game and I only take credit for putting it in fanfiction form. No copyright intended.

And on that note, Fanfiction took off my Seacliff Tragedy story. That was saddening but what could I do? I'll have to put it off though putting it back up.

Enjoy!

(Azzara, Spain 18 April 17:20)

"Let me see if I have this correct," said the old man. "You work for the American government and there's a murderer from your country, who's started killing people across Paris, and now he's coming here looking for me?"

She nodded. "Yes, that's just about it."

"Is this some kind of candid camera TV show?"

"No sir, the American and French police are both investigating it," she said.

"Well what does it have to do with me?"

I hate to have to tell him this, she thought. "The murder… well, chose you as his next victim."

He sighed. "Me? Why?"

"I have no clue," Brittany said. "Do you know someone named Marc Twain?"

Mr. Sourian shook his head. "I don't recall. Who is he?"

"The murderer pretends to be him."

"I don't understand any of this. I've never had many enemies," he explained. "a feew clients have had a few complaints but never to such an extent…"

"The killer isn't driven by personal grudges," she told him.

He looked confused. "So, why is he murdering people?"

"He bears a grudge against the entire world. Fate, his past."

Mr. Sourian's eyes wandered over to the books. "Yes, I've read about this. The victims are essentially irrelevant."

She nodded. "But they match the scheme he's been creating. And he chooses them very carefully."

"Still, why me? I don't have anything to do with this."

"You can't reason with a killer's logic, Mr. Sourian."

"What I mean is, you must have falsely judged the situation," he replied.

Brittany held in a sigh. She knew she HAD to convince him before it was too late. She could feel herself running out of time. "Listen, I was at the murderer's apartment not long ago. I'm pretty sure he chooses his victims using this bizarre formula and that you are his current target."

"What formula?"

"I don't know!" she said loudly, frustrated with him and the lack of information she had herself. "But for every victim, he's been reconstructing a family tree that dates back to the French Revolution."

A strange look came over his face. "This makes me think of… Well it's probably irrelevant but can you give me the names of the victims?"

Brittany pulled out the list she kept in her notebook. "Luke Crespienne, Marie Parker, Jeanne Murphy, Elizabeth Soupault, Gilbert Marmontal, René Fourier. I also have some photos of his notes and some genealogical research done by the killer." She showed him her camera.

"Unfortunately I can't see very well but I'd like to take a closer look at this."

"Do you have a computer?" She asked.

He shook his head no. "Sorry, I'm very old fashioned."

"How about I print them out?"

"That's a very good idea. In the meantime, I'll go through my archives to find a certain list," he replied, standing up.

"Okay, so I'll go print the photos."

"You can do that at the shop. I'll be here waiting for you."

Quickly, Brittany left the antiquarian. The sun was beating down hard and the town was as empty as ever. She saw a sign for a shop right across the street. She headed over there, but was disappointed to find it closed.

Just my luck, she thought. Brittany decided to head back to the antiquarian. She saw Mr. Sourian looking hastily through stacks of documents.

"I couldn't develop the photos," she told him, grabbing his attention. "The shop is closed."

"The owner is probably at the garage," he said.

"Oh, well I know where that is, she said. Brittany left and headed for the garage. Once there, she saw Paul, the owner of the shop, standing at a work table inside, but no one else.

"How are the repairs going," she asked, trying to be friendly.

He shrugged. "As well as they can."

"Have you happened to see the owner of that store around anywhere?"

He looked up at her. "That would be me." He smiled when he saw the surprised look on her face. "Like I said, this is a small town."

She smiled. "I'd like you to develop some photos at your shop please."

Paul nodded. "No problemo. Tomorrow morning?"

"I kind of need them now."

"I don't want to leave my work," he said.

"But I thought you said you didn't have the parts," Brittany said.

"I'd thought I'd take the car apart, then put it back together again," he replied. "You know, as an exercise."

"You better not. After you put it back together you'll be left with several parts that you'll have no idea what to do with."

"But then you'll have spare parts."

"Please," she begged. "Can you develop the photos for me now. Why does everything have to be for tomorrow?"

He sighed. "I can see that for you, everything has to be done for yesterday."

Story of my life, she thought. "Can we compromise and have it done for today?"

"I guess I have no choice," he said.

The two them two the short two minute walk back to the center of the time. Past the café, Paul led her to the shop and pulled out his keys. Inside, it felt hot and dusty. Brittany noticed that the placed seemed a bit old and in need of a little decoration, but it seemed like an organized little shop.

She handed him the camera as he walked to the back. She sat down on the chair next to a slot machine and started to think what her next move would be after leaving. She needed to get Mr. Sourian to a safe place, but what about the Puppeteer? He wouldn't stop killing, but just move on to the next person. She had to figure out who that was.

After a while, the mechanic slash store owner came out from the back. "I have your photos ready," he said.

She got up and walked to the counter. "Thanks. How much do I owe you?"

"68 euros."

"Can you add it to the bill of my car?" she asked.

"Oh, no, no, no, no. We could have gone and done it tomorrow, but you had to go and be stubborn."

She sighed. "Okay, give me a minute." Brittany turned away, thinking how she'd get enough euros to pay for everything. She glanced over by the slot machine and got an idea. "Can I borrow two euros, please?" Looking back at Paul.

He looked surprise. "You already owe me for the photos and the car."

She smiled, unwavering. "Yeah, but if I win the slot machine, I'll be able to pay both and I'll even let you keep the change."

He sighed and handed her two euros from his pocket. "Whatever, but that's two more euros you owe me."

She needed and walked over to the slot machine. It was very old and only some of the lights flickered while others must've died out years ago. She hesitated a bit. She had never gambled before.

Well, that was completely true. When she was fifteen, she and her sisters had been asked by Alvin to come over and see some surprise he had. Turns out it was a slot machine.

"How do you guys like it?" He asked.

"I cannot believe you bought that thing," Jeanette said.

"Yeah Alvin," Theodore said, looking worried. "Dave's going to be mad when he sees it here."

"Where did you get it?" Eleanor asked.

"They were auctioning it off from a casino that was going out of business. They were selling it for thirty dollars. Apparently, no one's ever been able to win it and it still has a nice sum of cash," Alvin explained.

"You'll never win it," Brittany said.

He smiled. "Watch me."

So for the next three days, Alvin had found all the quarters he could and started playing that machine over and over again. When the fourth day hit, she couldn't help but to gloat in his face.

"I told you you'd never be able to win."

He rolled his eyes. "Like you could do any better."

"I bet you I can do way better than you."

"Fine let's bet on it," he said.

The others sighed. "Please, you two, don't get in another fight," Eleanor said.

"Were not fighting," Brittany replied. "Just having a friendly bet that I'm going to win."

"Okay," Alvin said, handing her a quarter. "Here's what we'll do. You play, and if you lose, you pay me thirty dollars. If you win, you get the money. Think you're up for it?"

She huffed and slipped the quarter into the machine slot. A second later, the machine made a Ding Ding noise and coins started to filter out. Everyone stared in shock.

Brittany smirked. "I guess I win."

She smiled, staring at the machine in front of her. That had been one of her best victories yet against Alvin. But the truth was, it had been pure luck, which is what she prayed for right now as she slipped the two euros into the coin slot.

A second later, the machine started to make noise as coins started to filter out. Just like before, she had won. She picked up the coins and dragged them over to Paul. "Here you go," she said.

He looked shocked. "Wow, Ms. Miller, you must be a great gambler," he said.

"Sorry, but I usual reserve my luck for something more useful then gambling."

He nodded and handed her the photos. "Thanks, I'll see you soon." Brittany hurried over to the Antiquarian to take the photos to Antoine. She saw him, inside, reading some papers at his desk.

"I brought the photos," she said.

He took them and examined them for a few minutes. "Yes, it is precisely what I thought it was."

"What did you think it was?"

"These names you gave me, they are the same ones on this old document." He got up and walked to th othe end of the library for a moment, then came back.

"Do you understand the danger now?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "But what about the motive? Revenge after 200 years? That's insane!"

"I didn't see insanity was ruled out. All serial killers are deeply disturbed," she said.

"But this is not the Corsican vendetta!"

"Maybe the motive is money," she said.

He thought about it for a moment. "The aristocrats offered a fortune for their liberty but… As far as I know, none of the people involved got to see the money. In all likely hood, it was hidden in the catacombs of Paris."

"But that still doesn't explain these murders," she said. "I'll drive you in my car to Paris. Your not safe here."

"I could ask the local police for help," he offered.

Brittany shook her head quickly. "They're not familiar with the case and we don't have time to convince them."

"Is it this dangerous?" She nodded. "Well," he said, "I can't just leave lie that, there's one more thing I need to take care of."

She held in a sigh. This was wasting way to much time. "Well, what is it?"

"My grandson left his motorcycle with me," Antoine explained. "He had a crash, but he didn't get hurt. He had to ask the mechanic, Paul, to fix it."

"Where is he? Do you think he's in danger?"

"He might be, but he went surfing in Australia."

"Well then I'm sure he's safe," she said. "So where's his motorcycle?"

"In the back, behind the house," he said. "Here is the key if you want." He pulled the drawer open and handed her a key he took from inside it.

"Thanks now hurry and get packed," she said. He nodded and headed up the spiral steps to the right.

Brittany took the key and headed for the bac garden. Once, outside, she saw the motorcycle. It wasn't in too bad shape, except for the fact it's tire was missing.

She left the Antiquarian and headed down towards Paul's mechanic shop. She found him in the garage, messing with an engine. "Paul," she said. "Did you ever fix that tire for Mr. Sourian's grandson?"

He glanced up at her. "He didn't say it was urgent."

She knew what that meant. "So, can you fix it now?"

"No way, I can't be doing so many things at once."

She sighed. "Well, give me the tire. It won't be hard to fix."

"I don't have any more fixing kits," he said. "And the rim is bent and isn't holding any air. So unless you want to help, then it can't be fixed right now."

Brittany had the feeling if she didn't do help, it wasn't going to get done. "Fine, what do you want me to do?"

He gave her instructions to check and see if the wheel was punctured and bring it to him with the tire iron. She checked the wheel that sat in the corner. It did have a puncture on the side of it. She picked it up and the tire iron off the shelf and brought it to him.

"Thanks," he said. "Now, see that air compressor?" She looked to where he nodded and an air compressor sat near the entrance. "There's a tube there. See if it has a whole in it."

Brittany walked over to the air compressor and tried to fill the tube with air. When it started to deflate, she found a hole on the underside. She marked where it was and brought it over to Paul.

"I found where the whole is."

"Okay, let me find the patches," he said, starting to look through the shelves. A few minutes later, he was able to find them.

"So are you about done with that tire?"

"Why are you so impatient?"

"I'm getting anxious," she said. She knew they didn't have much time left.

"I'm sorry but you'll just have to wait a little longer."

So, that was that. Brittany waited for about twenty minutes, wondering when he'd finally get done.

"Well," he said, handing her the tire. "I'm finished. Are you satisfied?"

Brittany nodded and took the tire. "Yes. Thanks Paul." She left the mechanics quickly and headed for the Antiquarian's. As she walked, tire in hands, she thought of how they'd get out of here. The best solution though, was to take the motorcycle. They couldn't wait a few days for a car to be fixed.

Brittany set the tire on the front side of the shop. When she put her hand on the door, she felt a sudden chill run up her arm, which was strange since it was so hot.

But something was wrong. Slowly, she cracked the door open. She didn't hear anything. As she slipped inside, she gasped at what she saw.

There was Mr. Sourian, hanging like a puppet on the side of the stairwell. The strings were strung every which way to hold his still body up.

Brittany ran up to him, unhooking the strings and pulling him down. "Mr. Sourian? Mr. Sourian?" She said, but there was no answer or a pulse.

She stepped back, feeling a sudden rush of anger and sadness. Was there really nothing I could do?

I'll be updating the next chapter, Super soon! See ya then!