If Morning Never Comes - Episode Twenty-Seven
In Which: Charles Learns Difficult Lessons
Editor’s Note:
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At first Charles doubted they would make it home alive, but with every step the danger diminished and his fear faded into frustration. Ahead of him Stryker’s head bobbed as they walked in silence. His long coat and three-cornered hat had lost their mystique and dignity. By the time the little house was in view, he was ready to shed the ridiculous trappings of the hunt and put on his regular clothes again.
They had done nothing. They had found the answer to the mystery, or at least part of it, but nothing had changed. The night, begun in a burst of courage, had turned into a wasted opportunity, as far as Charles could see. When could they ever again expect to find their enemy so vulnerable?
Stryker unlocked the door, pausing only to remind Charles that the garlic blossoms wanted changing. Charles said nothing. They went inside. Stryker handed him his weapons and other equipment.
“Put these things away, I’ll make up the fire.”
Charles unlocked the workshop and put Herr Stryker’s things in the proper place before disentangling himself. He couldn’t look at the room. The bullets and bottles reminded him of all the great plans he had built up in his own mind of what he would do when the moment of truth came. He replaced the stakes they had taken with them on the pile. Not a single one had been used.
He shuffled to the library, where Stryker sat by the small fire. Charles sat down. Every so often Stryker added to the blaze. Still he said nothing. He sat with a hand covering his mouth, leaning on one arm of his chair. His hair was wispy and mussed after sitting under his hat so long.
Charles waited for him to speak. He had learned to let Stryker initiate conversation, as he would rarely talk before he was ready. It was one of the most frustrating things about the old German. Here was Charles, scared and confused, desperate to discuss what had just transpired, and yet he was obliged to wait for this insufferably patient man.
Or was it patience after all? Charles felt a small pit grow in his stomach. He stared at Herr Stryker. Why had he stopped him from taking the shot? Why had he just stood there and let that man taunt and rave at him? He had never seen Stryker act that way before. All this time he had been excited and a little afraid at what secrets Herr Stryker might be hiding under the surface, but now? When the moment came, the man did nothing. He barely even argued, he stood there and took blow after blow – why? The fire was piled with large logs and had become self-sustaining before Stryker finally spoke.
“I have seen many strange things, but even after all these years,” he said, “I never expected that.”
Charles felt a wave of disgust break in his heart. Was that all he could say? It seemed like about all Stryker ever had to say was that he had never seen anything like this before. Charles had to keep himself from scoffing aloud.
But for all that, he was curious. “What was all that? What’s going on?”
Stryker still had a hand over his mouth. He shook his head, “You were there, your guess is as good as mine.”
“I doubt it,” said Charles.
Herr Stryker took a breath and sat up. He folded his arms and closed his eyes. He leaned his head back against the chair.
“Do you know what any of those symbols were?” Charles pressed. “The bloody ones.”
Stryker opened his eyes, “No, but I have my suspicions.”
Charles started to bounce one knee, “Yes?”
Stryker began like a professor, “Clearly Mr. Clarke has discovered some means of controlling the vampires.”
“We already knew that. I figured that out,” Charles thought.
“And he fancies himself some kind of visionary, like a blend between a scientist and a warlock.”
“So, it’s magic then?”
“Magic is a crude term. Whatever Clarke may believe, there is no realm of untapped power for men to draw upon if they just know the secret words.”
“But he’s doing it, isn’t he? He’s exercising some kind of power.”
“Yes, but it’s not his power. Of that we can be certain. Even the vampires have no power of their own, they’re in thrall to dark, malevolent forces.” Stryker stoked the fire, “It’s a devil’s bargain, a crime against nature, but nothing any human could accomplish on their own.”
“Could Mr. Clarke be doing the same thing, only while living?” asked Charles.
“Now we’re asking theological questions, aren’t we? Idolatrous worship has always been bloody. Butchery seems to be the preferred method of attracting a certain kind of attention.”
“Does it work? Where did he learn how to do that?”
“I don’t know,” said Stryker. “But you’ve seen the fruit of the pursuit of such things – it’s nothing I care to understand.”
Charles thought of the woman, laid open on the table, her arm dangling, her blood dried on the wall and floor. Bitter as he was, he had to agree.
Herr Stryker sighed again, “I’ve often pondered that the forbidden fruit was from the Tree of Knowledge. There are certain things it is better not to know.” He sounded tired. “Although it hardly seems we have a choice. We have to find out what he’s doing.”
“So nothing has changed.” Charles could not help himself. “Why?” he demanded.
Stryker turned his eye upon him, “What?”
“What difference does it make whether we know his plan or not?”
“Need I really dignify that with a response?”
Charles simmered. “You know what I mean. We don’t need to understand his plan, we just need to put a stop to it.”
“We’ve been over this, Charles. It’s not–”
“It’s not a battle, it’s a hunt, I know. But we can’t just let them all roam free. We’ve got to do something.”
“We are doing something, Charles. But we need to be cautious and precise, like–“
“Like surgeons, I know.”
“Do not interrupt me again, Charles. I am as angry as you are, but please remember that this is not the first gruesome scene I have encountered. We cannot be impetuous now; we are playing a long game. Who knows what kind of chain reaction we might set off if we make the wrong move?”
“But Herr Stryker!” protested Charles. “What if we wait and wait and wait, only to find out we could have saved more people by acting sooner?”
“If we succeed in stopping the monsters and the madman, then I will thank Heaven, regardless of how long it takes.”
Charles wanted to respond, but he knew it was useless. He exhaled sharply through his nose and sat back in his chair. He crossed his ankles in front of the fire. Stryker smiled through his grey mustache.
“Your fury is admirable, Charles. There will be a time to release it, I promise.”
Charles wanted to sulk, but knew he would only be reprimanded for it. Instead, he asked, “So now what?”
Herr Stryker took time to consider his answer. Charles watched a little fountain of smoke that spewed from a tiny hole in one of the logs on the fire. One of the bottom branches broke and the whole mass shifted.
“We need help,” said Stryker. Charles looked up. “Things have grown far beyond my realm of expertise. I need to talk to someone.”
“Who?” asked Charles.
“I’ll have to go to London.”
“London!”
“Yes, the post is too slow here, and I would not be surprised if the good vicar takes a special interest in my mail after tonight.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’m afraid I must. This certainly qualifies as an extraordinary case, so I think it is time to risk the communication. I know a man who may understand what we’re up against.”
“You can’t leave,” said Charles, reeling.
“If my contact can help us, then that is our best chance, Charles. Even if he cannot, we’re no worse off than we are now.”
“Do you expect me to stay here alone? After what just happened?”
“You are ready, Charles. Some time on your own will be beneficial for you.”
“What if he makes his move while you’re gone? I can’t handle him on my own.”
“If there is any kind of attack while I am gone, you will do nothing,” Stryker was stern. “You are no good to anyone dead.”
Charles felt his face flush. His anger was mounting. “So that’s your plan, then? To do nothing? Again. To run away?”
“That is not what I am doing.”
“It is exactly what you are doing! You’re going to run away to a safe house and leave me here to fend for myself.”
Stryker sat up on the front of his chair, “Charles, I understand that you’re frightened.”
“Of course, I’m frightened! My home is besieged by vampires. I saw a woman cut to pieces by one of my neighbors.” He felt himself going too far, but he continued, “And you stood there and did nothing!”
“Charles–”
“Like you always do. We train and plan and wait, but we never do anything because you’re scared!”
“Heh! You’re being ridiculous. If we killed that man we would have unleashed horror worse than death on this moor. Edgar Raines might have attacked Ashwood tonight. Use your head, Charles.”
“I know that, but we could have done something, couldn’t we?” Charles felt himself losing the argument, “Kidnapped him or burned the church or – I don’t know, you’re the hunter, not me.”
“You’re right, I am,” Stryker raised a finger. “And you are my young, impulsive student, and you would do well to remember that.”
Charles felt his voice beginning to catch as his temper caught up with him. “But...” He refused to weep, even out of anger. “The longer we wait, the worse things get. We could have stopped them months ago. We could have stopped him tonight!”
“No,” said Stryker. “Things have not gotten worse. They were always this bad, although we did not know it. Our patience has been well-rewarded.”
Charles wiped a defiant tear with the back of his wrist, “But that girl – another girl. How many more must die because we’re too timid to act?”
Herr Stryker kept his composure. He spoke softly, but there was iron in his words, “Now, you listen to me, Charles Ashley. You are a brave, good-hearted young man. But you lack self-control. You have gained skills, but not wisdom. You are mastered by your passions, and passion is your enemy in the Hunt.” He leaned in close, his eyes cold blue in the firelight. “Our enemies have no drive, no purpose or Polaris but passion. If you try to play their game, you will play right into their hands. We do not wage war according to impulses, even noble ones. And you, whatever you may think of yourself or of me, are far from ready for the confrontation you so rashly desire.”
Stryker continued, “I know you want to prove yourself. You want victory. But the true test of a man is not his willingness to charge into battle – any dog can do that. A man knows how to wait, even to allow terrible things to happen around him so that he can choose when and how to act, instead of being forced into some hasty, half-cocked catastrophe. Wicked people will try to manipulate your sense of duty and honor. But when you cannot be baited by lust or glory or fear or even sympathy, then you have become truly dangerous. Fail to overcome those things, and you will become nothing more than a liability to those around you.”
The words were like a scalpel. Stryker cut him open like the vivisected sheep from the day they first met. Charles was subdued. All the emotion of the long nights collapsed into embarrassment and shame. He still disagreed with Stryker’s plan, but the truth of what he said rattled him. All he wanted now was to go to bed.
“I’m sorry,” he managed.
Stryker stood. He clasped Charles on the shoulder for a moment. Charles could not look up.
“Get some sleep.”
Charles nodded.
“I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning. Have the carriage ready.”
Charles nodded again.
“Alright?”
“Yes sir,” he whispered.
Stryker squeezed his shoulder and reminded him to change the garlic blossoms. He left the door to the hall open on his way out.
Charles finally went to bed when the fire had sunk into a pile of twinkling coals. He went to his room and pulled off his boots and changed out of his clothes. There was too much to think about for him to think. He fetched a new bouquet of garlic from the kitchen and walked to the door in his bare feet. He opened the door and replaced the flowers on the hook.
Before he had completely closed it, he whipped the door open again and stared hard at the horizon. For a moment, he could have sworn he had seen a dark figure, silhouetted at the top of the hill.
