Arsenic for the Soul
Arsenic for the Soul
Midpoint
EPILOGUE
Arsenic for the Soul
Nathan Wilson
Arsenic for the Soul are products of the author’s imagination and or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2016 Nathan Wilson
Smashwords Edition
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Cover art: Photography by Xua, TheGeminiSage, and Obsidian Dawn
Discover other titles by Nathan Wilson at Smashwords.com:
The Undying God
Red Widow
For Rachel and Albert Lin,
Thank you for being my light when I was blind.
and for Stephanie Eder,
Never was there a more beautiful woman
who showed me so many new worlds.
I will always love you.
PROLOGUE
Winter’s breath churned the ashes under Camilla Vesely’s feet.
The ruins of Vesely Manor greeted her from beyond the pall of morning fog. It crouched in the darkness, biding for the moment to devour her like a dredged up calamity.
Gothic trimmings, minarets, cloister galleries, and lavish ceiling frescoes were reduced to cinders in one foul night.
Camilla remembered walking past the manor when it glowed under the sheen of a summer day, wondering who her mother and father truly were. Now she returned to bear silent testimony to their sins.
A reflecting pool glowed beyond the estate, hedged by untamed gardens and rampant forest. How easily one could lose her way in that mischievous labyrinth.
She stroked the vial dangling from a chain around her neck. It served as a constant reminder of her chilling origins.
The same ashes that dotted these grounds glittered in the crystal vial. It was an omnipresent burden tugging on her heart.
Its weight multiplied ten thousand-fold when she set foot on these unhallowed grounds.
It seemed like only yesterday that she tiptoed inside the shadow-steeped manor for the first time. She explored bedrooms that once belonged to her father, his wife, and brothers and sisters she never met. She rummaged through their photos and journals, anxious for a peek into their closely guarded lives. She imagined them gathered in the parlor during the evenings or reading their daily lessons near the marble fountain in the courtyard.
She pictured Mrs. Vesely looking out the arched window on the second floor, her eyes raking the sunset-scorched horizon.
Meanwhile, Camilla’s father would be taking a woman other than his wife into his arms. The sparks of lust would have danced wildly between them, giving way to a night of forbidden passion.
Had this woman given any thought to the consequences when James Vesely pressed his lips into the nape of her neck? Did she consider, even for a second, that one ill-conceived night of pleasure would end in her disappearance?
Camilla approached the reflecting pool and peeked inside. Her face wavered like ribbons on the chaotic surface. She had changed so much in the span of a year. Her chestnut hair seemed thinner and her heart-shaped face acquired a new pallor.
I’ve spent too much time shut away in my apartment, consumed in my work. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. Those dim, lifeless eyes are not mine.
For a moment, she wondered if she was witnessing a reflection of that mystery woman who courted her father. What ever became of her mother after she fell prey to the madman who bore her no love?
As soon as Camilla was born, her mother vanished. She never felt the loving caress of a mother or the biological bond that transcends the womb. Without a doubt, Camilla’s father played a role in her disappearance. It was his modus operandi to eliminate any threat to his moral standing. If there was one thing the Veselys treasured, it was the holier-than-thou image surrounding their bloodline—but that bloodline was never destined to last.
One by one, the Veselys passed away or retreated from the public eye, auctioning off the manor to a reclusive gardener.
Since then, the Vesely Manor became an empty tomb abandoned to pelting storms and cruel winters. The family legacy had splintered into a thousand pieces borne away on frigid winds.
Camilla wondered if the Veselys loved each other as a normal family would. They were too abnormal to rule out the possibility. Perhaps they only tolerated each other on the surface, masquerading as a perfectly ordinary, righteous family.
No one would suspect any illicit affairs, cruelty, or abuse under the veneer of wealth and family churchgoings. Sadly, Camilla would never know the truth now. Everything they left behind simmered under a veil of ashes.
Before the estate succumbed to arson, she dreamed of transforming it into a residential home for women and children. It was a small atonement for the Magdalene asylums her ancestors sired into existence.
The asylums were constructed for the purpose of sheltering prostitutes, unmarried mothers, orphans, and the diseased. Alas, the asylums only operated under the guise of providing refuge to the innocent.
Instead of healing, caretakers punished the girls for perceived sins and forced them into manual labor. Even children weren’t spared the torment of toiling in the sweltering laundry rooms. It was said the act of washing dirty linens represented the purging of sins.
Camilla thanked God she wasn’t reared into the brainwashed flock of the Vesely family. As a child out of wedlock, she was raised by her dear Uncle Sebastian in the lush countryside of the Czech Republic.
She never saw the inside of the Vesely Manor until it was abandoned to dust and decay. In another lifetime, she might have strolled through these halls and played in the gardens.
She would have been indoctrinated into the same twisted dogma as her father—who obviously strayed beyond the tenets of his faith.
In all likelihood, he imprisoned Camilla’s mother in one of the many Magdalene asylums that dotted Europe. Once she was removed, no one would know the secret of his affair.
But no matter how thorough her father’s attempts to bury the truth, Camilla managed to pry it from Uncle Sebastian.
At first she couldn’t handle the reality of her birth and the consequences it implied for her mother. As the weeks passed, she came to grips with her origins.
She wouldn’t deny the truth of her mother’s imprisonment as her father had so heartlessly done.
Though Camilla never had a chance to have a mother, Uncle Sebastian became her father.
He lived a hermit’s existence in a cottage on a craggy slope overlooking Adršpach Lake. He never married or begot children so he treated Camilla like his own flesh and blood. As a bonus, he seemed more sensible than his family peers.
Camilla first learned about the Magdalene asylums from Sebastian, who painted a picture of cruelty and absurdity that stemmed directly from her father.
The Magdalene asylums represented the ultimate hypocrisy of her father. In some ways, Camilla felt compelled to shut down the laundries and undo the crimes of her family.
After all, no one ever stood up to these institutions so why should she expect someone else to intervene? This was something she would undertake alone. She would have to make a difference without anyone’s aid.
Through her efforts as a crime reporte
r, Camilla exposed the ongoing abuse in the asylums. The public outrage finally goaded the police to launch an investigation. In little time, the laundries were barred and abandoned. No more than five months ago, the Magdalene Midnight Mission was closed.
Camilla planned on refurbishing it as a charity once the funds magically deposited into her bank account. She chuckled at the thought. A career in journalism wasn’t likely to result in that kind of miracle, but she could always pin her hopes on a wealthy donation. In any case, justice for the enslaved women and teens proved the most worthy reward.
They were returned to their rightful families, and innumerable assault and abuse charges were levied against the asylums’ caretakers.
Camilla’s only regret was that it took so long to shut down the asylums. How many innocents could have been spared had she pursued her investigation more rigorously?
Yet nothing prepared her for the outpouring of gratitude from the women who were freed. She didn’t know how to feel when she received letters of forgiveness for her demonic bloodline.
She still recalled the letter she opened a few days ago.
Dear Camilla, thank you for paving the way to my freedom. Were it not for you, I would still be living on bread and water and sharing a room with eight other girls. For the first time in years, I can feel the rain on my face, sing to my heart’s content, and pursue my passions.
You’ve given me hope that I thought was forgotten. Few people can say they’ve touched so many lives in the way you have. I will always cherish that. If only every soul was as selfless and determined as you. Thank you and bless your heart.
Camilla blinked away a film of tears. Their expressions of gratitude were her fountain of strength in these trying times. Perhaps she needed to step aside and distance herself from the investigation. More so, she needed to stop thinking about what she could have done better.
As she scanned the vacant lot, she felt a change in the air. It was as though the ruins here were laughing at her.
She noticed another set of footprints had disturbed the ashes and snow. They wound past the decrepit manor and into the uncharted woods. Had someone come here before she arrived or was someone keenly watching her, just waiting for her to turn around and meet his eyes?
An icy feeling more penetrating than the bite of winter pulsed through her core. Every nerve trilled with alarm.
She longed to turn around and gaze into the eyes of the fiend lurking in her shadow.
Camilla only saw the Gothic arched gateway with its host of ghoulish statues. No one was there, save for the footprints left behind to mark a curious wanderer’s trespassing.
Camilla shivered against the wind as it knifed through her cashmere jacket with gusto. She wondered who would dare stand in the shadow of Vesely Manor.
ONE
Medical textbooks landed with a heavy thud on Vivian Xu’s bed. She spent two hours combing through bookstores for the fall semester’s required materials. Now she could look forward to the soul-eroding task of reading and memorizing over a thousand pages of rudimentary text.
She glanced over the books and approached her dresser. A letter was propped by the mirror as it had been every day, virtually untouched. She picked it up and shivered in unashamed delight. She must have read the letter every day, perpetuating a morning ritual that dangerously bordered on obsessive compulsive. The impact from the letter still hadn’t dulled after all these weeks.
Dear Ms. Xu,
It is my pleasure to offer you a position in the 1999 fall class to the Institute of Nursing Theory and Practice at the First Faculty of Medicine at the Charles University of Prague.
To accept this position in the 1999 program, please complete and return this form within two weeks of receipt of this letter.
Tingles of excitement washed through Vivian. Of course, she immediately mailed in her acceptance and secured a spot in the program that eluded her for years.
The nursing program rejected her first application due to an inadequate number of classes. Though their response seemed like a pat on the back and best wishes in her future, it hardly softened the blow to her pride. She questioned if she would ever find a career, provide for herself, or assert any measure of independence.
Doubt wreathed her future every day since then. Vivian couldn’t live with her parents forever and she certainly didn’t desire the life of a paltry beggar.
She wanted nothing more than to dive into the medical field, settle into a cozy apartment, and maybe meet a nice guy in the process.
Was that asking too much?
Those efforts finally paid off with the arrival of her acceptance letter in July. With every passing day, her prison of fears tumbled down. She had come such a long way to finally realizing her dream of helping others.
Vivian pulled on her burgundy scrubs, feeling renewed as she transformed before the mirror.
The woman in the looking glass was a distant vision of the streetwalker infamously known as Red Widow. No longer did her eyes glow with scarlet contacts that aroused fear and excitement in tainted hearts.
Her hair shed its luscious red color in favor of her natural raven roots. However, not all traces of her past could be so easily expunged. Inked flora and script still traced her flesh in tribute to the more eccentric, forbidden influences in her life.
Furthermore, she refused to part with her ear gages.
She pulled her scrubs down over the hourglass-shaped birthmark on her belly, as if to deny who she was a year ago. Nothing in the world could drag her back to the brink of ruin. No amount of desperation could force her on that downtrodden path again.
She adjusted the name badge over her breast and took one final look in the mirror.
Vivian pecked her mother on the check on her way out of the house. Her heart pounded as she sidled into the leather seat of her father’s car and prepared for the journey to the University Hospital. By this time, she was running on the fuel of jittery nerves and caffeine.
She probably laid in bed for the entire night without once shutting her eyes. How could she sleep with so many adventures teasing her?
Ten minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot for the University Hospital. She scanned the ambulances parked outside and she couldn’t believe she was finally here.
Sipping coffee from her Styrofoam cup, she tried to dismiss the warnings passed on by former graduates.
Supposedly, she would be expected to know every iota of information sandwiched between the covers of her textbooks. If she so much as glossed over a single page, it would spell doom for her on the exams.
If that didn’t set her back on her heels, she could look forward to panic-induced blackouts on the nights before exams.
Pain danced in her temples.
Why should these doubts surface now? Maybe it was the same anxiety that accompanies any life-altering commitment. Was it no different than the same twinge a bride feels in her stomach before she walks down the aisle?
Fortunately, Vivian wasn’t getting herself into a relationship any time soon. She couldn’t afford the distractions posed by men when her mind was overflowing with real priorities.
Taking a deep breath and chugging down her coffee, she entered the hospital.
She was greeted by the sight of nursing staff and technicians hurrying from one task to another while the lobbies overflowed with patients. A nurse’s voice droned over the intercom, paging one Dr. Sumbal to the oncology department.
Vivian felt like a speck of nothing in the maze of activity. Despite that monumental smallness, she felt a smattering of exhilaration and hope.
Was it ridiculous that she wanted to help the first patient she saw?
She wanted to dive right into the fray and do anything to feel like a part of the team. Of course, she couldn’t participate just yet.
Last week, the nursing program director pulled her aside after class and voiced his concerns about her vaccinations. Apparently, Vivian never received a BCG vaccine for tuberculosis.
; She wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the patients until that matter was resolved. Unfortunately, clinicals were scheduled to start today.
She knew she was cutting it damn close, but her schedule had been far too chaotic lately.
That is, she spent too many late nights at the cybergoth club, planning a trip overseas come December, jotting down random lyrics for songs she would never perform—just the typical antidote for six hours of class every day. She always did extra things on her own time. Plus, she wasn’t particularly looking forward to this appointment.
Vivian checked in with the clerk and settled into one of the predictably uncomfortable chairs.
She followed the ticking hand on her wristwatch until a door creaked open and someone called her name. She looked up to see a man standing in the doorway.
“Vivian?”
She popped up from her seat. She was in a hurry to get this over with. Before she could catch a glimpse of him, the figure disappeared down the hall.
Vivian followed him through a white corridor, feeling like a lost soul being heralded into this pale afterlife.
Why did hospitals insist on such an alienating and cheerless atmosphere? Perhaps she would establish a job market for beautifying hospitals.
“So what brings you here today?” the man asked, turning around. Vivian paused for a moment to gawk at his face. She roamed over his handsome, well-shaven jaw and light brown hair.
As silly as the comparison seemed, his face looked angelic. Most captivating of all was the innocent spark in his eyes, as though he had never witnessed any cruelty in the world.
“I need a BCG vaccine for the nursing program.”
“First Faculty of Medicine?”
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