Episode 10: For The Perfect Day, Chapter 2

Jenkins peered patiently through the dual eyepieces of his microscope. He was aware of the insistent gaze of the Colonel scrutinising his every move. He raised his eyes and looked her up and down. Baird was standing, arms folded, back straight, staring at the microscope.

"We will stop this thing, Colonel," he said, speaking to her as one might a wounded animal. "We've faced worse."

"How can you tell me that when you can't tell me what it is, Jenkins?" Baird retorted. "Don't mollycoddle me. Just tell me what it is and how to kill it."

Jenkins sighed. "The blood and fibres are very similar to human. We're definitely dealing with a wendigo, not a wechuge or kushtaka. The similarity suggests that the monster we are dealing with was originally human, perhaps indeed one of the catering staff themselves, and is still undergoing the process of transformation."

"Can that happen?" Baird frowned, shifting uncomfortably.

"Oh yes," Jenkins nodded. "Through breaking the great taboo of eating human flesh, through a curse, through a bite from another wendigo. There is also the option of possession during a spirit quest, but that's perhaps less likely these days. Were any of your catering staff of Native American descent?"

"Not that I know of," shrugged Baird. "Why? Are wendigos only found in the Native American bloodlines?"

"Not necessarily," Jenkins shook his head. "The story originates within their culture, so one may hypothesise that they are more likely to fall prey to it, particularly in the first and last instances. A curse, whether deliberately cast on a person or simply left as part of an object, could affect anyone, as could a bite."

"Will everyone a wendigo bites become a wendigo?" Baird pressed.

"Only those left alive after being bitten," Jenkins face, and voice, grew grave. "They are far and few between, from what I can make out."

"So, it's like a werewolf, but without the whole moon thing?" Baird continued her interrogation.

"A little," Jenkins admitted. "Just a bit less catholic in its diet and a bit more specific in the 'how-to-kill' department."

"Which is?" Baird let a hand fall to her gun.

"The fully transformed wendigo is said to have a heart of ice," replied the old man. "Leave the silver bullets at home, Colonel. This one is going to require an altogether hotter projectile. To kill this creature, you need fire."

Baird nodded, a thoughtful look taking over her features. She didn't meet Jenkins gaze. Instead, she walked to the door, still deep in thought. "Tell Flynn and Stone I'll meet them there," she called back over her shoulder. "I have an errand to run."

"You still have my car keys!" Jenkins shouted down the hall after her.

XXXX

"I am never eating pizza again," commented Ezekiel, sitting with his back to the wall of the cupboard they were hiding in. The morgue had been an eventful trip, at least for his stomach, and he had narrowly avoided leaving evidence of their presence on the floor.

"Just be glad the sinks in there are so large," muttered Cassandra. "At least we got some pictures for Jenkins and it looks like three of the bodies have been formally identified already."

"How?" Ezekiel groaned. "They wouldn't show that to any of their relatives, surely?"

"Hmm, dental records probably," mused Cassandra. "As long as the jaw was still intact, of course. Genetics if they had their DNA on file already, although there would have been so much of that around you might not get a clear match, plus it takes ages. Or fingerprints if there were any fingers left."

"Please stop," the thief moaned, looking a shade greener than when they had entered the cupboard. Cassandra fell silent and they listened to the sounds of people moving around beyond. The cupboard they were in was near the evidence room, and they had only just managed to get in there while the officer on duty retrieved a box for someone on the other end of a phone call. They had heard the caller arrive to pick up the box, but hadn't been able to make out whether the person was a detective, forensics, or uniformed officer, not had they heard which case the box had pertained to.

"Surely he's due a break soon," Cassandra sighed. "How often to evidence room officers usually take breaks?"

"Why would I know?" Jones complained. "I steal valuable artefacts, not crime scene evidence!"

"You've never had to, you know," she shrugged, "retrieve something incriminating? Something with your fingerprints on it, or DNA?"

"I'm the world's greatest thief," he bristled. "I do not leave evidence!"

XXXX

"We've been through the whole list," said Stone. "The only member of staff still unaccounted for is the chef."

"We're sure he's not among the dead?" Flynn checked.

"None of them match his description," replied the cowboy. "Five kitchen staff dead, three groundskeepers, one missing chef. No residents, thankfully, as the hotel is only just opening up for the season and only a handful of rooms are being used at present. Those residents are being confined to their rooms with the warning that a dangerous animal is on the loose, and staff have been asked to remain at the hotel until further notice for the same reason. Police are providing food and drink for them all, away from the area of the building around the kitchens."

"And we're sure he's not just taking a sick day?" Flynn continued.

"Absolutely," Stone nodded. "He checked in with the manager this morning when he arrived. Signed for a delivery an hour later too. Then there's nothing until one of the guests found a mangled gardener and raised the alarm."

"At which point the other bodied were gradually discovered," added the Senior Librarian.

"I realise I have been retired for a considerable number of years," began da Vinci.

"I'll say!" Jenkins quipped, walking into the room.

"But it seems to me," continued the maestro, glaring at Jenkins as he passed. "That this chef you are talking about is in one of three positions. Either he is another victim of the monster, yet to be found, and is already dead; or he is a victim that has been taken away for some reason, and is still alive; or he is the monster itself, and the one you should be hunting."

"And how exactly, o maestro, do you suggest we whittle those possibilities down?" Jenkins enquired, smiling sweetly.

"You know as well as I, Galeas, that possibilities in this job must often be dealt with simultaneously," growled da Vinci.

"You don't get to call me that," growled Jenkins.

"I 'don't get' to do a lot of things round here," countered Leonardo.

"Why don't you two stay here and try to work out what our monster is and where it might take its leftovers," suggested Flynn quickly, eager to prevent another petulant spat before it began. "Stone and I will find Eve and go see if we can track it from the source."

"We already know what the monster is," replied Jenkins, still glaring at da Vinci. "That's what I came in to tell you. That and Colonel Baird will meet you at the hotel, anyway. The creature you are looking for is a wendigo, which means our chef could well be any of the three options Leonardo mentioned, but he could also be a fourth. If he was bitten, and survived, he could well be on the way to becoming a wendigo himself."

"So there could be two?" Stone sat back. "Wonderful!"

"If the chef is in the process of transformation, he should be approached with caution, and tranquillised if possible," continued the Caretaker. "Full, and permanent, transformation will not take place until midnight. Unless, of course, he's already tasted human flesh. Then there's no way back and the only way to kill him will be to wait until the transformation is complete and then burn him."

"Burn him?" Flynn's eyebrows rose.

"The heart of the wendigo is said to be carved of ice," murmured Stone. "Only fire can kill an ice demon."

Flynn looked at him, frowning as if he suspected Stone of stealing his memories. In the silence Stone glanced over at the Senior Librarian and spotted the look.

"Expert in North American and European art," he shrugged. "Including Native American art and the legends that go with."

Flynn made no reply to this. There wasn't one he could, with good grace, come up with. He looked at Jenkins instead. "Jenkins, when Eve told you she'd meet us there..."

"She took the car keys, sir," Jenkins apologised, anticipating the rest of the remark. "I can set the door for the hotel if you'd like. I believe the Colonel mentioned that you had set a marker?"

"This one," sighed Flynn, throwing a cut coin trough the air. Jenkins caught it deftly. "Don't worry, it won't budge until it's other half calls it," he muttered, seeing Jenkins' raised eyebrows. "Just like me."

"Second thoughts?" Stone chortled quietly while Jenkins set up the door.

"Second, third, fourth, fifth," murmured Flynn. "I've had so many thoughts about this wedding, I've stopped counting."

"And?" Stone looked up at him.

"And they all say the same thing," nodded Flynn. "They say 'Flynn: you really need to find some time to write those vows'."

XXXX

The hotel was quiet where the door opened. It was within the area cordoned off by police, so there shouldn't have been anyone nearby. Flynn and Stone stuck their heads out, looking first one way, then the other. At no sign of monsters, they made the jump and walked into the hallway.

"This ain't creepy at all," muttered Stone under his breath.

They edged down the corridor towards the kitchens, Flynn taking the lead. The floors were the echoing tiles of the basement level, instead of the sound-muffling carpets of the guest floors. Try as they might, the two men found it impossible to move silently through the service corridor. Slowly, gradually, each step threatening to bring the whole house of cards down on their heads, they found their way to the kitchen. They could see the bloodstained corner they had examined earlier. Flynn held a finger to his lips and looked round the corner of the doorway. The room seemed empty. Flynn hurried over and crouched down behind the counter. A few seconds later, Stone did the same.

"There's nobody here," Stone hissed, as quietly as possible.

"That we can see," whispered Flynn. "My gut says otherwise."

"Then why the heck are we crouched down here, and not runnin' for cover or findin' ourselves the biggest knife in the block?" Stone murmured back.

"Librarians don't run from danger," mouthed Flynn pompously. "And a knife won't kill this thing anyway."

"Make me feel a darn sight better!" Stone muttered.

"We need to know which crime scene comes first," hissed Flynn. "I need to take another look at the blood spatter."

Stone rolled his eyes but kept quiet as Flynn glanced round the side of the counter and edged towards the taped off area.

"Well?" Stone asked after a while.

"There isn't enough blood left to determine exactly when the murder was committed," whispered Flynn. "It congeals at a set rate, but there are no pools deep enough to show any difference over the length of time we're looking at."

"Gutting. Really," muttered Stone. "Anything else?"

"The direction of blood spatter suggests that the carotid artery was the first severed in at least one case, and probably the first, and that our victim was heading up that aisle when he or she was caught, not this one. That way leads to the outer door and the grounds."

"So the outdoor staff got it first, then these guys?" Stone whispered.

Flynn sat back and turned to Stone. "Maybe, or maybe the creature started its rampage in here, then spotted the door and doubled back to it once it was done tearing up the caterers. If the blood splatter had been going from here over to that wall," he pointed. "That at least would have suggested the attacks started in here. There aren't even any bloody footprints to go on!"

Stone held up a finger and Flynn grew silent. Then they both heard it: a faint tap, tap, tapping of claws on the tiled floor. It was getting closer. It was coming towards them. Stone looked around, but there were no weapons in sight. Flynn nodded at the door they had entered by and the two men began edging along the side of the counter towards it. The sound stopped. They halted. It began moving again, this time changing direction to cross the aisle to the next and start advancing along it, right in line with their exit route. Flynn frowned. Stone swore silently.

The sound grew closer. It stopped. This time it was Stone's turn to, with Flynn looking over his shoulder, peer around the corner. "There's nothin' there," he hissed.

"Where's it gone?" Flynn whispered.

Behind them, there was the faint chink of metal on metal. Both men froze. Two feet landed with a solid thud behind Flynn. Both men screamed and bolted for the door.

Baird rested the flame thrower on her shoulder and walked over to the doorway. "Do all Librarians scare that easily?"

Flynn and Stone slowly reappeared at the kitchen door.

"Hey, we were defenceless," said Stone. "We were just retreating to a more strategically advantageous position."

"And the screaming like little girls part?" Baird tried, and failed, to keep the grin off her face.

"Loud noises are known to startle many fierce animals," began Flynn. "Although hippos..."

"Baird, get over here," cut in Stone, his tone carefully level.

"Oh, nice try, Stone," she laughed. "I am not going to fall for that one."

"Eve, I really think you should step over here now," nodded Flynn, his eyes fixed on a point over her shoulder. "And fire up that flame thrower you've brought. Now would be a really good time to test it."

"Do as he says, Baird," said Stone, holding out a hand. "We ain't jokin' around here."

Eve looked at them both through narrowed eyes. She was about to laugh off their antics as a poor attempt at revenge when a shadow in the shiny chrome surfaces moved. Holding up a hand to let the men know she had seen it, Eve eased off the safety catch on the weapon. She spun round, flame thrower at the ready, and the world went dark.