Beneath the Lies

CURRENT DAYS – HERMES

The phone alarm rang, waking me from a dreamless sleep. On impulse, I immediately turned it off. I didn’t need to check the time—I knew it was 6 a.m., as it was every day.

Silently, I gathered the strength to get up and sat at the edge of the bed, my head pounding with an irritating pain, as if a fine needle was lodged in my temples—a result of last night’s whiskey.

I turned to the side to look at the woman lying in the spacious bed, wrapped in fine Egyptian cotton sheets. Her right thigh was exposed, barely covered by the bedding, and her reddish-brown hair was spread over the pillow. She was around thirty, about five foot seven, with a body clearly shaped by long hours at the gym. I remembered her expressive brown eyes.

"It was a mistake," I thought to myself as I headed toward the bathroom of the luxurious suite.

After closing the door quietly, seeking a bit of privacy, I turned on the shower. The cold water hit my body, relieving the headache caused by the hangover.

As I scrubbed myself vigorously with a sponge, my thoughts turned to Ivone, the owner of the apartment, a real estate businesswoman. Her brother, Jonathan, had gone missing about four months earlier, and I, as Chief Inspector of the Alpha Team of the Homicide and Personal Protection Division of the São Paulo Civil Police—commonly known as the DHPP—was assigned to the case.

Initial investigations revealed that Jonathan was a drug user and in debt to traffickers from a community nestled in the middle of the upscale Morumbi neighborhood. After two difficult months, we located his body in a shallow grave on the outskirts of the city.

Two men were identified and arrested for the crime. They confessed that, due to Jonathan’s long-standing drug debt, they had kidnapped and killed him after draining his bank account. Unsatisfied, they had dismantled his car to sell the parts, stolen his expensive cellphone, and even taken his designer clothes.

During the investigation, Ivone visited the station weekly for updates. When I told her we had found the body and solved the crime, she broke down in my arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Her brother was her only living relative. Their parents were deceased, and as the youngest in the family, she had always cared for him. Maybe all the pampering had pushed him toward drugs. It wouldn’t be the first case like that I'd seen.

Digging deeper into his lifestyle, we found he lived like a playboy, burning through the inheritance their parents had left—money Ivone had worked hard to multiply.

The day before, she had called to invite me to dinner as a way of thanking me and my team for everything we had done, even though I insisted we were just doing our job. Still, she was persistent, and I finally agreed. Why not? I was single, she was too, and the case had been closed. There was nothing unethical about the invitation.

We arranged that I’d pick her up at her apartment, where I left my motorcycle, and we took her luxurious sedan to a well-known restaurant. Even though I wanted to pay, she wouldn’t let me. In the end, we agreed to split the bill.

After dinner, I took her back to her apartment and accepted her offer for one last drink.

It didn’t take long before we were wrapped up on her couch in a long kiss. Her lips still tasted like the expensive red wine she’d had. Boldly and eagerly, she removed my cream dress shirt and began unbuttoning my jeans after I took off the holster and pistol I always carried.

I helped her quickly slip out of her knee-length blue dress with silver details, while kicking off my loafers.

Still wrapped in each other’s arms, hands exploring, tongues tangled in a deep kiss, we stood up—both aware that sex was inevitable. She led me to her bedroom, where I laid her down on the bed, positioning myself over her body, now clad only in cobalt-blue lace lingerie.

I buried my face in her breasts, inhaling her light perfume as I ran my hands along her thighs, feeling her scratch my back and press me closer.

I caressed her nipples through the fabric, drawing a deep moan from her, while squeezing her breasts alternately with one hand.

I moved down, kissing her stomach until I reached her inner thighs, exploring every inch of the lace with my tongue, slipping beneath it to reach her already wet core—its salty, delicious taste filling my mouth.

Her body arched as I moved the fabric aside and enclosed my mouth around her intimacy, exploring her soaked entrance with my tongue, alternating with teasing her clit, sucking and pressing it with my lips. I focused on her for several minutes, until I felt her body tense and her moans grow louder.

I paused, reached into my jeans pocket for my wallet, and pulled out a condom. Quickly, I slipped it onto my hard, pulsing erection.

I positioned myself between Ivone’s legs. She looked up at me with half-lidded eyes and parted lips. As I pressed the tip of my cock at her entrance, she wrapped her toned legs around my waist and pulled me inside her, hard, clutching the back of my neck.

I plunged into her, hearing her moan in pleasure. With one hand, I massaged her breasts; with the other, I gripped her thigh and buttocks, thrusting slowly and in sync with her hips.

I kissed her neck, breasts, and lips, feeling her pull me closer, her nails once again digging into my back—and boldly, into my ass.

After several minutes of this back-and-forth, I increased the pace, her thighs trembling, moans more intense, her teeth gently biting my shoulders and then my lips.

"Fuck me harder," she moaned into my ear.

Without hesitation, I pounded into her, the wet sound of our bodies crashing echoing through the room, until she screamed, her legs tightening around my waist as if trying to draw me deeper into her soul.

I couldn’t hold back. I came hard, still thrusting, until I collapsed on top of her, burying my face in her hair.

She stroked the back of my neck as our breathing and heartbeats slowly calmed. Soon, she was asleep, wrapped around me.

For a few minutes, I debated whether to leave or not. But in the end, I resigned myself—nothing would change what had already happened. Not wanting to wake her, I decided to stay. After all, there was no one waiting for me at home—not even a pet. I lived alone in a small apartment near Aclimação Park, where I liked to go running whenever I could.

Now, as I rinsed off, I thought about the night before. It wasn’t that it hadn’t been pleasant—it had. But clearly, we were two lonely people finding solace in each other.

I turned off the shower and dried off with a fluffy towel, lost in thought.

I was 27 years old, in great shape—my body muscular and toned, thanks to countless hours at the gym near the DHPP headquarters in downtown São Paulo.

When I finished, I leaned both hands on the marble sink and looked into the large round mirror on the wall. A man with short black hair—buzzed military-style—stared back at me with brown eyes. A few wrinkles had begun to appear at the corners of my eyes and mouth, along with some gray strands.

“This is my job,” I thought.

I had been in the Civil Police for years—over two as an investigator, four as a chief inspector. I’d seen too much—a true parade of human tragedy. Should I have stayed in law?

I joined the force at 21. By the time I graduated law school, I already had two years of service. I passed the bar exam on my first try. Three months later, Fernanda—my girlfriend at the time—encouraged me to accept an offer from a top corporate law firm in the Pacaembu neighborhood.

I gave in to her request, even though being a cop had always been my dream. What wouldn’t I have done for her back then? I barely practiced law before secretly applying for the police chief exam.

When I got the acceptance letter to the academy, we had a huge fight. But I stood firm. And she—apparently out of love—reluctantly accepted.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, feeling the familiar surge of anger and sorrow.

During my time at the police academy, she ended our relationship. We were practically engaged, and I was devastated. If I hadn’t thrown myself into my studies, I might’ve gone mad. At least I graduated top of my class. As a result, I was invited to join the Homicide Division—one of São Paulo’s most elite police units.

Had I chosen the right path?

My thoughts were interrupted by the ringtone of my phone, which sat on the bathroom counter. The grim memories of my past faded into the background.

“Hello? Dr. Paranhos,” I answered after checking the caller ID—my direct superior, the DHPP Director.

“Inspector Hermes, gather your team and head to the address I’m sending you,” he said, naming a street inside a gated community in the upscale Alphaville neighborhood of Barueri. “Probable homicide. Maintain discretion and keep the press away.”

“On my way, sir,” I replied before the call ended.

Immediately, I called my team leader and ordered everyone to the scene. Only then did I get dressed, leaving the bathroom to retrieve my .40 caliber pistol from the bedside drawer—where I found Ivone awake, watching me closely.

“Leaving already?” she asked sleepily, her body barely covered by the sheets.

“Unfortunately,” I sighed, averting my gaze as I holstered the pistol on my jeans. “Duty calls.”

“Will I see you again?” she asked, sitting up.

“Of course. I’ll call you,” I said, giving her a quick kiss.

Then I left the apartment, heading down to the basement where I’d left my motorcycle—a Harley Davidson 880R.

Always prepared for emergencies, I took a black polo shirt embroidered with the Civil Police emblem from the saddlebag and swapped it for my dress shirt. On the right side, it read "Chief Inspector" in white letters.

After putting on my helmet and a simple black leather jacket, I set the GPS on the handlebars with the address the director had sent me. I started the engine, smiling at the deep growl of the motor, and hit the busy streets of L

atin America’s largest metropolis.

“Another day beginning with the end of a human life,” I thought as I rode.