Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter

by C. A. Verstraete

  “John!” She stumbled toward the carriage. Seeing nothing else at hand, she grabbed her umbrella. As the young creature staggered toward her, she held her breath. The strong, nearly overpowering scent of rot surrounding him soon had tears streaming down her face.

  Her panic grew as she wrapped her hands around the umbrella like a club. Not the best of weapons, she knew, fearing the flimsy metal and fabric would break with the first pressure. She vacillated between swinging and stabbing at the undead boy, doing her best to keep it just out of reach. But for how long?

  That he was so young made her hesitate, but as he closed in Lizzie saw no other choice. “John!” She swung, the umbrella hitting her attacker across the face and forcing it back. Her strike left a weepy gash. Thick, black fluids oozed across his cheek and dribbled down his chin. She grimaced at the ghastly sight.

  UNNHHH-UNNNHHHH.

  The young ghoul moaned louder as it resumed its forward pace and grabbed at her again. This time she knew better than to trust it. Holding the umbrella like a javelin, she pulled her arm back, and when the creature came at her, she aimed straight and struck. The umbrella’s point pierced the center of its gray forehead with a sickening clunk. She jumped aside as the now truly dead boy pitched forward into a heap.

  John finally ran from the barn, his face white. “Liz, are you all right?”

  “Where were you?” she demanded. “I thought that ghoul got you. I was yelling for you.”

  “I’m so sorry, yes, I heard you, but the smell was all over the barn. The horse started going into a panic. I had to settle him down and be sure nothing else was lurking inside.” He disappeared back inside the barn, emerging a minute later with a large horse blanket. Moving closer, he looked at the body before draping it with the blanket.

  “Looks like you did a superb job on your own.”

  “I admit some of your fighting lessons really helped,” she mentioned, hoping her voice wasn’t trembling as much as her hands. “It took away my fear of being unsure of what to do.”

  “Good, I’m glad. We’d better get inside. I’ll alert one of the Society members that I need a clean-up. They’ll inspect the area as well and check that no other creatures are about.”

  John escorted her to the door and unlocked it. Lizzie slipped inside, surprised to see him reach in and take something from the mailbox. He stuck it in his pocket before coming in after her and locking the door.

  She slipped out of her coat, noting the worried expression on his face. “Do you think your young groom had anything to do with that man we saw running away?”

  “Young Henry?” He grew pensive as he hung their coats on the dark walnut umbrella stand taking up most of the space in the hall by the door. “I doubt it, not that I can say for sure. The sad thing is, no one will know of his death. I was told he was an orphan. The crew will take his body to be picked up by someone we know in the department. We have no other choice when something like this happens so the Society’s work is not exposed.”

  Lizzie nodded, thinking it sad that the boy had no one to care about his life, or what had happened to him in death. Of course, not much made sense these days. A crinkle of paper drew her attention to whatever John had put in his pocket.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked. “What is that?”

  His voice husky, he enveloped her in his arms. “It can wait,” he said, his mouth covering hers.

  Lizzie went to freshen up while John rustled in the pantry for some cheese, along with glasses and a bottle of wine. Once she returned, he set out the refreshments and filled two glasses before joining her on the settee in the parlor.

  She relished the feel of his strong arms around her, as well as the delightful fruity warmth as the excellent burgundy tickled her taste buds. It went down her throat like silk. She chuckled to herself at the sudden rush of guilt, while at the same time thinking how much she’d missed in her life until now. Then she remembered and sat straighter. “What was on that paper you took from the mailbox?”

  He pulled the crumpled sheet from his pocket with a heavy sigh and unfolded it, taking what felt like forever to smooth out the creases and lines. Finally, after studying it again and shaking his head, he silently handed it to her.

  Lizzie stared at it and gasped. Someone had scribbled one word in clumsy, dark letters: GUILTY!

  “Wh-who?” she asked, unable to say more.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He pulled her in close and kissed the side of her face. As he did that, she wondered if it was possible to keep the feel of his lips in her memory. She might need it.

  He took the paper and put it back in his pocket. “You’ll have the best representation we can get for you. What you need to think about first is there’ll likely be an inquest. I’m advising you to tell the truth, but remember you cannot tell them exactly what you did so the work of the Society isn’t revealed. So far, our group’s members have been able to labor mostly unobserved. They’ve been able to take care of these Frankensteinish creatures, and with the help of officials, keep it from exploding into a full public emergency. We’re working to keep that from happening, but we’re not sure how long we can do that.”

  “It makes no sense. Why didn’t I know about this?”

  “You didn’t know about what was going on before the change happened to your father and stepmother, did you?”

  Lizzie shook her head. “Well, nooo.”

  “Those who find themselves in this situation often don’t make it out unscathed, exacerbating the problem,” he explained. “Until now, we’ve been successful in keeping this mostly controlled. Our hope is that we can keep it that way, despite your father being attacked. It pays to have important friends in various places. Remember that.”

  She nodded.

  “Now,” he continued, “you’ll not be lying, as you honestly didn’t know what was going on. You need to be prepared on how you’ll answer certain questions. Let me show you.”

  To her surprise, he caught her off guard as he fired question after question at her about the events, her whereabouts, and what happened on the fateful morning of the murders. She answered as best she could, carefully telling him some of her actions that morning, like fixing tea, not feeling well enough to eat breakfast, and going out to the barn. She left out the most damning events and actions. A sweat broke out on her forehead. Her hands shook as she answered.

  Finally, after what felt like hours if only minutes, he stopped the barrage of questions. “Good. You should do all right. Your answers are clear and concise. Remember to keep it brief. Only answer what you are asked. The way you’re shaking, though, you might need something to keep you calm. We don’t want you looking overly nervous or fidgety. The jurymen will surely take that as a positive sign of guilt.”

  “My neighbor, Dr. Bowen, gave me something to help me relax earlier,” she mentioned, not saying what the “something” was. She wanted no misinterpretation.

  “Very well, ask the doctor to continue treating you.” He gave her another tight squeeze and a long kiss before urging her to her feet. “We had better get you home now.”

  Lizzie felt a small rush of shame at sneaking into the house while everyone already asleep, as she should be, but she pushed the guilt aside for the time being. Still, she had to try and get some rest to erase the fog of exhaustion from her mind.

  She hurried inside and upstairs to her room where she threw on a sleeping gown before stretching out on the bed. Thoughts swirled in her mind as she tossed from one side to another in an attempt to get comfortable.

  Sleep seemed unobtainable. It felt like only minutes had passed as she struggled to consciousness and tried to recognize the soft knock. Someone softly called her name.

  “Y-yes?” Lizzie muttered. “Who’s there?”

  She opened her eyes at the sound of the door opening, and saw Emma standing there.

  “Liz, are you awake? Get up, you need to get dressed.”

  Lizzie looked at her sister and yawned, not yet fully awake
. “Mmm, what time is it?”

  “You’ve been lying abed all day. It’s already eleven. Mr. Jennings is waiting for you downstairs.”

  “Mr. Jen—” That jolted her into full awareness, like she’d put her hand on a hot stove. A tremor of foreboding stirred inside. “Why is he here?”

  “Oh, Lizzie!” Emma cried, her voice quivering. She covered her face with her hands. “He’s to take you to the police station. You have to testify at the inquest. He said they’re going to call all of us for questioning.”

  Emma’s gaze held hers. Lizzie rose and reached for her sister’s hand. “It’ll be fine, Emma, don’t worry, it will. John told me all you have to do is tell the truth, but don’t say anything about the odd events that happened. You don’t know what happened to Father or Abby. Neither of us understand how they got in the condition they were in, correct?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Listen to me,” she advised. “He said all you need to do is truthfully describe all the other events of the morning. You had no idea what happened to them, as you had just returned from out of town. You saw Father’s body lying on the settee and found Abby upstairs, already dead, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, that is true,” Emma agreed before heading to the door.” You’d best hurry. Mr. Jennings said we need to be there in thirty minutes.”

  “I’ll be down quickly. Oh, and Emma? Can you run over and ask Dr. Bowen to stop by? Thank you.”

  Her sister gave a sad half smile and left, a sign she’d best not dawdle. Lizzie put on her mourning clothes—a black gown, a black trimmed hat with netting she could pull over her face if needed, black stockings, and black gloves—the ensemble making her look as grim as her mood. She hoped it wasn’t some kind of omen.

  She waited for Emma to come in and hook her back dress buttons before smoothing her hair. Her appearance in order, Lizzie slowly made her way down the stairs alone, her shoulders aching like she carried a heavy weight. Despite that, she maintained her dignity and stood tall, taking care not to stoop or make herself appear any smaller.

  She went down the stairs, then to the sitting room where Mr. Jennings waited. He greeted her, his face grim. “Miss Borden, are you ready? Mr. Fremont told me that he went over some of the possible questions with you. Remember this is an inquest, not a trial. Do you feel that you can answer the questions without reservation?”

  The look in his eyes told her what he really meant was, can I tell the truth but not the whole truth?

  “Yes, sir. Mr. Fremont practiced the questions with me he thought I’d need to answer.” She gulped, the reality of the situation hitting her. Her legs wobbled a bit as she grabbed the back of a chair for support. “I think.”

  “Very well.” Mr. Jennings cleared his throat. Lizzie wondered if she passed inspection.

  “One warning,” he added. “I have entered my objections and have been filing grievances, but I’m afraid you’ll have to face the panel on your own. They won’t permit me to be present during questioning. The proceedings are closed to everyone.”

  Her loud gasp made him pause.

  “Miss Borden, this is important. Are you certain you can do it?”

  She sat down, trying to compose herself and gather her thoughts. This was a test, she realized. No one she knew would be present in the room. There would be no one she could gather strength from. She would be totally alone.

  A knock on the door, and the entrance of Dr. Bowen, took her mind off the unknown for the moment. She had to admit feeling somewhat relieved at the doctor’s well-timed visit. After extending his greetings, Mr. Jennings said he would wait for her outside and left. Dr. Bowen made his visit quick, urged her to eat something when she could, and wished her well before escorting her to the carriage waiting out front.

  For the moment, only a few onlookers had gathered on the street—the crowds grew larger each day—though their stares still made her uneasy. The carriage’s dark curtains afforded a bit of privacy as she and Mr. Jennings covered the short distance to the Central Police Station.

  She tried to keep awake as the medicine took effect. Peeking around the curtain, she took in the crispness of the colors and the odd shadows lurking behind the trees. She knew the images for what they were—slight hallucinations brought on by the medication—and fought to stay focused. Hiding her yawns, she tried to sit straighter and act more alert. She felt like she could sleep forever.

  All too soon, the carriage stopped in front of the Central Police Station. They hurried inside the stone building, dodging the questions of several eagle-eyed reporters perched like vultures near the front steps. Lizzie looked straight ahead, not daring to meet anyone else’s eyes as she headed into the solemn upper courtroom for the proceedings. The closing of the heavy wooden door shook her to the core. She shivered slightly, but showed not a trace of emotion lest it be taken the wrong way. She whispered a prayer and steeled herself.

  Judge Josiah C. Blaisdell of the Second District Court issued a stern warning about the questioning and explained the proceedings. Save for the stenographer, the marshal, and the deputy marshal, the room spread out empty around her. Lizzie gulped as District Attorney Hosea Knowlton stood and formally addressed the judge before turning to her.

  And so it began.

  Her mind worked overtime at the need to answer truthfully, as she knew the truth, while fighting off the effects of the medicine. The questions came one after the other like a flood.

  “Do you know something about his real estate?” Knowlton asked, his face stern.

  “About what?”

  “His real estate, your father’s,” he responded, sounding a little annoyed.

  She shrugged. “I know what real estate he owned, or at least part of it. I don’t know whether I know it all or not.”

  That is the truth, she thought, the existence of the warehouse bearing me out.

  The questioning went non-stop. She answered as best she could, though many of the questions sounded like repeats. Places, times, and events jumbled in her mind, but Lizzie thought she answered as correctly as possible under the circumstances. She was glad when her time to testify finally came to an end. Maggie, she learned later, endured a much deeper grilling than she had.

  Lizzie walked out of the courtroom a bit shaky, grateful to see a friendly face as Mr. Jennings met her in the hall. He directed her out a back door to the carriage, which speedily took her home. They talked about the questions as best she recalled them, him giving her some advice but not saying much otherwise, which struck her as a bit odd. Still, she was too tired and weary to the bone to say anything, or think much of it.

  “Keep on with what you are doing,” he advised, giving a fatherly nod. “You’re doing fine. Don’t worry, this will be over soon.

  The carriage stopped in front of the house to a crowd that had doubled in size since the morning. Lizzie held her head high and ignored the onlookers as Mr. Jennings helped her out of the carriage. Once inside, she heaved a sigh of relief. She was exhausted.

  “It went well, I trust?” Emma asked, a look of concern on her face.

  “As well as could be expected. Yes, I think so.”

  Emma held out a hand for her hat and coat. “You look completely worn out. I’ll make you some tea. Then you should go upstairs and rest.”

  Lizzie did. Or at least her body did, as she wrestled in her dreams with faceless, horrid monsters and bodiless voices speaking legalese.

  A chime from the clock in the hall woke Lizzie, who sat up surprised that she’d slept most of the next day and night away again. Yet she still felt like she needed another ten hours of sleep. Her mind uneasy, she gazed out the window, alarmed to see movement in the shadows of the trees across the street. She began to breathe harder as someone dressed in a proper jacket and trousers moved out of the shadows, revealing himself as one of them.

  “Oh, no, go away!” she cried out. “Why can’t you leave us alone?”

  As if it knew she stood there, the well-dressed ghoul
raised its claw-like hands and reached for her. A low, eerie moan filled the air. Lizzie moved to the side of the curtain, hopefully out of view, as two men sprang out of the darkness and overpowered the creature. She should be glad of their work, Lizzie knew, but it felt so hopeless. Could they really make a difference?

  A small piece of paper on the edge of her dressing table caught her attention. She picked up the dingy white slip, recognizing her sister’s scribbled handwriting. ‘Liz,’ Emma wrote, ‘John came by. He said he had news. Mr. Jennings said you should be ready to return to court tomorrow. We both have to testify.’

  The note fluttered from her hand to the floor. I have to go back and do it again.

  A wave of shivering hit her. She hurried back to bed and crawled under the covers, a prayer on her lips that tomorrow would never come.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Q. Did you then know that he was dead?

  A. No, sir.

  Q. You saw him?

  A. Yes, sir.

  Q. You went into the room?

  A. No, sir.

  —Lizzie Borden at inquest, questioned by District Attorney Hosea Knowlton, August 9-11, 1892

  August 10, 1892

  L

  izzie hung on as the carriage bumped and jerked over the ruts in this godforsaken place near the riverfront. “Where are we?”

  John’s silence, and the need to rush out so early when she still felt half asleep, only made her grow more irritable by the second. She blurted out her next question, knowing she probably sounded like a complaining Portuguese fisherman’s wife.

  “Maybe you could’ve checked whatever this is on your own and let us know the results. Or you might’ve taken Emma. You could’ve left me out of it since you insist on getting her involved in all this.”