Beyond the Blood Streams

by Ben Oakley

  HighgateVampire – Then just her first name or surname? Anything to know I'm dealing with the right person.

  deadcalm1978 – I don't know you at all.

  HighgateVampire – I'm going into Linden tomorrow. Come with me?

  deadcalm1978 – No fucking chance. They'll section me there and then and I'll never get out of that hellhole.

  HighgateVampire – I could really do with your help. What about access to your research material? I'm a researcher too, so I know what your work means to you. But if you can help me then maybe together we can throw this thing wide open.

  deadcalm1978 – On one condition. You attribute any results to my sister.

  HighgateVampire – If we win this then it's going to be dedicated it to EVERY one of the 17 victims of the Blood Streams, and their families.

  deadcalm1978 – I like that. I'll send you over links to my research.

  HighgateVampire – Thank you so much buddy, together we can beat this thing.

  deadcalm1978 – My sister's name is Jennifer Cane.

  She was one of the names on the list and there weren't many victims that had become public knowledge. Jennifer Cane's address was listed as no-fixed-abode. She was one of the many homeless or sex workers who had come to a rough part of their lives and struggled to find normality.

  I was buying into deadcalm1978's story, it sounded genuine and I had to take this on face value. I was even more trusting when he sent the Dropbox links over to his research files.

  Jeez, I thought I was anal about my research but this guy had done a lot of the hard work for me. He had background research on Doctor Cobbs and other care workers there. He had patients files, architectural blueprints of the building and a whole raft of other information that would usually be impossible to obtain.

  As I was building a history of some of the victims I realised whoever was killing them had been doing so in plain sight. If Linden had anything to do with it then I'd find out tomorrow, or at the very least I would stick my nose in where they least expected it.

  It had gone midnight when I finally collapsed onto my bed. I struggled to fall asleep because the same line was repeating itself over and over in my head.

  Time is running out.

  Thirty Three

  The dream was unexpected.

  I never normally remembered them but this was one was horrific. I awoke within my dream to be led by a god of a Gothic landscape, draped in a purple haze.

  I collapsed onto the shoreline of a river of blood, my legs couldn't hold my weight as long as I would have liked. I had passed through a light of a star-born obelisk and fallen to my knees.

  A god, who was named Goldhorn, stepped out behind me and put his hand in front of my face. I gratefully accepted the gesture and took hold of it, allowing me to get to my feet easier.

  The river was indeed a slow-moving bubbling cesspool of dark, thick blood. It extended for miles in all directions and I was standing right on the edge of it, just a metre away. I could hear the roar of the bloodfalls to my right somewhere. Then a dream-memory of ancient stone tombs and graveyard architecture reared up high behind me.

  “Is the Devil in here with us?” I said, motioning to the river.

  “There are far worse things than demons here,” Goldhorn said, without moving his lips.

  I moved forward, dropped to my haunches and teased the top of the blood with my fingers. I looked out and saw the whole river was bubbling away gently and silently, in some places there was steam, rising to the darkened sky.

  “What resides in these waters?” I asked.

  I could only imagine what it was like to walk into blood instead of water. Water would just disperse as I walked through. But blood? Blood had an altogether different make-up and would most likely just stick to me like oil or glue.

  “The truth of the Blood Streams,” Goldhorn said.

  “Tell me what to do?”

  “Walk into the river and let the blood show you the way.”

  The thought of walking into a river of blood was causing my nerves to hurt me, my heart beat quickened and I began to panic. I was shaking with a primal fear I'd long since abandoned.

  I took a long, deep breath, then took my first step into the river of warm blood. I did not hesitate nor did I think too hard about it. I did not even entertain the thought of retreating, it was not an option. Besides, the truth of the Blood Streams was in front of me.

  With every step I took, the blood clung to my clothes and seeped through the gaps in the fabric to stain my skin. I found myself waist deep, going in further, my shoes already full of blood. Every time I looked at my hands they were becoming redder with every soaking of them.

  Within a few moments, I was neck deep. The bubbling of the blood only served to splash droplets into my mouth and on my face. Then I was fighting the current using a breast stroke as gently as I could without using too much energy. With every stroke, I was moving further and further away from the riverside with less chance of being able to turn back and give in.

  Then I began to hear the cries of people screaming in the distance. Initially I disregarded it as imaginings of my mind but it was coming from somewhere on the river's surface.

  No. Within the water.

  All around, a cacophony of screams from the mouths of the innocents and the insane. I looked back, the obelisk had gone and Goldhorn had gone with it. There was to be no last-minute salvation and I had come as far as I could go.

  Suddenly, I felt a tug on my leg and I cried out in panic. The screams were getting closer and closer, louder with every moment.

  Behind me, an open hand rose high from the water, followed by an arm, the body it belonged to remained hidden beneath the surface of the river. Pure dark liquid, blood made flesh.

  There was an extremely loud scream of anguish to my right and the blood around me bubbled frenetically. The blood hand grabbed me by the back of the head and without realising what had happened, I was violently pulled back and downwards into the river of blood.

  Into the genetic memory of the Blood Streams.

  I awoke with a shout.

  I had never awoken from a dream, panicking and gasping for breath. Not even in my time investigating hauntings and paranormal activity.

  “What the hell was that?” I said to myself, trying to calm my breathing.

  I rolled to my side, my bedsheets were all over the place. The moon was bright in the night sky attempting to break through the gaps in the curtains. I always left curtains open by about a foot in the middle, just made me feel more comfortable.

  I also always had the window open, even in the Winter. I feel like I can't breathe properly with them closed. I had no incomprehensible air control system, so keeping a window open worked better than anything.

  When I was younger, I used to sleep in the smaller room on the second floor but after both my parents passed away, I redecorated their room and took residence there. I slept better knowing their kind and gentle spirits remained somewhere within the confines of the room.

  I pushed myself to a seated position.

  Was I drowning in a river of blood? Jeez, it'd be clowns next and then bald men with glasses. When I lived for a few months in Eastbourne, I had a neighbour with a bald head and glasses, and it freaked me out. Didn't help matters that he was a convicted wife-beater. I've never come across a ghost that would end up beating someone to a pulp.

  Who the hell was Goldhorn?

  I sat on the edge of the bed and ran my hands through my hair, I was actually sweating and didn't realise until I touched my forehead. The time for therapy was getting close, I thought. My t-shirt was a little damp from the sweating and my bed-shorts were clinging to me in the most unfortunate of ways.

  I reached over to my phone on the bedside cabinet and turned it on. There was an email from some data company. I could see the first line and it looked like the background check on Doctor Foster had come back which was good news. I would be dissecting it when the Sun came around. There
was another message from Salt's office regarding DNA and that peaked my interest.

  Then I looked at the time, it had just turned four in the morning. Less than four hours sleep. Not exactly the rest I needed but maybe another few hours would do the trick.

  All of a sudden I thought I heard something downstairs but brushed it away from my mind. I was about to lay back down when I heard a second clattering.

  My entire body tensed and my heartbeat quickened.

  Someone was in my house.

  Thirty Four

  Now I was sweating for a different reason.

  I hated confrontation but I would defend myself when necessary. I reached under my bed and took out an iron baseball bat. It had been there for three years and had never been used. I suddenly had a strange thought about how much dust had accrued on it and whether it would grip properly in my hands.

  Pushing mundane thoughts aside, I put the bat out in front of me and edged out my second floor bedroom. I was sure the noise had come from the kitchen, like someone was messing with the cutlery but I wasn't sure. I edged along the hallway and noticed my back was as tense as it had ever been. I tried to relax it but I couldn't, it was too difficult. The tension was hurting me but I had to do it, there was nothing else for it.

  Someone was in my house.

  I'd left one of the research room lights on upstairs and completely forgot about it. I must have crashed out hard. I could feel myself sweating again, not because of any heat but the apprehension of what was waiting for me downstairs.

  I tip-toed along the landing and got to the stairs that led down to the first floor. I heard movement and my breathing quickened along with my heart rate.

  What if there was more than one person? I began catastrophising, as much as I didn't want to. Maybe it was the killer! I couldn't swallow properly through fear of making too much noise and because I had gone completely dry. My stomach was fluttering all over the place and I suddenly felt extremely hungry.

  I tentatively arrived to the first floor landing in double quick time. I edged along the landing to the top of the stairs and looked to the ground floor. I began to feel dizzy but I pushed on. Then I saw a dim light come on in the kitchen.

  Someone was going through my fridge.

  I crept down the stairs and could feel myself shaking already. I lifted the baseball bat to the side of my head ready to deliver an almighty blow to the intruder. My eyes were wide open as I stepped onto the downstairs floor. I crept along the side wall of the open plan area and stopped when I saw someone rummaging through my fridge.

  I couldn't make him out, he was a silhouette against the light. I made it to the edge of the kitchen but I knew the kitchen floor was a little squeaky so I wouldn't be able to mount a surprise attack.

  I took a deep breath, “don't you dare move,” I said with intent.

  The person's shoulders lifted to their chin and they stepped back from the fridge as the door swung shut.

  Dammit, the loss of the light had confused my vision. I panicked but then made out the shadow of the person beside the fridge. He had turned around and was facing me.

  I shouted, “who are you?”

  I moved to the light switch and held the bat at arms length in front of me. If he charged me I could get a swing in, I was sure of it. I had surprised him and not the other way around.

  I continued, “I'm gonna turn this light on and you're gonna stay exactly where you are or I'm going hurt you real bad.” I didn't know where my voice was coming from, I was rarely aggressive but the situation called for it. “Don't you dare move.”

  I slammed my hand against the light switch and immediately readied the bat to hit the intruder. My eyes were wide with fear and anger as the light brought the kitchen to life.

  Then my tension dropped away and confusion flowed through my veins.

  Stansey King was standing beside my fridge.

  She was different than before, her hair was blacker and her face was cleaner. She had obviously stolen the hoodie and jeans she was wearing as they really didn't suit her or fit her well at all.

  “Please, just listen,” she stuttered.

  The anger suddenly rose inside of me. What the hell was this? I didn't want to think about how any of it was possible and I didn't care. She had dragged me into this mess.

  “Get the hell out of my house now!”

  “Please just listen.”

  “No chance, I'm calling the police.”

  I jumped into my lounge and to the landline on the window-side of the room. I held my bat close to me, ready for action if needed.

  “I didn't know where else to go?” she pleaded.

  I picked up the phone and pressed 999 in quick succession then put it to my ear.

  Stansey started moving towards me and I pointed the bat at her, “don't you dare come any closer!” She stopped and dropped her arms to her side in despair.

  “You're the only one who can help me,” she said.

  Suddenly the operator came onto the phone and asked which emergency services I require.

  “Police please, Hampstead Heath area.”

  Stansey shouted over to me, “please don't do this, I thought you were different from the rest.”

  I pointed the bat at her, “You are not going to ruin my life a second time in as many days.”

  The operator spoke, “please state the nature of your emergency?”

  “I've caught an intruder in my house.”

  Stansey cried out, “I don't know who I am. Please!”

  I stopped as the operator continued in my ear. I couldn't think straight. This girl in my house had started this whole thing off and I still believed she had something to do with whatever was going on.

  But I made a snap decision to delve deeper into the rabbit hole.

  I hesitantly hung up just as the operator was asking for further details. I sighed to myself and couldn't work out why I did. I should have stayed on the line but the rabbit hole beckoned.

  “What is this I'm feeling right now?” I said to Stansey, rather angrily. “What's this in my gut, telling me to listen to your bullshit?”

  “It's not bullshit, I'm stuck between worlds and I don't know what to do.”

  “You shouldn't have come here.”

  “I had nowhere else to turn.”

  “You single-handedly stated in an interview that I was the one who... did those things to you.”

  “I'm sorry, it's what I believed at the time.”

  I mocked her, “believed at the time. Don't give me that. You've been involved in this for a lot longer than I dared to admit. This began with you and it's always been about you. So who the hell are you?”

  “I'm... I'm... Stansey King.”

  “Stansey King was buried in a cemetery outside of Oxford. You are not her. We showed photos of you to Stansey King's mother and she had never seen you before.”

  She started crying, “please, I don't know what to do.”

  “Who are you working with?” I said.

  “I'm not...” she drifted off into a whimper.

  “Why are you here now?” Why are you in my house? How did you get in?”

  She put her hands up in front of her shoulders and pushed them out in front of her as if offering herself as a sacrifice. I saw the tears silently fall down her face and drip onto her clothing.

  What was this feeling? Something about this entire situation didn't feel right. She took a few steps back and started opening the drawers in the kitchen frantically looking for something.

  “What are you doing?” I called out, the baseball bat still ready in my hands.

  She didn't answer and moved from one drawer to the next until she took out a carving knife from the final drawer and turned to face me.

  “Jeez,” I said, “this is how you wanna go down?”

  “You are forcing me to do this,” she cried.

  “I'm not forcing you to do anything, I never have done.” I readied the bat.

  She put the knife to he
r left wrist and looked at me in pain as she blinked away the tears.

  “Is this what you want?” she muttered.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I'm gonna bleed out right here in your kitchen and then you'll never escape me. They'll blame you for everything.”

  “I haven't done anything wrong here! Put the knife away, come on.”

  She shook her head at me, “I don't know what is going on and you're the only person I have a connection to. Please don't make me do this. Please help me.”

  “You're right, I do have a connection to you somehow but I don't know what it is. You accused me of your kidnapping and torture but it wasn't me, Stansey, it wasn't.”

  “I know that now, I know and I'm sorry.” Then she shouted, “do you think this is easy for me?”

  “I'm not saying it was I just don't know how much you're involved in whatever this is.”

  “You think I cut up my body to set you up? How the hell could I rape myself?”

  She started crying again while looking temptingly at the knife. I was certain she was about to slice her wrist open.

  I threw the bat to the sofa and raised my hands in peace. “The last thing I want is your blood in my house again,” I said. “If you're telling the truth then maybe we can get you help.”

  “I'm telling the truth.”

  “Then put the knife away.”

  She took a few steps back and walked into the fridge, making herself jump on impact. I heard a couple of bottles of beer rattle within it.

  “Do you really think I did this to myself?” she said.

  “It would be a helluva thing if you did.”

  “Someone used me to get to you. You're the only link I have.”

  “Link to what?”

  She dropped the knife and fell to her knees, “to who I really am.”

  Suddenly I saw police lights flashing through the window. A patrol car had stopped outside the house.

  She looked at me, “please make the right choice, please.”

  Choice or fate? A decision needed to be made; did I turn her in or dig deeper into her world? How would I really know if fate made a choice for me or if I truly made it myself? I was running on empty, four hours sleep and then this. I should be resting so I could find Paine with a clear head. Not this interruption to my thought processes.