by A W Hartoin
“Grandma?” I whispered.
“Uh-huh?”
“What was Elijah’s mother’s name?”
“Gladys.”
I made a face. “That’s unfortunate.”
“It wasn’t her real name,” said Grandma, her voice barely a whisper. “She wanted to be American.”
Ding. Ding. Ding.
“What was her real name?” I asked.
“Giséle.”
“Grandma…was Giséle French?”
“Yes.”
A faint snore came from Grandma’s side of the bed, but I was wide awake. It was Elijah. He was the Bled.
Chapter Seventeen
Grandma threw back the curtains, turned the TV to BBC International, and flipped on the lights about seven hours before I was remotely interested in being awake.
I pulled a pillow over my head and said, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Language, Mercy, please,” said Grandma. “Now get up and get going.”
“It’s like two-thirty in the morning.”
“It’s six o’clock in the morning.”
Grandma’s pillow joined mine until she yanked it off.
“Hey!”
“We’re leaving in a half hour. No time to shower, but you don’t need to. Nobody will be smelling you,” she said.
“I don’t smell.” Do I?
“That’s right. Up and at ’em. We’ll get breakfast afterward.”
“After what?” I asked, rolling over and searching for the remote. I so didn’t need to hear dreadful news on some political strife or an earthquake. “Rubble Hill. Isolda told me about it and we’re going to hike it to see the sunrise.” Grandma pinned a brooch on her sweater and looked at me expectantly.
“Are you still drunk?” I asked.
“Don’t be silly. I’m Irish.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“I took an Emergen-C last night while you were asleep. I’m right as rain,” she said, frowning at me. “I should’ve given you some. You’re very pale.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“How come? Last night was wonderful. I can’t remember when I had such a good time.”
I had nightmares about having a kid like my dad and going freaking crazy.
“I was talking to Spidermonkey,” I said. “I am on a case, remember?”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.” And so many other things.
She tossed a pair of jeans at me. “The hike will clear your head.”
“Never going to happen,” I said.
“I’m going to brush my teeth and when I come out. I want you dressed,” Grandma said.
“Good luck with that.” I found the remote, turned off the bad news, and checked my phone. Spidermonkey hadn’t come back with anything new since I’d gone to sleep. Disappointing, but expected. I had been working long into the night like I’d told Grandma, but it wasn’t on our case. Spidermonkey and I were going through the new lead she’d given me. Gladys Watts was really Giséle. Spidermonkey was absolutely stunned that that hadn’t turned up. He had no idea that she was French either. Gladys Watts had an American birth certificate. She was supposed to have been born in Iowa to American parents. Spidermonkey hadn’t had any reason to question her documentation and had taken it at face value. Everything added up until I threw France into the works. Grandma didn’t give me a last name, so all he had to go on was Giséle and the timeline.
“You really think Elias the Odd was Elijah’s father?” Spidermonkey asked.
“Definitely,” I said. “No doubts.”
“The numbers don’t line up. Elias disappeared in October 1910. Thomas Watts married Gladys in December 1910 and Elijah was born in September 1911.”
“They got a fake birth certificate for Giséle. They could get one for Elijah,” I said.
The two of us combed through ships manifests looking for a Giséle. I’d begun to think it was impossible when Spidermonkey found a Giséle Donadieu on a ship out of Marseille on November 1, 1910. She took a fast steamer and made it to New York in two weeks. He could find no trace of her after that. Giséle Donadieu disappeared from history. She never made it on a census and had no death certificate.
“What about Gladys?” I asked. “Can you find anything on her so-called parents?”
“There’s nothing, not in Iowa anyway, but it’s possible I just don’t know where to look. Don’t get too excited.”
“Too late. I’ve got a feeling and I got it the second Grandma said Gladys wasn’t her real name. I knew she’d be French. I just knew.”
“But you thought it might be Josiah Bled until you heard Elijah’s birthdate,” he said.
“I did. I mean come on. Josiah was a ladies’ man. It would track for him to have sired a child out of wedlock. Even The Girls think there’s probably at least one or two of his offspring running around somewhere.”
“Really?”
“Of course, but with Giséle coming from France and the name. It’s Elias.”
“The name?” Spidermonkey asked.
“Elijah. It’s out of character for our family. We get pretty boring names. Thomas, George. So I looked it up. Elias and Elijah are basically the same name. Two different versions of it.”
“That is a bit of a coincidence.”
“We’re not Watts at all. I know it,” I said.
“What’s your theory?”
“Giséle is the prostitute that supposedly broke Elias’ heart.”
“That’s a rough take on your ancestor,” said Spidermonkey.
“I’m not saying it’s true. People can be pretty harsh. Throughout history women like Josephine Bonaparte, for instance, have been called prostitutes without any proof just because they had power or made someone mad. I’m just saying it’s Giséle. She obviously had some kind of relationship with Elias and he wasn’t called Elias the Odd for nothing. As Moe recently pointed out, the Bleds are known for suicides. He could’ve just been clinically depressed and his friends blamed her.”
“Naming her as a prostitute is a pretty bad indictment.”
“It’s a weapon, calling her that. It made her nothing. Hey, you said something about her name. What was that?”
“Donadieu. They often gave orphans that last name.”
“How did people feel about orphans?” I asked. “Not great. You had no family. No status.”
Spidermonkey began typing. “I’ll look into the name in France and see if I can find where she came from.”
“Elias was a Bled. An orphan wouldn’t have been good enough and who knows what was going on. Grandma said Gladys was smart, a nurse, and started a business. She had a temper. Maybe she caused trouble for Elias’ friends, cutting off his generous ways.”
“She had skills,” said Spidermonkey thoughtfully.
“And initiative,” I said. “I don’t see the prostitute thing.”
“You never know. A female orphan didn’t have a lot of choices back then.”
“She did have money to buy a second-class ticket on a steamer. That wasn’t cheap,” I said.
“What do you think happened?” Spidermonkey asked.
“I think Elias killed himself for whatever reason and Giséle found herself pregnant, so she went to St. Louis for help,” I said.
“But they didn’t help her,” he said softly.
“The prostitute that caused Elias’ suicide turns up pregnant at the family doorstep? No way. Elias’ mother was Brina Bled. She was a force to be reckoned with. She’d never have believed that baby was Elias’. Giséle’s lucky she didn’t have her shot.”
“That’s a good point.”
“What is?”
“I’ll look for an arrest record for Giséle,” he said. “But I’m not convinced that Thomas Watts would do everything you say he did. He was a cop. He had a standing in the community. If there was a hint of scandal, it would’ve ruined his career.”
“All the more reason to turn Giséle into Gladys,�
�� I said.
“And raise another man’s son?”
“They never had any other kids. Maybe he was infertile.”
“Would he know that?” Spidermonkey asked.
“He was no spring chicken at the time he married Gladys, was he?”
Spidermonkey typed and then said, “He was forty-five.”
“It’s not like there were condoms and birth control pills at the time. Maybe he noticed he never got anyone pregnant and figured it out.”
“Funny he never married before Gladys.”
“Are we sure he didn’t?” I asked.
“Nothing popped up, but I’ll take a look,” he said and hung up.
Hours later, he didn’t have anything new and now that I was awake, my mind was buzzing. We were so close. I texted Spidermonkey asking if he had anything on an arrest for Giséle or an earlier marriage for Thomas as Grandma walked out of the bathroom and put her hands on her hips.
“What did I say?”
“Go to sleep Mercy. You’re exhausted,” I said with a grin.
“Hilarious.”
“I thought so.”
“Get up.” She checked her watch. “Moe will be here any minute.”
“He can take you,” I said. “I’m fine here.”
She shook her head. “We can’t leave you unguarded.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh, really. I know you lie about things like that,” said my grandmother, doing a masterful impression of Aunt Miriam’s stink eye.
I crossed my heart. “I swear, I won’t go anywhere. I probably won’t get out of bed.”
“I can’t do it. I promised your mother I’d watch you,” she said.
“Look, I’ve got things to do and I can do them right here,” I said.
“Like what?”
I reminded her about the SCP research that Novak had sent me. That alone would take me hours. He’d sent me a ton of links and times, not to mention the kid’s own writings.
“And what will all that stuff tell you?” Grandma asked.
“I won’t know until I look,” I said.
Grandma paced around the room, wringing her hands, torn over the decision. “Why are you so difficult? You are just like your—”
Oh, it’s coming back to you now.
“What?” I asked innocently.
“I had a dream that I was talking about…did we talk about your father last night?” A pink tinge came up under Grandma’s makeup and that was quite a feat. She was not light-handed with the foundation.
“I forget.”
The pink got darker. “What did I say?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
“Did I happen to mention the name…”
“Kevin,” I offered.
Grandma dropped into a chair and put her head in her hands. “I can’t believe I told you that.”
I picked up the room service menu and said, “It’s not a huge surprise considering.”
She looked up. “Considering what?”
“That as a third-grader, my dad had you on drugs.”
“Oh, my God.”
“It’s fine. I should’ve known he was a total pain from day one. Grandad told me about his freak out over the SATs,” I said.
“That was a nightmare. I thought we might have to commit him. He was that crazy over his score and it was a great score.” She buried her head again. “I do love them, all of them.”
“I know.”
“I couldn’t understand it. I was normal. My whole family was normal and I got three weirdos. Three. What are the odds?”
“Pretty good apparently,” I said, thinking of the Bleds.
“Between the shoplifting and the fires and the crying teachers, it’s a wonder I wasn’t committed,” said Grandma.
So this is getting worse.
“My dad stole stuff? My dad. Mr. Law and Order.”
“Goodness no. That was George. He went through a shoplifting phase and Rupert burned down the garage.”
That’s where I get it.
“They’re all right now,” I said.
“I guess.”
“What do you mean, you guess? They’re law-abiding citizens with jobs and stuff,” I said.
Grandma jolted to her feet. “You can’t tell anyone about Kevin.”
She sounded like she was having an affair or something.
“Believe me, I won’t.”
“I love all my boys.” She came and sat down next to me. “I really really do.”
“I believe you,” I said.
“Why? I told you that Kevin was my favorite and he’s not even mine.”
“Because they had a happy childhood. You might’ve been miserable, but they had a great time.”
She wiped her eyes. “They always knew how to have fun, but I’m a bad mother.”
“Look, Grandma, you didn’t kill them or beat them, did you?”
“I thought about smacking your father with a wooden spoon,” she confessed.
“But you didn’t. I call that love. So you like Kevin best. I like him best, too. Everybody does. Kevin is awesome.”
She threw her arms around me and hugged me tight. “If you promise not to tell anyone, I will leave you here.”
“I’m not blackmailing you, Grandma,” I said.
“Is it a deal?”
“Sure. I’ll stay in bed and you go flipping hiking at the crack of dawn. Sold.”
There was a knock on the door and she wiped her cheeks before getting it. Aaron trotted in with a mug and a teapot. Moe was right behind him, looking like I felt.
“I’m ready,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“Mercy’s staying here,” said Grandma.
“How’d she manage that?”
She slapped his arm. “Oh, you. Let’s go. It’s going to be beautiful.”
Grandma grabbed her coat and dashed out.
“Seriously,” said Moe. “How’d you do it? I hate hiking. It’s for hippies and nature nuts.”
I shrugged. “I’m the granddaughter.”
“Life isn’t fair.”
“Granted.”
Moe bowed his head and walked out to unwillingly hike and Aaron poured me a thick hot chocolate.
“You always know,” I said, taking a sip. “Wow. Love the orange blossom essence.”
“You noticed,” he said.
“You’ve improved my palate immensely,” I said. “Is Novak up yet?”
“He was.”
“Was?”
Aaron topped off my mug and said, “We just finished.”
“You were playing Warhammer all night?” I asked.
“Yeah. You hungry?” He was looking in the direction of the room service menu.
“No. I order you to go to bed,” I said.
“You’re hungry.”
“Not anymore. I’ve got hot chocolate. You go to bed.”
The little weirdo didn’t leave and he didn’t try to feed me. Something was up.
“If you’re not going to bed,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“Planning a menu.”
“For what?”
“The culinary class at the high school. I’m going to teach tomorrow.”
I sat up. “That is so cool.”
Aaron went up on his tiptoes. “Want to come?”
“Do I have to cook?”
“You can eat.”
I grinned at him. “I’ll be there.”
Aaron turned around and trotted out.
Enough about that, I guess.
I sank back into bed and picked up my laptop. It was true. I did have work to do. Novak had sent a ton of SCP material. Everything from the last two months, which was wise. I needed to get a view of the boy before Anton’s troubles began, but it was so much material. Hours and hours of videos and I didn’t even know how much original work he’d done. It was a crap ton though.
I took a sip of heavenly hot chocolate and got started. No time like the present.
/> Two hours later, I had a headache and a pretty good idea of who I was dealing with. Neither was a good thing. The boy, whoever he was, was in big trouble. I’m no expert in child psych, but I was pretty damn worried about him.
Before the blackmailing began, the boy’s interest in the SCPs was fairly normal. He was into it but not overboard. First, he watched mainly Safe and Euclid videos and wrote on those storylines, too. During the blackmailing, his interest gradually left the Safe zone altogether. He moved into only Keter and then to the more bloody and frightening stuff. I seriously wished I hadn’t read some of those stories. Stephen King had nothing on those guys for horror.
I tracked the boy’s mood as he spiraled down into darkness, never coming back into the Safe or Euclid zones by the time of my kidnapping. After Anton’s death, he started looking at some SCPs regularly that he’d only touched on before.
One called “What comes after” depressed the hell out of me. The boy read it multiple times a week. I don’t know how he could stand it. The afterlife was the worst thing that could possibly happen to you. Total nightmare.
Another one wasn’t as scary, but what the boy did with it worried me. The story was about a musical score that compelled the people that saw it to finish the piece. They would go insane and finish with their own blood and eventually commit suicide. The boy started writing new stories about how the SCP escaped. In one, a high school student who saw it was slowly killing himself by draining all his blood. Another had a family working on the piece together and dying one by one.
In the last two weeks, the boy looked at nothing that wasn’t incredibly bloody or about dying a hideous death. All the light SCPs were totally gone. He didn’t look at any thread where the object was contained, except for the musical score one, and he changed that to fit his dark mood.
I tried calling Novak, but he wasn’t answering. I had to do something. But what? I didn’t have a name and the picture wasn’t great.
Hobbes.
“I hope you’re not in church,” I said as I dialed the counselor.
He was not in church because he wasn’t awake or thrilled with me.
“I’m so sorry. I just had to call.”
“Did you? Really.” He was slurring and sounding a whole lot like Grandma.
