Chapter V

Heather was lying on the unmade bed she'd almost never left since her wedding disaster. However, contrary to what Tess and J.T. thought, she wasn't only holed up in her room to grieve. She'd finished reading the first notebook within a few hours of Catherine leaving. In them she'd already learned that beasts weren't a recent addition, not only to the world, but more importantly to Catherine's own family. After she'd read three of them in which a man-beast named Alistair occupied a very prominent place, Heather had been frustrated by a gap in the story. In fact, when she got to the next one, she realized that it was likely to be the most important one, and she didn't have it. At least she didn't until she snooped around the mansion while Tess and J.T. were busy elsewhere and she found the book in Catherine's room, already opened to the next to last page. Not one to want to jump ahead on a story, Heather had closed the book without looking at it and brought it back down to her room. When she'd finished it, she felt like crying, but it also did something to put Catherine's news in perspective; particularly because she'd already peaked at the first few pages of the next book.

At this point, Heather was convinced that this story could be some best seller if it was re written either as a script or a book. And she'd started taking notes. Deep down she knew that neither Catherine nor Vincent would approve but for the time being it was something to do to forget about her failed marriage. On the other hand, later in the week she congratulated herself for having done it when Rebecca's notebooks disappeared from the room the one time JT had convinced her to leave it for a while. Fortunately, she'd also put the other notebooks along with her notes in her bags, one in particular that was her mother's. That one, she had postponed reading until now. She both anticipated reading it and feared how she would feel about it. Meanwhile, she decided to play it cool about the books that had been taken and pretended it was nothing to her lest JT would come back and demand the rest. She only hoped Catherine would come home soon. What she'd found in there she knew was a game changer but one she hardly understood and she needed her sister's insight on that.

JT had indeed been a little surprised to find the notebooks neatly stacked near the closet instead of in the boxes as described to him. However Heather's lack of curiosity about his taking possession of the books reassured him that whatever she found in them was either innocuous or she didn't understand its import. Not that he put much credence in Reynolds's dire warnings but for Catherine's sake, he did as he asked. In order to take care of the second part of the request which was to get the notebooks to a safe hiding place, JT went back to New York to hide them in the sub-basement of the dungeon, where hardly any of them ever set foot. He'd figured they would be safe down there. He was stacking them into a recess worked into the brick wall when one of the journals fell open on the floor. When he bent to retrieve it, he saw that the book was opened on a page with the sketch of a young man with long hair and clothes that could only have been worn a couple centuries ago. Something familiar about the face grabbed him further, but it's when he examined the sketch closely that he truly felt that the world was closing in on him.

The man in the sketch, evidently drawn by this Rebecca he'd heard so much about from Catherine, looked almost exactly like Vincent. At the bottom of the page, a date had been written along with a name. September 5th of the year 1851, Alistair Keillor, forever my one and only love.

"I'm going to miss this," Catherine said to Vincent as they were walking away from the cabin that had sheltered them for over a week.

"I'm guessing it's not the lack of amenities you'll miss," Vincent quipped lightly.

"True, if anything it could have used a bathroom that wasn't a hole in the ground…but still…"

"I know what you meant." He looked back at the unassuming wooden cabin, and had an urge to simply go back and stay there. What awaited them back in civilization was less than clear. Catherine was certain she could deal by now but Vincent still thought she'd taken to it a little too fast. He worried that the stimulation of a greater number of people might cause the same problems for her as it did for him at first. But then again, although she did show lots of signs of a wild nature, her personality had not undergone any drastic changes for all that; another thing for which he was infinitely grateful. "Are you sure you're gonna be ok?" He still asked Catherine even as the cabin disappeared around a bend and they started down the path to where Catherine had left the car last.

"I'm as sure as I'm going to be. I just don't know how I'm gonna explain my absence from work."

"You know Catherine, you might never be able to do that job again. Detective work is very stressful and stress… well I don't need to tell you."

"I know you're probably right but I never planned on doing anything else my entire adult life. Besides, other than selling the country house what would I live on?"

"Hum," Vincent gave a little embarrassed shrug, "do you promise not to get mad if I use the T word again?"

"T word?" Catherine questioned although she suspected what was coming.

"Ok…after Tory died, a lawyer showed up at my door and told me that Tory had left me a significant part of her father's estate. I gave a lot of it away but given my situation…"

"Why wouldn't you tell me that?"

"Even before, Tory wasn't your favourite subject…and besides, we were kind of on a break at the time, remember?"

"Still, you could have told me after…"

"Honestly, things went real out of hands from the moment we got back together Catherine. First thing I knew the next day they arrested me and I became a fugitive. My assets were frozen, and then when I got exonerated, Gabe happened…and even though I'm a free man now, it took until last week before I could get all my affairs in order. Basically I was going to tell you… but then you became a beast and the rest you know."

"No matter, the idea of being a kept woman, of idling…that's not like me…"

"You don't think we have enough excitement in our lives as it is?" Vincent stopped in the trail and forced her to look at him. "Look, for the past ten years, I've been stuck living off J.T.'s salary and I couldn't really hope to repay him ever, or so I thought, so I do understand how you feel about this. But working as a detective would be way too risky for you and possibly even more for other people around you Catherine."

"What am I supposed to do," Catherine asked although the question was rhetorical. She'd already begun to see the possible consequences of her new situation. And from the look on Vincent's face and his lack of response, she understood he knew that she didn't need him to. Instead, she started back down the trail. Vincent followed her quietly for another couple hundred feet but a slight change in her posture just as they were nearing the car's parking spot told him something was amiss. They'd discovered another interesting fact about Catherine's beast during the week. Her senses were slightly more acute than even his own. She'd started tracking animals in the forest with hardly any coaching needed. That's why when he saw her suddenly accelerating, he quickly reached her. "What is it?"

"It was a familiar scent…almost like last week's beast scent," Catherine finished, obviously in a high state of agitation all of a sudden.

"Catherine, you know it can't be…"

"It's just so strong…" Catherine insisted and she blurred ahead without waiting for Vincent. He dropped the bag and started after Catherine, slightly panicked at the idea of what she might do. He needed not worry though. He found her holding a note that she'd obviously taken off the car windshield. "What does it say," he asked, trying very hard to hide the relief he felt.

"It says here that whoever has come is only here to deliver a message."

"What," Vincent asked but then he sensed her.

"Some woman...coming at us real fast," Catherine voiced his thought animatedly as she took a fighting stance.

Vincent also sensed the newcomer was a beast. A loud growl escaped his lips as he began changing just as the new beast stopped right in front of him. On instinct, he grabbed her by the throat, while she tried to kick him off. He would have finished her if it hadn't been for a curt warning from Catherine, "Vincent stop!"

He stopped himself from crushing her throat but didn't let her go just yet. Catherine approached them and she laid a calming hand on his arm, at the same time addressing the newcomer. "I don't know who you are, but if we all calm down, no one needs to get hurt." The female beast turned her eyes towards Catherine although she remained acutely aware of her opponent. Then she seemed to make a decision and her features slowly returned to human form. Momentarily, Vincent's did the same and he let go of her neck although he kept on watching her very closely.

Although she was a little out of breath, the woman hardly seemed fazed by what just almost happened. Catherine didn't know if it was just brashness on her part or if she'd really believed she could hold her own against them. All she knew was that the woman was challenging them with her eyes in spite of her apparent cooling off.

"I wouldn't make any sudden moves," Vincent warned when the newcomer turned towards Catherine.

"I'm only here because I was asked to track you down and give you a message. Trust me, being so close to you two isn't healthy for me. "

"We certainly didn't ask you to come here," Vincent told her. "Why would anyone…?" He had been about to ask why send a beast but then he thought he understood. That beast was also a tracker.

"Doesn't matter why," the woman evaded, "the message is this. We're done waiting…"

Both Catherine and Vincent saw no point in asking who the message was from. However the girl's strange outburst kept them rooted in place.

"And if I may add on a personal note, you two don't deserve any special treatment. Special my ass. If I had my way!"

"Again, no one…well we certainly didn't ask for any special treatment from anyone so…"

"Rachel," the woman answered the silent question.

"Well Rachel, you might as well be on your way and tell whoever that we'll get there when we get there." The mounting tension in Vincent's voice made Catherine uncomfortable.

"Vincent? What is it?"

"Catherine I just about had enough of beasts coming out of the woodwork with a superiority complex when what I really should be doing is ending their misery..."

"Hey calm down big guy." Rachel protested, already backing off.

"You should crawl back to wherever you came from before I decide that one less beast is a good beast."

"Vincent what's the matter with you?" Catherine was actually starting to worry she'd really have to intervene, but at the same time, she also felt an almost irrepressible urge to challenge her as well. Vincent all but ignored her and suddenly she thought she understood. "I suggest you hightailed it out of here," Catherine almost barked at Rachel with such authority to her voice it sounded more like an order than a suggestion.

Rachel seemed about to respond but a menacing growl quieted her. "Just try me." Catherine's eyes began to shine at this and although the beast in Rachel obviously was tempted to accept the challenge her brains apparently won out and she blurred away without another word. As Catherine watched, Vincent seemed to visibly relax as if he'd been held up with tight strings and those suddenly loosened. She herself found that she had been holding herself so tight it hurt physically. "Are you ok?" She asked.

Vincent hesitated a moment and Catherine got the impression that he was trying to refocus his mind. "I don't know what that was but I felt…this woman was challenging us and I was certain it wasn't the first time…"

"What do you mean?"

"I can't explain it. It's like those damn memories that make no sense at all…But then, maybe I'm just not good with other beasts around. Remember Tory?"

"You've not been like that with me," Catherine offered, although she also wondered at her own feelings of anger towards the woman who'd just left.

"Well, in your case it's a different type of out of control reaction. But then you know that…"

"I still wonder why she was so aggressive. We don't even know her."

"May I state the obvious and say…huh she's a beast," Vincent offered. "And by the way, they really are coming out of the woodworks."

"Is that an insult?"

"Why on earth would you think that?" Vincent asked, turning to her warily.

"Well, I've just turned into a beast last week…Maybe it's got something to do with that…"

Impulsively, Vincent went to Catherine and held her tight. "You know that's not what I meant," he pleaded with her.

While in Vincent's arms, Catherine felt that nothing could touch her, as if she was invincible. But this connected with the other feeling she just had when she felt an almost irrepressible urge to hurt the female beast the moment she felt her around. This out of control attitude was very in keeping with what she'd been displaying all week and she knew it wasn't like her. Right then, the fear of the beast that had been all but erased by the haze of happiness and lust she and Vincent has been sharing all week returned momentarily. By then Vincent and her were so attuned to each other's moods that he sensed her doubts even before she'd had a chance to formulate them and his mood changed radically, "Catherine if you're suggesting we should take a step back, I must tell you...in the past I would've done what you wanted but right now…I fear if you left me I might do something stupid."

"I won't leave you," Catherine replied very seriously. "I couldn't…I'm just afraid of what might happen if we lose control."

"I know…"

"There's also something else I wanted to talk to you about… The reason I went to see my dad…" Catherine added hesitantly. But she sensed something wrong even as she spoke. Vincent wasn't listening anymore. His eyes lost focus and he collapsed in her arms.

Catherine's face seemed to shrink away for Vincent and his vision tunnelled and everything around him changed. He was no longer quite himself and yet he was. But in that reality he was surrounded by flames that were quickly gaining until he began to burn. All around him he saw hatred all directed at him but when he saw her, everyone else disappeared. All he was left with was an excruciating agony and the horror he saw painted on her beautiful face. A pain more unbearable than anything he'd ever felt began coursing first up his legs, and then throughout his torso. He felt like every one of his nerve endings were howling at him to get away…get away from the flames but he couldn't. He had to protect them. Through the flames, he saw her, crying, howling helplessly, unable to do anything to help. Both of them had the strength of ten men but they both knew that escape from this crowd was impossible. All he'd succeed in doing if he tried would be to kill her too. But then, he was calling to her, begging her, "Kill me!" Even as his body repaired itself and the flames burned it anew in an unending agony. "Kill me!" He tried to scream again but he couldn't be sure that his throat emitted anything besides beastly cries of torment. His brain was beginning to shut down but even through that, he thought he saw her, Rebecca pulling a pistol from her skirt and aiming it shakily at him. A glimmer of hope for a quick end to his torment just as quickly vanished for he saw her turn away and shoot a random man in the crowd. It was rage most likely but he knew she wanted to hurt as well. Even as his mind was mercifully shutting down, the flames having reached his face and head, through them he saw Rebecca being overrun by the populace and beaten. Even as death finally took him, his last conscious thought was, "why?"

On this March 10th of the year 1855, It has been months since I lost him, betrayed him…I survived but for what? Maybe it is my punishment for not trusting in Alistair, and worst of all, for not helping him as he was suffering pains no one should ever have to endure. Some days, I feel such remorse, as I do now, I place my hand in the flames and do not take it out until I see the skin bubbling as his did while it melted off his bones but still regrew just to burn anew. Not until I hear my own howls of pain echoing in the dungeon that is now a prison of my own making do I stop until the pain of my remorse is once again worse than the physical one. But of course, just like him, I heal and it starts again. I will not end my life however. My punishment, I know, is to endure this suffering and this remorse until they're here and I can make amends if that's even possible. I owe him that. In the meantime, today I finally avenged some of what was done to you my love. The beast that killed you I cut him to pieces, made it last for hours and every single one of his cries for mercy were music to my ears. Even now, his body burns in the furnace, a fitting resting place for this monster.

Tess had gone to re-join with J.T. after he told her what he found out. The more she read from the journal that followed the one Catherine had read a few weeks ago, the more horrified she got. "I can't believe this thing. And to think Cat said that the things happening to those people were happening to them as well!"

"I sure hope it doesn't," J.T. replied while a shiver ran up and down his spine at the memory of reading the journal himself earlier. The rest of the last journal Rebecca ever wrote showed a slow descent into madness. But not before she'd written down some things that J.T. hoped might help them. J.T. was actually researching this now in the only corner of the upper room of the dungeon where he could access wireless. He'd hacked long ago in some business that unknowingly provided the internet for him. "Took a lot of doing but I found a little known history book miraculously digitized. It was written by a woman named Rachel Ddraig. The reason it wasn't very well known is that she seemed to only have chronicled the lives of three families during the 1800s: the Reynolds, the Keillor and her own family, the Ddraigs. Plus it almost reads like a novel, not a serious historical account."

"Keillor…is that like Keller?" Tess asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Yeah it is. It's the old Scottish version of the name Keller, " J.T. replied distractedly as he went on reading, "Apparently, the first two families were feuding over some old offense the Keillor had supposedly done the Reynolds and they barely tolerated each other and only because they had some common holdings; and even a few common ancestors it seems."

"Well it's all real interesting but maybe we could get to the part about Rebecca and Alistair if there's one," Tess prompted. The more she read those journals, the more she understood Catherine's fascination with them. But the real clincher was what she'd just read. A passage she'd already read many times and always with the same horrid sensation at the pit of her stomach. And yet it also humanized beasts. But for all that, she got the distinct impression, as did J.T., that they shouldn't let either Catherine or Vincent read those just yet. There was something about these journals that felt just too real and hit too close to home in a way neither J.T. nor Tess cared to think about.

"Yes there is one and it's the only book in all my researches that has more than a vague reference to the execution of Alistair Keillor for murder and it also contains a copy of his death certificate. It's as if someone has gone out of their way to erase that part of history… The cause of death is not even listed properly on the certificate as if the coroner at the time had not wanted to do so. I checked reports from the same doctor during the same era but all his other reports and death certificates were in order. Alistair was the only exception and if I trust what I'm reading in Rachel Ddraig's book I think I know why…"

"What?" Tess asked uncertainly. She knew deep down that the description in the journal might just be the reason. "What did she say?"

"This woman said that the day of the execution, a large group of people were in attendance at first, including a very distraught Rebecca Reynolds, who apparently tried to get onto the flaming pyre but was prevented by a few men who could barely hold her back. Those people were calling loudly for the blood of who they thought was a violent serial killer, namely Alistair. Rachel said that the man was clamouring his innocence even after the fire had begun to consume him in earnest, but no one listened.

But then, Alistair didn't die right away. The pyre burned for over half an hour and he cried in agony for most of that time. By the time he died, even the most hell bent on revenge had gone silent and utterly subdued. So much so, according to Rachel, that they could hear his skin sizzle even over his screams of pain. Half the people watching didn't stick around to the end. They ran off in horrified disbelief, apparently crossing themselves repeatedly, saying the devil was on the pyre and he couldn't die. Others stayed in morbid fascination, and of those numbers, one was shot in the head by Rebecca in an apparent fit of rage. Those around her jumped her and beat her, probably because of her obvious connection to Alistair more than the shooting. Alistair allegedly expired during that time. When he stopped screaming, everyone stopped and it would seem that Rebecca used the distraction to escape. Rachel only mentions that the woman was no longer around when people remembered about her and at any rate, few of them cared by then The writer goes on to say that she waited until they extinguished the fire and the coroner had finished his exam to confirm that Alistair was dead. She said the coroner was pale as death when he turned away from what was left of the body. He kept mumbling about sending the devil back to hell."

"Well, I guess it's no wonder he wouldn't put that in his report." Tess tried her best to keep her cool but this account coupled with the journal, she knew she could never forget it.

"Right…" J.T. said thoughtfully, obviously just as shell shocked as she was. Then he seemed to shake it off and went on, "The last reference to those events speaks of the Keillor family reclaiming the bones of their dead relative. But we now know from the journal that Rebecca dug Alistair's bones out of the family plot and brought them here to this dungeon…. If we could find them…"

"You really think they're here," Tess asked, looking around, a little creeped out.

"This place is not so big. If there's a crypt of some kind, we'll find it."

"But how could some old bones help Catherine and Vincent now?"

"I don't know really," J.T. answered tiredly. "but ever since this all started, years ago, I have felt I was responsible for what happened to Vincent… What if…what if it wasn't me…what if..." J.T. stopped, unsure if he even wanted to voice his hopes in the matter.

Tess wanted to help him but she sensed it was better if he worked through the guilt on his own for now. She also didn't think J.T.'s guilt was anything like this Rebecca's. Nothing could come close.

J.T. skimmed the pages of the history book until he got to the last page and a short bio of the author herself. This, in and of itself, would have been a slight shock. In addition to the place of birth, a short summary of where the author had lived and ultimately died, apparently only two years after the execution, there was an entry about the name itself, Ddraig. The book related that the name in question was in fact the Welsh word for dragon and that in times pasts, the full name of her family had been "Pen Ddraig" meaning according to most linguists, Dragon's head… The writer who wrote the bio obviously concluded that Rachel Ddraig might be related to the first few kings of the Britons, long before England was what it is today. The English word commonly used for her full name being "Pendragon".

"Pendragon," Tess read over his shoulder. "As in King Arthur? Didn't even know that was a real name!"

"Well, I wouldn't want to bore you with all the details but, and really that's so weird now, Vincent took an interest in England's early history while in college. We had a few talks about that and I think I remember him telling me that the name Pendragon was only associated with Arthur by some monk and a few other writers long after the facts, in the 1200s and after. Arthur himself, if he ever lived, would have been born and died somewhere between 450 and 500 AD and no written account of the life and death of an Arthur Pendragon has ever been found. Pendragon was a name given to, among others, a king or prince named Uther, who the story tells us is Arthur's father. Many people think that King Arthur's story is in fact a historical dramatization of the life of some or other king of the Britons, maybe more than one, at the time of the Saxon invasion and that the details are muddled because the monk based his story on oral tradition rather than actual history."

"Alright that's all nice and good," Tess said then, "but how does that help us in any way?"

"I don't know really. It's just…don't you find it fascinating that Vincent researched the Pendragons and we stumbled on a book that relates to the execution of a guy that looked exactly like him and that book happened to have been written by a woman whose ancestors were Pendragons? Not to mention that according to that same book, their families had some kind of connection…"

"All a big coincidence if you ask me…" Tess replied. "Look J.T., it may all be just that, a gigantic coincidence!"

"I know coincidences, Tess. This is something else! It's like…faith or destiny or something!"

"Well, right now I'd settle for anything that would help us with Catherine's issue!"

J.T. sighed heavily but didn't argue the point. "Let's try to find this crypt. Who knows maybe the answers do lie in bones…"

"You're always such a romantic," Tess quipped.

"Funny," J.T. replied with a faked offended look.