‘It wasn’t long before I stopped running; I just couldn’t accept leaving Hal behind for a second time, so I went back for him. I went back to beg him once more to come with me, but when I reached the dog kennels, Hal wasn’t there.
‘In these past few months, I’ve learned what Hal did that night, what drastic measures he took in order to stop me from being followed.
‘When he reached the town hall, he made his way back to the rooms next to where I’d been kept. He unlocked one of the doors and slipped inside. He knew the girl would have been sleeping, making his task that much easier. He strangled her, Mr Kessler, where she lay; he also went to the other girl’s room and did the same to her. The risk of either of them waking and raising the alarm was obviously something he wasn’t going to allow.
‘After he’d dispatched of the girls, he went to a downstairs cupboard where he retrieved the body of a young blonde he’d taken from Chambers earlier that night. She was about my size, which I suppose was all that really mattered to him. He put her body in my bed and covered it with the blankets. He then set fire to the underside of all three beds, closing and locking each of the doors as he went. So, when the fire was eventually extinguished, they’d assume one of the bodies was mine.’
‘You said in the last few months you’d learned this,’ said Larry. ‘Does that mean you still have ties with Martinsville?’
‘I wouldn’t call them ties, Mr Kessler, merely a chance meeting.’
That didn’t ring quite true with Larry, but he let it ride. ‘Please, carry on,’ he said.
‘Well ... I eventually made it to Tarboro Bridge where I jumped a freight train heading east. When I got off I walked around for a while before ending up here, by the lake. I was afraid of the water, but so were they. And I so needed to rest. I found a small boat moored to a pier and climbed underneath a tarpaulin sheet.
‘The next thing I know, the boat starts to rock, and I awoke to find the owners, a couple in their late-fifties, bending over and staring at me. They brought me up here to the house and the lady put me to bed. I slept for almost two days before waking to find the man sat at my bedside. He held that journal in his hands, and his wife was stood by his side. That’s when he told me who they were. Dr Alexander Dyson, head surgeon at Lynchburg County Hospital, and his wife, Amanda, she was the Chief Administrator there at the time.
‘He asked if all he’d read in the journal was true. I could tell by the look on his face he believed it was, so I saw no point in lying. I told them everything I knew, except where it had all taken place of course. I then explained my situation to them; they’d already worked out for themselves I was at least three months pregnant.
‘That’s when they told me they once had a child, a daughter who’d died fifteen years earlier during child-birth. The little girl she’d given birth to was starved of oxygen and suffered brain damage, she died two weeks later.’ Celia shrugged. ‘Perhaps they saw their daughter in my eyes and found solace in that, who knows?
‘Being a surgeon at the biggest hospital in the city, Alexander soon found a way to satisfy my dietary needs. Then, come December, I too gave birth to a baby girl, they treated me like their daughter, and Marianna as though she was their Granddaughter.’
Brenda pointed to the long table. ‘And that is the two of you in those photographs?’
‘Yes it is, Miss Wise.’
‘And where’s your daughter now, Miss Brontrose?’ asked Larry.
Celia looked at her watch. ‘By now Marianna will be out on the lake.’
‘So she’s not like you then?’ said Brenda.
‘That depends on how you look at it. She is exactly like me in some ways, and in others, well, we couldn’t be more diverse.’
‘You mean she can tolerate water where you can’t?’
‘Yes she can.’
‘But according to your recollection of events,’ said Larry, ‘you weren’t turned. So why do you’
‘Drink blood, Mr Kessler? Although I was never turned as such, I was, however, born of the Jackal. Therefore, I am like him, but it never manifested itself until I turned sixteen. Why it waited until then? I believe puberty may have something to do with that. My own natural growth cycle was slowing down, so the stem cells waiting to take over kicked in. And since then I’ve inherited all his traits. I have even undergone dental procedures to correct my teeth, Mr Kessler.’
‘Dental procedures, why was that necessary?’
‘Because people from Martinsville don’t smile at strangers, and I like to smile.’
‘What dental procedures were they, Miss Brontrose?’
‘Do we need to go into that now?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid we do,’ Larry insisted.
Celia sighed. ‘Very well. After reading the journal for myself, I discovered why all the changes were going to take place. The modified stem cells already present in my body have only one directive, and that directive is to survive. In order for me to successfully nourish myself, I would require the right equipment, so the stem cells began to make their changes. Within a year of escaping Martinsville, my teeth began to taper, had I not had them surgically altered, Mr Kessler, they would be very sharp, and hideously pointed.’
‘So why haven’t they grown in that manner since you’ve had them altered?’
‘Because as far as the stem cells were concerned, their work was done, the teeth you can see do not belong to me biologically. Where as the stubs inside them do. I still ingest blood, so the stem cells can only assume no further change, in that respect, need take place.’
Brenda slid to the edge of her seat. ‘And Marianna, has she had to suffer any of these changes?’
‘Fortunately for Marianna, she has only inherited some of them. If you care to look at the last two entries in that journal you’re holding, Mr Kessler, you’ll notice they have been signed and dated by myself.’
Larry flicked to the final entries and began reading aloud.
‘“It seems Thomas Martins was correct. He had indeed found what he was looking for, his fountain of youth. But it was not for his generation, nor the next to embrace without consequence.
‘On December 5th 1936, and unbeknown to him, his daughter was born. I named her Marianna. Today is her sixteenth birthday. Up until now, she has lived a normal, healthy life. She eats well, and drinks plenty. There are not, and never have been, any ill effects caused to her. Just how many of my faults she has, or will inherit, remains to be seen. If she is to change at all, then today will show the first signs of those changes. Marianna knows every aspect of my past, and is fully aware it could be her future.
Alice Robertson. December 5th 1952
‘Yesterday Marianna swam across the lake. This morning she has eaten breakfast, and all is well.
Alice Robertson. December 6th 1952”’
‘Alice Robertson?’ Larry questioned.
‘Yes, Mr Kessler, if you’d care move the letters around a little, you’ll find me in there somewhere.’
Brenda turned again to Celia. ‘So if all this is true, why haven’t you been to the police before?’
‘Because, Miss Wise, Marianna and I would be taken from here and strapped to a laboratory table until they’d extracted from us what we have. For myself, I care little, for my daughter; I care as any mother would. And if you were to go to the police, Mr Kessler, eventually the same will happen.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell any of this to Mr Pieroni?’ said Larry.
‘No. Telling someone was not what I’d planned on doing. As I said, I gave Mr Pieroni some information as to where to find the girls who’d been abducted, and hopefully save some of them. If the police were to contact me through him, then they would have spoken to that same psychic.’
Larry stood and went to one of the windows; he looked out over the front garden before turning back to Celia. ‘So how did you know we were working on one of the missing girl’s cases?’
‘Her mother appeared on CNN saying how the police had no clues, so she’d sought the help of a private investigative company called, K.P. Investigations. That is you, is it not, Mr Kessler?’
He looked over to Brenda who nodded. ‘I saw the same report, Larry.’
‘But, Miss Brontrose, with regard to your own admissions … you’re not a psychic, so how did you know these people from Martinsville were abducting the girls? And how did you know about the chloroform?’
Celia interlocked her fingers and paused, as though recollecting the information. ‘Mr Kessler,’ she eventually said. ‘Do you recall the disappearance of some young girls during the May, June, and July of last year?’
Larry had to think for a while. ‘Yes, from May through July, eleven young girls went missing, all in the Winston-Salem, and Greensboro areas. They were crudely labelled “The Salem Slayings”. Remains of two of the girls were found in …’ he snapped his fingers a number of times trying to remember the name. ‘… In Michael Ward’s cellar. He confessed to taking all eleven girls, but wouldn’t say where he’d buried nine of them. He’s still sitting on death row. Why do you ask?’
‘Very good, Mr Kessler, but Ward only took and killed no more than two of those girls, which is the reason only their remains were found in his basement. The rest of them were taken to Martinsville. He wouldn’t say where he’d buried them, simply because he didn’t take them. As for the chloroform, Mr Kessler, I used to live in Martinsville; I knew what went on there.’
‘So if you didn’t tell anyone about those killings, why tell someone about these?’ asked Brenda.
Larry noticed she pause yet again before answering this question. Was she at last beginning to falter?
‘Because I believed if I gave them what they wanted, what they needed, then perhaps they wouldn’t have to go looking for it. I foolishly thought I would be able to control them. And up until two months ago, everything was fine.’
That’s when Larry knew her story of that chance meeting fell to pieces, but that didn’t matter now. What she’d just said was of greater cosequence. ‘Control them?’ Larry said, frowning. ‘Exactly what do you mean by control, Miss Brontrose?’
Brenda quickly butted in. ‘I knew I’d heard your name somewhere, “The Brontrose Purification Laboratories”, you own one of the biggest blood purifying centres in the US, “PuriCell”.’
‘That’s correct, Miss Wise.’
Larry’s frown deepened. ‘Blood purifying?’ he asked, even more confused.
Celia nodded. ‘We clean blood, Mr Kessler, 250,000 litres’ every month.’
Larry came back to the table to sit in his chair. ‘Why do you clean blood, Miss Brontrose?’
‘Why? Simply because, not all of the blood people give, or to be more precise these days, sell, is infection free. It would cost far too much to screen the amount that is donated, so companies, like mine, clean it. We run the blood through a thermal regulator which increases its temperature to 39.9 degrees Celsius precisely, and that kills any virus. Any hotter, and the Cellular Enzymes begin to falter, killing off the blood.’
Larry realised what she meant by controlling them, he became fidgety, and when he became fidgety, he was on to something. He stood and started to pace the room. ‘So, let’s say some of this blood gets lost along the way, and what, gets shipped off to Martinsville to feed your kinfolk?’
‘Please, do not call them my kinfolk, Mr Kessler, and Yes, I did do that, until they started taking girls again. Then I stopped sending it to them.’
‘But if they had this free supply,’ he said, raising a brow. ‘It was a free supply wasn’t it?’
‘Yes it was.’
‘Well then, why would they feel the need to go hunting so to speak? I mean, if you’re larders full of eggs, why raid the chicken coop?’
‘Unless all the eggs in your larder are bad,’ offered Brenda.
Bang on the money Bren. Home-run. Hole-in-one. Give that lady a cee-gar. Larry sat once more. ‘Is that it, Miss Brontrose? You sent infected blood and they discovered it? And that’s why they’re taking young girls again?’
Celia raised her voice a little. ‘I sent them 18,000 litres every month, if an infected batch got through to them, I wouldn’t know about it.’
Larry thought he’d match the new decibel level. ‘You wouldn’t know about it because you sent blood you hadn’t treated, they found out, thought you were trying to kill them off, so they decided to go back to their old tricks. Is that pretty close to the mark, Miss Brontrose?’ Larry noticed Celia looked away and down, a classic tell-tale sign of a liar. ‘That is a possibility, yes.’
Larry stood yet again, and for good measure added another decibel to the volume. ‘Well here’s a little more than a possibility, Miss Brontrose. We’re going to the police, and you’re going tell them everything you just told us.’
Celia also stood. She picked up the journal then moved over to the fire, which by now was almost a furnace, and in a much calmer and quieter voice, said. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Kessler, I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.’ Without removing her gaze from him, she tossed the journal into the flames. ‘I will assist you all I can, but I will not put Marianna’s life in any kind of danger. She is far more precious than even you could possibly begin to imagine.’
Larry and Brenda looked to one another. Brenda raised her shoulders. ‘Well, I suppose it’s better than nothing.’
‘So be it,’ said Celia, ‘give me time to change, and we can leave for Martinsville within the hour. And by the way, Mis Wise, Martinsville is what you might call … a little rugged. Perhaps I could find something for you to change into?’
Brenda had chosen her attire for specific reasons, although the offer was a kind gesture, she felt Celia Brontrose’s wardrobe might not have the same desired effect she strived for. ‘That’s kind of you Celia, but I’ll pass if you don’t mind.’
‘As you wish.’
