And it certainly was dirty. Looking at it more closely, she saw other stains all down the front of it. Flipping over the skirt and peering more closely, she saw others on the back, too. Not only that, the garment reeked. There was a smell of stale sweat and other, ranker fluids that made Caroline wrinkle her nose and drop the fabric hastily. What the hell was this dirty thing and why would Harkens want her to wear it?
She took a step back and her eyes were drawn involuntarily up to the wall beside the bed where the gruesome pictures and the wreath of hair were displayed. Her eyes caught on the second picture—the death portrait of Harken’s last wife. But it wasn’t the staring eyes or the gaping, toothless maw that drew her gaze—it was the gown the woman was wearing.
It was difficult to be sure, since the picture was in black and white, but looking at the intricate lace, Caroline was almost certain that the gown the dead woman had on and the garment Harkens had laid out for her were one and the same.
Oh my God, she died in this!
Caroline stared with fresh horror at the stained peignoir on the bed. Did Harkens really expect her to put on the same gown his late wife had died in?
She backed further away, feeling sick to her stomach. Out of here—she had to get out of here!
Running to the bedroom door, she opened it as quietly as she could…only to find herself confronted with both the Tick-Tock maid and her male counterpart, the butler. Both of the mechanized servants stared at her with their glowing eyes, making Caroline’s heart jump up in her throat.
Bracing herself, she took a step forward—but the metal butler seemed to anticipate her move because it, too, took a step—in Caroline’s direction. Its brass foot landed with a muffled clang on the expensive carpet and its eyes seemed to glow even brighter.
It didn’t say anything but it didn’t need to—the message was clear. You’re not going anywhere.
“I…um…I just…just need to go to the, uh, the necessary room,” Caroline told the Tick-Tock butler, her voice high and uncertain as she edged to the left, towards the door beside the bedroom. He let her do this without any movement on his part—maybe because she was moving to the side instead of towards the exit door.
Hopefully there would be a window in the bathroom, she thought, and she could find a way to jump or climb down. At any rate, she had to get out of here one way or another and the horrible creepy Tick-Tock servants were blocking any other exit.
Fumbling behind her back with a sweaty hand and never taking her eyes from the metal maid and butler, she found the silver-filigreed knob. With a sharp twist, she let herself into the small room which she assumed was the en suite bath and closed the door sharply behind her.
But when she dared to turn around and survey her surroundings, she saw to her dismay that this was no bathroom and worse, there were no windows. The room was small—little bigger than a walk-in closet. It was almost completely bare…except for the far wall which was covered with pictures—a series of oval portraits all framed in dark wood.
“What in the world?” Caroline whispered to herself, taking a step closer. The gaslight sconce on the wall threw a dim and wavering light that made it difficult to make out the subjects of the pictures.
Caroline walked closer. When she was right in front of them, she saw, with dawning horror, exactly what—or rather who—was hanging framed upon the wall.
Women—young women—at least a dozen or more. And all of them looked somewhat like Caroline herself with pale hair and full curves—at least in their “before” pictures, they did. Because, horribly, each one had been photographed twice—once while alive and once after death. And each death picture was surrounded by a wreathe of red-gold or blondish hair
It didn’t appear that they had all died the same way, though, Caroline thought numbly. One had wet hair, slicked back from a pale forehead, as though she had been drowned. Another had a necklace of dark bruises around her slim throat. She saw one with a gaping slit below her chin—she had been sliced from ear to ear like a butchered hog. And there were others—so many others.
And every single one of them was wearing the green lace gown.
Suddenly the brownish stains around its neckline began to make sense.
“All these women,” Caroline whispered to herself in a low, unsteady voice. “Are these all his wives?”
Harkens’ words echoed in her head.
“You will wear the gown as they all did,” he had said. “You will wear it for me, for a bride must be properly arrayed for her husband on their wedding night. On this night of all nights, when she must make the ultimate sacrifice for his pleasure.”
“Oh my God,” she almost moaned, as the full impact of what was happening finally hit her. “Oh God, he’s a serial killer—he really is! And this is his trophy room! I have to get out of here—what am I going to do?”
Nearly blind with terror, she opened the door again, intending to make a dash for it and try to get around the Tick-Tock butler and maid. But it wasn’t the metal servants staring at her when she opened the door—it was Lord Harkens himself.
“So, I see you’ve found my naughty little secret.” He grinned at her jovially, as though he’d been caught hiding a present he had intended to give to her. “Quite shocking, isn’t it?” His eyes scanned down her body and his grin changed abruptly to a scowl. “Why are you not dressed? Why are you not wearing the gown?”
“It…it…it’s dirty!” Caroline stuttered, not sure what else to say. “I couldn’t put it on—it’s dirty.”
“Dirty, like all women are—whores and harlots, every last one of you,” he snapped. “You will wear it like all the rest of them did—that your inner nature can be reflected in your outer garb. Now, come!”
Grabbing her by the wrist, he dragged her back out into the drawing room with its fancy, spindly furniture. The two Tick-Tock servants were still standing there, staring and soulless. Caroline realized they would probably watch without comment as Harkens killed her and then clean up her body with the same mechanical indifference they displayed now. She was nothing to them and would get no help, no matter how much she screamed. Still, she couldn’t help trying.
“No!” she shrieked, twisting and struggling in Harkens’ bruising grip. “No, let me go—let me go!”
But the Viscount only glared at her and tightened his grip. “I think not, my dear wife. You will come with me and put on the gown—then you will take the punishment that is coming to you.”
“No, please!” Caroline begged.
He grinned fiercely. “Oh, yes! You know, I took my time with my sweet Sylvia.” He nodded at the open bedroom door, where his latest’s wife’s pictures were visible. “Her poisoning took months and it was so satisfying to watch. But this time, I think I’m in the mood for something quick and messy.”
Suddenly, his other hand appeared like magic from behind his back and she saw with horror that he was holding a long, silver blade.
A filleting knife, she thought, feeling sick with terror. He’s going to cut me up with that thing—I’m going to die tonight—die horribly and without ever seeing my real world again! Without ever seeing Richard! Oh Richard—where are you?
Chapter Twenty-nine
There was no one at the door when Richard got to Thrashings. Not even the disturbing Tick-Tock butler or maid came to his knock.
Richard frowned. He had been planning to confront Harkens directly and take Dr. Lambert from him—by force if necessary—with the blaster in his pocket. Then he would convey her to the wind-up carriage he had hired and take her directly back to the park where he could bundle her through the window and into her own world. But now it seemed his plans would have to be altered.
“Wait here,” he called to the driver, who nodded stolidly. Luckily, along with the other accoutrement he’d been given, Olivia had thought to include some money. It seemed they had a machine aboard the other Kindred ship which was capable of reproducing most anything he needed from his own world—a very useful technol
ogy indeed. With the amount he had paid, the driver ought to be willing to wait all night if necessary.
Richard let himself into Thrashings and walked quietly through the grand entry hall. There was no doubt that Harkens had money—though how much of it was his by birth and how much he had taken from the other women Richard suspected he had been married to was anyone’s guess.
He patted his pockets again to be certain the weapon and other implements Olivia had given him were still intact. He’d had a nasty moment when he’d first come through the window and his cravat had crumbled away, right under his fingertips.
At first, as it disintegrated under his seeking hand, he had been afraid that all of his clothes and the weapons and money he’d been given might also fall to pieces, leaving him naked and penniless in the park. Hadn’t Sylvan said the PORTAL machine was prone to destroying non-living objects when they went through the window?
But luckily, the cravat and one of his socks were the only casualties so far. So Richard felt fairly confident as he made his way quietly through the mansion, wondering where Harkens could have taken Dr. Lambert.
He was at the foot of the grand, winding staircase when he heard a scream.
“No! No, let me go—let me go!”
At once his heart started pounding. It was Caroline! He would know her voice anywhere!
But no—that was not his Caroline—it was Dr. Lambert, he reminded himself. It didn’t seem to matter, though—his body had taken off like a shot at the sound of her scream and he was already racing up the stairs.
Thrashings Hall was huge and maze-like, but she screamed several more times, helpfully guiding Richard along the way, though each time he heard her, his heart jumped into his throat.
Caroline! he couldn’t help thinking. Hang on, sweetheart—I’m coming for you!
At last he saw gaslight spilling from a doorway and knew he was almost there. Charging down the long hallway, he came to a stop before the open door and saw a sight that nearly froze his heart.
Standing in a room that looked like it had been decorated for Francois nobility were Caroline and Harkens and the two Tick-Tock servants.
Caroline had been stripped down to her skin and was trying to cover her luscious curves with her small hands. Her big brown eyes were wide with terror and she was backing away from Harkens, who held a long, naked blade in one hand.
“Put on the gown!” the Viscount was insisting. “Put it on, wife, or I shall kill you!”
“You’re going to kill me anyway.” Caroline’s soft voice was choked with terror. “I don’t care if all your other wives wore it—I don’t want to die in that dirty thing!”
At the sight before him, Richard felt himself going into Rage—that state of berserker fury all Kindred warriors enter when they see the woman they love in danger. It didn’t seem to matter that this was not his Caroline—his body didn’t know the difference and he felt his eyes growing hot as a curtain of red dropped over his vision.
Richard fought it.
No—must keep my wits about me! It will do no good to go charging in—he can stab her long before I get through those damn Tick-Tocks and get to him. I must wait for a clear shot and shoot him where he stands.
Reaching into his pocket, he gripped the blaster firmly in one hand. For a moment the cool metal comforted him…but then it started to crumble. Richard pulled it out and watched in horror as it disintegrated, leaving nothing but a pile of black ashes in his palm.
Damn it, now what was he going to do?
There was only one other item which might be of use—would it, too, disintegrate?
Richard reached into his other pocket and pulled out the small flat disk, about the size of a coin.
“I think this might be useful,” Olivia’s voice whispered in his memory. “Just turn it on and put it where Lord Harkens can see it.”
At that moment, Caroline’s eyes found his and he saw relief flash through her face.
“Richard!” she gasped, holding out a hand to him. “Help me—he’s going to kill me!”
She’s not mine—not my Caroline! he reminded himself fiercely, but it didn’t seem to matter. His heart still leapt at her words and he had to fight off a fresh wave of Rage that wanted to sweep through him at her imminent danger.
Harkens turned too. When he saw Richard, a nasty smile spread over his face.
“Ah, the good Doctor Vii. So pleased you could make an appearance at the wedding night, though you were sadly absent at our ceremony,” he purred.
“Let her go,” Richard grated, glaring at the other man. “I swear if you touch so much as a hair on my wife’s head—”
“Ah, but she’s not your wife anymore,” Harkens said. “She’s mine. Didn’t I tell you I would have her, and do whatever I liked with her?” He made a motion towards Caroline with the long knife he was holding. “And what I’d like right now is to gut her like a fish while you watch, my good doctor.”
“He’s going to kill me—he’s done it before to other women,” Caroline gasped, taking a quick step back. “Richard, he’s had over a dozen wives! And he killed all of them—he has a trophy room with all their pictures and he keeps their hair. He’s crazy!”
“Shut up, wife!” Harkens snarled at her. “You’ll be joining the others soon enough—I have Jock here, trained to take daguerreotypes.” He nodded at the mechanical butler. “And yours will make a fine addition to my collection.”
Richard fought to keep his Rage in check. He wanted to kill the bastard—just as he had killed the miscreant who had attacked Caroline in the alley beside Mother Griffith’s.
Though he had no weapon he surged forward…only to feel something hard and cold shoved into his belly. Looking down, he saw the barrel of a pistol pressing just above his navel. It was held in the hand of the mechanical butler, who stared at him with glowing yellow eyes.
“That’s close enough.” Harkens’ voice was filled with manic glee and he grinned triumphantly at Richard. “Jock, there, is not only programmed to take daguerreotypes—he is also quite handy with a pistol. His aim is remarkable as well—though he could hardly miss you from that distance.” He nodded to where the barrel of the pistol was pressed to Richard’s torso.
“Let her go,” Richard said hoarsely. “You’ve no right—let her go!”
“I think not.” Harkens smirked at him. “You can watch from there as I take my vengeance on you out on your pretty little wife. My wife now. It will be an excellent lesson for you on not interfering in the business of others.”
Then he turned to Caroline again, who shrank back in fear, away from the long silver blade in his hand.
Richard looked down helplessly at the pistol and the mechanical butler who held it. Even if he managed to get to Harkens with a hole blown through him, the bastard could still fillet Caroline like a piece of rare game he intended to dress for dinner before Richard could stop him.
There was only one other ploy open to him.
Praying to the Goddess that it would work, he thumbed the disk that Olivia had given him and held it out in one palm.
Please, Goddess, he thought, feeling sick with impotent Rage. Please help me save her—please!
* * * * *
Caroline had no idea what Richard was doing. Why was he holding out his hand that way? He ought to back away from the butler slowly—he was going to get himself killed!
Be careful! she wanted to scream, but the words stuck in her throat as fear for her own safety overwhelmed her. Harkens was getting closer and closer with his knife. She had the idea that he would have already started stabbing her if she was wearing the stained green gown. But without it, his ritual wasn’t complete.
Had he made all of his wives wear it before he killed them? It seemed horribly likely to Caroline. The thought of putting on the death shroud of so many other women made her sick but Harkens was gesturing with the knife again.
“Put it on,” he insisted, nodding at the stained green gown on the bed. “PUT IT ON!”
>
“Albert,” said a new voice—a voice coming from somewhere behind him. “Albert!” it said again, louder.
Despite her danger, Caroline’s eyes flew to the source of the voice and widened at what she saw.
Floating just above Richard’s palm was a blue, transparent ghost—at least, that was what it appeared to be. Its visage was that of a young, beautiful woman with long, light hair and a beauty mark at the corner of her mouth.
“Sylvia?” Caroline heard someone say and realized that it was Harkens who had said the name. He, too, had turned at the sound of his Christian name and was staring at the smoky blue ghost writhing a few inches above Richard’s hand.
“Albert,” she moaned at him. “Why do you continue your evil ways? Do you not know that your victims wait for you beyond the grave?”
“Wh…what are you saying?” There was a definite quaver in Harken’s formerly savage tone and the silver knife in his hand had sagged until its tip was pointing at the floor. “H-how is this possible?” he stuttered.
“I have come to warn you that we have plans for you,” the spirit told him in a whispery, awful voice. “Every pain you have inflicted on your victims in this life will be turned back upon you seventy times seven in the next. You will die over and over again in agony, only to be brought back for yet another death.”
“No!” Harkens’ face was pale. “No, I am doing right! I punish women for their wickedness! I am the sword of justice against the evil sex!”
“So you may tell yourself,” the ghost told him. “But you know it is a lie. You yourself are the wicked one. Let this woman go free or suffer my wrath!”
At this, she began to grow larger, her visage filling the room until she loomed over all of them, her long, ghostly arms extending as though to gather Harkens to her blue and smoky bosom. Then, horribly, her face began to change. It shifted slowly from the lovely girl Caroline had seen in the first portrait to the toothless, poisoned hag she had seen in the second. Her sightless eyes stared into her murderer’s face, her toothless maw gaped open.
Trapped in Time Page 26
