The Resurrectionists
Page 11
“Several of my colleagues have fled the city or have otherwise disappeared as a result of yesterday’s commotion. One of them, I suspect, has this book.”
“Where?” Hawley asked, his eyes fighting to focus on the doctor. The single word came out slowly and thickly, his eyes glassy.
“Northeast of here, in Massachusetts, most likely.”
The men were quiet for a beat as Bayley finished stitching the anterior side of the injury. After a suitable amount of time elapsed, Bayley continued. “You had mentioned the issue of payment. I will make you an offer, and if you agree, then we can consider that matter closed. I want you to retrieve this book and return it to me.”
“Why… w… would you want… it?”
Bayley paused in his work to meet the man’s eye. He put an edge of steel in his voice, a hint of anger that he did not truly feel. “To destroy it. You’ve seen what that book is capable of, what men in wrongful possession of it are capable of. The city may be calming now, but less than twenty-four hours ago, it was a tinderbox, all because of that damnable book and the rogues handling it. After what you’ve witnessed, could you rest easy knowing it is still out there?”
For a long moment, Hawley studied the doctor’s face, his eyes struggling to focus. Yet his intent was so studious, Bayley wondered if the man possessed some arcane vision to see into his very soul and know that he was lying. And then his patient blinked languorously and nodded, reaching a decision through the fog of pain and tincture.
“I’ll get you… this book,” he slurred. “And we’ll… we’ll destroy it… together.”
“Then, I fear it may be I who will be in your debt, sir.”
Bayley set aside his needle and thread and held his hand before Hawley. They shook, their agreement sealed.
“Now, onto your side, Mr. Hawley, so that I may finish.”
Once Bayley had settled into the leather seat of his stagecoach and the driver had set the horses forth, he withdrew a small tonic from his medical bag. A fierce headache was winding through his skull, enough to make him nauseous.
Damn that woman, he thought, his hand going to the stiff hill of skin rising atop the back of his head. Neither Post nor Dr. Heather Ellery had been intent on dying within the operating theater of New York Hospital, and along with Bayley, they had broken the nearest window to seek escape. He had cared little of the fates of Hicks, Quick, or Hereford as he abandoned his plague garments and lit upon the yard surrounding the hospital, heading into the woods beyond.
Once they were a safe enough distance away, that sniveling cunt had lashed out at him from behind, slamming a cudgel into his skull. He had dropped to his knees instantly, the grimoire fumbling free of his grip. With surprising viciousness, she’d turned quickly on her heel and slammed her cudgel into Post’s face numerous times, until the man went still. She’d left him alive, yes, but badly beaten and unconscious. Bayley had been too dazed to do little more than watch through blurry eyes as Ellery seized Al Azif from him, and then he was lost to the shadows as the woman disappeared.
After wakening and making their way out of the woods, convincing the watchmen to afford them protection from further assaults by rioters had been a simple task. Lying overnight in a jail cell, unable to sleep comfortably, he’d vowed to get that book back.
Ellery, he knew, had come to Manhattan from the Essex County region of Massachusetts. She still had family there, and after a search of her apartment earlier that morning, he’d surmised she would return to Essex County. Her Manhattan flat had been empty, clothes strewn about carelessly. Jewelry and other personal effects were missing. Her neighbors had confirmed that she had indeed left, in quite a hurry, to parts unknown.
The book would be his, and Ellery would be damned for her thievery, her betrayal, and blind ambitions. His only regret was the delay required while Hawley recovered. The Negro owed him a debt now, and Hawley would follow through. If the freed man failed, though, he would not be missed. Not like Bayley or Post, who could not simply up and disappear without raising more than a few eyebrows and perhaps even the curiosity of the law.
He eased back into the cushions, the tonic soothing his burdens. He barely even noticed the carriage’s jostling as it bumped along the pitted path toward his home. Relaxing, he smiled, wondering again at the hands of fate and the destiny of the Elders.
He would have his grimoire returned to him. Then, he would be free to begin again. He would see to it that the Elders turned their attention toward this world and that this world, in turn, would burn. His gods would come forth with their rule of agony and suffering, and it would be beautiful.
Salem Hawley Will Return in
Borne of the Deep
Coming soon…
A Note From The Author
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Acknowledgments
I began writing this book, and the Salem Hawley series as a whole, in February of 2017, shortly after listening to the audiobook version of Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach. At some point in that book, she briefly mentioned the topic of resurrectionists, medical students and anatomists who dug up and stole the corpses of the recently dead. I began to get a little tickle of an idea in the back of my head and took to the great Google machine.
Now, I don’t remember if Roach discussed this in her book or if it was a topic that came up in the course of my research, but as my story ideas grew, I knew that the crux of this first novella would hinge on the New York Doctors’ Riot of 1788.
I set about learning as much as I could about the Doctors’ Riot and set about portraying it with plenty of authorial license. Yes, I admit, dear readers, the actual Doctors’ Riot did not feature any otherworldly monstrosities, and the cultists were the product of my own imagination, even if I borrowed some degree of their likenesses from the historical record. I also fudged the invention of the voltaic pile, the experiments of which were hypothesized, tested, and published by Alessandro Volta in 1791. The creation of the voltaic pile as depicted here would not come from Volta until 1800. For the sake of this story, I made Volta’s publications come about a few years earlier and allowed Dr. Bayley to devise its construction in secret for his own devious purposes. If there are any electrical engineers and other associated sticklers for details, I can only ask for your forgiveness.
In the build-up toward this book’s climax and various plot points along the way, I found Bess Lovejoy’s 2014 article, “The Gory New York City Riot that Shaped American Medicine,” for Smithsonian.com to be a wonderful starting point: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/gory-new-york-city-riot-shaped-american-medicine-180951766/
Other sources that proved invaluable along the way included the following:
“The Doctors’ Mob Riot” by Greg Bjerg for Damn Interesting. Retrieved from https://www.damninteresting.com/the-doctors-mob-riot/
“American Resurrection: The Doctors’ Riot of 1788” by Francesca Miller for Dirty, Sexy History. Retrieved from https://dirtysexyhistory.com/2016/07/07/american-resurrection-the-doctors-riot-of-1788/
“Body Snatchers of Old New York” by Bess Lovejoy for Lapham’s Quarterly. Retrieved from https://www.laphamsquarterly.org/roundtable/body-snatchers-old-new-york
“The Doctors’ Riot 1788” by The History Box. Retrieved from http://thehistorybox.co
m/ny_city/riots/riots_article7a.htm
“‘And What Say the Living?’ An Examination of Public Discussion of Anatomical Dissection Prior to the Doctors’ Riot of 1788” by Carmen Niemeyer. (http://research.monm.edu/mjur/files/2015/04/MJUR2015-09-NiemeyerB.pdf).
Since I was using a real event, I decided at some point along the way to use the names of those who were involved, although my depiction of them here is largely fictional. Some characters, like John Hicks, Jr., are fictional representations based on anecdotes about them from the period in which they lived. For Hicks, in particular, some aspects of his behavior were drawn from incidents lodged in the historical record, specifically the instigating moments of the Doctors’ Riot as described in Niemeyer’s article referenced above.
I haven’t found any evidence yet on whether or not he might be a distant relative of mine, but I can’t entirely rule it out, as playing a grisly prank on children that sparks a riot certainly sounds like something one of my relatives would do. Although Hicks seemed to be quite the instigator and rabble-rouser, there’s no evidence to indicate he was ever a cultist or murderer.
For that matter, there is no evidence Richard Bayley was, either. In fact, he seems like a fairly well-practiced doctor of his era and was responsible for several good deeds on behalf of the fledgling city of New York, including the development of the Quarantine Act and the opening of the Quarantine Grounds and Marine Hospital. He spent quite a lot of his career caring for the sick, the poor, and immigrants newly arrived to the shores of America. You can find a timeline of his life at http://blogs.shu.edu/mvdh/people/dr-richard-bayley/ should you wish to know more about the real man I have taken extraordinary liberties with in order to tell my little horror story. I likely owe quite an apology to his spirit for the things I’ve written here and in the stories to come.
Salem Hawley and Jonathan Hereford are both entirely fictitious, and any slandering of them is wholly imaginary on my part.
In addition to the authors of the above-referenced sources, a number of other individuals were responsible for helping this story shape up on its road to publication. Jessica Anderegg was responsible for reading this manuscript in its initial form and providing much-needed feedback on its content and development, pointing out areas of weakness and strength and suggesting ways to make this book better, stronger, and faster. I would also like to thank my editor, Stefanie Spangler Buswell, who provided a number of very helpful notes, weeded out any textual mistakes, and made my prose shine. Additional thanks to Luara Brooks, who proofread the final manuscript and pointed out plenty of other mistakes I either introduced or missed as this book’s various drafts took shape.
Should we ever meet, I owe Kealan Patrick Burke a round or two or three of his drink of choice for his luscious cover art. He’s arranged art for the last few books of mine and is again responsible for the stunning imagery of this title and the two Salem Hawley books to follow.
Of course, I also owe a hell of a lot to my wife and kids, for both their support and their patience.
And, most of all, I owe you, too, dear readers. You make the work worth it, and I thank you for reading. I hope I’ve made this book worth your time, and I look forward to us meeting again soon.
Until next time...
About the Author
Michael Patrick Hicks is the author of Broken Shells: A Subterranean Horror Novella, Mass Hysteria, and the science fiction thriller Convergence. He is a member of the Horror Writers Association and the Great Lakes Association of Horror Writers.
In addition to his own works of original fiction, he has written for the online publications Audiobook Reviewer and Graphic Novel Reporter, and has previously worked as a freelance journalist and news photographer in Metro Detroit.
Michael lives in Michigan with his wife and two children. In between compulsively buying books and adding titles that he does not have time for to his Netflix queue, he is hard at work on his next story.
To stay up to date on Michael’s latest releases, join his newsletter at: http://bit.ly/1H8slIg
For more books and updates on Michael’s work, visit his website: http://michaelpatrickhicks.com
Also Available From High Fever Books
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ABOUT BROKEN SHELLS
Antoine DeWitt is a man down on his luck. Broke and recently fired, he knows the winning Money Carlo ticket that has landed in his mailbox from a car dealership is nothing more than a scam. The promise of five thousand dollars, though, is too tantalizing to ignore.
Jon Dangle is a keeper of secrets, many of which are buried deep beneath his dealership. He works hard to keep them hidden, but occasionally sacrifices are required, sacrifices who are penniless, desperate, and who will not be missed. Sacrifices exactly like DeWitt.
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"Brutal horror. Raw. Animalistic. I couldn't put it down!" — Armand Rosamilia, author of the Dying Days series
"Mass Hysteria is a hell of a brutal, end of the world free for all. A terrifying vision of a future gone mad with bloodlust, Mass Hysteria will haunt your nightmares." — Hunter Shea, author of Just Add Water and We Are Always Watching
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ABOUT MASS HYSTERIA
It came from space…
Something virulent. Something evil. Something new. And it is infecting the town of Falls Breath.
Carried to Earth in a freak meteor shower, an alien virus has infected the animals. Pets and wildlife have turned rabid, attacking without warning. Dogs and cats terrorize their owners, while deer and wolves from the neighboring woods hunt in packs, stalking and killing their human prey without mercy.
As the town comes under siege, Lauren searches for her boyfriend, while her policeman father fights to restore some semblance of order against a threat unlike anything he has seen before. The Natural Order has been upended completely, and nowhere is safe.
…and it is spreading.
Soon, the city will find itself in the grips of mass hysteria.
To survive, humanity will have to fight tooth and nail.
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“Wow. Just... Wow. Revolver aims at the world we live in and blows its head off.” — Edward Lorn, author of Bays End and The Sound of Broken Ribs
“Revolver ... takes the ‘shocking’ gold medal. A classic example of social science fiction … most gripping.” — David Wailing, author of Auto
“Hicks has written a seminal political – psychological thriller that packs a massive punch in a short space. … I think it’s a piece of fiction that will stand the test of time.” — Steve Stred, Kendall Reviews
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Cara Stone is a broken woman: penniless, homeless, and hopeless. W
hen given the chance to appear on television, she jumps at the opportunity to win a minimum of $5,000 for her family.
The state-run, crowdfunded series, Revolver, has been established by the nation’s moneyed elite to combat the increasing plight of class warfare.
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"A sharp, crackling exploration of man's hubris and science gone wrong. This is Frankenstein for the new millennium." — Hunter Shea, author of We Are Always Watching and The Jersey Devil
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