With that, Patricia excused herself from the room and Roland let himself out.
Chapter 48
Patricia gave a wave and a smile as Roland arrived. Seated on the porch swing, she looked comfortable in her dowdy sweater and wool slacks. The air had cooled overnight, and a mostly cloudy sky prevented the sun from warming the air.
Roland no longer looked the part of reporter on the rise, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved blue polo. The gloomy morning and fine layer of dust left the Bimmer looking equally morose.
"I brought breakfast," he said, holding up a Tim Horton's bag. "Can I tempt you with tea and a bagel?"
"You most certainly can," she assured him.
They spoke of mundane things while they ate. The weather, a local art show, and even the coming blueberry festival filled the conversation. When Patricia had sipped the last of her tea, she opened her journal and read.
Patricia's Journal—Monday, July 8, 1912
We searched and searched. Will we ever find them? If we do, will we be able to do what we need to do? I trust Mr. Werner with my life, but there is a feeling of dread in this place. Daddy, I have never needed you more than now.
"I was feeling quite down the night I wrote that. I remember sitting on my own bed, thinking that the end was coming, but not the end we all hoped for," Patricia said.
"I bet the whole town felt the same way," Roland replied.
"Many in the town were of no use. They scurried about during the day and hid in their basements at night. The Gignacs were found in their beds. Pierre shot his wife and kids, then put the barrel of the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. He left a note."
"He decided it was better to go like that than be taken by the vampires?" Roland asked.
With a nod, she said, "I can't blame him, but I was like Daddy. If I was going to go down, I would go down fighting.
"I think many of the folk in Kings Shore thought the Gignacs' way out of town might be the best way. There was no quit in Bernhard though. During breakfast, he pushed me and Auntie for ideas on where the vampires could be hiding. We both mentioned every abandoned cabin and farm we knew of within a day's ride in every direction.
"Bernhard had me draw him a map of them all. He went away for an hour or two, and came back with a plan."
"A plan for the day's hunt?" Roland asked.
Patricia just nodded.
"As it turned out, it was a pretty good plan. By noon, we found them, some of them at least, in a barn about three miles south of here. It looked normal enough. The grey wood structure leaned something awful. I was terrified to go inside. Not because I thought there might be vampires in there, but because I thought it could fall down on our heads."
Roland snickered for a moment, while Patricia giggled. Her jocular mood faded when she resumed her tale.
"When we opened the door and looked inside, we thought it was another wasted effort. It was just an empty barn, filled with molding hay. We were about to leave when a rat scurried out from the hayloft. That rodent trundled right over our feet. That in itself would not normally be something to catch your attention, but when two more came rushing out from the same spot, Bernhard decided to take a closer look. I followed with Auntie right behind me.
"The air in there had a stale foulness. I could see the anxiety in Bernhard's eyes when he looked back to check on us. Auntie looked as frightened as I felt.
"Bernhard kicked some old hay aside and uncovered a hand. It must have sensed we were there because the hand disappeared under the hay. The whole pile shifted. It sounded like a hundred rats were moving around under there."
"Vampires," Roland said.
She nodded. "Vampires."
"Bernhard found an old pitchfork in the back of the barn, and he jabbed it in the hay. At first, he found nothing. He started to dig. Hay flew everywhere as he frantically burrowed deeper in. The smell of dust and mold filled our noses. I could hear Bernhard's breathing. He dug so vigorously that I feared he would faint from exhaustion.
"He stopped suddenly and looked to me, then to Auntie. A devilish grin spread over his face. Bernhard probed with the fork, gently moving the last of the hay from a man's face."
"Did you recognize him?" Roland asked.
"It was John Moore," she said. "I looked down at him with hatred for what he did to Jacob. Years later, I grew to hate myself for that. John Moore was a nice man. The demon that killed Jacob was but a hollow image of the man it resembled. No more than a walking photograph."
"What did Bernhard do next?" Roland feared hearing the details. He didn't know if he could stand to view any more of Patricia's stories in his head, but he was powerless against his desire to hear more.
"He ordered us from the barn. There was no mistaking his tone, and we did not argue. Auntie and I fled with great haste into the bright sun of the late morning.
"I was never so glad to stand in the sunlight as I was that morning, Roland.
"Bernhard followed a moment later, walking with a leisure that might be considered odd given the circumstance.
"Seconds after he walked to our side, white smoke whooshed from the barn door."
"He set the barn on fire?" Roland asked.
"It wasn't long after we saw the smoke, we heard the first scream. The sound was horrific to a degree that words cannot explain. We covered our ears, but it did no good. I was certain my ears would bleed from the cries of the agonized demons within the fire."
As she had before, Patricia covered her ears with her hands as if to block the sounds she heard a century ago. As he had done before, Roland placed his hand on her shoulder in hopes of giving her comfort. Patricia took her hand from her ear and placed it over his.
"Four," she said. "We counted four separate voices coming from the inferno. Only one dared leave the shelter of the barn. Bright blue flames came running toward us. Me and Auntie shuffled back as fast as our legs would carry us, but not Bernhard. He stood defiant, as though he wanted that thing to come to him."
Patricia stood, shaking her head the way people do when they look on somebody doing something amazing. When you can't believe what you are seeing and you're in complete awe of what a mere human is doing.
"As soon as that thing ran out of the shadow of the barn into the bright sunshine, it stopped running. You wouldn't think anything could cause more pain than being burned alive. When the sun fell upon that vampire, her screams turned to something I can only describe as a lifetime of pain and terror all molded into one moment."
"She?" Roland said.
"We could make out the remnants of a dress that the flames hadn't yet consumed when she left the barn," Patricia said. "The fabric didn't last long. When the sun hit her, it was like fanning the flames. The fire went from blue to white. It hurt my eyes to look at it. Something so brilliant, yet the smoke it gave off was black and acrid. Like the flame was a cleansing agent and the smoke the filth being washed away."
"Patricia," Roland said. "The way you tell a story, it is truly a shame you didn't write this down. You can be as elegant as any poet of the ages."
"Isn't that why you stayed?" she said. "To write the story and make it a best seller."
Roland flushed a bit and shrugged. "It would surely be more impressive with your words."
Chapter 49
Roland Millhouse screamed himself awake. He squinted at the bright red numbers on the digital clock next to his bed.
It was 3:33 a.m.
His chest heaved, and perspiration soaked his face. The sheets clung to his damp, naked body. Roland could feel his heart hammering, and he swore he could actually hear it beat.
"Jesus," he whispered.
Patricia's telling of the fire at the barn was clear. She left no room to doubt the terror of the moment. Now, having just relived the awful scene in his dreams, Roland was beginning to understand just how much of a toll this story had placed on Patricia Owens.
He resigned himself to not getting another good night sleep until this ordeal was finishe
d. Until Patricia's story was told and written, he would have to learn to exist on less sleep. Even after he moved on, Roland didn't think he would ever enjoy another peaceful night's sleep.
Knowing he would not get back to sleep this night, Roland dressed and walked to the Tim Hortons. With a coffee in one hand and his laptop case in the other, he walked to the table furthest from the counter. With his back to the corner, he removed his computer from the case and started it up.
"There's no Wi-Fi in here, dude," a voice called from the counter.
Roland looked up to see Colin, the pimple-faced kid who sold him the coffee, looking at him.
"Sorry?" Roland said.
"Wi-Fi," he said again. "There's no Wi-Fi in here."
"No problem," Roland replied. "Just going to check some notes anyway."
When his desktop appeared, Roland opened a document titled, Patricia Owens. He stared at the words on the screen, not actually seeing them.
Just after 5:30 a.m. Colin tapped him on the shoulder. "Dude, your battery is dead. Didn't you hear it beep?"
He had fallen asleep almost as soon as he sat at the table. He sipped from his coffee, wincing like he had just drunk sour milk.
"Cold," he said.
"You want me to get you another one?" Colin asked.
"Thanks, that would be great."
Roland shut his computer off and stowed it in the case. Just then, Colin placed a fresh coffee on the table. Roland handed him a five and said, "Keep the change."
"Thanks, dude."
Tim's coffee in hand, computer over his shoulder, Roland returned to the B&B and went straight to his room. The lamp in the corner was on, and the bed had been made. Not even 6:00 a.m. and the old woman had already made up his room.
Roland tossed his laptop on the bed, set his half-empty coffee on the nightstand and undressed. His shoulders and neck ached from the two-hour nap on the hard plastic chair at Tim Hortons. His ass wasn't in very good shape either. How could a person toss and turn in a perfectly comfortable bed, and sleep like a baby in a molded plastic torture chair?
He needed a shower, even if it was only to loosen up his aching muscles.
Yes, a shower was exactly what he needed.
Chapter 50
Patricia's Journal—Thursday, July 9, 1912
Smoke rose up to the clouds. Every person within ten miles would be able to see it. They all came. They are sure that our problems are behind us. They want to believe that all the demons were in that barn. I am not as sure.
"Anyone who happened on the scene of the fire that day would have thought it quite odd. A dozen people looking at a burning barn. Any other time we all would have been forming a bucket brigade. Trying our best to douse the flames, or at the very least, attempting to minimize the damage.
"We didn't do that though. I stood with Auntie and Bernhard, feeling sad for the people that once were. I'm sure the screams we heard came from voices I once knew. I remember trying to tell myself that they were finally achieving some peace. What a dreadful way to find peace."
Patricia and Roland sat on the porch swing. The morning sun sparkled off the wet grass. An early morning shower left a brilliant rainbow behind, but neither Roland nor Patricia gave it anything more than the mildest of consideration.
"How did word of the fire get around?" Roland asked.
"As I said, the smoke could be seen for miles," she said. "Back then, whenever you saw smoke like that you went to see if you could help. People showed up with empty buckets, but those buckets ended up being stools to sit on while we watched the end of the plague."
"It wasn't the end, was it?"
"No, Roland. We won a battle, but the war was far from over."
"Bernhard cautioned me not to be too satisfied. He was sure these individuals were just a fraction of the vampires in Kings Shore. He couldn't say how he knew, but he was positive the source of the monsters, the one who started all of this, was not in that barn."
"Did he think so based on instinct, or past experience?" Roland knew better than to insinuate any skepticism in his tone, but sometimes he couldn't help it. Patricia didn't falter. She just continued, knowing that he would catch up just around the next turn. Of course, he always did.
"It took most of the day for the flames to die down to smoldering embers. We couldn't risk a windy night blowing the hot coals into the forest. The last thing we needed was a forest fire. There was a well behind the barn. It wasn't long before people were taking turns drawing water from the well. We passed the buckets along the line and drenched the smoldering ashes. White steam billowed up from each bucket of water thrown.
"The smell was dreadful. It was a wet smell, but always the underlying stench of the monsters reminded all of us that this was no ordinary blaze. Something evil died in this place.
"It took hours to put enough water on those embers to cool them down. The water just boiled off as soon as it landed in the ashes. It was still steaming and smoldering when we left, but the people were exhausted and hungry and we had to get inside before dark."
She paused there, looking north, as if maybe just speaking of it could rekindle the flames and the black smoke would any second breach the treetops, calling the residents of Kings Shore into action.
When no smoke appeared, Patricia stood and walked to the door. "Let's see if we can't dig up a snack."
Chapter 51
After lunch, Patricia and Roland retired to the parlor. When she was comfortable in her chair, Roland went back to the kitchen to retrieve the drinks. As always, Patricia had a tray set up with fresh glasses. He opened the fridge to find the crystal pitcher.
"Purple," he said to himself. "I guess grape is the flavor of the day."
He loaded it onto the tray with the glasses, all the while wondering how she managed to be so prepared. She always had a jug of some beverage waiting, and the tray was always set with fresh glasses and on some occasions, cookies or crackers. He had yet to see her get these things ready, but somehow she always did.
"So," he said entering the parlor with the tray. "What happened after the fire?"
Patricia motioned to the pitcher without answering. He filled a glass and handed it to her. She sipped some grape juice then set it on the table.
"Sorry, Roland," she said. "My throat was too parched to speak."
"Take your time," he said, sitting on the couch across from her. "I am here until the story is told."
She sat quietly looking out the window, periodically sipping juice. Roland studied her for a moment, trying without success to get inside her head. Her face gave nothing away. The big-shot reporter was going to have to wait for her to tell the tale. Her eyes divulged no secrets.
"Just about every emotion people can have came out at that fire," Patricia said, her head shaking as though she still could not believe what she saw. "Some were actually giddy, dancing and rough-housing. A few cried, thinking their loss had been avenged, while others were still angry.
"A few asked us if we knew who was in there. They looked at us with such hope. Hope that their loved ones weren't in there. Maybe, hope that they were and their ordeal was over.
"Of course we had to tell them that we didn't know who was in the barn, aside from John Moore anyway.
"Some people said John Moore got what he deserved, after what he did to Jacob Hebert. Bernhard would not allow that kind of talk. He told them that nobody deserved what happened that day. He told them that John Moore didn't die in that barn. The devil's servants perished in that barn. John Moore had died days before. He was a fine man, and he didn't deserve what happened to him any more than Jacob did."
"What were you feeling?" Roland asked her.
Patricia wiped a tear from her cheek. He reached across the table, placing his hand on hers.
"At first I was happy that we might have ended the nightmare," she said. "After I saw the look in Bernhard's eyes, I knew that things would get worse before they got better.
"Then, I was afraid. Afraid that I migh
t not survive the summer. Afraid for those people who thought the plague was over. Nobody wants to believe the worst. Those were the people who would be at greatest risk, the ones who thought we would be fine after the fire, I mean. Bernhard knew that, and I knew it too. As if he could read my thoughts, Bernhard tried to caution everyone. He tried to tell them that this was not the end of the horror. We knew some fools wouldn't listen. We knew people would go back to their old ways. We knew that people would die when the sun dipped below the horizon."
"Did you come back here after the fire?" Roland asked.
"Only long enough to get a few things and close up the house. Then we went back to Auntie's."
"What was it like in town?"
"Worse than we feared," she said. "The men were walking around the street drunk. They were shouting and laughing. Some were shooting guns into the air. Bernhard only shook his head and went inside."
"'When the sun sets,' Bernhard said, 'the vampires will feed and some of those fools out there will be turned into demons before morning. Then it will be our job to kill them.'
"After that, he went to Auntie's guest room and slammed the door.
"I remember looking out the window. Those men were so happy. It was like New Year's Eve in the summer. The women had more sense, or maybe they were still too frightened to be in the street. All the revelers in the street were young men.
"Just before dusk, a couple of those men were dragged off by their women.
Those were the lucky ones."
"I bet they didn't think so at the time," Roland said after sipping some juice.
Chapter 52
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