by Jenny Allen
“I went to every noble I could find in the city, none of them would concede to my pleas for justice. The Orrick family was a revered Noble house and I was little more than a peasant. In those days, Justice was reserved for those that didn’t need its services. To bring a crime against a Noble, you’d have to be Noble yourself or higher. Even with proof it was impossible. A hundred peasants could watch a noble slaughter an infant and if there wasn’t another noble involved as either a witness or the victim, nothing would ever happen. Even then, the noble would have to be willing to risk possible war just by questioning the act. There were no neutral parties to settle disputes, and most nobles were guilty of some atrocity. Speaking up, demanding justice, would mean giving up their own hideous hobbies. It was a game of underhand politics and we commoners were just pawns in their game. We had no value.”
Gregor’s eyes searched them all, begging them to understand. “You have to understand, completely, that social justice in that time period simply did not exist."
“We couldn’t stay in town any longer, so Margareet and I took Mary’s broken body back with us to be burned on the moors. Margareet was beyond distraught, she barely spoke, and she wouldn’t eat. I had to find justice for what happened to my little girl, even if it meant taking it myself. He couldn’t be allowed to continue defiling and slaughtering the innocent. The evil needed to be abolished forever. I could not sit there and allow my daughter’s death to be meaningless. And so, after a modest little service with Duncan and the boys, I followed Duncan back to his hut and we began planning. Clyde Orrick, nobleman’s son or no, was going to die for what he did, for what he desecrated and took away from us.”
“Days later, Duncan announced to the entire family that he was moving into town temporarily in an attempt to further his research. It wasn’t as extraordinary as it may seem. Duncan would sometimes disappear for weeks without the benefit of even telling us first. The boys, Finlay and Mirren, ran the farm, while I took care of Margareet. Finlay was more affected by his sister’s death than Mirren, but then Mirren spent most of his time on the moors with the sheep. He wasn’t at home much and didn’t know his sister all that well. Finlay carefully cultivated the herbs and vegetables around the house and so he was always nearby. They were both fine boys, but independent, older. Mirren was nearly twenty at the time and Finlay only a year or two younger.”
“Duncan would return at the end of each week and drag me to his shack. His research was less on alchemy and more on Clyde Orrick, tracking his movements, his habits. After a couple months, patterns emerged. If the high nobles would sit and do nothing, we would seek our own justice. Every week, Clyde would visit the same tavern and he was never alone. Typically he’d pay for whores, but there was another occasion, just two weeks after Mary’s death, where he attacked a young woman right on the street. She was a chambermaid for a fellow noble, only fourteen years old. He beat her unconscious right there in front of the tavern and dragged her inside. She didn’t live through the night. No one did anything! Not even the noble that she worked for. She was just a servant, as expendable as a common dog.”
Gregor pulled away from Lilith and clenched his fists in a surge of anger. His red rimmed eyes hardened, the muscles tightening into furious lines. “They saw him hit this young defenseless woman and did nothing! They just went about their business like weak little sheep.” His chest rose and fell quickly as his mouth bit down, clenching painfully tight. “If the nobles had just listened and sought proper justice, all this could have been avoided. They didn’t care what happened to those beneath them, not even the chamber maid’s death raised an eyebrow among them. “
After taking a calming breath and letting the anger ebb just a bit, he continued. “Duncan and I took to the town, waiting for Clyde’s next visit. When I laid eyes on the monster, something deep inside me turned black. This overwhelming hatred beyond any reason began to eat at my soul. He was an ugly sot. He was short, maybe standing five foot, greasy black hair tied hastily up behind him. His clothing was the finest of course, but he took no care in his appearance beyond that. The gods definitely did not grace his face, though. A large hook nose stuck out from his squat little face like a beak. A weak chin almost disappearing in his ragged, sharp toothed smile. Blemishes covered his oily skin and his thin weathered lips were scabbed. His beady eyes were always looking about for his next victim, stalking like some evil predator. He was the very picture of vicious vulgarity.”
“We waited until he was holed up in his usual room and crept in the back door. The inn keep, our silent co-conspirator, ushered us in and we hurried up the stairs. When we burst into the room, he was hunched over a serving wench, choking the life out of her while still defiling her.” Gregor’s head hung down, his teeth gritted in such contempt and disgust that the sound echoed in the room making Lilith’s skin crawl. His whole body vibrated with emotions and he wasn’t the only one. She glanced over at Chance as her own stomach churned at the very thought of Gregor’s story. Chance’s fists curled in the comforter, turning his knuckles white. He looked sick, his skin pale with a slightly greenish hue. Alvarez looked just as disturbed and even Cohen grimaced from his chair, gripping the arms tight.
“It all happened so fast. I knocked the monster unconscious with a chamber pot set by the door. Duncan grabbed the girl as she gasped for breath and got her out of the room. Just like that, I was alone with the monster that brutalized my daughter, stole her bright light away from the world.” Gregor kept staring at his hands, and somewhere in his face shame began to edge into his anger. “It wasn’t enough to simply slit his throat. That was the plan. Take him out cleanly, one less demon in the world. But staring down at this evil pig, it was not enough to let him die with more grace than he afforded my daughter.”
“I tied him to the ragged bed with scraps of his own fine clothing and then I woke him up. A blade slicing down a person’s sternum in a shallow cut will definitely wake them up. Once I had his full attention, I recited his vulgar sins, including my own daughter and the pig laughed!” Gregor lifted his eyes to find Lilith’s. There was a pleading in them; a pleading for her to understand what was coming next.
“He laughed like a hyena about raping and killing my daughter!” His eyes fell again, the anger giving way to the shame. “I cut his tongue right out of his head. He nearly choked on the blood, so I turned his head, I didn’t want him to die yet. His dwindling manhood still hung from his pants, a disgusting lump of shriveled flesh. I was in the middle of taking it all away from him when Duncan finally returned. He screamed for me to stop, to stick to the plan, but I was drunk with vengeance. All I could see was blood, all I could hear was his pain, and I didn’t want it to stop. He deserved no less.”
His voice sounded hollow, like he didn’t fully believe it himself. He kept his eyes fixed on his clenched fists and refused to look up at anyone. “I tossed his dismembered parts on the ground and finally slit his throat, ending it all, or so I thought. Duncan tried to pull me away, get me out of there as soon as he could, but I wouldn’t leave until I heard his last gargling breath. When my appetite for revenge was sated, we rode straight through the night to reach the moors, home. I cried all that night, cradled in Margareet’s loving embrace. She was my savior, the only thing that could bring me back to the light after such darkness. Duncan was not quite as forgiving at first. It drove a tiny wedge between us.”
Lilith was torn in two. Her morality warred against her sense of justice. To think that her father was even capable of such violent actions made her stomach churn, but at the same time, how could he not? People always talk about how sex offenders need to be castrated, but would they really do it if they had the chance? Probably not, people liked to talk about retribution, vengeance, but when it boils down to it, people don’t like getting their hands dirty. The simple fact that Gregor recognized it as something dark, something to be ashamed of, meant something. It had to mean something.
“So Ashcroft vowed revenge and that’s what he’s
come for? Revenge for his son?” Lilith’s voice seemed odd after listening to Gregor’s voice for so long, his old English accent picking up more and more.
Gregor glanced at her and his grey eyes were impossibly heavy. He hesitated. “Not quite. This is but the beginning of the story.” There was reluctance in his eyes. He didn’t want to tell them anymore. He wanted to leave it at this. Whatever else was coming, it was going to get worse and she knew that her father wouldn’t just be a victim. Gregor slowly stood and paced toward the balcony doors as he continued.
“There was a time when I felt I didn’t deserve to live for what I’d done. For a moment, I became the monster that Clyde was and…I enjoyed it. Every second of taking his life. But Margareet helped me through it, helped me hold on. Months went by and life was beginning to return to some semblance of normal. We struggled through the rough winter, but with the spring came new life. Duncan met a sweet woman while traveling around various towns. He brought her home, took her as his wife and put his research aside. Margareet was with child again and she was the happiest I’d seen her since before Mary’s death. She glowed with a light that was infectious. It chased away the demons in my head, brought me back to myself. I finally felt whole again. Happy.”
“Late in the spring, Margareet sent Duncan and me into town for supplies. We’d burned through a lot of staples that winter and she needed some fabrics and needles to finish clothes for the baby. So Duncan and I kissed our wives goodbye and bundled off to town with heavy hearts. Neither of us had been back since Clyde’s murder. Once we were inside the town walls, it was that much worse, more so for me I think. We gathered the things we needed as fast as we could and we were on our way out of town again, when some men stopped us.”
“They asked for our names, which we blindly gave. We had no reason to suspect anything, although looking back I suppose we should have. It wasn’t until they announced themselves as the Orrick Family guard that the sense of doom settled over us. The men escorted us to the Tavern, straight up to the room where I’d taken Clyde’s life and locked us in. They only said that someone was expecting us and we should be patient. It was a torturous few hours, not knowing what our fates would be. There were armed guards at the door and a half dozen on the street below, watching the window with crossbows. Escape was impossible and some deep part of me didn’t believe I deserved mercy. So we waited.”
“It was halfway through the night when the door opened again. A woman, escorted by two guards entered the room. She was older, lined with fine wrinkles. Contemptuous, bitter hatred covered every line and seemed to seep from her pores. She introduced herself as Senga Orrick, Clyde’s mother. She ignored Duncan completely, like she knew I was the one that took her son’s life. Heated words were exchanged. I explained about Mary and how it was Justice. She didn’t see it that way. I felt ashamed, and I felt sympathy for the woman, right up until she told me it was Clyde’s right to do what he wants with peasants. They are little less than pigs, she said.” Gregor’s whole body stiffened as he stared out the window.
Chance purposefully moved from the far bed, now closer to Gregor, and sat on my far side. He was smart to give Gregor plenty of room, but twining his fingers through hers was probably not the best idea. She felt a tendril of sadness from him as she pulled her fingers away from his. Insistently, he reached for her hand again and firmly gripped it. He definitely wasn’t going away and apparently he wasn’t worried about her father anymore. She didn’t have the energy to argue with him through body language so she simply gave in, curling her fingers around his.
“I was fully prepared for her to kill me, or have me killed, but she just left. She turned on her heel and walked out of the room with a satisfied smile that still haunts my dreams. The guards locked the door behind them, but I heard their heavy footsteps following her down the stairs. Minutes later we smelled the smoke. She intended to burn the entire Tavern down, and us along with it. We just barely managed to break down the door and make our way through the fire to the back entrance. We carefully snuck to where we’d kept our horses, but they were gone, apparently claimed by Senga and her guards. The walk home on foot was a long one, but we had no choice. We had to leave while they still thought we were dead."
Gregor turned away from the window then, about to say something, when his eyes caught sight of Chance holding her hand. Something flashed in his eyes quick as lightening and then his stare was on Chance. It wasn’t the angry venomous stare she’d expected. It was as if he no longer had the energy to be angry at anyone but his ghosts. He simply let out a pained sigh and continued.
“You see. The stories of Mary and Clyde are only the catalyst to the true tragedies…”
Chapter 16
Gregor stared out the dark glass of the balcony doors, keeping his back to everyone in the room. The sense of doom settled on everyone like a thick fog. Chance rubbed his thumb over Lilith’s hand idly and it sent little flutters up her spine. But even that simple, warm expression couldn’t battle all the cold filling her bones as she stared at her father’s back, hunched over, completely lost in his story.
“We saw the fires from miles away and we ran like demons across the moors.” Gregor paused, pinching the bridge of his nose, and Lilith’s heart sank as realization dawned. When Gregor spoke again, his voice was ragged and forced. “The two buildings were on fire, and Ashcroft Orrick himself loomed over my family atop his horse. When Duncan and I came to a stop, just out of sight, our worlds ended. Duncan’s new wife lay dead, her throat slit so deep that it had nearly decapitated her.”
Gregor choked and drew in a steadying breath, trying to keep the worst of the tears at bay. “My sons…both of my sons were dead beside her. They both suffered multiple wounds, mostly likely inflicted while defending the women. I couldn’t keep my eyes off their lifeless ones, the flames of our home reflecting in them. Margareet, my dear, sweet Margareet…” He lost his control then and crouched down in front of the door, leaning his forehead against the cool glass as heaving sobs shook his shoulders.
Lilith wanted to run to him, take all those bad memories away from her father. But there was nothing she could do. These were the demons of his past. She felt so guilty, making him dredge up these horrible memories, but they needed to know. His back stiffened, straightening and he finally continued, his hollow voice sounding eerie.
“Margareet had been run through and then suffered the same fate as Duncan’s bride. Her blood soaked the ground and it killed everything good in my soul to see that. Running to them now would just get us killed, so Duncan and I waited. We waited in agony, our home burning to the ground, our families butchered on the ground, and Ashcroft lording around on his damn horse. He kept swinging his sword down at their bodies, slicing at their dead skin with pure maniac glee. It seemed like hours passed before Orrick was satisfied enough to leave.”
Gregor stopped again. She suddenly wondered if he’d ever told this story before. Somehow, she really doubted it. Lilith wanted to say something comforting, but everything that she thought of seemed ridiculously inadequate compared to the pain of such loss. It would be like handing a victim with 3rd degree burns covering their entire body a Hello Kitty Band-Aid.
Surprisingly, it was Detective Cohen that spoke up, filling the awkward silence. “You suffered a tragic blow that few men would live through. I commend your courage, Sir.”
Gregor’s back stiffened and Lilith held her breath, her nervous eyes darting between her father and the detective. The seconds stretched out uncomfortably until Gregor turned, his red rimmed eyes hardened to angry slits. He slowly stalked closer to Cohen, who looked like he wanted to crawl up the wall and hide.
“It wasn’t courage that sustained me, Detective. I wish I could say it was. I was blinded with such a rage that it consumed my soul. Because of what I am, I have never been a religious man, but I believe in the Devil after that night, because he owns every stitch of my soul. Duncan and I both. We had nothing left. One selfish family stripped it all away
, everything we’d built, everyone we’d loved. They deserved the wrath that came down on them, but we were the Devil’s tools from then on.” There was a dark conviction in his voice, with just the edge of desperation. Maybe he was desperate to believe in his own words, to believe they were justified even if he felt doomed to wander hell.
“Duncan and I wreaked havoc on the Orrick family. We carefully and meticulously slaughtered every single member of their bloodline. His remaining sons, cousins, nephews, nieces, aunts, uncles, and finally his wicked wife.” Gregor drew in a breath and backed away from Cohen, his eyes falling to the ground. “We did it cleanly, humanely, but every single one of them died. We even gave them proper burial rights. Eventually only Ashcroft himself remained.”
Lilith tightened her fingers around Chance’s, completely floored by his casual confession of slaughter. Part of her agreed that Ashcroft deserved every bit of it and perhaps that scared her even more.
“By the time Ashcroft was the only one standing, Duncan began to regain his conscience. He begged me to let this be enough, to let the bloodlust go, but I couldn’t stop. The monster himself still lived, and as long as he still drew breath, the monster inside of me wouldn’t be sated. Begrudgingly, Duncan continued to help me, but we were growing farther and farther apart. He took to writing, pouring his soul and all its dark corners onto pages and pages of parchment. As for me, I just couldn’t see anything but the dead bodies of my family.” His eyes flashed up to Cohen, the strength of his conviction pinning the man in place. “That isn’t courage, Detective. It’s the deepest, darkest level of hatred. You’ve never seen that, have you?”
