The Valentine Circle

by Reinaldo DelValle

  Written on the front of the binder were the words:

  FABRICAE NOVA SCOTIA

  De Duobus Malis, Majorem est Semper Eligendum

  Exitus Acta Probat

  Silas stared at the words, and instantly he recognized their meaning. “The Factory of New Scotland,” he mumbled. “Out of two evils, the greater is always to be chosen. The result validates the deed.”

  Apparently I know Latin.

  He opened up the binder, and on the first page it had the schedule and syllabus for the sixth-year students.

  Hmm, looks like the good doctor must’ve been part of this institution. Is this where Klaus ultimately ended up?

  He searched the pages, finding the binder to be divided into subsections corresponding to different classes. He came upon one course that struck him as odd. “The Demeaning of the Human Object,” Silas read. “What in God’s name is that?” And why would you teach it to a child?

  He flipped to some other chapters. “Desensitizing: Stripping Away the Fallacies of Empathy and Sympathy.” And then another. “The Principles of Soft Torture Level Two: Small Mammals.” Torture?

  He flipped through the rest of the pages until he came upon a thick folder near the end. On the front of the folder it read: Subject 38. He opened it and found a picture of a boy around fifteen years old. Silas held it up close to his face. “Look at those eyes.”

  It’s him. The Killer. The Monster. Klaus. “So you are Mr. Factory Boston. But what’s with the weird name?” He put the picture down and looked at his file. He sifted through a number of psychological reports. But these weren’t ordinary psyche reports. Normally, the subject would begin with a psychosis and then be treated to eliminate the problem. But these progress reports were the exact opposite. They began with a mind that was stable from the outset, and then, through careful indoctrination, eventually fell into a psychosis, like using reverse psychoanalysis.

  He picked up one treatment report. “Amoral score still at forty percent. Sociopathy/Psycopathy at a low level. Needs improvement.” He threw the papers down, disgusted. “It’s like Dr. Sabatini was out to create some type of monster.” He picked up the picture of the boy. “Who the hell are you, Klaus?” Or better yet, “what” the hell are you?

  He rubbed his face, realizing that he was getting deeper into a far-reaching rabbit hole, a hole that would possibly lead him to unimaginable horrors. Yet he knew it needed investigating, and he was the one chosen for the task, whether he liked it or not.

  I need to find out more about this institution, this so-called “factory.”

  He looked at the doctor’s body, lying there lifeless. He grabbed a shirt from the doctor’s wardrobe and placed it on top of the doctor’s face, replacing his hat. He stood up and strode over to the desk. He grabbed the big binder along with as much information as he could carry. Passing the good doctor on his way out, he stopped and gave him one last look. “They’ll find you soon, Doc. The smell will slowly seep its way out of the home and down to the clinic. I bid you happy travels in the next age.” He exited the room and never once looked back.

  The next train to Boston wasn’t going to be available until the next morning, so Silas decided to pay a visit to Andover’s main police department. After much fussing and convincing, Silas was able to buy himself some time searching through loads and loads of old case files, particularly those involving the strange kidnappings that occurred forty years ago. He sat in an old, frail wooden chair. His neck bothered him, and his rear hurt against the stiffness of the wood. He’d been scavenging through multiple cases for hours and had yet to come up with anything mildly significant.

  That is, until he came upon a large file that was created by an Inspector Duvan back when the kidnappings took place. The file was everything that he searched for, detailed dossiers on each kid with extensive notes on witnesses. He took out his own files that he’d brought with him, which he kept hidden in a bag he stole from Dr. Sabatini’s home, and cross-referenced them with the dossiers that Inspector Duvan had written up.

  One by one, he cross-checked them, hoping to find some type of common denominator with the recent kidnappings. Yes, they were all bullies, but other than that, there wasn’t anything else he could match up until he came up to the extensive witness reports taken in Boston. Apparently, Inspector Duvan had traveled down to Boston following a lead he’d once discovered.

  Every witness had their own report written out and signed by Duvan. Silas read them thoroughly. There was one witness in particular that piqued his interest. His eyes honed in on the witness’s words. “It was dark, but I could still see the lengths of the docks, and near the far end was a group of small children,” Silas said as he read the statement. “Now, normally, I’m indifferent to that sort of thing, but this was nearing the witch’s hour. It was not a time for children to be out.” Silas noticed that Duvan had circled something he had written. “Asked dock master about boys. Denied the whole thing. No more witnesses. Dead end.”

  He then turned to another report that was starred by the Inspector as being very important. There was a note on top of the page. It read: My biggest lead so far.

  Silas scanned the report and noticed something curious. “I don’t typically work on the night shift,” Silas mumbled, reading the witness’s report. “But that night they were short-handed, so I went up to the top deck port side to do my fill of work. And that’s when I saw it. Only a few of us did. It was like a large black shadow as big as a ship passing us in the opposite direction about three hundred feet from our own ship. It took us a few seconds to realize that it was truly a ship, painted all in black with black flags. I don’t know where it was going or why it would try so hard to disguise itself, but we knew for sure it wasn’t pirates. They don’t care about being invisible; they’ll come up on you like a lion on a zebra. Regardless, the strangest thing that we experienced was a low, continuous wailing stemming from the ship as it passed us, like children crying. It was the scariest sound I’d ever heard.”

  Is it possible that these kids are being shipped somewhere? Maybe to this factory in...New Scotland?

  He took the rest of the reports and stuffed them inside his bag. The sun had come over the horizon, and it was time to head back to the train station.

  So, the killer of these girls’ babies was once a victim of his own, kidnapped and taken to some institution where they taught him a number of disturbing things. I’m not surprised he turned out the way he did, sadistic and amoral. But what does he have to do with the Valentine Society? And why would he go after their children? At least now I know what he looked like as a child, and hopefully I can draw something up at home, age him a bit and create a profile of him as he is now. I’m getting closer, but time’s running out.

  Silas packed up his things and made his way out of the police precinct towards the train terminal, which was only a few blocks away. As he walked the streets, he couldn’t help but notice the harmony that the city dwellers brought to the city, the peace and stability that a group of people could generate as long as every part of their daily routines flowed smoothly without any hiccups. He thought about this for a moment and soon realized how awful and disruptive it must’ve been for this particular city to experience the rarity and horror of the kidnappings forty years ago. It almost seemed like the kidnappings happened just to spite the peaceful and harmonious state the city always found itself in. All it took was one person or even a group of people to commit certain crimes to bring the city to its knees. It reminded Silas of the disruption that the group of girls was experiencing at the moment. A killer sent to disrupt an otherwise harmonious group of friends.

  This killer, this Mr. Factory—He’s like a weapon, a virus, sent to disrupt what is serene, to corrupt what is pure. He is a walking, talking, and breathing disease, one that can be hired and used to infect whatever or whomever.

  “I need to warn Belloc,” Silas said. “This situation of ours might be spiraling out of control.”

  Silas bega
n running towards the train station, feeling the urge to get home as soon as possible. Once he reached the terminal, he slowed down and gathered his breath. He sat down on a bench near the sidewalk. Train won’t be coming for another half an hour. Might as well rest for a minute.

  As he looked on at the people walking by, he marveled at the amount of families that were strolling by, all huddled together, holdings hands, laughing or screaming at each other. Didn’t matter. They were at least together. He smiled.

  But his smile didn’t last long, for seeing the parade of families walking by suddenly triggered a violent memory inside his mind. He jerked his body, for in his thoughts he remembered being pushed down to the ground as a small child, someone’s boot was at his neck, pressing down hard. In his memory, he looked up, blinded by the amount of blood seeping down his forehead and into his eyes. All he could faintly see in front of him, about five yards away, was a woman kneeling in sorrow with both her arms extended upward, as if being held by something or someone. Suddenly, the woman looked up at Silas and spoke to him. “Silas, look away.” But he didn’t.

  And then the sword came down.

  It took Silas some time to recognize that the woman’s head had been cut off, and when he did, he screamed with all his might, but nothing came out except a deep and sorrowful moan. Waking up from his vision, he yelped as one would do when waking up from a horrible nightmare. The force of the memory made him jump up in his seat and tumble down to the floor, hyperventilating, tears running down his face. It took him a minute to compose himself, gasping for air as he fought to steady his breathing. Once he could talk, he said the only thing that came to his mind: “Mother.”

  He closed his eyes, passing out from the emotional exhaustion due to his strange amnesia.

  *

  POSY SAT INSIDE BELLOC’S STUDY, alone, contemplating a roller coaster of emotions. She tugged at her ring, her impressive two-carat diamond trophy, one that she had slaved all of her life to obtain. Using her thumb, she twisted the precious ring around her finger, sighing with a cloud of confusion. Silas could never afford anything like this.

  “Oh, God, what am I thinking?” she whispered to herself. “Who cares about him?” You do. “Hush,” she whispered. It’s not like he cares about me.

  “Oh, I need to get him out of my mind.” She rubbed her face with both of her hands.

  Dalton walked in. “Hey,” he said. “Are you feeling all right?”

  Posy smiled. He wasn’t Silas, but he was still quite handsome, and very tall. Definitely taller than whoever she was thinking about before. “Yes, I’m better now.”

  “I’m glad,” Dalton said, grinning, staring into her eyes.

  Belloc walked in, immediately noticing the flirtation between the two of them. Belloc had a knack for reading people, and he knew Dalton was a good man, maybe even a better man than Silas, but he also knew that Posy’s ship had already sailed, searching for that long-lost island of Silas de San Michel, and there was no turning back. Anything that happened now to disrupt her voyage would just bring trouble and unwanted grievance. “Dalton, I need you to go outside and find me at least four large rocks and a number of small ones.”

  “Sure thing,” Dalton said, his eyes still on Posy.

  “Now, Dalton.”

  “Aye, Inspector.” He swiftly stood up and made his way out of the study.

  Belloc approached Posy. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing much. It’s not important.”

  “I’ve been working with you for a number of years. I know when something is wrong.”

  “Just thinking about...Horace.”

  “Oh. Having doubts?”

  Posy shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t really want to say.

  Belloc sat down beside her. “Look, Posy, you know how I feel about Horace. You’ve always known. I’ve never really liked him. I’ve always believed you could do better, and you always tried to convince me otherwise. Well, I’m still not convinced.”

  Posy crossed her arms.

  Belloc continued, “I don’t tell you these things because I want to hurt you. I tell you this because I care for you and for your future, and now, for your baby’s future as well.”

  Posy turned to him, horrified and embarrassed.

  “Silas told me.”

  “How did he know?”

  “You really have to ask?” Belloc put his hand on her shoulder. “I know that Silas has had a somewhat dark past of which we are ignorant of, but I see him going through some type of transformation, as if he’s fighting to become something better than he was. I see in that man a great ability for compassion and love. No matter what happens with you and Horace, or with whomever, Silas will always watch over you and your baby. No questions asked. That’s the type of person he is. So whatever you decide to do, don’t push him away.”

  Posy kept quiet.

  “Now, as regards to Horace, you have to ask yourself if he really cares about you.”

  “Of course he does,” Posy automatically came to his defense.

  “Right. I guess what I’m trying to say is that if someone truly loved you, they would support you, look after you, and celebrate all of your good qualities along with your unique ones, those that are still good but don’t necessarily conform to society’s norms. They would never be ashamed of them. That’s what you need to have, to look for. That’s the type of love you deserve. You can always tell that type of love from the way people look at each other.”

  “You mean like Silas looks at Lucy?”

  Belloc sighed. “Well, I wouldn’t assume to know anything about Silas’s relationship with Lucy. To be quite honest, I think Silas is grasping at straws, whether Lucy loves him back or not. I mean, if Silas does love Lucy. I wouldn’t know. I really have no idea. I...I mean—I should stop talking.”

  He stood up and walked towards his desk. “We need to concentrate on more important things, anyway.” He grabbed a copy of Mr. Grant’s map off his desk, which Silas had drawn earlier. “Posy, if you could, grab that desk over near the corner and pull it towards the middle of the room.”

  “Sure thing,” Posy said, walking towards the desk and clearing the papers and books off it. She then pulled it all the way to the middle of the room.

  Belloc walked up and displayed the map on top of it. “Hold those two corners and I’ll hold these.”

  “Okay,” Posy replied. “What now?”

  “Um...we wait for Dalton.”

  They stood there in silence for a few seconds, holding down the map on top of the desk.

  “So, do you think Silas is okay? He’s been gone for a few days.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine, Miss Chapman.”

  “You’re getting formal with me again.”

  “So?”

  Posy smiled.

  “Don’t worry about Silas. He can take care of himself, as we’ve all seen.”

  Dalton came in, barely able to carry all the rocks in his hands.

  “Thank you, Dalton, I’ve now aged a few years,” Belloc remarked.

  “I had a hard time finding the small ones in all this snow.”

  “Yes, yes, let’s hurry it up,” Belloc replied. “Put the four large ones on each corner and drop the pebbles near the middle.”

  Dalton did what he was told.

  “There we go. You can let go, Posy.”

  All three of them stepped back in order to get a good look at Mr. Grant’s map.

  “All right.” Belloc put the first pebble on top of the Decampses’ mansion. Then he put another on top of the Reillys’ mansion, and finally one pebble on the Dailey house. “Now, we know from Mr. Grant that there are three other girls left in the group that have yet to be attacked.” He placed three pebbles down. “The Lattimers, the Haralsons, and the Dupuyses.” After placing the small stones down, he stepped back to get a good look at the map.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Dalton asked.

  “It’s a circle,” Posy replied. “It’s almos
t a perfect circle.”

  “Remember what we found written inside Miss Dailey’s book bag, the words ‘Valentine Circle’?” Belloc added.

  “You think that’s a name they gave themselves as a group?” Posy said. “They called themselves The Valentine Circle?”

  “Perhaps, but why would the girls just hang out with only the families that form the circle?” Belloc replied. “As you can see here, there are many more houses and mansions surrounding the other ones, all part of the Valentine Society.”

  “Maybe the girls in the circle just happened to be really close friends,” Posy said.

  “No, there has to be something more to it.” Belloc scratched his head.

  “I just noticed something,” Posy said.

  “What’s that?” Belloc walked up closer to the table.

  “The first victim was Miss Decamps, and then Miss Reilly, followed by Miss Dailey. Well, if you see on the map, that’s in perfect chronological order. So, keeping with the pattern—”

  “The Lattimer girl would be next,” Belloc finished her thought.

  “Most likely.”

  “Damn. Then we can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

  “Why don’t we follow up with what you had planned before?” Dalton said. “You and Posy head to the Lattimers, and I’ll head to the Haralsons and Dupuyses to see how they’re doing.”

  “You’re right,” Belloc said. “But I can guarantee you that their house is going to be monitored, and more than likely, be guarded by O’Hara’s men.”

  “Well, if they are guarded, then the girls should be safe, right?” Dalton asked.

  “I wouldn’t bet on it. No, no, we have to act now. We can’t wait on Silas any longer. I don’t know how much luck he’ll have in finding the killer.” He tapped his cane on the floor as he paced the study. “How can we get to these girls without being caught by the parents or by O’Hara’s men? We can stakeout the girls’ houses, but we’ll be so far away, we wouldn’t know what was going on. We could try to sneak in, but...” He looked at Posy and Dalton. “That’s out of the question.”