by Jan McDonald
The Priory Church of St Mary had often been called the Westminster Abbey of Wales, due to its size and the high status monuments, sarcophagi and tombs it contained. Lane hesitated outside the church sensing Beckett’s contemplations. He was looking for answers, poor sod. He knew as well as she, that answers are never found outside; the truth comes from inside the heart. He had discovered that in Greece, and almost got a handle on his returning faith, but recent events had knocked that out of him and he was floundering again.
She entered through the ancient doorway and the sense of peace within the Priory Church calmed her momentarily, coming as it did from centuries of quiet worship from countless souls. As she trod softly down the central isle she couldn’t help but admire the Gothic arches and columns and the stunningly beautiful Gothic window above the altar.
Beckett was seated to the left of the isle three rows from the front pew and even though she approached in silence he sensed her.
She sat next to him but didn’t speak. After several minutes, still with closed eyes, he murmured, “I wondered how long it would take you.”
“You okay, Handsome?”
“Oh, I guess I will be. You know me.”
She smiled, “Yes, sadly I do. You’re a lost cause if ever I saw one. There is truly no hope.”
He didn’t turn to her, focussing his eyes on the exquisitely carved statue of Christ on the cross. “Do you believe in God, Legs? I mean really believe.”
She didn’t hesitate, “Yes, I do. Otherwise I couldn’t do what I do and live with it. Do I believe in a human man who claims infallibility because he’s been elected by a bunch of other old men, no. Do I believe the doctrines and dogmas that often cause more suffering than they are meant to relieve, then no. Do I believe that we are all the product of a supreme creator, then yes. There is too much symmetry and perfection in the universe for it to have been the result of a cosmic belch. Do I believe that there is only one way to approach that Creator? No. I know you found your way back in Greece when you prayed for Katerini. I saw it. But you let it go, Beckett. Mihai said you would find your way back. You’re just stubborn, that’s all. I sensed that it was important to him.”
She read him and felt his inner yearning for what he had once been but in a new way, his way.
“Being a priest has little to do with the Church, Handsome; it’s helping a soul to heal itself. In whatever way each individual soul needs. Especially at the time that the soul leaves the body to return to the source. You did that for Kat. And I hope that if the need arises, you will do it for me.”
He turned to look directly at her, placing his hand gently on her cheek, “I will never allow that need to arise.”
She was shocked at the intensity in his eyes and there was something else, something that made her heart leap. She dismissed it abruptly.
“Good. That much we agree on. So now will you come back with me? We need to talk about your Jude Mason. In fact I want to go back out to the farm.”
He laughed, “Now? Can’t a man, well, vampire find a moments peace with God?”
“Pack him up where he belongs, inside, and haul him out of here with you.”
“Some would call that blasphemy,” he joked.
“Then they would be fools,” she replied quietly, taking in every contour of his face, his intense eyes that always seemed to harbour sadness. She was shaken by the feelings that had briefly ignited in her. Feelings that could have no future.
They discussed the arrival of Jo Timberwolf and Lane told him of her talk with Darius and the boy’s frustration. Beckett’s eyes found a twinkle at the mention of Darius. He understood the driving need for revenge in the boy; he was too familiar with it. And in Greece, Darius had been robbed of the chance to taste the revenge as Andrei had been killed by one of his own; Santorini, aka Greg Randall.
“He’ll be fine. Just don’t let him know that there is still a problem in Greece. Has Mihai clarified that?”
Lane shook her head. “No. I’m still waiting for him to get back to me. Whatever it is, he’s shielding it from me. And that isn’t good. Mihai has always been open with me and as Proconsul of the council he should keep me in the loop. We have a choice, Beckett. We stay and deal with what’s happening to Jude Mason, help Jo in whatever way we can and then go out to Greece and see for ourselves what’s happening there. Or we can just go right now.”
“No choice in fact. That feeling is getting very familiar. I’ve been thinking about Jude. Perhaps I have been stubborn about the PTSD diagnosis, but I’m willing to listen. What do you know?”
“Not as much as I’d like, that’s why Jo is on his way here from Arizona. I can tell you that stories of lycanthropy, werewolves if you like, go back to Ovid who wrote ‘In vain he attempted to speak, his jaws were spattered with blood and he thirsted for blood as he raged among flocks and panted for slaughter. His vesture was changed into hair, his limbs became crooked – a wolf. He retains much of his ancient expression, his countenance rabid, his eyes glitter savagely, the picture of fury’. Or words to that effect. Sound familiar? Sounds like Jude Mason to me. And it wasn’t just Ovid; Pliny had his say as well. Legends leave their trail throughout history from Ancient Greece to almost present day and throughout nearly every culture. In France they are known as Loup Garoux and believed by all classes. And it goes without saying how Hollywood has tapped into the subconscious acceptance of the beast.”
“Okay, so Jude is a werewolf or what did you call him?”
“Lycan. That’s the latest term among psychiatrists as well as popular fiction.”
“So Jude is Lycan. How did that happen? Because to my knowledge, apart from the trauma of being SAS in Afghanistan, he has no prior psychological problems.”
“Then we start there. In Afghanistan.”
“I warn you, he won’t discuss it.”
“Then I’ll have to go in and see his memories for myself. Assuming we can get hold of him that is.”
“Then we’d better go get him, hadn’t we. My car this time.” Beckett was ahead of her leaving the Priory Church and in vampire speed was already waiting for her at the wheel of his beaten up four by four. Lane rolled her eyes but conceded the discomfort was better than damage to her precious MG.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE HARD WAY.
Jude Mason’s farmhouse stood in darkness. Its shadow cast by the full moon loomed across the cobbled courtyard. Lane and Beckett were at the door simultaneously.
“He’s been busy,” muttered Beckett as he took in the heavily barred door and windows.
Lane was listening to her accentuated hearing and before she could alert Beckett, he too had heard the rage and torment originating from the basement in the sealed building.
“I hear him,” he said in reply to her unspoken question. “You go left.”
They separated and went in opposite directions checking the building for possible entry points. Jude had done a good job. Entry would have to be forced and dramatic. Beckett stood aside, not because Lane was stronger than he was but more because he knew how much she enjoyed breaking and entering.
The door and the wooden barrier behind it splintered as she hit it hard with both feet and they were inside in a heartbeat and heading towards the small door at the side of the old dresser.
At the top of the stairs they both hesitated, connecting with what was happening in the room below. They sensed Jude Mason chained to the wall once again, in agony and torment. The howling had stopped as he sensed them above him. Chains were clanking against stone wall and there was a steady low growl as he listened and sniffed and waited.
Beckett put a restraining hand on Lane and shook his head, pointing back to the room upstairs. She understood immediately, to confront Jude in his current state would end in only one way. Someone was going to get hurt. They needed to wait until the pain, rage and blood lust had passed and he was himself once again. There would be no helping him in his present state. The beast within him had to be quiescent.
As the
y ascended the wooden staircase Beckett once again signalled to Lane and this time she was way ahead of him. They weren’t alone.
They sensed female and they sensed anxiety. Lane moved first, catlike and silent, Becket was a second behind her. The female presence was immediately behind the door, and holding her breath. Beckett understood Lane’s warning glance and nodded his understanding.
Lane pushed the door open violently, taking the girl by surprise. Beckett’s arm shot out faster than she was able to track it. He held her firmly but not wishing to harm her.
“It’s all right,” said Lane. “We don’t want to hurt you. We are here to help him.”
Sabine’s eyes were wide and she was trembling. “Who are you? What have you done with him?”
She kept her eyes on Beckett and he took her lead. “My name is Beckett and this is Dr. Lane Dearing. We are here to help Jude Mason. What are you doing here?”
Sabine’s eyes darkened and she appeared to relax a little. Beckett persisted. “Is that his name? Jude mason? Are you friends of his?”
Lane connected with her sudden intentions as she acted on them. As Sabine turned and bolted for the door, Lane launched herself into the air and jumped clean over the girl’s head, landing in the doorway facing her. Sabine stopped dead in her tracks, her face ashen.
“What are you?”
Lane raised a hand to stop the questions, her face severe. Beckett interrupted her.
“What we are doesn’t matter. It’s what Jude Mason is that’s our current concern and from the look of you, you’re worried about him too. Why don’t you come and sit down and tell us about it?”
Sabine started as the clanging of chains in the cellar accompanied a spine chilling roar.
Sabine began to tremble. “I … I don’t know him. I only saw him yesterday … in the forest. He ran away before I could talk to him. I only wanted to help him.”
“With respect,” said Lane, “I don’t think there’s a whole lot you can do for him.”
“I can be his friend. He needs a friend. I saw what happens to him. I know what is happening to him.”
“You know?” queried Beckett.
Sabine nodded but said nothing.
Lane continued her frosty interrogation. “I suggest you tell us what you think you know.”
Beckett frowned at her. Good cop, bad cop? Really?
He put a hand on her arm and she flinched, he took it away slowly. “We won’t hurt you. I promise. Please tell us what you know. It may help him.”
Sabine sat down heavily on the old sofa and seemed to sag in the middle. When she looked up at Beckett there were tears on her cheek. He didn’t touch her, not wanting to spook her again. Lane relaxed as she connected with the girl’s thoughts, she was a tainted innocent.
Jude Mason continued to rage and howl downstairs in the cellar, each howl of torment made Sabine blanche a shade paler. “Can’t you do anything? Please, help him.”
“Not while he’s in this phase. We’ll have to wait until it passes. Then we’ll take him back with us, someone is coming who can help him better than either of us.”
Sabine shook her head, “No, he needs to know that someone cares. Right now, while the rage is on him, he needs to know someone cares.” She bolted for the stairs taking both Lane and Beckett by surprise. Lane launched herself forwards but Sabine had slammed the door behind her and was taking the stairs two at a time.
“Damn!” shouted Lane, hurling the door open and following Sabine with lightening speed. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, arm outstretched to Sabine, her eyes pleading with girl to step back from Jude who had momentarily ceased howling and raging and yanking on his chains. His face looked leaner, darker somehow, his cheeks covered in coarse hair, his mouth distorted, his teeth the teeth of a rabid dog. But his eyes held an uncanny curiosity. He had seen the girl in the woods, and she had seemed unafraid, speaking to him with compassion. Now she stood in front of him, reaching out to him. A low growl came from his foaming lips and he let his head fall forwards onto his chest.
Sabine approached him slowly. “I saw you in the forest. I know what is happening to you. I know the pain you are in. There are people here that want to help you. Please. Please let them help you.”
Before either could react, Sabine stepped directly in front of Jude and laid a hand on the course hair covering his cheek and gently stroked his face.
The low growl continued and then Jude threw back his head and let out a soul chilling howl before letting his head fall again and he began to weep.
Lane approached him slowly as Sabine moved in front of him protectively, her eyes flashing a warning.
“I told you, we’re not here to hurt him. But if we’re going to be able to help him, it won’t be here. He needs to come back with us.” Lane glanced down at her watch, “Where very soon there will be an expert on hand to help try and put things right for him.”
Sabine narrowed her eyes, “I don’t know who or what you are, but know this, I will do whatever I can to protect him, and I realise that may involve my life. I didn’t step up last time and it cost someone dear to me his life. I have had to live with that for five years. I have another chance to be able to look in the mirror. And just so you know … where he goes, I go.”
Beckett smiled at her, his eyes holding a sparkle long since lost. There was something of Grace about the girl, maybe the determined chin or something in her eyes.
“You did say you only met him yesterday, right?”
Sabine shook her head. “No. I never really met him.”
Jude stood upright suddenly and yanked on the manacles holding him chained to the wall. His eyes no longer contained the wild look of moments earlier as he directed his gaze to Beckett. “If you really want to help, you can get me off this wall, get the hell out and leave me with my shotgun.”
“Yeah, we can do that,” said Beckett without emotion, “Or you could just do it the hard way, come back with us and let us at least try. Or maybe you weren’t really the stuff Special Forces are made of. Maybe deep down you don’t have what it takes to fight this thing.”
Jude glared at him, small flecks of foam appearing at the corner of his mouth, the low growl starting deep in his throat, his eyes once again feral. “You have no idea,” he growled.
“Actually my friend, I have every idea. Really. And if you’re serious about the shotgun then go ahead but then you’ll never really know just what you’re made of.”
“I know what I’m made of. In Afghanistan …”
“Yeah yeah, Special Forces, Afghanistan, I get it. But that’s not here, not now, not this.”
“Don’t!” shouted Sabine. “Leave him alone! Can’t you see how he’s suffering? You’re not human!”
“’Aint that the truth,” muttered Beckett.
“Enough, all of you,” Lane interrupted. She strode forwards something glinting in her hand and with only Beckett able to track her movements she inserted the hypodermic needle into Jude’s neck and stood back as the manacles bore his weight when he fell forwards. “Let’s get him into the car, minus the shotgun. And yes, you can come too,” she said to Sabine. “You seem to be able to calm him and he’s going to be extremely pissed when he wakes up. Then maybe you can get your story off your chest.”
Sabine frowned at Lane and then suddenly broke into a smile. “You really aren’t going to kill him are you?”
“No, honey, we’re not going to kill him.” Unless we have to, she thought.
Beckett read her and acknowledged her unspoken thought. We have to make damn sure we don’t have to.
Jude sat slumped against Sabine in the back of Beckett’s rust bucket. She had her arm around him protectively as he lay motionless.
“What did you give him?” she asked Lane.
“Ketamine. It’s a horse tranquiliser, and I figured given his rage and strength it was going to take it.”
“I know what Ketamine is, but did you have to cosh him that hard?”
�
��You saw him, what do you suggest?”
Sabine shook her head dislodging the tear at the corner of her eye. She looked away, concentrating on the scene passing by.
“Where are you taking him?”
Beckett glanced at Lane. Tell her. She’s going to find out anyway.
Lane considered a moment. “We’re going to a place called The Sanctuary, it’s in Newport and it’s a place that vampires can go to if they get into trouble with those of our kind that have no scruples about killing humans. Or to feed ethically from blood given freely by donors. We have the facilities there we are going to need for Jude.”
She waited for the onslaught from Sabine but it didn’t come.
“So that’s what you are? Vampires?”
“That’s what we are.”
“My family is descended from Abraham Wood the first Romany to come to this country, we are Rom, and we know of these things. And Varcolac, or Werewolf. There is no cure. … Only death.”
“You said someone very close to you,” prompted Beckett.
Sabine was quiet, her thoughts dark as Beckett read them. “My young brother, Abram. I loved him very much. He became sick, the victim of Varcolac. We weren’t able to stop him, and when a small child disappeared from our community, they took things into their own hands and killed him. But it wasn’t him. I know it wasn’t him, because I know who really took the child. It was too late to save Abram, but I could have told what I know. My father is very weak, he’s been that way since Abram, and they said they would take his life if I spoke out. The leader of our community was also Varcolac and it was he that made my brother that way and it was he that took the child. Everyone feared him. It is why we left the community and now we travel alone.”
“We?”
“My father, my uncle and my cousins. We just want to live in peace, and it is in this place that we seem to be able to come close to that.”
Daylight was fingering its way to Beckett’s retinas and he squinted against it.
