“John!” Lizzie yelled. “Help!”
He jumped over just in time and stabbed the undead mother in the back of the head, the blade thrusting all the way through her brain and jutting out her forehead in a burst of licorice black brains and matter. The little ghoul, seeing its mother fallen, stopped and gave a low, moaning howl. Whether it was in fear, or some tiny spark of recognition that she was now an orphan, made no difference. That few seconds gave Lizzie the time she needed. She swung the bat, catching the younger creature’s head and crushing the skull. Its forehead split open like a ripe muskmelon with a loud crack. It fell in a bloody pile of faded pink frills and decay.
“Are you all right?” John asked, wiping his sword and putting it away.
“Yes, fine,” Lizzie answered, doing the same to her bat. She took a deep breath, a feeling of sadness hitting her. Never would she expect this attack and kill to bother her any more than the others. Yet, seeing the little girl lying there like that would never make her feel any better.
A sense of regret filled her. Such a shame. This disease, or sickness, or whatever it was, must be taking a toll on families in the area.
Just last week Emma had relayed a story from one of the Society members about a friend’s close encounter. “An unsavory-looking man lurched out of the doorway,” she explained. “He was intoxicated at only the ninth hour. The man didn’t understand what was really wrong before the Society members nabbed the ghoulish interloper. It surprises me that so many people don’t pay attention to what happens around them.”
Lizzie shrugged, the reason clear by painful personal experience—people only saw what they wanted and ignored the rest. She pushed aside the dark memories of her own tragedy and refocused her thoughts. “We need to go find that house and get out of here.”
They ran to the carriage. Emma quickly jumped in beside her, there being no need to ask more questions, which made Lizzie thankful. The animal trotted down the rutted path, trees whipping scraggly branches at them as the carriage rolled past.
Finally, they reached the end of the road and made a narrow turn into what looked like a dead end. Lizzie saw the worry on John’s face, the idea of being stuck here and surrounded making her heart skip a few beats as well.
“Wait a second, Liz,” he said. “Let me turn the carriage around so we can bolt out of here if needed.”
He directed the horse to turn. The carriage in place, he cautioned Emma to wait there.
“No, please stay here,” Lizzie insisted. “I’d rather have someone with Emma.”
To her surprise, he agreed. “All right, but hurry. I don’t like the feel of this place.”
Lizzie knew what he meant. It bothered her, too. She cautiously looked around, pausing to listen for any weird noises. It remained quiet. Still cautious, she poked the bat ahead of her into the opening to see if anything grabbed at it. When nothing happened, she parted the heavy foliage and went through. To her surprise, despite the foul odor in the air and the ramshackle look of the building hidden by the wild growth, whoever lived there took care of the property. Several rose bushes and a number of flowerpots had sprouted fragrant blooms.
She breathed in the heady scent of the flowers, appreciating the effort. The real reason for the fragrant growth soon became apparent: the floral perfumes made a perfect mask to the other odors. She went up the whitewashed steps and seeing no bell, rapped on the door with her fist. After a few minutes of waiting, she knocked again, relieved to finally hear footsteps and a voice inside.
“Um momento,” a woman called. “Olá, quem está ali? Já vou!”
The door opened, and Lizzie was greeted by a stout, cheery woman dressed in a plain, but clean, light blue wrapper. The woman peeked out and looked side to side before she motioned Lizzie to come inside.
“Lamento muito, my English little.”
“Hello, excuse me. Someone sent me here from the dressmaker’s shop.”
The woman’s smile grew wider. “Oh, yes, yes. I sew there. No more. I sew here, minha casa.”
“I was looking for a woman named Adelaide.”
Her eyes brightened. “Yes, I Adeline. Yes. You want sew?”
Lizzie shook her head. “No, I’m looking for a woman named Adelaide.” She emphasized the syllables, hoping the woman understood. “Ad-e-laide.”
The woman smiled at her and nodded. “Adeline. Minha filha, Adelaide.” The woman paused. “She goes to… a escola, a máquina de escrever…”
Lizzie shrugged and held out her hands. “I don’t understand.”
Adeline motioned at her and then began making an up and down motion, like she was banging or pounding with her fingers. Lizzie shrugged again.
“Máquina de escrever.” She motioned and held up a finger. “Um momento.”
She disappeared and left Lizzie standing there. A minute later the woman reappeared, a piece of paper and a photo frame in hand. Lizzie smiled as the woman held the frame out, showing her the photo of a lovely dark-haired girl, a younger version of the mother. “Adelaide.” Then she showed her the typewritten page and pointed at the neatly typed lines.
At last, Lizzie nodded, unable to contain her excitement. Finally, she was getting somewhere! “Yes, yes, type, typewriting. Yes. Adelaide. She goes to school where?”
The woman took off again, returning a minute later with a card for a local business school offering typewriting courses. The business sounded slightly familiar, but Lizzie wasn’t sure if it was one of the schools the church had worked with or not.
Lizzie nodded again and expressed her thanks. “Thank you so much. Thank you. I so appreciate this. Does your daughter come home soon?”
The woman gave her a perplexed look. “Minha filha, sua casa…”
Unsure what she meant, Lizzie pointed at the adjacent living room. “Here? Will your daughter come here?”
Adeline gazed at her a moment and then took the card from Lizzie’s hand, grabbed a pen from the table behind her in the hall, and began writing. She smiled and offered the card back.
Lizzie eyed the address the woman had written, glad they’d finally managed to communicate somehow. “Thank you so much, thank you.” She folded her hands together in gratitude and pointed at the flowers as she stepped outside. “I appreciate your help. Your flowers are beautiful. Lovely.”
“Wait.” Adeline motioned to her and pulled something from her pocket. She pressed the item into Lizzie’s hand and squeezed her fingers around it. “Para a senhora. Not safe.” With that, she gave a small wave and closed the door with a smile.
Lizzie ran back to the buggy where Emma and John sat nervously making small talk.
“Thank goodness,” Emma declared and made room for her on the seat. “I almost thought we should get out and see if you were all right.”
Opening her fingers, Lizzie showed them a shimmering crystal rosary the woman had given her before she passed the card to John. “I’m better than all right. That woman is very aware of what’s going on. Her name is Adeline, but it is her daughter, Adelaide, that we need to talk with. She attends this business school to learn typewriting. Her mother gave me the address. Can we go there now?”
After studying the card, John handed it back, and clucked to the horse. “Why not? We can stop there on the way back to your house. Hopefully, we can finally get some decent answers.”
Lizzie leaned back with a sigh. “I hope so. I really do hope so.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Q. You saw his face covered with blood?
A. Yes, sir.
—Lizzie Borden at inquest, June 9-11, 1892
N
ot even the bouncing over ruts, the smells, or the moans coming from ghouls hiding around the corners, could ruin Lizzie’s much improved mood. She really felt like they were getting somewhere now.
She spoke too soon, it seemed. Her elation turned to anger when John refused to stop and take care of several ghouls loping their way.
“No, leave them. I saw several Society member
s on the other road. They’ll get them.”
To Lizzie, it felt wrong to leave the job to anyone else, selfish even. That thought irritated her even more. She realized his attitude made her decision much easier. Maybe he’s someone I don’t want to associate with any longer.
Emma must have sensed her growing anger and laid her hand on Lizzie’s arm in caution.
Lizzie smiled at Emma, but she insisted on making her opinion known. “Very well, but I don’t think we should leave any of them around, anywhere. It’s simply not a good idea. Besides, didn’t I hear that the Society’s goal is to eradicate them?”
John opened his mouth and closed it abruptly, possibly thinking better of his answer. His face flushed, a sign she’d succeeded in annoying him, or had hit a sore spot. Maybe it was petty, but Lizzie rather enjoyed getting under his skin. Whether he decided to acknowledge their personal situation or not, she wasn’t going to ignore things any longer. Nor did she intend to go away quietly.
Not that it really mattered. She ducked her head and smiled. Now that my life is my own again, I’m ready for a change. The image of their smart, well-muscled new instructor, Pierre Moret, came to mind. She and Emma both had learned quite a bit after only a few self-defense and fighting lessons in their training area. She felt stronger and much more confident.
That Pierre had a good sense of humor—be honest, now, he’s also a fine looking man—only added to her enjoyment. She looked forward to the lessons, and yes, his company, thinking it one of the best ideas she’d had in quite a while.
Her woolgathering ended as John stopped the horse at the corner in front of a small brick building. The sign in front read Mrs. Thatcher’s Business College. The black and gold line of script under it caught her eye: Typewriting Our Specialty. Perfect.
Lizzie gathered her wits about her and jumped out of the carriage, eager to get some answers. “Wait here. If I’m not back in ten minutes, you’d best come and check on me.” John and Emma both nodded in response. Lizzie didn’t have to explain that a delay likely meant she’d run into a bit of trouble of the undead variety.
The door opened onto a small reception area with a scuffed black-and-white tile floor. A giant testimonial touting the college’s classes, along with letters from satisfied graduates and businessmen, nearly covered the dingy white wall. A young woman sat at a small desk in front, professionally dressed in a fitted white bodice, a crisp bow tied at her neck, and a black skirt. Most important, a shiny Remington typewriting machine rested on the desk at her side.
The young woman folded her hands primly, a welcoming smile on her face. “Hello, Miss. How may I assist you? Are you interested in learning about our current schedule of typewriting courses?”
Lizzie shook her head and guessed part of the young woman’s payment must come from signing up new students. That she went unrecognized came as a big relief. It would certainly make her quest much easier.
“No, thank you. If possible, I would like to talk to one of your students, Adelaide—”
The woman cut her off. “Oh, yes, Miss Adelaide is now one of our newest instructors. Do you still want to speak to her?”
“Yes, I would.” Lizzie watched the woman flip through a small directory of names. She had to ask. “I wondered if you had any other women named Adelaide in your classes?”
“Yes, I do believe we had several students named Adelaide sign up for instruction,” the young woman answered. “Is there someone in particular you were looking for? Or perhaps the instructor can help you?”
Lizzie felt a glimmer of hope. Could she be this fortunate and find the information in only two stops? “Yes, I would still like to see the instructor if I could. The actual name of the person I was looking for was Adelaide—”
A loud bang and a scream made both her and the receptionist jump. The young woman dropped the directory she held. She leaped to her feet as another scream rent the air. “What is that?” she asked, her hands shaking. “What’s going on?”
Lizzie’s suspicions about the source grew as she listened carefully. Amid the noise she recognized the low, distinctive moans. “Quick, get out of here!” She yelled at the woman and shooed her from behind the desk. “Go! Get outside. Go, hurry!”
Instead, the young woman stood and stared, her eyes wide, her face pale. Fear and uncertainty held her in place. Lizzie knew they had little time. She grabbed the girl’s hand and dragged her to the door, urging her to get away. “Go, go!”
The screams and ungodly moans became louder, coupled with the rapid approach of pounding feet. Lizzie hurried outside and frantically waved to John and Emma as a mob of young ladies bolted past her like a herd of spooked horses, their hair and clothing disheveled. Their hysteria and panic was palpable, spreading like wildfire.
Lizzie fought the urge to flee with them by taking several deep, calming breaths. She felt relieved to see nothing bloodied and no one mangled. So far, no one looked to have been bitten or attacked, though she knew the scene in the other room would be much different and likely, much worse.
John ran toward her, his sword at the ready. “What happened?”
“The classrooms! We have to go there.”
He nodded, handing over the black bag she’d left behind in the carriage. A foolish thing to do, she realized.
“I know, I know. From now on I’ll never leave my bag behind, no matter where I go.”
Taking her dagger in hand, she threw the bag’s long strap over her head and across her body, and tiptoed quietly toward the source of the noises. Growls, the sounds of shuffling feet, and the thud of furniture being shoved around told her and John what to expect as they slowly made their way to the first classroom. Ducking down, John peeked around the doorway and then held up five fingers. Once he got to three, she jumped into the room behind him.
The bloody sight before them almost made her turn and flee. Several of the undead crouched over the remains of a few of the more unlucky students who hadn’t made it out in time. The creatures’ grunts and gurgles filled the room as they pawed at the gory remains. The wet slurps and sloppy chewing turned her stomach. Blood splattered the walls and puddled on the floor. The stench of death, rot, and the cloying metallic scent of blood had Lizzie choking while trying to keep quiet at the same time. It didn’t get much worse than this.
Suddenly, one of the monsters spotted them. It dropped the long, bloody rope of intestines it had been savoring with a wet plop. John lunged and attacked the approaching formerly male creature, its body tall; its face gaunt, gray, and gashed. Pockets of missing flesh on the monster’s arms and chest revealed a glimpse of broken, mangled bones beneath. One swipe of John’s sword and the undead ghoul’s head bounced away in a ghastly arc, leaving a trail of black ooze behind. The body went limp in a pile of nasty smelling rot and still wriggling maggots.
He pointed behind her and attacked another creature that came at him. Lizzie turned in time and stabbed a huge undead man in the gut with her dagger, her action doing nothing more than opening a stream of black ooze that smelled worse than week-old meat. With a curse, she pulled back and tossed the gunk-covered weapon onto a table, intending to wipe it later. Panic and adrenaline coursed through her as she leaped back and pulled the wooden bat from her bag. She cursed to herself at how her dress wrapped about her legs and impeded her movement.
The bat held high overhead, she took a steadying breath, reared back, and swung. The bat hit the creature’s head, splitting the skull with an explosion like lightning. The ghoul crumpled to the floor.
With not a second to waste, she hurriedly wiped the bat on an unbloodied part of the zombie’s pants leg and put the weapon away. She grabbed the dagger and wiped it just as quickly on another part of the creature’s ratty attire.
“Liz, c’mon, let’s go!” He knocked down two more creatures in quick succession, including putting a rapid end to the last one. It had been stupidly shuffling back and forth in one area, stuck between the school’s huge metal flag stand and a desk.
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br /> The room’s quiet made Lizzie increasingly uneasy as she eyed the terrible carnage laid out before them. The dead women’s untouched faces mocked them in their unspoiled beauty. Lizzie stared at the perfect complexion of a girl who looked about eighteen, sadness filling her at the future moments and joys that would never be experienced. She looked back at another young woman before she rushed to the doorway, no longer noticing the massacre. Instead, she saw the victims. It disgusted her. A sour taste filled her mouth.
John went ahead and stood at the door, listening. “I don’t hear anything else. We have to go. We need to check the other rooms.”
She nodded, “First, I need to look at the name tags first and make sure whether Adelaide is here or not.”
“Fine. I’ll see if your young woman is in the other room.”
“Thank you.” She sighed and let him go, her dread growing at the task before her. She made another grisly check of the unlucky few who hadn’t made it. Her inner alarm told her to look once more behind the desks and the screen hiding assorted equipment from the main room. In the corner lay a young woman, scratched, bloodied and… Lizzie jumped back as the woman’s legs began to twitch. “Forgive me,” she whispered.
Taking a deep breath, she quickly stabbed the victim with her dagger, thus ending the young woman’s venture into unlife-after-death. She wiped off the weapon and leaned down to read the name tag lying on the floor beside her, then gasped in shock. The tag read, A. Almeida, Instructor.
No! Was it Adelaide, the seamstress’s daughter? Relief flooded her as she looked again and realized this dark-haired girl wasn’t the same one in the photo she’d seen earlier. Thank goodness. Most victims remained unknown to her, but after seeing that woman’s pride in her daughter, this would be the worst of blows for the mother to find her daughter’s dreams turned into a nightmare. Lizzie was glad to not witness that, or have to be the one to end the girl’s misery. She assumed, gladly, that the young woman had made it out safe and sound.
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