With my deepest sympathy,
Sister Isabella R. Westfield
Reading Nicolas’s recollection of his brother’s curse took Jena on an emotional roller coaster, but she felt she must go on. There had to be a reason why Nicolas left the journal in her possession and the letter from Isabella. Something in his recorded events held important information, and she would not stop until she found it.
I kept Isabella’s letter dear to my heart, and secret from my brother, praying he would not discover her plans to visit. Aside from Isabella’s decision to dedicate her life to the Amesbury Abbey in England, she still loved my brother.
During this journey into my new life, I have discovered immortality has its many pleasures and all the boredom and unhappiness that comes with it. It’s as though my days and nights swirl together like a never-ending nightmare.
As time passes, I must soon say good-bye to this place I call home, leaving family and friends behind, for I am forever ageless. My youthfulness has already brought forth suspicion among others.
The days after discovering that Ash was once again among the living, I found that prayer was my only salvation to this evil I had invoked. After witnessing what Ash had become, and all the savagery that followed, I finally came to terms that the brother I once knew no longer existed. Instead, a brutal and dark-hearted monster now inhabited his body. Although there is nothing that I can do to stop it, I continue to pray that someday this hellish curse will find an end.
My brother used his cunning new skills to lure in his victims. He was as cultured as he was cruel. As I have regretfully witnessed, most of them were utterly vicious and ended in the most brutal ways. Some days I cannot help but despise Ash for what he is, and other days I find myself enduring the inevitable. For my brother was the only companion I had in this dismal and lonely immortal life.
Human blood was what he craved. Ash needed it to survive. The blood served him in many ways. It gave him the ability to shift from his human form and into the creature at will. He had the power to transform himself into various nocturnal animals and take on forms of a fog-like substance, a shadow, or a cloud of smoke. Not only was he cursed to be this evil thing, he could pass it on to others from a single bite, but Ash always made sure no one survived, consuming them almost whole. He sought out his victims carefully, making sure they were not free of guilt or sin. They were mostly murderers, rapists, and those who committed the worst of crimes, until one day, something inside him changed. It destroyed what good remained in my brother.
Jena now realized that Ashton was not reborn the monster she thought him to be, nothing like the killer he is today. It became clearer as she read more of Nicolas’s words that his brother only preyed upon evil, not the innocent. It was at that moment she wondered what had changed Ashton. She prayed there would be something in Nicolas’s recordings that explained why his brother turned so dark.
Nearly three months later, in late December, Isabella kept her promise and returned home. She was to contact me as soon as she arrived, but instead, she went to where she thought was Ash’s final resting place... to the cemetery of the “Cities of the Dead.”
As long as I’ve known Isabella, I knew she would decide to go alone. Giving her privacy, I kept a close distance in the cemetery and waited for her arrival. It seemed like a respectful thing to do.
It was nearly dusk when she arrived at the eerie place that held row after row of above-ground tombs. Unbeknown to Isabella, there was nobody buried as she approached the oblong, house-like crypt—there hadn’t been one to bury due to my careless actions. Ash had already returned from the dead.
The expression on Isabella’s face looked exactly how I felt: broken on the inside. Before she went in, she took a halting breath and trailed her fingers across the marker on the door with the inscription of Ash’s full name, the date he was born, and of his death, and one sentence at the bottom: In loving memory.
When Isabella reached for the door to open my brother’s tomb, the sound of a high-pitched howl drew her attention. As she turned to look, something came out of the darkness, traveling in a blur at the speed of lightning.
It was at that moment I knew Ash was aware of Isabella’s plans to visit, and that he too was here.
I hurried to warn her, but it was too late. As I watched my brother approach her, the look on Isabella’s face started as shock, but shifted quickly to utter disbelief. Then she fell to her knees and cried out, “Dear God. It cannot be.”
He dropped to his knees beside her. “Izzy, it’s me, Ash,” he spoke to her softly. “It’s really me.”
Isabella stared at him wide-eyed, like a frightened animal trapped in a cage. “No,” she gasped. “You’re not real. Ash is dead.”
When he reached out to her, she flinched in horror. “Please,” she sobbed. “Whatever you are, please...” She turned to look away. “Leave me be.”
As I watched my brother move to his feet, the devastation in his eyes was painful to see.
“Isabella, I—”
She covered her eyes. “Please, go away!”
I will never forget the look on his face. I have witnessed it before. It was the look of a broken man, the same broken man who had taken his own life not so long ago.
He stared down at her, just stood there staring like his heart had shattered into a million pieces.
I wanted to run to him, to comfort him, to ease his broken heart, but deep down I knew there was nothing I could do. It was too late. Just like before, the damage had already sealed his fate. It was as if my brother had died all over again.
After that day, I never heard from Isabella again. For many months, I perpetually wrote to her, but she returned all my letters. When a year had passed and still no word, I respectfully discontinued my efforts. I can only pray that Isabella would someday find it in her heart to forgive me.
On that same distressing incident, the day Ash confronted Isabella, he disappeared as though he had mysteriously vanished from the face of the earth.
By Nicolas’s descriptions of how Ashton took Isabella’s rejection, it was clear to Jena why he had changed. He was broken once again. It was obvious there was no turning back now. Although it was painful to read, it was imperative that she finish Nicolas’s story.
February 2, 1830—I am worried. I have not heard from Ashton in years. My great fear is that he hates me, for I am responsible for the curse upon his head, and his broken heart. I pray that he will return and somehow find it in him to forgive me. I will be in endless torment until then.
During my brother’s absence, I discovered that I have a strange ability. I can make myself invisible to those around me. I wonder what other unknown skills I might possess. The thought captivates my mind and frightens me all the same. Although I never fall ill or seem to age, I am desperate to find my way living as an immortal. As time passed, I wanted to be of service to others instead of always concerned with my own personal profit, or pleasure.
June 4, 1834—I found my true calling. I joined the New Orleans police force. It was during the time that the notorious murderer Marie Delphine LaLaurie, more commonly known as Madame LaLaurie, fled New Orleans after her residence caught fire. When the authorities and fire marshals got there, they found a seventy-year-old woman, the cook, chained to the stove by her ankle in an attempt to commit suicide in fear of punishment by Madame LaLaurie. During an investigation, there were findings of LaLaurie’s involvement in the torture and murder of several of her own slaves.
The Pittsfield Sun newspaper wrote several weeks after the evacuation of LaLaurie’s slave quarters. Police discovered seven slaves horribly mutilated. The lead headline proclaimed “SEVEN SLAVES MUTILATED IN LALAURIE’S MANSION.” The article described in great detail the dismemberment of Madame LaLaurie’s bond servants. Two things struck the writer of the article as peculiar. One was the brutality of their deaths. They found the victims suspended with rope at the neck, with their limbs stretched and torn from one extremity to the other, and t
he decomposing bodies imprisoned for some months. What was more puzzling about all this was the fact that the other slaves in the household, including Madame LaLaurie’s husband, physician Leonard Louis Nicolas LaLaurie and their two daughters, kept quiet. Perhaps they were afraid to report this to the police in fear of Madame LaLaurie.
Later, they discovered bodies of other victims buried in the grounds of the LaLauries’ mansion, including a child. Madame LaLaurie escaped authorities and took refuge in Paris.
March 1, 1842—The circumstances of Madame LaLaurie’s death were unclear. Stories traveled that she had died in France in a boar-hunting accident, although it was no boar that killed Madame LaLaurie. My brother was the beast that ended her miserable life. That was when Ash finally returned from his long departure. At first, I was overjoyed to see my brother after all these years until I witnessed the worst of his darkness.
It was during the opening of the enormous and extravagant St. Charles Theatre, also referred to as “The Temple of the Drama,” where I found peace and tranquility in the midst of all my despair. This was the place I could escape to and pretend to live somewhat of a normal life.
Inside, the auditorium featured 4,000 seats with a spectacular chandelier made of crystal prisms illuminated by 176 gas jets. The theatre attracted the biggest theatrical stars in the country and later became a center of amusements for all New Orleans.
December 13, 1842—A coffin factory behind the theatre caught fire, burning it to the ground. I remember that tragic night as though it was yesterday, but unfortunately it was no accident. My brother was responsible for the fire that burned New Orleans’ beloved St. Charles Theatre and the brutal deaths of several innocent people. The terrible incident was just the beginning of his killing crusade. That same year, less than a month apart, police found twenty women, their bodies mutilated and half eaten. The families of the victims hired detectives to bring the person responsible to justice, but their investigations and weeks of searching proved fruitless. The police conjectured a possible pack of rabid wolves were responsible for the attacks, but they never found any evidence to prove their theory.
In the weeks following the brutal slayings, there were no further incidents of attacks. It was not until the next year that police reported two people missing. A couple of backpackers from out of town visiting relatives had gone camping at the Mississippi River trails for a few days. When they hadn’t returned in over a week, a search was initiated, with dreadful findings. The bodies of the missing persons had been torn to pieces and half eaten. Although the killings remained a mystery, I had no doubt all the victims and my brother were connected.
Not long after that, the body count continued to stack. It soon launched an organized manhunt that later involved myself. I was put in charge of the investigation, although I knew all along who was responsible for all the savage murders. I had no choice but to become something I despised in order to protect my brother. I had an obligation. I had to be accountable for my actions. I was the one to blame for the evil that possessed Ashton’s body, so I covered up any evidence that might lead back to him. Each time, I prayed for God’s forgiveness.
As Jena finished reading, this, however, was not the last entry in Nicolas’s journal. One more page waited to be uncovered. It was apparent he loved his brother but was desperate to put an end to all the killing. When she turned to the last page, it was as though a different person had written it. The handwriting was shaky like Nicolas had written in a hurry, and the date was current. It was the same day he had placed this journal in her possession.
October 1, 2019—Time is running out, and I have not much time, for my brother will return soon. Something horrible has happened that, out of guilt, I dare utter only in this journal. Ash has once killed again, and this time he has acted beyond reason. I fear this may be my last chance at stopping him.
Dear Ms. Jena McCain,
I am sorry to be the bearer of this dreadful burden that I must lay rest upon your feet. As you read this, by now, you are aware of my and Ashton’s history. It was important that you have this knowledge, for I have no choice but to plead for your help. You are the only one that can put an end to all this madness. An innocent life is at stake, and we have not much time to save her. After you read this, please meet me as soon as you can. I promise, as God as my witness, I mean you no harm. Tell no one, and come to the Salem Cemetery at dusk.
Yours truly,
Nicolas J. Ratcliff
It all suddenly became clear to her. There was no hidden mystery to solve, no secret knowledge to uncover, and no way to remove the curse. Nicolas had brought the journal to her because he wanted her help. He was begging for it. This was his way of asking her to kill Ashton. Jena knew she had no choice. She had to do this. The question was, how was she going to get past the Covenant’s security?
A knock at the door startled Jena. As she averted her eyes from the journal, a familiar voice called out, “Jena... it’s Tim Ross. There’s something important we need to talk about.”
Jena lowered her eyes and stared at the journal one last time. I have to do this, she fretfully thought. I’m the only one that can help Nicolas and finally put his brother’s curse to rest.
Before she answered the door, she tore the last page from Nicolas’s journal and quickly hid it under the mattress.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
As Debi strained through the unbearable silence that nearly drove her to madness, she heard a door open. She closed her eyes and drew in a slow, deep breath, praying someone was here to rescue her.
When the sound of footsteps moved closer, her eyes opened wide and her heart began to pound as if it was going to beat right out of her chest. Her imagination quickly gave way to horror. Is it the monster? she thought, trembling violently.
With tears in her voice, she said, “Please... don’t hurt me.”
“Shhh... I’m not going to harm you,” a voice that she recognized from earlier said, and the same person that brought her sustenance and was kind enough to help relieve her bladder each day that she’d been kept captive. It seemed he watched over her, although he kept his identity hidden by placing a blindfold over her eyes. Then she felt a hand lightly press down on her shoulder. “I’m going to help you, but you must remain patient.” His voice sounded kind, but she couldn’t see his face. “I promise I will return soon and set you free.”
Debi was breathless and shaking, her eyes looking nervously from side to side. Who was he? She was desperate to see the stranger, but the ropes that bound her to the platform she was on kept her confined on her back and her movement restricted.
“Please,” she pleaded, struggling against the restraints. “I can tell you’re not a bad person. Please, don’t leave me here.”
She felt fingers stroking her hair. “Trust me,” the stranger softly explained. “I will come back for you.”
“W-what’s...” Debi’s mind raced feverishly. “What’s your name?”
The stranger did not answer. Instead, he removed his hand from her hair and walked away. As the door quietly closed, there was nothing now. Only silence.
After Nicolas left Debi alone in the room, he sat locked in indecision. Should he release the girl now, in fear of his brother’s return and that he would hurt her, or go along with his plan to wait for Jena? It was imperative that he continue with his original plan so as not to rouse Ash’s suspicion. One thing was clear: he must make sure the girl remained unharmed. He’d promised her.
* * *
It was approaching midday and he was eager to have Jena wrapped in his arms once again. It seemed as though it had been forever that he’d held her. Soon, she would be his for eternity.
His plans were to lure Jena back to the cemetery, to the place where it all began, and present her with a gift. The young girl he held captive in the mausoleum was to be Jena’s first kill. Oh, and how glorious it would be to witness. It would be the final step of her transition. Although, before he went to her, he would need to ensure h
is strength with the flesh and blood of an innocent victim.
* * *
“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” Micah said, whirling around in a circle, admiring the redwood forest and all the beauty it held. “Look at all the timber.” She waved her arms in the air. “They’re magnificent. I bet if they could speak, they’d have some great stories to tell. Think about all the history they’ve seen.”
“Talking trees?” Krista smirked, rolling her eyes. “Really, Micah?”
Micah shot her sister a disparaging look. “Oh, come on, Krista. Can’t you at least pretend like you’re enjoying yourself? You used to love nature. What happened to that fun-loving person I grew up with?”
“She got married, and then divorced... twice,” Krista grumbled. “Not to mention my recent broken engagement.” She furrowed her brows. “My life isn’t all rainbows and unicorns, like yours. I practically had to jump through hoops to get time off for this. Not all of us have the luxury to do whatever we want at any given time. You’re lucky Pete takes care of you, Micah. I’d kill to have a husband like yours. It’s been tough for me the last few years after Robert ditched me and the kids to be with a younger woman. Being a single parent isn’t exactly what I planned for my future. Between my full-time job and juggling my kiddos, I barely have free time to sleep much less enjoy a day off.”
Micah let out a long sigh. “I know, I know.” She placed her hand on Krista’s shoulder and lightly squeezed. “That’s why I brought you here. I thought it would be good for you.” Her voice softened, “Life is too short, Krista. You need to spend more time for yourself and stop stressing so much.”
Krista’s lips formed a half-smile. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, sis. I promise not to be such a downer and try to enjoy myself. Besides, how can anyone be in a blue mood around you?” She laughed a little. “You’re like a ray of sunshine.”
THE IMMORTAL: A Novel of the Breedline series Page 31
