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Chapter Fourteen
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I have not been sleeping well. This is partly due to my concerns, and partly due to my choice of pillow – my leather coat, hiding two stakes and a gun, stuffed into what roughly resembles a pillow. In my dreams I have been seeing images of the Ancients that Sarthimia told me about last night. They spoke to me, warning me of betrayal. They need not inform me of that – I have had my fair share of it.
Jackston is still out there somewhere, unlike Mina who is locked up in a chamber. I know this since I can hear her banging herself repeatedly against the wooden door that imprisons her. I hope for the sisters’ sake that she has not been at it all day; it would be troublesome for the sisters to find rest in their neighbouring chambers. Poor Mina, what monster has become of you?
Checking the time, I realise that I still have a few hours left before my likely fatal appointment with the Council. I know that they will do me no good if I spend them searching for the source. If I have not found the source by now, it is highly unlikely that it will miraculously pop out of nothingness and reveal itself to me. Perhaps I should hunt for Jackston instead, and stop him from spreading the disease to others, though I know in my heart that I am already too late. If he wished to spread the disease, it would already be spread to at least ten others by now. No, I should search for Michael, like I promised Mina. If Jackston has already gotten to him there will be hell to pay.
The leather pile I have used as a pillow is all wrinkly as I try to turn it back into a coat. Leather has the tendency of forming itself into one shape and then stay in that shape for a very long time. Still, I force it back into a coat shape. It currently serves me more purpose as a pile.
I leave the monastery without saying goodbye to Sarthimia, just as she had expected. There is no point in seeing her again, she has told me as much as she wishes to and the rest, I know, cannot be forced out of her. Though I find her story to be, at best, intriguing, I find that it has brought me none of the answers I sought. May it be true or false.
Before leaving, I walk by Mina’s chamber, which now easily could be referred to as her cell. She has stopped banging at the heavy wooden door for a moment. I hear her hissing over by the window. For the moment she appears to have stopped crying blood. This is good. No good can come out of crying out the very thing that keeps you alive. Yet I still worry for her. I can sense the air vibrating around her, and not until now do I realise what it could mean. Are her powers leaving her not only through her tears of blood but also through her skin in waves, leaking out of her like a broken fuel tank? If that is the case, she must feed soon. But I fear to enter the chamber – I do not wish to harm her. Instead I watch her, standing on the other side of a thick wooden door like coward. Forgive me, Mina.
My car is standing just outside the gate, just where I left it. I must admit, it feels a lot better walking out this place rather than mysteriously blacking out and waking up outside of it. Thinking of Sarthimia and her sisters’ powers is concerning. Who knows what they are capable of? After last night’s show of Sarthimia defending herself with the raise of an arm against Mina, and after how I was leaving the monastery last time, I wonder how vast their powers truly are. If Sarthimia’s story is indeed true, and the sisters are infused with the blood of beings that once evolved this world and the life on it, what tremendous amount of powers has even a single drop granted them? I am thankful that they appear to be friends of the Asylaum, if whey were not I fear that we would not be alive anymore. Also, I could not be more thankful that they took Mina into their care. No being on Earth appears powerful enough to enter the monastery without the approval of the Sisterhood. I only fear that she might be a threat to herself in there.
Once in my car I hurry along the rocky roads back to London. Time is short and it is a long drive in a rotten car. If I am unlucky it will break down on my way back. I hope not – I have already had enough bad luck for one week. Dark trees with large branches reaching over the road swirl past me as I race. If an animal were to be misfortunate enough to step into my way, it would be nothing but a speed bump.
I park the car next to my manor. There is still two hours before I must face my executioners and beg for mercy. I do not enter my manor; I am already carrying whatever I might have desired from it – my stakes, my knives and the blasted bullet-shooting-kill-a-man-by-the-pull-of-a-trigger-gun. So far I have had no use of it and it has caused me nothing but discomfort as I have both carried it around and slept on it. Still, it might prove useful during my next task. I have decided that my next move should be to find Michael as soon as possible. The night that I attempted to save Mina, I recall that she told me that Michael was at a friend’s place. Though I do not know the location of this friend’s place, I know of a place where I can probably find the address.
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The apartment that used to be the home of Mina and Michael lies in ruins. Black and yellow police tape is set up around the rubble and shattered glass, small tags are placed all over the floor and red strings are shooting across the walls. The police forensics has been kept busy I gather. And apparently they are working nightshifts – I see lights through the shattered window in the living room. Standing on a rooftop across the street, at the very spot where Jackston must have stood before plunging through the window, I know that I cannot wait for the forensics to finish up their work and call it a night – I must enter now.
I decide to try to enter in a more subtle way than Jackston did. I feel slightly stupid as I ring the doorbell, knowing that one of the inhabitants is locked up at a monastery and another’s blood is flowing in my veins. This might not be such a good idea after all – I am still no actor. I hear movement inside and the door opens before me.
“Forgive me sir, but this is a crime scene,” the forensic informs me. “Please leave.”
Faking a shock, I put my hands in front of my open mouth and gasp.
“What happened?” I ask with a fake worried tone. “Was anyone injured?”
This might even work. As I hear myself speak I am surprised – I have never been this good before.
“Sir, no one is injured, everyone is fine,” he informs me politely.
I give him a naive look, begging for more information with my eyes. At least that is what I think I am doing. I am not used to doing this, so I do not know. He sighs and looks over his should to make sure that his partners do not hear him.
“It was a gas explosion,” he continues. “There is no need to worry.”
He is lying. His pupils just dilated and his pulse increased slightly. There has been no mind-juggling here – the police know that there was never a gas explosion. Good call to lie about it in the papers, bad call to lie about it to me. Do they know what really happened, or have they only established that it was not a gas explosion?
“What caused the explosion?”
I can tell he is getting suspicious. Was it the question, or the bad acting behind it that caused his suspicion?
“A leak,” he states swiftly. “I really must ask you to leave now, sir.”
“But—”
“Sorry, sir,” he cuts me off as he closes the door.
Damn it, I shall have to do it the old fashion way. I grab the door with my right hand and slam it into his face. His nose breaks. I do not blame myself – he made this choice himself. Blood is cascading from his nose as he falls to floor, screaming in pain while pressing his hand against it. They always do that. I do not understand why – it is not as if the can stop the pain by applying pressure to a broken nose, if anything they will just make it worse. It might stop the blood flow slightly, but it brings more suffering than it brings use.
Hearing their partner screaming, three other forensics rush into the hallway with their weapons pulled, one coming from the kitchen and the other two from the living room.
“Freeze!” they order simultaneously.
I do not have time for this. Though I may not be able to stop them through telekinesis or mind-juggling like Sarthimia, I can still rid of them before they have time to react, with my extra powers. I do not even pull a weapon as I move for the first one. I snap his neck in the blink of an eye. His partners have only noticed as I am placed between them, smashing their heads together. They are unconscious. The one with a broken nose is trying to stand up to see what is going on – I do not let him. He falls dead next to his partners. The other two have seen too much – I kill them too. There is a lot of killing being done tonight. I suppose I am in a killing mood – just like I expect the Council to be.
After having rummaged through Michael’s room I find a drawing in his school notes, showing two kids fighting. His name is written beneath one of them and another name beneath the other; ‘Brian’. Good, I have a name. When checking the notes left on the fridge I spot a list of phone numbers to friends and relatives, just like every responsible big sister would have. Like I expected, this Brian-kid’s phone number is on the list.
Even though I am not particularly fond of computers, I still know how to to operate them at a basic level. I enter the phone number I found in a search engine on the Internet and moments later an address pops up on the screen.
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What is it with modern families always wanting to live in apartments? What happened to the love of a stunning mansion standing proud?
Standing outside Brian’s building I see no sign of struggle. This is a good thing, but it leaves no guarantees. There is nothing saying that Michael is still at his friend’s place, two days after his home was torn into pieces, nothing apart from me knowing it. I feel him, somehow. Besides, where else would one hide in a crisis at home if not at a friend’s place? I ring a doorbell for the second time this night, though this time without any intentions of acting. I hold no high hopes of how Michael will react upon seeing me again, not after what happened to his home shortly after I was brought into his life.
As the door opens a kid with wearing make-up stands in the doorway.
“Yeah?” he asks with a snotty arrogance only a modern kid could summon.
“Brian?”
“Yeah, who’s asking?” I manage to interpret from his mumbling.
“I am,” I state. “Do you have Michael here?”
The mentioning of his friend alerts him. His make-up covered eyes widen at my question.
“I don’t know, dude,” he says uncertainly.
I have made him suspicious. This kid knows what happened to Michael’s apartment, naturally, and he is probably worried that I have come to hurt his friend. By his answers I know that Michael is inside this apartment, and I have no time for games. I am just about to walk into the apartment when I hear a recognisable voice.
“You!” he sneers loathingly. “What did you do to my sister?”
Michael throws himself at me, trying to punch me in his fury. I understand him, but I cannot allow him to hit me. I grip his wrist and push him against a wall.
“Let him go!” his friend demands.
“In a moment,” I reply, having little patience for the kid in make-up.
Michael is wriggling and struggling to get of out my grip with every muscle in his body. He is a fighter. Good, he might have use of that. I stare into his eyes; they are dark brown unlike his sister’s emerald eyes. With one look I have pierced his will to fight and he stop fighting me for a moment.
“Your sister is fine,” I lie, knowing that the truth will not only cause him pain but also cost me too much time. “You, on the other hand, are not. Someone is coming for you.”
He stares dumbly at me. I do not know if he does not understand me or if he simply wishes not to admit understanding.
“What?” he asks in shock.
“There is no time to explain,” I tell him. “Just promise me that you will not leave this apartment until I return, and let no one inside but me.”
This is a lot for him to take in, but he has to. There is no time for me to explain further.
“Promise me!” I demand.
“I-I promise,” he stutters.
“Good.”
I leave the two kids without a word. Having checked the time I notice that I only have half an hour left before I have to report to the Council. Though I must wonder – what punishment is there for being late to your own execution?
“W-where’s Mina?” I hear Michael stutter hoarsely.
“Somewhere safe,” I say coldly, shutting the door behind me.
This is not a lie, but it is no truth either. She is safe from anyone who means her harm but herself. Poor Mina, forgive me for what I am about to do. Should I not see you again, know this; I am doing this for it is the only way I can think of to keep you safe. With me gone, there will be no one else who knows of your existence, no one but Sarthimia, whom I have now placed great trust in. Should the Council find it in their frozen hearts not to have me killed I promise to keep your brother from harm and return for you to cure you. I should never have sired you; it has only caused you pain. My blood is tainted and I shall never create another one – ever.
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Walking to the Asylaum, a walk that will surely be my last, I come to think about what persons about to die claim to think of. Some claim that they have seen their entire lives flash by them, others that they have seen the light. I suspect that the latter goes for me. The sunlight slowly caressing my skin into damnation is likely the last thing I will see, unless they prefer to have me staked of course. Either way gets the job done.
It is not my death that annoys me the most, for I know that I have earned it. No, it is the fact that I still have not found the source. Should I be killed I am sure that another would be appointed to close up the case, another poor soul having to cooperate with Ariane. However, that will only satisfy the Council, which will know the answer – I will still have none. By then my ashes will probably be floating peacefully on Thames .
I regret leaving Mina and her brother behind. After having killed their father I feel they are my responsibility. Mina is safe at the moment; with any luck Sarthimia will even find a way to cure her. Michael, on the other hand, is at great risk. Jackston could come crashing through the door to that kid’s apartment at any moment, and if not Jackston, then one of the Reborns I suspect he has sired. I took a great risk leaving Michael behind like that after having found him. But I have no choice. Was I to bring him with me now he would only witness my death and then face the same fate moments later. No humans are allowed in the Asylaum – ever.
With only five minutes remaining I enter the closed off underground subway station that serves as the access to a grand corridor leading to the south entrance of the Asylaum. It lies in complete silence. Even as I open the door to the theatrically decorated corridor, no sound is heard. There is still a bit to walk in order to reach the south entrance, but voices are usually heard by now. Perhaps they are all waiting for me in the Great Hall to throw one last big surprise party for me. I can already see Ariane with a sign in her hands that says ‘Congratulations Theodore – you’re dying!’
I sigh deeply in grief with the feeling of a mountain burdening my chest as I push the door to the Great Hall open.
The Great Hall lies in the same disturbing silence as the corridor before it, and it is dark. No lights are on. Normally this place is a magnificent piece of art with electric light fusing with candle light to illuminate this place of beauty. It is not a place of beauty anymore.
It reeks of death.
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Chapters
Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10
11 | 12| 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | Epilogue
