To his younger brother Jules, Jean-Paul Philippe Dubois had always been a mighty big brother, able to take on anything. Jean-Paul was also the same color as Monsieur Jean-Luc Dubois, their Black French Louisianan father: that deep, rich, unmistakably African depth of brown that dark chocolate scarcely describes for richness.
So, all that being said, Jules would not have thought Jean-Paul could turn pale – or at least show all the other signs that any man would, had he seen the angel of death in person.
Jules was surprised while biking with his brother when the sudden gurgle and stirring of a malfunctioning fountain caused Jean-Paul to swerve and nearly crash. He recovered from that, but then had to sit down on the nearest park bench as he burst into a cold sweat.
Jules quickly sat down and wrapped his arm around his brother, realizing Jean-Paul was having some kind of awful flashback. The moment passed, but Jean-Paul was clearly shaken, and it was still another few minutes before he could compose himself and speak.
“In 2012, I was called with my team to Interpol to a region I shall not name to investigate the mass death of everyone in an exclusive resort, two days after its well-publicized grand opening. Terrorism was suspected, which is why Interpol received the call.
“I will never forget the photographs of the 567 victims, men, women, and children, all in their beds … they were having such pleasant dreams of the fields of heaven, it seemed … the roses were blooming on every cheek. You know that I am not a fanciful person, but I knew instantly how they had died, as it were: la baiser de l'ange de la mort!”
“The kiss of the angel of death” – such a descriptor said much to Jules, who with his brother had gone to Sunday School … a more than mortal cause of mass death was in play.
“The second clue was what draws scientists to the area now: a resurgence of volcanic activity in the region, with swarms of small to moderate earthquakes.”
“When I came to the resort the first thing I could smell was pond scum and a slight hint of sulfur, still stronger than the stench of all the things that had died at the resort that no one had thought to remove and bury. The wind was blowing out of the west, which is why the stench of the resort was largely being carried away from us … and yet, that pond scum with rotten eggs odor was coming straight down the side of the mountain above to the east.
“The Anglo-Saxon at one time in history liked to refer to the entire Atlantic Ocean as 'The Pond,' and in this sense, the local mountain lake was called Champagne Pond – but when we went up, its appearance no longer was clear and encouraging, although it was certainly still bubbling. The lead scientist with us took a sample of muddy yellow waters that were naturally carbonated by gases seeping up because of the volcanic activity deep below our feet. On the opposite shore, an earthquake had caused a landslide into the waters, and we could see that the whole pond had recently left its banks, depositing mud and scum all over the area.
“Hence the constant scent flowing down the mountain: the water was steadily off-gassing now, as opposed to the great burst of poisonous gas it had produced as the earthquake and landslide had released years of trapped gases from solution, like shaken soda released all at once.
“To confirm our conclusion, one great rock slid off the top of the pile into the water as we stood on the opposite shore, and all at once, the surface of the pond began to bubble and gurgle.”
Jules suddenly felt faint.
“L'ange de la mort troubled the waters, in your sight!” he cried.
“We ran for our lives – case closed,” the chief inspector said. “The victims had died from carbon monoxide poisoning, which is heavier than air and had settled in the valley where the resort was. Hence the radiantly pink appearance of the victims – tell-tale sign of such poisoning. All there had been for my team to do was find the source of such a massive burst. Later I found that the natives of the region had sought to warn the builders of the resort – they knew that Champagne Pond was a gas vent to the local volcanic system. But of course, the builders did not listen.”
Jules sighed heavily.
“When the high and mighty will not hear the prophets, they make their appointment for themselves and others to receive la baiser de l'ange de la mort.”
“Because,” Jean-Paul said, “as our father would express it, la verite es vraie – c'est la vie ou c'est la mort!”
Jules shook his head.
“How many times did we hear 'The truth is true,' and then as we got older, 'The truth is true – it is life or it is death!'”
“Père is still right, everywhere I have been in the world,” Jean-Paul said, “because he is just repeating after le bon Dieu.”