Chapter 4: Inquiries and Clues
Deborah's scream drew the attention of all the despondent guests who promptly either joined in a chorus of further cries or followed Deborah's example and fainted. Police presence was prompt to the scene and Rosa soon found herself being questioned by Inspector Sadler. Sadler wore an overcoat that was several sizes too big for his thin frame. The already horrid stench in the room was made worse by the fuming pipe in his mouth that inexplicably moved in circles as he spoke. Once he could have had a full set of blonde hair but it was thinning now revealing a pale baldhead. His rather sad appearance reminded Rosa of Thatcher when he visited her earlier. At the moment the only difference between Harrison Thatcher and Sadler that Rosa could discern was a pulse.
"And you have no idea what he wanted to speak about with your husband?" Sadler's voice was grave however distorted by the wooden object twiddling in his mouth.
"No. He did not say," was Rosa's only reply.
"Could you explain again where you husband is, miss?"
"He is away on business. He travels. I never know where he is until he writes, and by then he has probably moved on. He does however always leave a forwarding address. Will you be requiring it?"
"Perhaps. Not now. For the time being I think we can leave him out of it. However when he returns, I may want to hear his explanation for…this," Sadler then spread his arms out gesturing to their macabre surroundings. "I've heard stories about your husband, miss. While I would hate to think that a man would involve his wife in such…matters, I must know, do you know what happened here?"
Rosa stood up from the chair which had been brought for her and which she had been seated in. She approached the now rotting corpse of Harrison Thatcher. Lack of moisture had led the protruding plant life to slowly dry up. She noted that there wasn't a drop of blood within Thatcher's cadaver. She pricked the surface of one of the large roots and her worse fears were confirmed. Prodding it with a hairpin, the root began to bleed. The plant had drained him of blood.
"There was a gas leak. That explains the smell. The victim died from the fumes. Then there was an unfortunate fire." Rosa paused to turn and face Sadler. "There was nothing left," she emphasized. Her gaze was met with a distinct nod.
"Will this happen again?"
Rosa did not answer. Her gaze returned to Thatcher and then glossed over the nearby desk, which was now partially accessible because the drying roots. A small piece of paper caught her attention so she palmed it.
"Leave the body here for two hours. I'm going to send someone to examine it. Once he is gone, burn it."
"Who is going to explain this to the hotel manager?"
"You are, because you don't want me to explain this to him. You really don't. You just want to know that it isn't going to happen again. That is what I am going to insure." Rosa then revealed to him the card which she picked had picked up.
BAGGAGE CLAIM TICKET
Rosa strode out of the room and found Deborah seated outside. An officer had remained with her after taking her statement. The glass of water she held in her hands trembled. Rosa knew what Thatcher had meant for the society. He was to be their savior. His renown and his new studies would have legitimized the society. Now that was in ruins. Rosa's heart truly went out to Deborah because she knew the hard work she had put forth.
"Come, I'll take you home," she said as she placed a consoling hand on her shoulder.
Deborah nodded but she could not break a smile.
The trip to Deborah's home was a silent one. After all there was nothing to say. Deborah's spirit was broken and could not bear to return to the disaster that the fundraiser had surely become. Hundreds of potential beneficiaries had surely left now their keynote speaker was now dead. In her current state Deborah could not face the public. Rosa thought that the silence would do her good, however she did ask her one thing just as they were pulling up to her home.
"What was Thatcher presenting to the society?"
Deborah's face was as monotone as her reply. "He went to the Himalayas. He had theory about finding a type of rare species of plant. We thought it would…" Deborah began to break down so Rosa stopped her. Gently she helped her down from the cab and was ready to walk her to the front door, but Deborah's hand halted her. Rosa watched her disappear into her home. She stood there for a moment wanting to see the lights come on, but they never did. Eventually she asked the cab to take her home.
Questions greeted Rosa from the moment she stepped back into her home. Mostly they were from Henry. He was shocked to hear of the Thatcher's death. He was even more shocked in the manner in which he had died.
"The police are going to dispose of the body in about an hour and a half. I want you to get back there and examine it first," she instructed him.
"What are you going to do?"
"I found this ticket in Thatcher's room. He didn't claim all of his baggage when he arrived by train. There might be some clue as to what caused his death."
"Are you thinking he was ill?"
"I'm hoping."
"What if he wasn't," Carrie chimed in.
"I'd rather not think of the possibilities, Carrie." Henry left the two women and rushed upstairs. "Do you want to come with me to the station or go with Henry?"
Carrie mused on the question for several moments. On the one hand, she felt obligated to accompany Rosa. On the other, she was very curious to see the dead body. Rosa had described it vividly. So it seemed too incredible to pass up a chance to see it herself. Though she had seen her fair share of fantastical sights, she was always keen to see more. For Carrie the incredible and the fantastic were in her veins. Rosa saw the conflict in her daughter. She knew this would happen and was amused to see it. Or perhaps she just wanted to confirm that it would be a difficult choice? Either way Rosa relieved her of the anxiety.
"Go with Henry. Keep him safe. He sometimes gets carried away."
"I do not," Henry retorted as he came down the steps. In his hands he carried two large suitcases. "Carrie, be a dear and take one of these."
Carrie stared blankly at the two oversized cases.
"Have to take the right tools for the job at hand." He said cheerily.
"And where was all this when you went off into Dracula's castle?"
Henry dropped one of the cases before her, "that's the spirit." Then he looked to Rosa. "You be careful now. Anything happens to you and Reinhardt will…well let's just say I would rather go face Dracula."
Rosa took a separate cab from the one Henry and Carrie took to the hotel. They arrived there with still an hour before the police were going to dispose of the remains. As they were about to enter, Henry pulled Carrie to one side and opened the hotel entrance for a young woman who was also entering. Henry and the woman exchanged smiles and greetings. Carrie then elbowed Henry's side. "Your chivalry is showing."
"Thanks for the warning," he winked back.
Two burly policemen stood guarding the entrance to the hallway. Apparently all the guests in the hall had been moved out. The smell, which Rosa had mentioned to them, still hung in the air. The officers looked at Henry and Carrie with suspicious eyes, especially Carrie. What was a young girl doing here, the two wondered?
"We still have an hour I believe," Henry said with no prologue.
"You're it?" asked one of the guards incredulously.
"You're not taking her in there, are you?" asked the other.
"Well you see," Henry said before motioning them to come closer so he could whisper. "She's the real expert…"
The two officers exchanges glances of surprise and alarm but eventually let them pass. As they passed, Carrie pointed to a line of metal cans that were sitting against the wall outside the room. The two officers were aptly prepared for their assignment. The smell of gas mixed with the foreign scent emanating from Thatcher combined into an appalling stench.
Although Rosa had described to them in detail the room's condition, nothing could prepare them to see it first-hand. Both Henry and Carrie were horrified by the sight of the massive roots grasping at the walls and ceiling of the hotel room. The source of the tentacle like growths was the now rotting corpse of Harrison Thatcher. He was still seated at his desk chair.
"Ghastly…" was Carrie's only remark.
"Interesting," Henry countered. "He's not facing his desk."
"What does that mean?"
"Something, or nothing. Use that analytical mind of yours."
Carrie approached the body for a closer examination. "Well if there were not huge roots growing from his insides, I would think that perhaps he was talking to someone. A witness? Or perhaps his killer?"
Henry was now hunched over his open suitcase. He pulled from within its recesses the white crystal. "There is one way to find out. The human eye sometimes retains information after death. This allows one to glimpse at a reflection of what the person saw at the moment of death."
"I thought that was just a myth."
Henry patted Carrie on the head. It was something that ritually made Carrie angry. "My dear Carrie, do not forget that you and I deal with myths as if they were fact every day."
"I know. But that seems so…absurd."
"You will believe soon enough because I will need your help for this."
He positioned her standing right beside Thatcher's corpse and motioned for her to stand straight and still. He then took one of her hands and lifted it while outstretching her arm. Finally he placed the crystal in the palm of the same hand. He moved on to her other hand, the one closest to Thatcher. He lifted it gently and hovered it above Thatcher's eyes.
"Try not squeal," he said before jabbing her fingers into the dead man's eyes. Carrie heard a squishing sound as her fingertips pressed the eyeballs. Then she heard another noise that she presumed was her stomach turning. She closed her eyes and began to focus just as she had practiced on many occasions before. Within seconds beams of light launched from the crystal and formed a portal.
"Excellent," Henry exclaimed delightedly. The portal however did not produce what Henry hoped for. "This is odd. There's no image. It's just dark." He pondered on the development while pacing back and forth. Finally he let loose a loud cry. "Of course! What we are seeing is not what he was seeing, but what he was thinking about. His final thoughts."
"How much longer?" Carrie said, whose eyes had remained closed.
"Oh, just drop the crystal into the palm of his hand. Now that the connection has been made, the portal should remain stable, for a little while."
After doing as instructed, Carrie also inspected the view that the portal provided. "Look," she pointed at a light spot. "It looks like rock. Maybe this is a cave. Rosa did say he had just come back from an expedition."
'Quite possibly this is where whatever happened…happened."
"All right. Stay here, I'll have a look around. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, close the portal behind me, "Carrie said confidently.
Henry looked at her grinning. "Very funny. You stay and I will have a look around. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, toss the crystal into the portal. That way I at least have a chance of getting home."
"You always have all the fun."
"Seniority," Henry mumbled before dashing over to his second suitcase. There he produced a large and heavy armored breastplate. He fitted the armor which protected his chest and shoulders, never minding that he looked quite incongruous with his modern clothes and medieval armor. Also he pulled a crucifix-adorned helmet, which he promptly fitted over his head. Finally he put on a belt with a holstered gun.
"See you in ten," he said nonchalantly before passing through the portal.
"Good Luck," Carrie called out half-heartedly as she watched him move out of view of the portal.
It was nine o'clock on the dot when Rosa arrived at the train station. The baggage handler was getting ready to slam his window shut when Rosa called out to him. The elderly man behind the window began to shake his head side to side.
"Sorry miss, we're closed. You can reclaim any forgotten baggage tomorrow at 7 a.m."
As fast as her heels permitted Rosa ran to the counter. When she reached it and stood face to face with the handler she dropped the claim ticket on the counter accompanied by a handful of bills. The handlers gaze switched back and forth between Rosa and the bills. Finally he pocketed the bill and smiled.
"Right this way, miss."
She entered the storage for lost or unclaimed baggage through a side entrance that the handler opened for her. The room was not a very large one, the result being that it was very cramped. Piles upon piles of bags, boxes, and crates were stacked one on top of the other. Rosa wondered how so many people could forget or lose so much. How important are such material things if they can truly be forgotten so easily?
"You don't look like a Harrison Thatcher," the handler called from some dark recess of the room. Rosa imagined the old man borrowing through the luggage like a gopher making an underground tunnel.
"At this point Harrison Thatcher doesn't look like Harrison Thatcher," Rosa said aloud, but the handler did not seem to hear.
"This is it," the man said dropping a large suitcase at her feet.
Promptly, Rosa knelt down and opened and began to rummage through its contents. The handler's expression was one of bewilderment. Rosa's however was focused on the task at hand. The case was mostly filled with various articles of clothing, a number of books, and a small black box. Her eyes widened when she saw the box. It was unlikely that it was the same box, but her hopes were raised that it might yet yield some clue. The box itself was unadorned and of a smooth surface. Inscribed on the lid was SPECIMEN. She opened the box excitedly only to find it empty. The interior was as smooth as the exterior and so clean as not to have a speck of dust. Examining the box itself, it was slightly larger than an average music box and was easily held in the palm of one's hand. Putting the box to one side, Rosa resumed her perusal of the case's contents. Once more her hopes were raised as she gripped a leather bound book labeled JOURNAL.
At once she flipped to the final pages searching for the last entry. She found it easily because it was stained similarly to the way Thatcher's card had been. The entry read in jagged clumsy handwriting:
It has chased me far…but it will not get it back. I'm going to share it with the world. Nothing will be the same again…
Carefully she turned the pages back and perused their contents. Previous entries were just as cryptic and always vaguely referring to 'it.' The previous two months' worth of entries were a sad chronicle of Harrison Thatcher's journey home. At all times he seemed to be evading and hiding from some specter, some unseen pursuer. It became clear that he found something, which he hid in the black box, but never did he mention what. Rosa neared the beginning of the journal when a name caught her eye.
Although his financial backing is appreciated, I can't help but feel that Graves has an ulterior motive. Publicly he may be known for being a patron of the arts and sciences; privately everyone knows he does not do anything if not for profit. Mark my words, whatever discoveries are made on this journey are for the world, not for his private gain.
Graves funded Thatcher's expedition? That was a telling detail. It certainly cast suspicion on Graves, but it still did not explain Thatcher's death. Was it the cause of some freak condition brought on by what he brought back from the Himalayas? Was there some greater force, this pursuer perhaps, which was able to murder him in such a grotesque fashion? Or was this simply a case of Ian Graves stealing the late Harrison Thatcher discovery? These were the questions that circled Rosa's mind. Finally she cast them all out and focused on her greatest concern, Carrie and Henry had to be warned. If something had been hunting Thatcher, it could still conceivably be around. Rosa clung to the journal and stood up from the case.
"You can throw away the rest," she told the handler.
"But aren't you going to take Mr. Thatcher's things?"
"Harrison Thatcher is dead. His luggage was never here, do you understand?"
The elder man nodded nervously. Rosa tipped him several more bills and he seemed to recover.
Fifteen minutes had passed and Carrie was nervously tapping her feet on the hotel floorboards. Henry was late. There had been no change in the image being shown by the portal. Now Carrie worried that the portal would close. The latent energy from Thatcher's body could dissipate at any moment. Carrie was not at all familiar with the location and therefore could not reopen the portal from her own memory. She knew Henry's instructions, throw the white jewel into the portal if he didn't return on time. It was the safest thing to do and she would be completely in the right to do it. However Carrie was not accustomed to doing what is safest. Grabbing the crystal from the dead Thatcher's hand she stepped through the portal.
Instantly Carrie noted the sudden drop in temperature. It wasn't freezing; however it was colder than where she had just come from. Glancing behind she saw the portal disappear as if it had never been there. It was suddenly very dark. Ahead she glimpsed at the speck of light she had seen while observing the portal. Light ceased to be a problem as Carrie raised her empty hand and generated an aura of light that encompassed her hand. Her surroundings became illuminated and she found herself standing in a tunnel. Walking in the direction of the light the tunnel eventually opened up into a wide and expansive cavern. Carrie was taken aback by what she found.
Where she expected to find a wasteland of stone and rock, she instead found a veritable forest. Much like the hotel room, the walls and floor of the cavern were covered in massive roots that scaled in all directions. Trees sprang up from the ground and towered to unbelievable heights. Instead of rocky ground, Carrie stepped onto moist grass. The forest was populated by a variety of species of plants, flowers, and trees of which Carrie had never seen before.
Her awe came to a pause when she caught sight of something shiny sticking out from underneath a large bush of flowers.
"Henry!" she called out as she recognized his armor. Rushing to his side she tried to stir him but to no avail. Putting down the crystal, she attempted to remove his helmet but paused after noting movement going on behind her. She turned and saw what appeared to be an enormous flower bud. Its petals were closed but suddenly they began to stir. Carrie picked up the crystal and began to drag Henry away.
The great flower bud's pedals burst wide open and revealed within a slim silhouette. The figure stood up slowly and stretched as if awakening from a long sleep. Carrie saw the figure clearly for in the cavern she no longer had need of her own light because of its own mysterious lighting. The figure was a woman. Her dark hair was long and straight. It extended to her waist, hung from one shoulder and covered her left breast. She was completely unclothed and unaffected by the caverns temperature. Her eyes were bright green, set in a wide gaze which seemed to Carrie unnatural. Below the waist Carrie perceived that in lieu of anything resembling normal human anatomy, the woman was physically connected to the flower.
Carrie wasted no time and continued to drag Henry along. However a sudden shaking overtook the cavern and tipped her balance. She fell to the ground and dropped the crystal in the process. As she reached out to grab it from where it fell she felt something sharp brush past the back of her hand. Razor sharp thorns shot up from the ground turning the forest into a deadly maze of blades. Glancing back she made sure that Henry had not been caught by any of the thorns. Looking again towards the crystal she extended her arms out carefully so as not to touch the thorns. Like before, an aura of light encased her hand, this time both. At first the spheres were faint, almost translucent. Quickly the orbs became solid-like and shot out from her hands as projectiles. Each orb cut down a thorn and thus paved a way for Carrie to grab the crystal.
More flower buds approached, each one opened to reveal similar occupants. Carrie knew what they were although she had not encountered them before. Reinhardt had told her about these. Venus Weeds, Alraune, or Alura Une, these female creatures were among Dracula's most ruthless minions. Without hesitation Carrie unleashed a barrage of similar orbs at their growing number. Collectively they all began to scream.
The sound of the banshee-like screeches broke into her mind. It was beyond sound. They were in her head. Nevertheless she made an effort to focus. She thought of home, specifically her room. Grasping the white crystal tightly in her palm, she willed a portal into existence and so it did. The familiar image of her room appeared and she hurriedly ran towards it dragging Henry by the foot. Once safely through the portal Carrie turned to see if they were followed. Nothing.
It was at that moment that she realized something. The crystal was not active. No beams of light radiated from it. She looked back at the portal confused, and then it was gone. Had she created the portal herself? Henry had said to her that eventually she would be able to create them without the use of the crystal. Fear and tension were powerful motivators. Now that she felt safe and secure, Carrie turned her attention to the still unmoving Henry. She resumed her efforts to remove his helmet, this time with success. Underneath the helmet, Henry's blonde hair was all a mess. Along with his face, it was covered in some kind powder. Carrie patted his face and began to clean it of the strange substance.
"Henry? Wake up," she insisted. But he remained silent and unmoving. She could not find any indication of head injury. His chest armor was not pierced in any way. Powder would seem to have entered through the slits in his helmet. He must have breathed it in, causing his bizarre sleeping spell. Carrie was beginning to worry. It reassured her that he was breathing, but he seemed locked in an unnatural slumber. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and surprised her.
"Are you all right?"
He did not reply in words. Carrie looked into his eyes and gasped. His normally blue eyes were now a milky green. His hand reacted faster than she could and launched for her throat. Carrie could not believe what was happening, but her instincts kicked in and she began to fight off his chokehold. Her physical strength could not match his, however her magic could. Her fists became conducers of pure energy, which burned at Henry's skin. He did not yelp in pain, in fact he did not show any sign of being hurt. His face was frozen in a pure and uncharacteristic expression of anger. Whatever the powder had done, it had taken over Henry's body.
"Fight this, Henry! You can beat it," she began to call out frantically. But Henry's face remained fixed without a hint of recognition. Carrie inched toward her bedroom door. Henry suddenly leapt towards her. Carrie reacted by extending her arms out and forming a protective shield. Henry's body slammed into it and was deflected backwards into Carrie's bed.
Locking the door behind her, Carrie waited outside trying to use each precious second to think of a plan that would disarm Henry and not kill him. Her thoughts however were interrupted by the sudden crash of wood splitting. Horrified, Carrie's gaze was locked at the growing hole that Henry was making in her door using his helmet as an axe. Finally he made an opening large enough for his arm and he unlocked the door. After kicking open the door Carrie once more raised her arms in a defensive stance. Henry had pulled his gun and began to fire directly at Carrie. Were it not for her shield Henry's precise aim would have killed her instantly.
Carrie knew that there was no reasoning with him. This was not Henry; it was something using his body. However she could not give up and be killed, not like this. Without holding back she poised her hands a foot apart and began to form a large sphere from the emptiness between her palms. The sphere quickly grew into a large ball which Carrie lifted over her head and threw at him. Being so large the ball engulfed Henry completely. Trapped inside, the ball began to cackle with energy which would strike Henry repeatedly. Still he did not show any sign of pain. The only indication that he was being hurt was that with each strike Henry began to sink to the ground. First on his knees, then finally he crashed face down onto the floor.
For several moments Carrie stayed where she was, kneeling at the edge of the steps which led down to the first floor. She looked to Henry for some sign of life. As before, he did not stir. Her heart raced as she pondered the worst. What if she had killed him? She didn't want to. Henry was her teacher, friend, brother. She held back her tears and got up. Cautiously she approached. Kneeling down at his side, she turned him over. A mix of surprise with guilt filled her as she felt the searing effect that her magical energy had on Henry's skin. Now facing up, Carrie found that his face had returned to normal. Gone was the alien face filled with hatred. He was now as he always was, pleasant, but now there was something lifeless in his expression. It was not one of sleep but of death. His eyelids were shut and his chest still. Carrie began to punch his chest.
"Henry! Please!" She hit his chest harder. "Don't die, please. Not like this." How could she have attacked him with such force? Why didn't she think of something else? Of what use was all the training that Reinhardt and Henry were forcing into her if he could not put it to use in the one moment she needed? Unable hold them any further, tears began to stream down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she cried.
Carrie closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of Henry's corpse for another second. That is when he struck. Like before, Henry's hand grabbed hold of Carrie's throat. This time she did not react fast enough. Thrusting her backwards, the back of her head struck the wall beside her bedroom door and she instantly became unconscious. Slowly she slid to the floor. Henry stood up and recovered his gun which he had dropped before. Releasing the empty casings from its chamber, Henry reloaded it with fresh shots. Finally he raised his gun and pressed it against her forehead. His finger slowly pulled the trigger.
