House of Bathory (31 page)

Chapter 90

K
RAKOW
A
IRPORT,
P
OLAND
D
ECEMBER 28, 2010

M
organ’s flight reached Krakow in the late afternoon. She waited in a slow customs and immigration line, clenching and unclenching her fists, blinking in the harsh florescent lights.

The yawning official straightened his posture when he caught sight of the auburn beauty approaching his window.

“So little luggage,” he said, with a thrust of his unshaven chin. He eyed the orange priority tag on her one small bag that could double as a backpack. Compact enough to carry on, but she had checked it.

“You no stay in Poland long time?”

“No,” she said, her eyes trained on his hands.

“Poland beautiful. We appreciate beautiful American girls.”

“Are you going to stamp my passport or not?” she snapped, her green eyes blazing at him now.

He hesitated, taken aback at the fierce glitter in her eyes. He flicked through her passport pages.

He stamped her passport and handed it back to her.

“Smile, pretty girl,” he said.

A stony expression was her only answer. He motioned quickly to the next person in line.

She walked out to the pink slice of sunset peeking through gray clouds. The wet cold slapped her face. She zipped her down coat tight around her throat.

Passing cars churned up dirty snow, spraying the curb with black slush. She rolled her bag to the taxi stand, where a half-dozen cab drivers jostled each other, seeing the girl in a long, black coat, one who clearly had money.

“Taxi?” they shouted. With no other customer in sight, the cabbies were wolves ready to pounce.

She stared at the pack of cabbies, her vision still blurry from the long flight. They huddled bearlike under their overcoats, woolen scarves coiled around their necks, unshaven faces bristly, leather shoes scuffed and splotched with slush.

“How much to hire you to drive to Poprad, Slovakia?” she said to no one in particular.

“Fifteen hundred zloty!” shouted one.

“Twelve hundred—”

“One thousand zloty!”

The cabbies pressed in tight around her. She caught the smell of body odor and tobacco and wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Look, Miss. Clean car, fast, very fast,” begged one cabbie, his hat folded in his chapped hands. “Only nine hundred zloty. Include gas, everything.”

“Show me your car.”

Chapter 91

H
IGH
T
ATRA
M
OUNTAINS,
S
LOVAKIA
D
ECEMBER 28, 2010

J
o
hn
sat in the car, watching the snow accumulate on the trees. He flicked on the wiper blades every few minutes to keep a clear view of the castle, bathed in light.

Why wouldn’t the big woman let him go with them? What if she was luring Betsy into a trap? Maybe she had lied about her missing daughter.

But Betsy had been adamant. So sure. Damn it! He should have insisted, forced her to go to the police.

Why hadn’t they done something rational? Betsy’s damn hunches. Her irrationality had ruined their marriage. Why had he relented this time, knowing how dangerous the scheme was?

A ping on Betsy’s iPhone interrupted his brooding.

He looked over his shoulder and closed his eyes. Prying into e-mail was not something he normally did.

Damn it. Nothing was normal now. He touched the screen with his finger, opening the e-mail.

Dear Dr. Path:

Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Andrew Simonoff, a practicing analytical psychotherapist here in Palm Beach, Florida, and graduate of the C.G. Jung Institute in New York.

I have been working with a young patient for the last three years. Her name will not be mentioned in this letter but she is the sister of one of your patients. I shall refer to your patient only by her initials: DH. My patient will be identified by the initial M.

You must realize that only extraordinary circumstances—and concern for the health and welfare of our patients—would lead me to write to you.

In short, my patient has disappeared and I fear for her safety. According to her stepfather, she left their house in Palm Beach yesterday evening and has not returned.

He received notification of a charge on his credit card for an airline ticket to Krakow, Poland.

The stepfather is distraught, and perhaps with good reason. M.’s behavior has been erratic of late and her sudden departure indicates a mental struggle that has been ongoing for at least the past three years of therapy.

I believe that she may be trying to find her sister in Eastern Europe. Her stepfather reports that she was tracking your patient via a GPS device. That device has also disappeared from the house.

If you should encounter M., you should be aware of a few psychological factors that may protect you, your patient, and my patient.

She can become enraged to a point of violence. This includes episodes in which she can do harm to herself and others. Because of a deep-rooted trauma, M.’s behavior is unpredictable. She was institutionalized for three months and subsequently released to her stepfather’s custody.

I have not experienced any of these episodes, but I have reviewed her records. Apparently she attacked and injured three female ward nurses in a locked facility and a 6’3” ward guard during one of her episodes. All this despite her relatively light physical frame and body weight.

I was certain she was making steady progress, and we were on a precipice of psychological discovery. Now, however, I shudder to think of her facing that precipice alone, without psychiatric help. Please contact me at once should you encounter her. I have no ethical commitment that requires me to share our correspondence with her stepfather especially if you should ask me to keep this information private.

I think I might help you understand the depth and symptoms of her trauma, which may be useful to you should you or your patient encounter her in Slovakia.

M. has just turned twenty-one and is an adult. I don’t believe she would want her stepfather to know her whereabouts now.

Sincerely yours,

A.D. Simonoff, MA, PhD

Jo
hn
swallowed hard. He slid his finger across the screen, opening contacts. He scrolled down the list to the bottom.

The phone took about thirty seconds to begin ringing. A man’s voice answered.

“Detective Whitehall?” Jo
hn
said.

An hour later, snow covered the windows of the car. Blasts of wind swirled it away again, leaving behind transparent beads of ice, frozen diamonds adhering to the windshield.

Daisy’s phone pinged, making Jo
hn
jump. An incoming e-mail.

What the hell
, thought Jo
hn
, rubbing his forehead.
I’ve already pried into Betsy’s e-mail
.

He flicked on the overhead light and twisted around, looking around for the phone. An iPhone in a dark purple leather case studded with medieval axes lay on the floor of the backseat.

Jo
hn
reached over the seat to retrieve it. He scrolled down the pages of unopened e-mails. A lot was spam, websites for Goth wear, makeup, jewelry, Goth music, movies, and chatrooms.

The most recent incoming e-mail, the one that had caught his attention with its alert, was from Kyle, Snowboard Dude.

Hey, Daisy!

Rn’t u even coming home for New Years?
I’m over the edge worried about you
!

Will u be back for the X-Games in January? I want u in my corner, Goth Girl. Get your butt back here. Seriously. I’ve got a new snowboard—it flies like a rocket. It’s Kevlar—bulletproof vest stuff.

U made the front page of The Aspen Times. “Aspen Goth Girl vanishes in Thin Air.”

OK now I’m supremely worried.

That was a wild dream about the witch torturing the women in the snow. What’s up with that? Yr shrink would have a party with that 1.

Yr sister Morgan contacted me thru yr blog—did you see? I didn’t even know you had a sister. She gave me her e-mail. Then she called me.

She said I should contact her immediately if I hear anything from you. Should I trust her? She sounded kind of weird.

Morgan told me she had the SAME dream as you posted. “Daisy’s in great danger.” She said she would intervene. WTF?? Intervene?
Yr sister totally freaked me out, BUT what can I do to help u? I don’t even know where u r!!

Kyle’s phone number was in Daisy’s list of contacts and Jo
hn
called it, looking out the ice-encrusted windshield at the pinkish gray clouds beyond the castle, giving a ghostly hue to the falling snow.

Nightfall descended swiftly in winter in northern Slovakia.

Kyle answered on the first ring.

“God, Daisy!”

Jo
hn
cleared his throat.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m—a friend, calling on her phone.”

“What kind of friend?” said Kyle, wary. “A friend who rips off her phone?”

“A real friend. I’m her therapist’s husband. Former husband.”

“What are you doing with her phone, dude?”

“OK, listen. She left the phone in her backpack in our car. I think that Daisy may have been kidnapped—”

“Kidnapped. Ah, shit!”

Jo
hn
heard the boy’s voice crack.

“Hang on. Don’t panic. I need your help. Betsy’s gone to look for her, but we’re in the dark.”

“Where are you?”

“Slovakia. On the Polish border.”

“Jesus! That’s where she said she’d be. She gave me coordinates in case she didn’t come back—”

“Who?”

“Daisy’s sister, Morgan.”

Jo
hn
stared at the creeping growth of an icicle on the passenger window. It was thin and sharp, a dagger.

“Wait. Morgan said she’s coming here?” “M” from the therapist’s report must be Morgan, he realized.

“She said something about destiny. ‘My sister’s destiny is forever my own.’ She said it like two or three times. I thought she was totally wasted.”

Through the ice on the windshield, the gray stone castle looked distorted in the distance warped like a fun house mirror.

“Do you think she’s really coming here?”

“I don’t know,” said Kyle. “She was kind of—cold and vague on the phone. Like she was making a pronouncement.”

Silence.

“So why did you call me?”

“In case you had heard from Daisy,” said Jo
hn
. “To see if you had any information that could help us—”

“Last word from her was on her blog, posted for all her friends. No e-mails, no calls.”

“What’s the name of her blog?”

“Aspen Goth Girl.”

“I’ll find her, Kyle,” Jo
hn
promised. He heard a snuffling sound on the line.

“Is she going to be OK?”

“I—I hope so,” said Jo
hn
. “Sure,” he added.

He tried to ignore the feeling that he was lying to the boy.

Chapter 92

Č
ACHTICE
C
ASTLE
D
ECEMBER 28, 1610

H
is eyes flew open, showing white rings of terror.

His fingers grasped the sheet, and he sat up gasping for breath. He stared at the crucifix on the opposite wall.

Zuzana jumped back, spilling the jug of water she was holding.

“Where am I?” he croaked.

“Oh, Janos, Janos!” she cried, setting down the earthen pitcher and embracing him. The candlelight flickered, making their shadows dance on the plastered walls.

“Where am I?” His breath came in harsh gasps.

“Janos, calm yourself. You are within
Č
achtice Castle. The Countess insisted you be nursed under her roof.”

“Where—where is she?”

“I do not know. I have been by your side all along. I—”

Vida entered, bringing a bowl of soup on a tray.

“Janos!” she whispered, closing the door behind her. “The fever has broken!”

Janos stared, his eyes unfocused.

“Where is the Countess this minute?” he repeated. “I smelt the burnt bone of evil, even in my sleep.”

Zuzana and Vida exchanged looks. He was still haunted by the fever.

Vida shuddered. “The brazen witch tortures young women now above the dungeon. She has been in the east courtyard, laughing as women freeze to death begging for mercy.”

“Are they there now?”

“No, the guards have thrown their frozen bodies over the walls, after draining them of blood. The night wolves will devour them and carry off their bones.”

Janos raised himself in bed, his trembling elbow barely supporting him.

“Tell Aloyz to ready my horse. I must ride to Vienna,” he said.

“Janos, you are too weak,” said Zuzana. “You could never make the journey.”

“I must tell the King. I do not trust Count Thurzo. She should have been arrested by now!”

“You must let us help,” Zuzana insisted. “I can ride. You know I can.”

Janos stared at her. A memory flashed of the little girl who galloped her pony in the hillside meadows of Esztergom.

“I know the way to Vienna,” she said; she was not going to back down. “I traveled many times with the Countess.”

“Of course you can ride, but not the white stallion,” he said. “You must dress as a man, ride as a man. But the bandits along the road, the Ottoman armies—”

“I will avoid them. I have young ears and eyes. Give me a fleet-footed horse.”

He smiled. He saw the excitement in her eyes, the chance to gallop a horse in the wind and rain. To escape
Č
achtice Castle forever.

Then his face drained of color. He fell back onto the pillows, closing his eyes.

“You must rest, or the fever will return,” Zuzana said, taking his hand. “Vida, send word that Aloyz should come stealthily through the kitchen entrance and see his master. He is to bring his riding clothes.”

Janos nodded, fighting to open his eyes. He struggled to gather his wits.

Zuzana searched in the bedclothes and found the lock of white mane. She placed it in Janos’s hand, which was moist with sweat.

He stared at the talisman. He curled his fingers tight around it, closing his eyes.

“But Vida, you and I must find the ledger,” he said. “With the pages as evidence, the Countess will be damned for all eternity.”