Author's note:

Hergé's book ends here. From this point on, most of what you are reading is purely from my own imagination. This won't end the way Hergé wanted it to end: this is the story I've been writing in my own head for the last few years. Because I can't possibly hope to write like Hergé, I'm not even going to try to attempt it.

WARNING! The story gets a LOT darker from this point on.

Fourteen

"Fraud is the homage that force pays to reason" - Charles Curtis

Why didn't I bring Snowy? Tintin thought. He put his hands up and watched, warily, as the thuggish bodyguard approached, a gun in one hand and a pair of handcuffs in the other.

"Turn around," the man said gruffly. Tintin did as he was told, and felt his arms pulled down and secured behind his back as the cuffs snapped into place. His hip gave a painful tinge and he winced as he was pushed forward, towards a second door at the back of the room.

"What bodies?" he asked.

"Ah, so you still haven't figured it out?" Akass asked, his voice gleeful. "So Nash was right: it was the perfect hiding place. Put them in plain sight."

Tintin's heart started to beat painfully. "What bodies?" he asked again, his voice heavy with dread.

"Poor Nash. And Poor Fourcart. They were so weak, Mr Tintin. They found each other – such monsters often do – and together they murdered their way around Europe" –

"Oh God." Light had dawned, and Tintin's stomach twisted unpleasantly. "They're not just sculptures, are they?"

"No, Mr Tintin, they're not."

They were in a second room, one that was shorter than the first. More paintings hung, in the process of drying, from these walls, or stretched out on tarpaulin on the floor. There was what appeared to be a table in the centre of the room, and Ramó Nash stood beside it. He was.. bending over it, and appeared to be looking in to it. Tintin struggled a little, but one of the men had his arm in a vice-like grip, and propelled him forward. Nash looked up when he heard the small struggle.

"What's he doing here?" he asked, his voice alarmed.

"Mr Tintin knows too much," Akass said devilishly. "I was just telling him about your predilection, Ramó. You know: how you and Fourcart murdered all these women. These young girls. And displayed them for all to see. Most macabre, don't you think, Tintin?"

"What have you done?" Tintin asked Nash.

The artist shook his head. "It wasn't supposed to happen," he said desperately. "It was an accident."

"An accident?" Even though he was severely out-numbered and the odds were against him, Tintin couldn't stop himself from exploding with disgust. "There's 26 letters in the alphabet! Most of your 'sculptures' are of two girls! How many accidents could that be! So where do you fit into this?" He rounded on Akass, taking grim pleasure in the man's flash of surprise. "What happened? You found out, yes? Did he come to you, looking for help? You're a man of healing, after all: if anyone could help him, it would be you. What did you do? Threaten to reveal his secret if he didn't work for you?"

"Exactly," Akass said coolly. "It turns out that Ramó isn't fond of the idea of jail, and I am a complete fraud, my boy. I can't 'heal' anyone. But I can use a forger. I keep Ramó's secret, and he supplies me with fake paintings."

"Then what about Monastir?" Tintin snapped. "He was the first to die. Well," He shot a disgusted look at Nash, "he was the first person connected to the art world to die. What did he do? Did he figure you out?"

"Nonsense! He was giving us the licenses of authenticity!" Akass looked smug. "We needed the paintings authenticated, if we wanted to sell them. Alas, he decided to blackmail me – me! – so I had him removed from the game."

"And Fourcart? Your partner-in-crime." He spat the words at Nash, who hung his head. "What did he do, to deserve such a death? Beside the obvious, that is."

"He grew a conscience," Akass answered. "He threatened to expose the whole thing, to you."

Of course . That was the meaning of Fourcart's phone call; that was why he'd mentioned the amount of people that disappeared travelling through Europe, and that was why he'd hidden the fact that he had a meeting with Tintin for the day of his death: he didn't want any of them to know he was going to spill the beans. He must have phoned Tintin using the phone at the front desk, right under the security camera. If the camera had sound, they would have heard the call and understood at once what he meant to do.

"You're despicable," Tintin said coldly. "I've seen a lot of terrible things in my time, but I think this is in a league of its own. And you're just as culpable, Akass."

"You know, for a prisoner you're awful uppity," Akass said thoughtfully. "Ramó, get on with it, will you? You have another sculpture to do tonight. This time, though, it's for my own private collection."

Nash looked at Tintin and shrugged, before turning away. He went to a large barrel that hulked along the wall behind him, and turned a knob. Something gurgled unpleasantly as the tank kicked into life with a low growl.

"Show him," Akass said suddenly. He gestured to the guard that held Tintin's arm. "I want him to know exactly what's going to happen to him."

Tintin found himself pushed forward, and he saw that he had been wrong: Nash hadn't been standing at a table: he'd been standing in front of a tank. Inside, an olive-skinned girl lay. She was dressed sparsely, in a dark black shift. Her feet were bare, and her hands rested over her mouth. He could see the dark bruises around her bare wrists and ankles. He shook his head at her senseless death. "You monster," he said quietly, looking up at Nash. He looked back down, meaning to say a prayer for her, and realised that her eyes were now staring at him.

She was alive.

It hit him like a brick to the face, and his breathing stopped for a moment. All he could hear was the sound of his own blood thundering in his ears. He looked back at Nash, who was watching the girl's face. "What are you doing?" Tintin asked, horrified. "She's still alive. Nash. Nash!" The liquid from the barrel was pouring into the tank, pooling sluggishly around the girl. Her terrified eyes looked all around, but she didn't move an inch.

"It's a marvellous thing, you know," Akass was saying. Tintin could just hear him over his own screams. "He sedates them first, then poses them" –

"They're more supple alive than dead," Nash interrupted. He was watching the girl avidly as the liquid rose around her. "I can't pose them once rigour mortis sets in."

"You asshole! She's still alive, Nash! She's still alive! Stop this! Make it stop!"

"And then he pours this ingenious liquid in on top of them," Akass continued, ignoring Tintin's struggles. "It kills them, of course, but it preserves them perfectly. You, my dear boy, will know exactly what it feels like: Ramó is going to pour his special liquid over you too, and you'll become a sculpture. I may even get you authenticated by an expert. No, perhaps not: you're too well known, aren't you? No, your body will be put in an attic somewhere. Somewhere dark and out of the way, and no one will ever know what happened to you. Like all the others, you'll just be another statistic. Just another missing youth in Europe."

Nash was watching them carefully. "He'll need to be sedated," he said quietly. He was looking from Akass to Tintin. All his former anxiety was gone, replaced with a new kind of strength and determination. "Yes," he said, nodding. "He'll have to be sedated."

The two guards descended on Tintin. He found himself picked up bodily as one grabbed his legs, and dumped on top of the tank. They held him down – thankfully, he was on his back: he wasn't able to see what was happening underneath him – as Nash disappeared for a second, reappearing with a syringe. "Keep him quiet," Nash said, and a hand clamped itself over Tintin's mouth. His head was twisted to the side and he fought with all his strength as he felt the sharp prick of the needle as it entered his skin.

But Nash knew what he was doing, and a few seconds later nobody was holding Tintin down. He lay, curled on his side, dispassionately watching as the liquid in the tank below him finally covered the girl's face and she began to drown.

He felt like he was floating. He couldn't move his body if he tried – hell, he couldn't feel his arms and legs any more, and he wasn't sure but it felt as though his head had left too – and sound seemed to come to him as though it was travelling a long distance. He concentrated, narrowing his eyes, as Akass's lips moved.

"I want to watch," Akass said urgently. "I want to watch his death. It would be… gratifying, I think."

"Fine," Nash snapped. He was out of sight. He was somewhere… Oh, he was somewhere, but Tintin couldn't move to find him. "Just send your men away."

Akass dismissed his men with a curt gesture. Tintin watched them go, his mind wandering. They killed Svetlana. He tried to say it out-loud, but nothing came out except for a small groan. He felt something move against his forehead, and after a monumental effort of thought, realised it was Nash smoothing his hair away from his eyes.

"I told you to leave," the artist said sadly.

Yes, you did. Tintin wanted to agree with him, but simply couldn't find the strength. His mind started to get a bit muddled now. Akass was watching him curiously, dispassionately, but it almost looked as though he was another person now. Someone Tintin recognised, but couldn't place yet. Akass's face was shifting back and forth between his public face – the face everyone saw – and a private face – a face that only Tintin knew. Then Nash was behind him. Standing behind Akass. Akass was saying something, but all Tintin could see was the syringe Nash held. He lifted it and it almost looked as though he pressed it into Akass's skin.

Akass was shouting. Or was he? It was hard to tell: everything was going black. But it looked as though Akass was shouting. He was holding one hand against his neck and shouting at Nash, who didn't look at all interested. Akass dropped to the ground and Nash stepped over the body.

He bent over Tintin. "I'll protect you," he promised.

Author's note:

I really, really hope I did a good enough job of dropping hints throughout the story. See a note in the review/comment section for more information. :) ps: this is the update that comment is talking about.