“I didn’t notice the changes in my body or my face over the next few years. I had been called stout, sturdy, and plain so often that I rather tuned everything out by the time I was sixteen. I probably would have never known if it hadn’t been for Kornelius Kristosons. He opened my eyes in the very same breath that he sealed my fate.” Her voice dripped with animosity as she said the man’s name. Despite herself, Jenda was intrigued. The woman loved to hear herself talk, but she knew how to captivate her listeners.
“Kornelius was a handsome rich boy, and every girl in that stinky town chased him. He was an infamous playboy, as they say now. Tall and handsome, his blue eyes and white blonde hair set many hearts fluttering. His family owned several of the bigger fish markets and more than a few of the Listring boats that toured the coasts. He was a dream, and for me that dream came true, at least until it became a nightmare.” She sat for a moment gathering her thoughts and staring at the flames before her. Jenda thought she might not continue, but then her lyrical voice picked up just where it left off.
“We met in the market and for me it was love at first sight. I would never have gone after him. I was not so brazen and, as I have said, I didn’t realize that despite the plainness of my face I had physically grown into a voluptuous woman. Kornelius came to me. He charmed me and fed me a pack of lies. He convinced me that he would marry me. Of course we would keep our romance secret at first, but then once we had the opportunity we would run off to America and live a wonderful life.” Belle sipped the red liquid from her glass and mentioned as if to herself how she detested it when “it gets cold.”
She continued to tell the tale and Jenda was caught in the web of images she spun. “We became very passionate, and I often snuck away to spend time in his arms. He wasn’t even a good lover, but he was my first so how was I to know. Often after we had been intimate, he would tell me about America. He had relatives there already and they sent letters home full of rich and fantastical stories about the land of opportunity. He promised we would buy our own farm but never work it ourselves. We would hire men for that and I would be the grand lady of the house. I guess when you are a backwards sixteen-year-old girl in a smelly fishing town you will buy into anything.
“Our affair continued for almost six months. He even bought me the most exquisite little trinket for my seventeenth birthday. It was a gorgeous little solje pin made of silver and tiny yellow stones. Then I realized that I was pregnant. You see, women didn’t talk about such things back then. Not like this golden age of over-stimulated, hormonal teens. You didn’t just walk up to your mother and say that you needed to go get a pre-packaged piece of drugstore plastic that would either turn pink or blue. No, I hung around the gathering places of the midwives and listened to their descriptions and stories. That’s how I learned I would be a mother.” The sorrow and bitterness bled through like red wine on white linen.
“I sent a message to Kornelius, begging him to meet me. I didn’t think about how we would explain it to our families. I didn’t care. He loved me, I loved him, and we would marry and raise our child in America. We had planned it all out and I didn’t see how a baby was going to interfere with it at all. When he finally showed up that night outside our little woodshed, I sprang the news on him without much thought. Standing there, I must have looked like such a damn fool. All naïve and bubbling, I talked about what we could name the child and how happy our little family would be. He grew angry at once and I was so stupid. I didn’t even get it then.” The ferocity was back in her voice. Jenda knew if she could see the woman’s eyes, she would see the black abyss.
“He grabbed me by my arms and screamed at me. He didn’t want a child and he never planned to marry me. I was just some tart to play with. How could I have believed that he would settle for someone like me? I began to cry, the weak thing that I was. I practically bawled while I begged him to calm down, to think about how wonderful life would be. My pleading only made him angrier and he struck me across the face with the back of his hand. The blood pooled inside my mouth where the skin had been busted. I saw and heard nothing. I only knew one thought. I would kill the bastard before he would hurt me and abandon our child.
“I struck back but he was much bigger than I was. He beat me then. Kicking me repeatedly once I had hit the ground, he screamed obscenities the whole time. When he finally grew tired, he stood above me glaring down at me like I was nothing more than an animal. He warned me then that if I told a soul of anything that had happened between us he would come back and kill me. Then he turned and walked away.” She emptied her glass and rang the tiny bell to signal the servant girl.
All three of them sat in silence while they waited for the girl to fill Belle and Matteo’s glasses. Jenda couldn’t tell, but it looked like a fresh wound had been created in the girl’s arm. This reinforced her steadfast refusal to drink from her own cup. Belle took notice but made no remark and Matteo merely sat staring into the roaring fire as if he could read some meaning in the leaping flames.
“There behind the shed is where my father found me the next day. I was frozen almost to death and my wounds were severe. I refused to speak to anyone and when the doctor came, I lay unmoving while he examined me. No one knew that I had lost the child. In those days, medical science wasn’t nearly the miracle it is today. They thought that the beating I received had damaged my internal organs, and the doctor pronounced that I would be dead before the next morning.
“I never did tell anyone what had happened to me. In fact, I spoke to no one for weeks. I didn’t spend my time idly, though. As I healed from my wounds, I began to formulate a plan. I would not bring further shame to my family by revealing the truth, but Kornelius would not get away with what he did to me. I knew little about human anatomy then but there were things that were common knowledge. I chose to offer Kornelius the same choice he had offered my child, none at all.
“Three weeks after he had destroyed my world, I sent a note to Kornelius asking him to meet me. I knew he would be too afraid not to and I set my plan in motion. My father kept a powder in the woodshed used for killing rats. You would know it as arsenic. I took the powder and slipped it into the pocket of my house apron when I was feeding our few hens. Next, I snuck a small bottle of Glögg from my father’s liquor stash. When I met Kornelius, I offered him the bottle as a peace offering. I told him that I only wanted to wish him well and that he did not have to worry about my silence. I convinced him that he had been right and that I was thankful for his actions because they saved us both from a shameful existence.
“To stand with that despicable excuse for a man and say those words hurt worse than the brutal beating, but my aims were accomplished. Over the next few days, Kornelius fell ill. It began as severe headaches and soon led to vomiting and diarrhea. His mother thought he suffered from scarlet fever, which was common then. I begged my mother to be allowed to visit his family with well wishes and a covered dish of Averøy’s Fiskesuppe, a wonderfully thick fish soup. She finally granted my request. I think she was simply relieved that I was eager to leave the house for the first time since my trauma.
“I carried the dish down the road, and once I was out of sight I added a very liberal dosing of the powder, just as I had done with the wine. I carried it up to the doorstep of Kornelius’ home. His mother answered the door. I almost dropped the dish then and tried to take back what I had done. The frail French woman appeared weak and tousled. Obviously, caring for her son was wearing on her. As I said I was tempted to stop right there but then she spoke to me. She asked me how I was fairing and in the most hateful way, she glared up at me and asked with a sarcastic smile how I was recovering from my ‘unfortunate mishap.’ I shoved the dish into her hands and stormed away.
“The next day, the news reached our farm that Kornelius had died of an unknown stomach disease. The whole town was in shock that a young man was struck down in his prime by such a cruel twist of fate. They all wept and worried that it would spread to their own children. While they m
ourned, I sat on my small cot and smiled to myself. I had found power over my enemies that day.”
Jenda sat unblinking, trying to process the woman’s story. She felt both sorrow for the woman and repulsion for her act of inhuman disregard for life. However horrific and interesting the tale was it didn’t explain what this woman had in common with Jenda or why she was here.
Belle laughed her honey and butterscotch laugh. “Come dear, you must know the beginning to understand the end. Shall I continue?” Belle launched into the continuation of her story without waiting for an answer.
“I stayed in that smelly little town for another eight years. I turned many heads but I would never fall in love with another man. My older sister by then had left for America and I was awaiting my own chance to make the voyage. If I found love in America it would be different, but no man from this fish town would ever hurt me again.
“At the age of twenty-five I set sail on the S.S. Batavia. The journey is a horrible little tale that I’m sure we might share later but it isn’t prudent now. I went to Chicago where I lived with my sister. That is where I met my husband Mod. He was a sweet man but a tiresome bore. He reminded me of my own Poppa. That man was such a dreamer.” Jenda wasn’t for sure if Belle had meant her father or her husband but she wasn’t about to ask. She continued to listen quietly.
“Well, Mod wanted things that I did not and I wanted things he couldn’t possibly provide. I hated our first little shack so much I burnt it down quite on purpose and to my surprise, the insurance company paid for a much nicer home. I learned quickly that if Mod wouldn’t take care of me the insurance companies would. Three houses and our little store went up in flames over the next sixteen years. Before we knew it, our business became successful.
“In the meantime, Mod wanted babies, but I wasn’t too quick to ruin my body for some man’s vanity. I took evasive action and Mod was disappointed to find out that his precious wife couldn’t bear him a child.” A wicked smile curved across Belle’s face and those vicious little fangs sent chills up Jenda’s spine.
“Mod then wanted to adopt. To appease him and to keep my comfortable station, I agreed, and we took in four children: Caroline, Axle, Jenny, and Lucy.” She shook her head as if in disappointment and sighed. “Little Lucy, she would have been my greatest success. Anyway, the houses torched and the store running, I thought I could be happy. Unfortunately, Mod being what he was, he could fail at anything. Soon the store started to lose money again and he was a drinking man. Caroline was the first to go and the insurance company paid well. Times were hard and Mod went through that money quick enough. In 1898, we buried Axle. No one doubted that the two had suffered from the same disease.
“I had become quite attached to Lucy and Jenny, so Mod had to be the next one to go. I convinced him to change insurance companies, and on the day both policies overlapped I poisoned him just like I did Kornelius and the children.” Belle laughed her butterscotch laugh and Jenda nearly screamed. The horror of the story made her sick but Belle acted as if she was telling a bedtime story.
“Soon after I received payment, I packed up the children and moved here to Indiana. The house was just about a mile from your parent’s home, Jenda. I didn’t like being single, it was the year 1900, and I was still chasing that long ago dream of being the ‘Lady of the House.’ I was in contact with my sister and she introduced me, through mail, to my next husband, Paul. He came willing enough to marry the poor rich widow, bringing his own money and a child along with him. That baby cried and cried for its mamma something awful. I couldn’t stand it and soon enough he went just like the others. His daddy was awfully devastated by the child’s death and turned worthless.” Belle didn’t pause; she didn’t look disappointed as she had when she mentioned Jenny. She just kept talking as if murdering a baby for crying for its mamma was nothing.
“Well, Paul and I had it out one night. He wouldn’t work the farm and his blubbering became unbearable. I slammed him in the head with a meat mallet. As he laidseizing on the floor, Lucy came in. The child feared me after that night. I made her leave and then laid a big metal grinder by Paul’s head and smeared it with his blood. I told the authorities it must have fallen and hit him in the head. The thrill of killing him and seeing the life go out was more pleasure than any other I had known. I had poisoned so many of them but the actual physical murder was much more exciting.” Jenda was mortified. Eyes wide, mouth agape, she stared in mute horror.
15
The first thought to register in Soborgne’s head was that she wasn’t in pain. Her veins didn’t burn, her head wasn’t aching, and her body felt almost normal. The second thought was of the dead girl’s eyes. They had looked like the giant fish she used to be afraid of in the market. The memory sent a jolt of revulsion and fear through her and she sat up quickly. The blood and the girl were gone from her cell but there was a small plastic lantern. Well, she could be thankful for two things: someone had been kind of enough to remove the mess, and she wasn’t in the dark anymore. She wished she could clean her memory out as thoroughly. Had she really killed the girl? The dark reddish brown stains on her clothing proved that she had.
Soborgne didn’t want to remember, but a wave of heat hit the back of her throat and saliva filled her mouth at the thought of blood. It had been like drinking fire that didn’t burn when she had held her mouth to the open artery. She didn’t remember thinking of anything at all except for the rage and the taste. She had not thought of the girl, Hailey was her name. She hadn’t even been human to Soborgne at the moment. She was passion, blood, heat, strength. She was a delicacy to be tasted. Soborgne felt sick and inhuman.
What was she becoming? Were her faded and blurry memories of the woman drinking from her wrist real? What was it that made her blood burn? She felt like she was lost in some kind of Frankenstein movie. “Horror movie!” she gasped aloud. That was it. She loved Dracula, Dracula’s Daughter, and other old vampire movies. If she hadn’t just killed someone and drank their blood because she was driven by an insane desire she wouldn’t believe it. Her body had begun to heal at an incredible rate since the attack. Regeneration that would have normally taken weeks had happened in hours. The blood must have triggered it.
Yet she didn’t have fangs, she couldn’t see in the dark, and as far as she could tell, she hadn’t suddenly developed a dislike for garlic, crosses, or light. What were the people who held her captive? Were they vampires? Was she somehow becoming one? Was she one already? Soborgne didn’t want to delve into the details of what had happened but in order to save herself she would have to answer those questions. She also had to think of Jenda.
During the attack, the servant girl’s last hours had played sharply in Soborgne’s mind. Jenda was alive and here somewhere in the same building. She had been sick but still capable of trying to attack the servant girl. Soborgne was frightened for her best friend but obviously, she had been treated better than herself. There was no cage for Jenda. She had been chained to a large four-poster bed in a rather bare but comfortable looking room. More comfortable or not, Soborgne feared for the more fragile girl.
16
While Soborgne plotted, Belle continued to unravel her story for Jenda and Matteo. Jenda sat pale and shocked while Matteo entertained himself by staring at the fire. Jenda could tell that he already knew most of what the story contained and a new hatred for him was building inside her. How could anyone befriend and assist a ruthless murderess like Belle?
“Tisk tisk, darling you may want to keep your judgments out of that little head of yours.” Belle’s voice was still as thick as honey but the malice in her was lurking just beneath the surface.
The reminder that both Matteo and Belle could read her thoughts startled Jenda. She looked down at her hands folded in her lap in pretended shame. She had to try either to block her thoughts or to control them in front of her hosts.
“With my second husband in his grave and the insurance money tucked safely away, I began to look for another
suitable mate. I wrote personal ads and letters describing me as a beautiful widow, as you can probably tell I was not, and offered my farm and my heart to any serious suitor with the money to buy them both. This practice was not unheard of or even strange in those days so I drew no attention from the authorities. In fact, the whole town was sure that I was the most unlucky but kind woman they had ever met.
“That is when I met Augustine Fervante. We began writing to each other and I played my game well. He promised to come to Porter and that upon seeing the truths in my letters for himself we would be wed. He spoke poetry to me in those letters and I thought perhaps that I had finally found a man who could be my equal. I thought that at last his money and his self would be enough to quail the murderous intentions left behind from the others who were not man enough to stand beside a great lady like myself.
“After one month and dozens of letters, Augustine came. He drove a handsome carriage pulled by the largest black steeds I had ever seen. Their breath rose like smoke in the chilled night air as the children and I stood in the entranceway of the house waiting for Augustine to exit the carriage. Lucy murmured some ridiculous religious vow and I swore at her to keep quiet. No one would interfere with my plans, not even my favorite adopted daughter.
“As Augustine finally emerged from the carriage I was taken aback by his magnificence. He was a tall, well-built man, his height easily towering over mine. His eyes burned in the distance the most beautiful green, much like your own Jenda. His skin was pale and looked as if it had a faint translucent glow. His hair was ash blonde and hung to his shoulders; the moonlight leant to it silvery highlights. His beauty was yet another asset that I coveted greedily.
Requiem of Humanity Page 10
