Riverwatch (4 page)

"Cool!" Sam exclaimed happily. When he’d agreed to bring Katelynn in to see Gabriel, he’d expected to sit through a long conversation about a guy who’d long since turned to dust and who’d led a life so boring that no one even remembered him. Now all of a sudden they were talking about something that was right up his alley; a real, live warlock, right here in his own town!

Katelynn, however, was far from thrilled at the news. "I’m sorry, but I just can’t believe that," she said.

"Why not?" Gabriel asked, a playful smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye.

His expression just served to aggravate Katelynn further. He was a nice old man, and probably pretty lonely most of the time. This was why he liked making up stories to tell Sam while Sam worked the late shift, only the two of them awake so late at night. He’d probably misunderstood how serious she was, and having no real information that could help, had decided to invent some story along the lines of the ones he told Sam, thinking that this was what she wanted to hear. She’d come here looking for solid leads to help her, and talk of rituals and black magic was just going to put her in a foul mood. How gullible did he think she was?

"Why don’t I believe it?" she answered him, the smile on her face as false as a three-dollar bill. "I’ll tell you why I don’t believe it. Because there is no such thing as black magic."

"Are you so sure of that, Katelynn? Has someone actually proven that such a thing does not exist?"

"Of course not. No reputable scientist would bother with such an experiment. The idea of magic completely defies what we know of modern physics. It just can’t happen."

"Ahh, but remember what we are talking about here. We’re not discussing modern ideas of reality, but the views of those people who created this town in the late seventeen hundreds. Belief in witchcraft was a way of life back then, and in just about every small town you could find some man or woman who was considered a witch or warlock. Having these individuals run out of town or put to death by angry mobs in the middle of the night was not uncommon, especially here in the back woods of New England. Just look at Salem. Do you really think these people didn’t believe in magic?"

Grudgingly, Katelynn had to admit that he was right. When delving into the past, one had to remember that modern beliefs and attitudes just didn’t belong. You had to adopt the beliefs of that particular era, or you would arrive at incorrect conclusions, just as she was doing now. But what did all this have to do with Blake?

Gabriel was more than happy to let her know. "Blake believed that he could gain power through the use of black magic, and much of his public demeanor was just an act, designed to deceive the townspeople into accepting him back into the fold while his research went on behind their backs. He scoured every reference he could find, tome after tome after tome, searching for just the right ritual that would put him in touch with the dark entities that he believed existed amongst us, hoping to make use of their power to elevate himself into a position of dominance in the community."

"Then, in the early months of 1762, the killings began. The townspeople at first thought they were accidents, for they had been cleverly disguised as such. A wagon accident here, a sudden fall from a horse there, a child lost in the woods and found frozen to death the next day. But as the year passed, the killings became more frequent. And more violent. Random accidents could no longer account for what was happening, and the ravaged conditions of the corpses made the people begin to suspect that something out of the ordinary was going on. Then, late in 1763, the killer was discovered."

Katelynn was listening with a skeptical look on her face, but Sam was completely engrossed in Gabriel’s tale, his belief in every word etched clearly on his face.

"An anonymous tip sent the local authorities to a small shack on the woods of the Blake family estate, and there they discovered Sebastian in the midst of one of his foul rituals. A small child was laid out on an altar before him as some kind of sacrifice to the powers with whom he had fallen in league. Before their very eyes, he plunged a knife into the young one’s chest and cut out his living heart."

The old man shuddered, and Katelynn found herself involuntarily replying in kind. One thing she had to give him credit for; Gabriel was a great storyteller. Whether what he had to say had any basis in fact was another issue altogether.

"The townsfolk saw no need to wait for a formal trial. They formed a lynch mob and hanged him on the spot."

"So how come there is no record of any of this?" Katelynn asked, trying to trip the man up.

He had an answer ready for that as well. "Not wanting to beseech the Blake family name, or to create a reputation for their newly prospering town, the village elders agreed to wipe any reference of the event from the records, and forbade the papers from printing anything concerning the story, which wasn’t difficult, because they were owned by the Blakes."

"So how am I going to prove that this actually occurred?" she asked him.

Gabriel sat back and spread his hands, palms up. "I don’t know. You’re going to have to figure that one out for yourself. I’ve told you all that I know."

Throughout the story Sam had been quiet, but he spoke now. "They couldn’t have gotten to everyone, Katelynn. There’s bound to be someone who recorded the events. A merchant, or a traveling minister, maybe even one of the families of the victims. At the very least you should be able to document the number of deaths that occurred at that time, right?"

Katelynn thought about it for a moment, and then agreed. The town records should show the death certificates for those years, if they were still around. If she could substantiate that, she might be able to find another lead to help her prove the rest. She smiled to herself, surprised that she was seriously considering the story she’d just heard. The idea that Blake was consorting with the devil was absurd, but proving the man had been some kind of a serial killer was not beyond her ability.

She focused her attention back on Gabriel. "Could you tell me any more about the people who were murdered?" she asked hopefully.

The well of information that Gabriel seemed to possess had apparently run dry. He didn’t know the names of any of the victims, or the dates on which they had been killed. Nothing except for the fact that it had started in early 1762 and ended in late 1763. "I’m sorry I can’t help you more," he said.

"Oh, that’s okay. You’ve given me a beginning, anyway. I’m not saying I believe it, but maybe it’s worth looking into."

He smiled at her, and she gave him one of her own, the skepticism she’d felt earlier in the conversation having dissipated.

They chatted for a few minutes more, and then said their good-byes. Sam had to start his shift, and Katelynn had to prepare a lesson for the class she was teaching in the morning. They told Gabriel they’d be back to see him soon, and stepped out into the hallway.

"What do you think, Katelynn?" Sam asked, as they headed for the nursing station at the other end of the hall where he was assigned for the duration of his shift. "Do you think he was telling the truth?"

"I don’t know, Sam. It could be that this guy actually was running around, sacrificing people in the mistaken belief that it could give him supernatural powers. This was the seventeenth century, after all. Then again, Gabriel could’ve just been making it all up in an effort to please you. It’s obvious that he likes you, and if he felt that was the type of story you were looking for, he might just do it. He’s certainly intelligent enough to pull it off."

"I don’t know, Katelynn. Gabriel’s never lied to me before and he certainly understood how important this is to you."

"Only time will tell. Maybe I’ll turn something up with a little more research. In the meantime, I’d better get going."

Sam handed over the car keys. "Pick me up at nine and we’ll drive to Jake’s together, okay?"

"Sure thing. See you then," she replied, and headed off down the hall, throwing one last smile in Sam’s direction to show that she didn’t think the whole afternoon had been wasted.

Sam grinned in return and turned back to begin the day’s work, but his mind was on that long forgotten evening in 1763.

*** ***

At the other end of the hall, the one calling himself Gabriel sat staring into the distance, his eyes unfocused and dreamy. The voice of the beast was in the back of his mind, as it had been throughout the interview, whispering to him all the awful ends it had devised for him in its long years of confinement. It had been easier to ignore it when he had his two young friends in the room to talk to, taking his mind off what the beast was saying, but now with them gone, it was harder to shut it out. He listened closely for a moment, trying to gauge if it had grown any stronger, but being unable to do so, he tuned it out. He didn’t want to listen to that vile voice any longer.

He was worried. He was no longer the man he’d once been. His power was waning quickly, his body at last had grown old and tired. He’d assumed the Nightshade’s prison would hold him indefinitely, but in that he’d been wrong. He should never have had that much pride in his own abilities. The beast was awake, and before long he knew it would be free as well.

Then it would come for him.

He had no doubts as to what would happen when it did.

He had one last hope, however. The seeds of his plan had already been planted. Sam was a good listener, and mixed within the stories he had been telling were grains of truth. He trusted that the boy would be smart enough to tell one from the other when the time was right.

The girl was a different story. He could tell she was skeptical of the tale he had told, and it would be questionable whether she would be able to overcome that skepticism in time to help Sam with what needed to be done. But overcome it she must, for Sam could not face this alone.

Gabriel decided to nudge her along the right path.

Rising from his bed, he crossed to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. Beneath several old sweaters was a locked strongbox. He removed the box and placed it on top of the dresser.

Inside were the odds and ends that he had accumulated over the years; mementos of special moments and personal interests. One of these was a necklace of gold from which hung a crimson stone, wrapped in a piece of soft cloth. It had been fashioned years before by his enemy’s ally and Gabriel had taken possession of it following his victory over them. It was a communication device of sorts, for the right kind of individual, and Gabriel had little doubt that Katelynn fit the mold.

Gabriel reached for the phone. His first call went to directory assistance where he obtained Katelynn’s address. His second call was to a courier service, with whom he made arrangements to have the necklace picked up and delivered.

If he was right, it wouldn’t be long before Katelynn was involved in his plan whether she wanted to be or not.

It was unfair, but necessary.

With each passing day the beast was growing stronger, coming that much closer to escaping.

Gabriel knew it would not be long.

His task finished, he began to pray.

Chapter Three: Blake

As Jake drove his Jeep along the winding road that led from the tall iron gates marking the entrance of the Riverwatch estate to the mansion itself, he glanced out over the lake to his left. The beauty of the setting sun as it reflected off the still waters had not lost its appeal in the years since he’d first seen it.

He had arrived in Harrington Falls five years ago, after spending almost a decade in New York City. The romance of the metropolis had long since worn away by the time he’d made the decision to leave. He’d grown tired of the crowds; tired of the press of humanity on all sides, tired of the hectic pace. He needed a cleansing of the spirit that just wasn’t possible to find in the city and one afternoon he decided he had enough. He sold almost everything he owned, packed his Jeep, and headed northeast. Eventually, he wandered into Harrington Falls and decided to stay.

He accomplished a lot since then. With the help of a local bank, he started a construction company, finally putting the engineering degree he’d earned at NYU to good use. He started small, concentrating on additions to existing structures, home improvements, that sort of thing. After a time he discovered that he had a true talent, and interest, for restoring the older homes in the community, bringing them back to the vitality of their youth. He changed the focus of his business and now had a strong following in the surrounding communities. It was his success that brought him to the attention of his current client, Hudson Blake.

Blake was a direct descendant of the family that had started Harrington Falls in the late sixteen hundreds, a fact that he never let anyone forget. Jake had agreed to renovate one of the family mansions, a place known as Stonemoor. He knew the job would provide steady work for the rest of the fall and on into the winter, a period when the available work became scarce.

Jake was beginning to regret that decision.

He hated these meetings with Blake. Held once a week, they were ostensibly to check the progress the crew was making on the renovations. Blake’s nature had always made Jake feel inferior. The man was a pompous, condescending ass who wanted everything done yesterday, and got verbally vicious when it wasn’t.

No, this was not going to be a fun meeting.

Jake pulled into the cul-de-sac at the end of the drive, and parked beside a sleek, silver Rolls Royce, circa 1937. A wide brick walkway curved across the lawn to the main door of the mansion.

He picked up the door’s knocker, a heavy piece of brass molded into the shape of a lion’s head, and rapped it sharply three times.

A moment passed before the butler, Charles, opened the door. He glanced at Jake’s attire with clear disapproval. Jake was still wearing the jeans and work-shirt he’d had on at the site. Coming across the threshold, Jake returned his best Up Yours stare, with a certain sense of satisfaction.

It was bad enough that he had to take such flack from Blake. Taking it from the man’s servant was just too much.