Eve Read online

  “Coffee time!…” She marched in with two steaming mugs, “…There’s a complaint from the workforce, you know, the ones that do all the real work around here. They want to know how they’re supposed to get anything done with all that shouting going on?” She had successfully defused the situation; the two men sipped their coffees in thoughtful silence. Phil’s unusual behaviour having increased Richard’s disquiet. In the end Richard apologised and agreed to leave Phil to it, but without knowing why. And then, while Phil had turned away, he took the opportunity to pick up one of the smaller books and hide it inside his newspaper,

  “See you for lunch?” Once again he was hurt when he received no reply.

  *

  London, Central - 2000

  Eve was drawn down into the London Underground once more. Entering at Hammersmith she bought a day-ticket and made the half-hour trip on to Liverpool St where she changed to the Central Line. Far busier, where the passengers were at their most dense, she stood close to a couple whose body language gave away their recent arguments. Their mixed feelings of anger and fear hit her like the first cigarette of the day. Shortly she moved on. Boarding a train heading towards Oxford Circus, where, in times before CCTV, she could have wandered for hours if she’d wanted.

  Impossible to completely hide her striking beauty, she dressed down, applied no make up (although she rarely did anyway) and pulled back her hair with a rubber band. She wanted anonymity, to feel without being noticed, to wallow in the waves of human emotion.

  She spurned the opportunity of an empty seat, preferring to stand amongst the close packed commuters. After a time, she had no idea how long, she found herself next to a woman dressed in heels and a suit. Her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses but Eve knew they were puffy from crying. She followed her from the train, like a parasite greedily lapping at the slurry of emotion emanating from the unhappy woman.

  It came to an abrupt end when the woman used a swipe card to enter a glass tower block, but already Eve had known the woman was close to her destination, the woman’s mind had hardened, blocking off whatever it was that was upsetting her so much, steeling herself for a day at work.

  Eve returned to the Underground.

  *

  Londinium - AD60

  Boudicca and her army smashed the partly evacuated town of Londinium without mercy, killing men, women and children alike. Then they torched the thriving little town leaving nothing but a layer of ash. They appeared unstoppable. The green eyed gladiatrix seized her chance to escape from gladiatorial slavery and during the heat of battle fought her way to the relative safety of the skirmishes. By nightfall she was clear of Londinium and carrying a fresh sack of supplies. She slept well that night, huddled beneath a bush on the edge of a copse while Londinium burned in the distance.

  From there she had no idea where she would go, only that at some time in the future she would again come face to face with the Soul Stealer.

  Born into slavery, and cursed with an unnatural beauty she suffered at the whim of an earlier Emperor. Only after his death was she able to free herself from his sadistic sexual degradations. If the Arena could be called any kind of freedom.

  While she slept she dreamed of revenge,

  “I will see you again, even though you’re dead of this world.”

  At dawn she marched south.

  *

  The House in the Countryside -2000

  Down in the cellar of a large old English country-house, Sir Clive, once a high ranking official of the British Foreign Office, polished his bright stainless steel surgical instruments and dreamed of immortality.

  He did not notice his multiple reflections in the mirror-like bowls, scalpels, saws and tweezers, his bright bald head and mad, obsessive beady eyes.

  “It’s in the brain...” He repeatedly muttered to himself. “…They nearly had it, those great Victorian men of science, they nearly had it!…” He dropped his tools as a thought crossed his mind, “…Here.” He tapped a forefinger on the side of a lifelike plastic human head. The lines at the corners of his eyes tightening as he grinned in certain knowledge.

  *

  London, Windsor - 2000

  Richard closed his office door, a thing he rarely did, and sat behind his desk with the little old book held before him just below the desk’s edge. Dark red in colour, the cover thick leather with the title long ago worn off, it seemed such an innocent little thing, “Might be a family bible…” Very carefully turned back the thick cover and opened it at the first page. In the background, he could hear Cyndy answering the phone, everything seemed quite ordinary, “…So why am I shaking?” The book contained text in Latin; he couldn’t read a word of it. There were however, a great many sketches, drawings, and diagrams. It was divided into sections; the first part contained drawings of various tools and implements that he could not discern the use of. The second part depicted many naked men and women with detailed notes beneath them and arrows pointing to different parts of their bodies. It occurred to Richard that it might be a primitive medical journal of some kind and he kept on carefully turning the dry old pages.

  The third section showed the same naked bodies except that this time they were accompanied by the tools from section one. The bodies were mutilated, torn and broken by the disembodied hands holding the now vicious looking implements. He realised with a sick feeling in his stomach that it was no medical journal, but an instruction manual for the systematic torture of human beings. He pressed on into section four, noting that there was a name and town at the top of each page, beneath the name was a picture of either a man or woman being mutilated by the implements. At the bottom of each of those pages was a single line of text, the same text repeated over and over again. He thought it might be in Latin but wasn't sure.

  From out of nowhere Cyndy’s voice made him jump,

  “Is that one of her ladyship’s books?…” She stood in front of his desk, “…Must be very interesting, you didn’t even notice me come in. Can I go to lunch now?” With a start, Richard saw that it was twelve O’clock; he had been poring over the book for more than an hour. His mind raced,

  “Cyn, do you mind taking a later lunch today? There’s someone I need to see. I’ll be back by one!” He almost ran out of the office without another word. Cyndy glared after him and then slammed back into her chair,

  “They’ve flipped! Both of them.” She moaned to herself as she picked up the phone to call a friend.

  Richard found himself out in the street, in the cold without a jacket. He’d left the office in a kind of daze, the contents of the little book appalled him, and somehow he knew that the mysterious woman’s other books were going to be the same, or worse. His thoughts turned to Philip, “What the hell’s he getting in to?” He had all questions and no answers, “Who said there’s no such thing as coincidence?” He asked himself, standing outside the bookshop. Peering through the gloom he spied Walther sitting at a desk in the far corner, head down as if reading. He entered, pleased to find the shop empty, taking the book out of his pocket as he approached. Walther looked up and smiled politely. He seemed about to speak but Richard cut in first,

  “I would like your opinion of this.” His abruptness caused no more than a slightly raised eyebrow as Walther accepted the book from him. He studied its cover for a few moments and took out a magnifying glass from his desk drawer, then with an air of sudden interest, opened it seemingly at random. The seconds ticked by on the old shop clock and Richard started to feel a little foolish. He asked himself, “Why am I doing this? It’s only a book.” Walther’s face had changed from an expression of polite interest to one of barely concealed agitation.

  “From whom did you receive this atrocity?” He slammed the book shut, his tone demanding an explanation. The shop was still empty, the noise from the street faint and distant, drowned out by the ticking clock. Walther continued to demand an explanation,

  “Such a book can not be yours. I ask you again, how is it in your possession?” Richa
rd had never been one to be bullied,

  “Hold on. I brought the book to you remember? You’re supposed to be answering my questions!” Walther rose from behind the desk, a full six inches taller than Richard, with an air of quiet dignity he crossed to the door and locked it shut.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Richard shouted warily. Walther held up a placating hand,

  “Please. Come with me…” He led Richard through a faded curtain to a small cluttered room at the back of the shop, “…Sit, please…” And motioned to a worn leather armchair, “…I will tell you all I can about the book. And in return, you will tell me where its owner is to be found.”

  “Yes, er, I mean no, I can't...” Richard babbled, “...I have to get the book back before he notices it's missing.”

  “I see. The perhaps we should meet later, after work perhaps?”

  “I can't just give you someone's address, that's a breach of-”

  “Do you know what it's made of?”

  “What? What's that got to do with- ”

  “The cover...” Walther handed the book back to Richard, “...is made of human skin.”

  *

  The House in the Countryside - 2000

  For perhaps the thousandth time in her life, Cairo brushed her shining black hair aside and carefully turned the faded pages of ‘Film Review and the Stars 1961-62’. As usual she stopped and stared at the portrait of Marlon Brando, carefully tracing the contours of his face with her forefinger.

  “Isn't he handsome?” She whispered. Her friends silently agreed.

  *

  London, Windsor - 2000

  Richard had returned to the office in a state of distraction, he had agreed to meet Walther after work and trade with him the address of the mysterious woman for information about her. He looked after reception while Cyndy had lunch, grateful that the phone didn't ring too often, and managed to slip the book back with the others while Philip wasn't looking. It had been irritatingly easy; Philip hadn't even turned around to acknowledge his return from lunch. “It's all in my mind.” He told himself, “There's nothing sinister going on.” But he couldn't shake off the nagging unease. Taking up a sheet of paper, he decided to try his usual problem solving technique of writing things down. In large pink highlighter he wrote the titles to three columns; Woman with books, Philip, and Dream. It didn't help.

  The afternoon dragged by until it was home time. Cyndy left on the stroke of five, Richard followed shortly afterwards, leaving Philip to lock up alone. The early evening was dark and cold; moisture hung in the air and settled on the glistening wet parked cars. The bookshop was already closed and in darkness. As he approached he saw a tall silhouette waiting in the doorway, Walther stepped out of the gloom.

  “We have a bargain my friend...” His tone was expectant, and he placed himself directly in Richard's path, “…You have the address, yes?” Richard stopped abruptly, annoyed at his tone but still eager to talk to him,

  “Yes, I've got it. But before I give it to you I want a lot more information, I want to know why you want it so badly.” Walther hesitated for just a second,

  “Very well, but perhaps we should go somewhere more comfortable?” Richard led him to his usual pub, half full with people on their way home from work. They found seats by the imitation real fire, Richard with a pint of beer and Walther with a large glass of mulled wine.

  “Forgive me if I ramble a little. There is much to tell. Perhaps too much…” Walther explained, “…You may have read in the scientific journals recently of the discovery of a new part of the brain? Yes? No? Well the theory is that they can now control the part of the brain that causes the ageing process. To such a point that it may be possible to halt it altogether. Eternal life may be just around the corner.” He paused as Richard interrupted,

  “What's that got to do with-”

  “Please? Let me finish before you bombard me with questions.” They both took sips from their drinks before he resumed,

  “In my country it has been known for centuries that some people have extraordinarily long lives. These people are mutations, the part of the brain that has now become known to science does not function in the normal way and they live ‘forever‘. It is well known that the brain sends out signals to the body using electronic pulses, what is not so well known is that these pulses are also broadcast out into the air, as brain 'waves’ if you like. The mutants that I am speaking about are able to receive these brain-waves, and it is the act of receiving them that stalls the gland, which governs the ageing process. And so the net result is that the person does not get older...” His final sentence was delivered in a flat monotone, “…These mutants have been known in my country for many centuries as the undead.”

  Richard nearly choked on his beer,

  “Oh for Christ's sake! You're telling me you're a fucking vampire hunter?” Walther continued his tale, quite unruffled,

  “Scientists have been studying the power and intensity of brainwaves for many years and have reached the not surprising discovery that when a person is suffering some kind of stress or trauma their brain wave emissions increase dramatically. With physical pain causing the greatest increase in brainwave activity. The undead that I speak of are not blood-sucking vampires, my friend, they feed on the brain 'waves' of others. And I'm sure you can see that people who are suffering make a much more satisfying ‘meal’ than those who are not. Do you follow?” Richard nodded, speechless again.

  “So, these Undead become gradually addicted to the intensity of suffering people, dependent on them as drug-users are to their habit.” He paused for a while, allowing Richard time to digest his story and ask a question,

  “How do you know all this? How come it hasn't been all over the newspapers?” Walther replied indirectly,

  “My father studied these creatures for most of his life, after he met one when he worked in a Nazi concentration camp. She was not a prisoner; she was the mistress of the Commandant, an officer in Hitler's Schutzstaffel, or SS. as they came to be known. My father was conscripted to help with the disposal of the prisoners; he escaped eventually and joined the Resistance movement. He was a good man, god rest his soul.” Walther fell quiet and Richard realised with a shock that his father, the man who ran the bookshop, must have died, he could think of nothing to say and after a time Walther continued,

  “I found him this afternoon, half out of bed. The doctor assured me that there would have been no pain. I do not wholly believe him. His heart stopped. I will bury him on Saturday.” He fell silent again; his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Richard fetched more drinks giving him the time to compose himself. On Richard's return Walther was himself again and began talking immediately, the flickering fire lending a reddish glow to his face,

  “Perhaps I should get to the point at last. A few weeks ago my father wrote to me where I was working in Vienna, he said that he had at last tracked down the creature he'd met at the concentration camp all those years ago. She was here in London and was responsible for the recent spate of, erm, rather gory murders. He went on to say that his health was deteriorating rapidly and that I was needed. Since my arrival two weeks ago I have read his many copious notes and listened to his advice. I am ready to complete his mission and destroy the monster. The main problem would have been finding her, but now, by an extraordinary coincidence, she has come to me. I believe the owner of that little book is the creature I seek.”

  Richard pursed his lips, a sceptical look on his face.

  “Just let me get this straight. You want me to give you the address of a woman you’ve never seen so that you can go and kill her? Is that right? Doesn't that make me an accomplice to murder?” There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his tone. Once more Walther was unflustered,

  “Strictly speaking Richard, yes. Except that this creature is not on any census forms, has no nationality and possibly is not even wholly ‘human’. I prefer to think of the killing as a service to mankind, she or it, should not be allowed to live.”
It was too much for Richard,

  “No way, I'm out of here, you're insane!” He rose hurriedly to leave, Walther rose after him and called out at his departing figure,

  “We have a bargain, remember. Think it over. Come to the shop tomorrow.”

  *

  Richard hurried home along the black wet streets, haunted by the vision that Philip was in danger. Once indoors, he quickly opened a bottle of wine and poured himself a large glassful, aware that Susan would home very soon. He was draining his glass when she arrived, he hurried to meet her in the hallway and helped her off with her coat, realising in the back of his mind that he was a bit drunk. She sniffed his breath,

  “You've been to the pub!” He coaxed her into the kitchen, sat her down and presented her with a glass of wine and the biscuit jar.

  “We need to talk.” He announced after clumsily slamming the fridge door and dropping the block of cheese.

  “You see there's this woman…”

  After a very bad start he eventually managed to tell Susan the whole story. They were halfway down their second bottle by the time the tale was finished and Susan's many questions answered. She'd become thoughtful,

  “I'm worried about Phil. Do you think he really could be in danger? Shouldn't we warn him?” They decided to sleep on it.