If Morning Never Comes - Episode Seventeen
In Which: Charles Encounters The Enemy
Editor’s Note:
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Sunday night, Charles could only sleep in short bursts. He had managed to avoid thinking about his coming ordeal through another bright Sabbath. There had been an amusing distraction when the raven that lived in the belfry got trapped in the sanctuary, crying, “Help!” Watching Mr. Clarke try to continue preaching almost made it worth the journey. Jenny had been obliged to miss service due to her father’s illness, but her letter had urged him to call on her sometime that week. Charles promised, but felt guilty as he handed his reply to a servant. Would he be anything other than bloody pulp by the end of this week?
He spent Sunday evening with Herr Stryker, who kindly avoided dwelling on the subject during the visit. The two men sat before the fire, and Charles found himself laughing, of all things, with his teacher. He began to harbor a secret suspicion that Stryker had been something of a comedian in his younger years. The stories he told would have seemed frivolous to him before, but now that he knew what the old man was capable of they seemed like pieces to the puzzle that had made him what he was now.
When the sun began to set and the cups were down to the dregs, Stryker gave a long sigh to cap off a long laugh. Then he turned to Charles with serious eyes.
“Is there anything you’d like to ask me before tomorrow?”
Charles had nothing but questions, but Stryker insisted he was in no physical danger, and that even if he was, there was little he could learn in such a short time to be of any help. So he shook his head.
Stryker nodded and leaned in, “Listen to him! That’s the most important thing. He’s going to try to intimidate you. Let him. He may slip up and say something useful.”
It was at that moment that Charles’ heart began to flutter. Now that the visit was over, there was nothing left between him and his hunting trip with Edgar Raines. Now the fear came crashing down, the last dam broken. He was cold. He drained the last of his coffee, knocking the cup against his teeth in his haste to appear unconcerned.
He walked out, mounted his horse and turned to say goodbye to Stryker. The man extended his hand and Charles grasped it.
“No fear,” insisted Stryker.
“No fear,” Charles hoped.
As he lay down that night, his final prayer was for the day to dawn sunny and clear. That wish was swept aside when thunder rolled over the house and rain began to pat-pat on his window. His eyes felt itchy and glassy, but sleep eluded him, as if he wanted to be awake for as many moments as possible while he still could.
So it was a surprise when he was startled awake by a knock on his bedroom door. He opened his eyes and heard a deep voice press someone to try again. The knock came louder this time. Charles put his arm under the pillow and closed his eyes.
After a moment the voices muttered to each other again, and the deep voice rumbled up to the door. The knock was strong this time.
“Master Ashley!” It was John.
“Go away, John!” called Charles.
The latch turned and two pairs of feet clopped into his room. Charles heard John order someone to open the windows. Then he called again.
“Master Ashley, it’s morning.”
“Very good, John,” Charles said, half into the pillow. He heard the rings of the window curtains being pulled back.
“Master Ashley, it’s time you were up,” said John from the foot of his bed.
“No thank you,” Charles called out politely.
At that, the hangings around his bed were pulled back and the hideous light poured into his inner sanctum. John stepped to the head of the bed. His paunch hovered near Charles’ face.
“Master Ashley,” he began, “You have an engagement this morning, and you mustn’t be late.”
Simultaneously, Charles’ eyes snapped open and his heart dropped into his stomach. Without another word of protest, he sat up in his nightshirt. John nodded and waved a hand, calling over Tom, Charles’ sometimes reprobate friend.
“Master Ashley,” said John, “Tom has begun his apprenticeship to become your personal valet.”
“Sir,” nodded Tom.
He was so official, Charles might have laughed on any other morning. He stood and allowed John to instruct Tom how to help him dress and prepare for the day. As he pulled on his stockings, a messenger came to the door. John took the letter and dismissed the man. He eyed it and handed it to Charles.
“Letter for you, sir.”
Charles looked. It was from Raines Manor. The moor was misty and wet, so he doubted it was a cancellation. He opened it and read.
John looked expectant, so Charles announced, “Mr. Raines will meet me here at his earliest convenience.” He handed the letter to Tom, who was instructed to fold it and place it on Charles’ cluttered writing desk.
Charles had a thought, and turned to John, “John, I would like Tom to accompany me today.”
John froze and stood tall, arms behind his back, brow furrowed, stomach protruding. Tom’s eyes were wide, looking between the two, not sure to whom he should defer.
John cleared his throat, “Master Ashley, Tom is needed here.”
“Yes, but if he’s my new valet?”
“He is training to be your valet. I will not embarrass the staff of this house by sending him out prematurely.”
Charles laughed as Tom tied his shoes, “Very noble of you, John. But really. He’ll be useful.”
John closed his eyes and then aimed them directly at Charles. “Sir, I doubt that Mr. Raines will bring a servant of his own. Do you really wish to appear helpless in front of such a man?”
Charles felt his neck grow hot. He breathed deeply through his nose. He was dressed now, so he stomped off and told John to bring him the hunting rifle Herr Stryker had let him borrow. John called back that Tom would bring it. Charles waved a hand behind him.
He stomped down the stairs, fuming. He paced in the front hall, fear overcome by frustration. He almost welcomed being dismembered now. John’s heart might finally give out from one last disappointment. A young woman in uniform brought him toast and jam on a tray. He sighed and took it. He did not want to be rude, this was not her quarrel. He thanked her and she curtseyed before leaving. He sat. Chewing the bread forced him to calm down as he waited.
“Charles?”
He looked up. Eleanor was coming down the stairs, a patterned shawl draped around her shoulders and wrapped around her arms. It was early. She must have come out of bed just to see him off. That was odd.
“Good morning?” he asked, like a question.
She stepped close, eyes cold. “You’re off hunting soon?”
Charles set his jaw. He knew what this was about. “Presently.”
Eleanor stood straight, not as tall as Charles, but with a regal bearing. She took a breath. “Charles, please,” she emphasized, “please do not do anything that might subvert my friendship with Mr. Raines.”
Charles worked a seed from the jam out of his teeth. Eleanor was waiting for a response.
“Eleanor,” he reassured her, “I am sure that your love can endure even the rockiest shoals.”
Eleanor’s eyes flashed, and Charles realized that when she was angry she flared her nostrils just like he did. Tom came around the corner, carrying his rifle. He looked unsure how to proceed. Charles stepped up and took the gun and other equipment.
“Charles Ashley, if you–”
“Eleanor,” said Charles, walking to the door. Tom hurried and opened it for him. The sound of rain drifted in, “Just shut up, would you?”
He turned on his heel. Tom called out to him from inside the doorway, “Sir? Mr. John says I should stay.”
“You can shut up too, Tom.”
The door slammed.
Through the short corridor that extended from the large doors of Ashwood, Charles walked out to wait for Mr. Raines. That was not exactly protocol, but he could not take another minute in that house. Before he had a chance to even lean the rifle against the wall, a black carriage rushed around the dripping ash tree and pulled to a stop. The door slammed open without the aid of a servant and Edgar Raines jumped out, reaching back for his weapon and kit.
He turned around, tall, dark and fierce. “Ready, Charles?”
Charles nodded, feeling short.
Raines grinned, his eyes shaded by a black wide-brimmed hat. It looked like something an American cowboy would wear, with a studded band encircling it. “Well then? Step lively, my dear,” snickered the man. He turned with a swirl of his long black cape and strode off. Charles followed.
The rain was sporadic. The ground was wet and squelched under the boots of the two hunters. The fog and mist enveloped the countryside like a living thing. Charles feared that he would lose Mr. Raines in the shroud. The thought of not knowing his location was the only thing he could think of that could make him any more apprehensive. Raines walked quickly and Charles had to hurry to keep up with his dark figure.
Ostensibly, the purpose of this little jaunt was for him and Mr. Raines to get to know each other. But neither man offered to make conversation. Charles kept his fingers firmly gripped on the long rifle, which he periodically tilted towards the back of the monster in front of him. The temptation to shoot was overwhelming, but he remembered Stryker’s warning that a single gunshot from a standard bullet was hardly enough to bring down a vampire. The memory of his friend gave him comfort as he walked. But not much.
The day moved on and the rain stopped, although the cloud cover remained as thick as ever. Charles’ legs were cold and his fingers were pruned from the damp air. He wondered where they were going. Mr. Raines had not slowed or stopped since they began. He seemed to have a destination in mind, but Charles certainly did not know what it was.
He began to worry that the vampire was leading him off to some secret lair where he could lock him up and claim he had lost him in the mist. Stranger things had happened. Charles doubted they would find any animal out on the moor on a day such as this. Was he stupid to follow him like this? Would Stryker bark at him for his idiocy? He had to know.
He cleared his voice and called out, “Mr. Raines?”
“Hmm?” was the only gruff reply. Raines did not slow or turn.
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
“Yes,” Raines grunted.
That did not leave Charles much to go on. He tried a different tact.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“Stag,” Raines replied, his voice rasping through the fog.
“A stag?” Charles echoed. He was aware of his voice, which sounded high and flat compared to Mr. Raines’ deep tones. “Would any stag be out today?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Raines.
“Are you sure?” Charles challenged.
Mr. Raines stopped. He gripped his rifle. Charles stumbled to a halt, his breath caught in his throat. Raines did not move. In the fog he reminded Charles of an idol, carved out of stone to be worshiped, forgotten by time.
The man’s eyes wandered the horizon, what could be seen of it. They were at the top of a ridge, mist swirling around, the ground green and brown ahead of them. Down in the valley the condensation collected, but across the divide he thought he could see motion. Something was walking across the hill opposite them.
Charles pointed and whispered, “There?”
Raines dropped to a knee. Charles stayed behind him.
With a CRACK, Raines fired his rifle. Charles smelled gunpowder. He watched as the shape of the stag dropped to the ground, then ran up the hill. Before it reached the top, its legs buckled. It fell backwards and rolled down into the fog. For a moment there was silence.
Edgar Raines laughed loudly, white teeth in evidence. The noise seemed almost sacrilegious after the long quiet of their morning stalk. He turned his eyes on Charles for the first time since they had left. They were black. He clapped Charles on the back, who tried not to flinch.
“Come on then. Let’s see what we’ve caught,” said Edgar Raines.
The pair trotted down the hill into the dense fog. Charles kept his eye out for the blood spoor, but Raines led them directly to the unfortunate creature. The stag’s antlers were covered in late summer velvet, and one of his legs was pulled tight to its body. The bullet wound was right at the shoulder, making the leg useless. But the animal was not dead. It croaked a guttural, panicked sound and thrashed its back legs, but could not get up to run.
Raines walked over and eyed the beast. He removed his hat, and his hair fanned out like a mane. He wiped his face. Charles was unsettled by the wild grin that remained fixed there. He looked at Charles and laughed again, gesturing with his hat.
“Finish him off?” he offered, sounding amused.
Charles looked at the bleeding creature. It certainly could not last long now. He cocked and raised his rifle. Then he stepped back and raised it again. He aimed for the heart. He pulled the trigger.
The stag bleated loud and long, its hooves pawing the ground. A line of blood dribbled down from the hole in its side. It was not dead.
Raines laughed and replaced his hat. “Better try again, Charlie.”
Charles despised being called Charlie. But he knew he could not protest yet. He loaded the rifle and aimed for the head. Then he thought that might be unnecessarily cruel. How much life could this creature have left in it anyway? He shot it in the heart again.
Again, the stag bleated, cut off by a gurgling sound. It thrashed on its side. Blood dripped out of its mouth. But still its sides heaved.
Edgar Raines chuckled to himself as he stepped around the floundering stag. He stopped directly across from Charles and made eye contact. The eyes were black and amused, yet in their depths glinted a malevolent light. Charles held his gaze for a moment. The vampire’s grin faded into a sneer. Charles mumbled an apology and tried to quickly reload his rifle with frozen fingers.
“You almost killed my sister.”
Charles dropped the cartridge and looked up. Raines was standing with legs apart, arms hanging bent at his side. He looked as though he might leap across the bleeding animal and pounce upon Charles.
“I,” he stammered, “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Raines?”
Raines snarled. “Do not lie to me, Charles.”
Charles nodded and took a shuddering breath. Raines was expectant. “Alright,” he managed.
“I know you’ve been collected by that murderer and I’m sure he’s told you what you’re dealing with. Yes?”
Charles remembered what Stryker had told him, that Raines would try to intimidate him. The fact that it was happening was strangely reassuring. If Stryker had been right about this, he was probably right that he was in no real danger. He decided to play confident.
“He’s told me enough,” he said.
“Then I should think you know why I brought you here.”
Charles took a chance with a scoffing laugh, “I assumed it was to try and win over the brother of your lady love.”
Raines glowered, the brim of his hat shading his eyes. “Do not be flippant with me.”
Charles was warming up now, “Oh, you mustn’t take it personally, Eddie. I’m like this with everyone you know?” He noticed the vampire’s shoulders rising and falling. “Family, friends, vampires, fairy princesses. No respect for anyone, really.”
With a movement too fast to follow, Raines whipped up his rifle and fired a bullet that whizzed so close to Charles’ face that he checked for blood. He dropped his rifle in the process.
“You think this is a game?” roared the monster. His mouth was a black pit, and his voice was too deep, too grating, as if there were multiple men shouting from his throat at the same time. “You think you can toy with me? I am everything you have ever feared, Charles. I am the creature under your bed and the demon in your closet. I am every shiver and whisper and nightmare come to life, you child. I have eaten better men than you and your ancient crusader both! I have drunk the blood of kings and trod the forbidden reaches of the outer darkness. And if you think for one blood-besotted second that I will let that holy fool keep me from you, you are gravely mistaken.”
Charles had never known fear. Until that moment he had never known what it was to stare his own death in the eyes and hear it call out to him. His breaths were short, insufficient. He needed to blink, but he could not. It had all been fun – spooky but exciting. Now the whole world had changed. He was in the realm of gods and devils now. And he wanted to go home.
Raines heaved out slow breaths, his mouth open, lower jaw extended. His razor incisors were easily visible. Charles knew this monster would not hesitate to tear out his throat the way Amelia had. Edgar Raines stood tall and composed himself. He closed his eyes and straightened his jacket under his cloak. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, slicking it back before he covered his head again. He opened his eyes, looking at Charles. They twinkled and a smirk crossed his face.
“Do I have your attention?” he asked.
Charles could not answer. He was shivering.
“So,” Raines continued, hands placed behind his back, “You will not interfere in my affairs again. That means you will speak to no one in your family of what has transpired here. You will not, by way of some futile attempt to kill me, press me to the point of having to hurt you.” He smiled. “And you will not have any further interaction with the Hunter, except for one final letter, which you will mail today, detailing your desire to never see him again.”
Charles thought of Herr Stryker. He thought of not seeing him again. He tried to think of what he would do in this situation. What could even Georg Stryker do at a moment like this?
Edgar Raines pulled one hand from behind his back, inspecting a fingernail. “And if you fail to heed this warning,” he said, not bothering to look up, “I will tear off his head, rip out his heart, and send them to you by morning and evening post, the address written in his own blood. Is that clear?”
Charles felt defeated. He hung his head and looked at his boots. They were soaked and covered with little fragments of stuck grass. Mist swirled around his feet and the copper smell of blood heightened his senses. He could not lose his family. He could not lose Herr Stryker. He nodded.
Raines laughed and picked up his rifle. “There’s a good lad.”
Charles hated Edgar Raines. He hated the way his mother and sisters treated him. He hated pretension and he hated tall shirt collars. But Charles Ashley hated nothing more than being spoken to like a child. And the condescension in that last taunt of Edgar Raines was enough to reach past whatever fear he felt of vampires or death or anything else and awaken rage in his breast. Primal, righteous, immature rage. He snapped up his eyes and looked the vampire full in the face. No longer was this a terror of the night come to haunt him. This was the man who had deceived his family, threatened his friend, and nearly gotten a beautiful woman killed
Charles spat back at him, “Upon further consideration, Mr. Raines. I don’t think I’ll be doing any of that.” Raines narrowed his eyes. Charles took a step forward. “If you were going to hurt me, you’d do it now. And if you could handle Herr Stryker, you’d have done so already. So if it’s all the same to you, sir,” he pointed a finger at the dark man, “you can go to Hell. I’ll be sure to deliver your first-class ticket at my earliest convenience.”
Raines was inscrutable. The two faced each other across the twitching stag. Then he smiled and shook his head, humming a quiet laugh. “You are not a wise man, Charles Ashley.”
“So I’ve been told,” Charles countered.
Raines bent over without a word. He placed his hand on the dying deer’s face. The creature’s eyes rolled in its head, gurgling and bleeding through its mouth. The vampire stroked its neck, soothing, shushing. Then he gripped the stag’s throat with crooked fingers. He clenched his hand once and ripped his arm back. Charles was sprayed with blood. He blinked and looked at Edgar Raines standing there, bloodied himself. Raines examined the dead animal’s esophagus as if it were an interesting shell he’d found on the seashore.
“Well,” he said, turning to grin at Charles one last time, “So long as we understand each other.”
So good. Great storytelling.