“Of course, Mr. Lyons,” Gidley growled, practically drooling. “It hasn't been that long since Our last 'chaining' procedure.”
“Now once I run to the edge of the water, We will deploy one Distractible incantation- only one, is that clear?”
“Can We get on with it, please?” Gidley hissed.
Lyons shot Gidley one quick, fleetingly dark look. He then promptly dashed to the edge of the rising water as he had promised, slipping a bit as his feet made contact with it.
Gidley reached into his coat pocket and produced yet another green apple, which he then rolled down the sloping hallway; it went just far enough to garner the attention of a curious child.
“From the honorable badge of a Mason!” Lyons shouted.
“The universal dominion of death!” Gidley cried in response.
The incantation had the desired response, leaving those unfortunate souls who were non-vampiric mute for an instant. That split second was all Lyons and Gidley needed, as Lyons plunged into his first berth, grabbed one victim, set his retractable fangs into motion and sank them into a man's neck, while reaching out with one hand and choking a woman. The pulling of blood and the injection of poison was carried out immediately by Lyons, as Gidley moved with lightning speed into his first targeted berth, plunging his hungry fangs into one man's neck while violently choking another with his forearm. Even though the incantation did not have a very long-lasting effect, the victims had no time to react. Within two seconds, Lyons had bitten his second victim, sending his first target of prey crumbling to the floor dead while also already choking a third victim.
A few of the immigrants had a flash of realization of what was happening, but the speed and ferocity of the attack made it impossible to escape, or to fully grasp why two well-dressed Anglo-Saxon men were assaulting them in such a freakish manner. Bite, poison, death, choke was the order and, in just over ten seconds, both men had whirled out of their berths and into the next two rooms of victims.
1:15 A.M.
Lillith, who was glowing with excitement and tingling with fear, had never been so happy to see a man- any man- in her life.
“I know,” she half-cried, caressing his face in her hands. “We must-”
She suddenly seemed to lose her balance a bit and Langston fought to hold her up. “Lillith! Lillith, my dear, what is it?”
Her hand, which had been on his face, snapped back violently to her forehead and she convulsed. “Oh dear God, oh no!” She clasped both hands over her ears.
“Lillith, my dear, what is wrong?” Langston pleaded.
Her face contorted as a horrifically shrill ringing tone tore through her ears, and she fell to her knees. “Unclean! UNCLEAN!!” she screamed.
1:16 A.M.
With ruthlessly efficient speed, Gidley and Lyons had taken the lives of all that they had found in the second set of berths, and now converged together on the one final middle berth in the row of five. Like experts in a perverted dance, the two vampires maneuvered their way in a cramped space with bunk beds, never so much as brushing each other as they consumed the lives of one victim- mother, baby, uncle, grandfather, grandmother- after another.
As the last two bodies dropped from their hands, Gidley stood breathing heavily, his chest awash with gore. Lyons had only a few trickles of blood on his lip. Their fangs slowly receded back into their mouths.
“We are both unclean,” Lyons coolly assessed as he wiped his lip with a finger and pulled out a handkerchief. “Obviously You got the worst of it. From the look of it, that's also got to be the end of Lillith's ears, wherever she may be.” Lyons looked about the room. “How many do You think that was, all told?”
Gidley shrugged. “About thirty, I expect.” He wiped some of the coagulating blood from his chest and licked his hand.
“Not nearly enough. But it's a start, and it's as good a time as any to collect Lillith. In fact, why don't You go collect her and I'll check on Mr. Ismay. I presume he's still on the Boat Deck, saving lives, but he must not be allowed to save any more.” Lyons adjusted one of his cufflinks.
“You go on and check Mr. Ismay. In the meantime, I shall try to contain Myself in the presence of a lovely, silky soft, and temptingly incapacitated Lillith,” Gidley sneered, lasciviously.
1:17 A.M.
Lillith collapsed onto the deck, crying and screaming. “Oh God! Oh God! Unclean! Dear God, please make it stop!” She sobbed, clutching her head in her hands.
“Lillith, sweetheart, you must tell me what is happening,” Langston pleaded, kneeling down beside her.
“It's unclean!” she cried inconsolably. “They've done it unclean, there- there must be so many, and all- all of it is unclean!”
“Unclean? Lillith, are you trying to tell me that Lyons or Gidley have-”
He was interrupted by the sound of gunfire coming from the starboard side of the ship. Unbeknownst to him, an officer had panicked a bit and deemed it necessary to fire several warning shots from a pistol, as increasingly unruly passengers attempted to swarm lifeboat No.5.
Langston stood up, looking about, while still trying to shield Lillith from curious onlookers. “Lillith, could that be them?”
“No, no, oh no, Kerry, Th-They've done s-s-s-something far, far worse, I can tell you...” she let out an anguished moan. “Look about! There are now, clearly... clearly, too many people for the boats, but Th- They're not satisfied with that...” She was gasping for air. “They're trying- They're trying to make it worse,” she cried in agony.
“Too many people for the boats? I've seen a few loaded with only about a dozen people, and that's only when the crew can convince them to leave the ship,” Langston said, his eyes darting up and down the deck. “But you think they are making it worse?”
“No, Kerry, They already have! They have. Believe me, They- They have, I know.”
“I believe you,” Langston declared, kneeling back down, and holding her tight. “Of course I believe you.” He remembered that he had the kit under his arm. “Lillith, my dear, Lillith- do you know what this is?”
Lillith wiped her eyes, still sobbing under her breath, and looked carefully at the box. “Yes, yes I do,” she said, her voice only slightly regaining some of its strength.
“Everything is still intact- well, almost everything. I am afraid to say I have lost the crucifix.”
“You've lost it?” she whimpered, anguished by his words while still suffering the excruciating pain in her ears.
“Yes. Yes, I'm afraid I have,” he apologized, gauging by her response that he had made a huge mistake. “It was an accident, it should never have happened.”
“Oh God, Kerry,” she cried in a quavering voice. “The other tools w-will now have only about half of their desired effect, and worse still, those- those two Men might actually be able to anticipate your moves... if- if you don't have one.”
“Well...” Langston's mind was racing, as he watched passengers at the lifeboats become increasingly argumentative and frantic with members of the crew. “I'm sure I can find more than one crucifix on an early Monday morning in the middle of the North Atlantic,” he said, not really attempting to be humorous but instead berating his own stupidity and rotten bad luck.
“Kerry...” she said, fighting to catch her breath, “It is better... it is better than having nothing. I've- I've pretended... to not be aware of... Our vulnerabilities, but you still... still might have a chance, and the situation... is desperate...”
“I know it's desperate! The ship is bloody sinking!” Langston exclaimed, on the edge of panic.
“Kerry,” she started, in a voice that grew more commanding. “W-we cannot stop what is inevitable. But- but we can try to honor and prolong life as long as we have it.” She clasped her hands to her head once more, the shrill pain not abating enough for her to fully function. “I am- I am afraid I cannot go on...”
Feeling a surge of adrenaline, Langston set down the kit and swept Lillith up into his arms. Ignoring the searing pain in his ankle, he
carried her back over to the bench where she had been seated, near the now-empty davits where lifeboat No.6 had once been. He scurried away to collect the kit, then came back and sat next to her.
“Of all the futures I had dreamt of, this was not one of them,” he said, grasping one of her hands. “At last I'd found one good heart in the world, and now I feel it's being pulled from me. Lillith, what would you have me do? I can stay here with you, or I can put you on one of the many lifeboats left,” he said indicating that there were still at least six boats available on the port side. “Tell me, please!”
Lillith, dazed, weakened and defeated, shook her head sadly. “Th-They're only taking women and children. And I- I could not just leave you behind. If you could...” Her eyes welled with a fresh round of tears. “Please do something that will make this- this night less horrible than it already is.” With much effort, she issued Langston an order. “F-F-Find Gidley, find Lyons, and s-s-s-stop Them.”
1:21 A.M.
Bartholomew Gidley, now alone on E Deck, allowed himself a moment or two to admire his handiwork. The victims, dressed in their lifejackets and soaked with blood, were strewn on the floor in room after room, and he hummed to himself blithely as he reviewed the gore. The only thing distracting him the sudden, very loud sounds of groaning wood, and metal starting to shift and settle. The Titanic was showing definite signs of strain. Not in the least bit scared by the noise, energized by it, he proceeded to move forward on the deck. He took it upon himself to lunge into the advancing flood water, in precisely the same gleeful manner that a child might jump into a puddle of rainwater. Its near-freezing temperature did nothing to stop him. He began to head forward, holding his cane horizontal at shoulder height, wanting to see just how quickly the seawater was advancing. He exerted himself playfully as the water passed his knees, and crept up his thighs. As he continued his labored walk, he was interrupted by the sound of splashing just ahead of him.
He came to a stop and watched matter-of-factly as a steward, the same truculent soul who had led Langston and several other steerage passengers to the Boat Deck, stumbled into view, up to his own knees in the greenish water. Out of breath and startled, the steward gazed at Gidley incredulously, taking in the sight of blood that ran all the way down his chin and onto his clothes.
“Good God, man, you're injured! Are you bleedin' to death?”
“Me? No, not at all, I'm not bleeding to death,” Gidley said, then taking a quick glance behind him. “Although a few others did.”
“Get out, what are you sayin'?” the steward exclaimed. “Anyroad, you're not supposed to be down here,” taking on his familiar gruff tone. “This ship is sinkin' and you haven't an hour to live unless you move along.”
“Perhaps,” Gidley said, taking a step forward. “Perhaps an hour, perhaps for others... only a few moments, maybe even seconds.”
“How now, sir?” the steward asked, sensing danger and backing up slightly. “There is somethin' in your tone I don't like.”
Gidley raised his eyebrows and continued moving forward. “Is that so? Perhaps there's something in your tone I do not like, or perhaps maybe in your actions. Tell Me, what were you thinking when you let all of those filthy steerage passengers above deck? Did you proclaim yourself to be above the natural order of things? And did you now expect to rescue more of those lowly little animals from the bowels of this ship?”
The steward was a bit frightened and, his embarrassment resurfaced after having been cajoled into action by Langston's urging. He spat out his words in anger. “I'd only done it because he mentioned me mum! I'd rather die than be partnered with those liberals and damn fool suffragettes!”
“Your wish shall be granted,” Gidley uttered, a kaleidoscope of fire unfolding in his eyes as the cane flew out of his hands. Immediately, fangs surged out of his mouth, and into the steward's neck.
1:23 A.M.
Up on the Boat Deck, Lillith convulsed once more- not as severely as before, Langston noted, as he continued to hold her hand. It was significant enough, however, to force her into letting out another yelp of pain.
“What is it?” Langston asked, feeling utterly helpless.
“It's again, it's- again! S-s-s-someone has gone unclean,” she sputtered, her breathing once more constricted.
Lifeboat No. 16 had just been lowered from the port side, and No. 14 was about to follow suit. Langston looked about, trying to detect signs of distress that were unrelated to the sinking, but found none.
“Lillith, where is this happening? Do you know?”
“Th- They could be anywhere on this ship,” she gulped, her face wincing in pain.
Langston stood, and saw activity on the roof of the officer's quarters, behind the wheelhouse. The collapsible lifeboats were being prepared.
“Lillith,” Langston said, urgently thinking his plan through, “perhaps from up there I will have a vantage point where I can spot them. It's as good a chance as any, and I suspect that the decks below are now awash with water. Lillith,” he said tenderly, kneeling down before her, “will you be all right if I should try to go up there? I won't be too far from sight, I promise.”
“Y- Yes, please, go,” she replied, placing a trembling hand on his shoulder. “Even if- even if all this was an accident, it's becoming a slaughter.”
1:26 A.M.
Bruce Ismay, his skin now reddened by the cold, had done all in his power to help, but the horrible math involving the number of lifeboats and the profusion of passengers had already been calculated in the back of his mind, and it was too terrible a thing to contemplate. He had taken a step back from his self-appointed post on the starboard side of the forward part of the Boat Deck, momentarily distracted by the sound of the Engelhart lifeboats being shoved about on the wheelhouse roof above him.
It was the split second of opportunity that Edward Lyons needed. Grabbing Ismay by the scruff of his neck, he practically lifted him off the deck and carried him with lightning speed back into the empty gymnasium. He tossed the head of the White Star Line to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
Ismay, confounded and frightened, landed on his hands and knees. He skittishly looked up at Lyons, who was slamming the gymnasium's door behind him.
“Wh- what the bloody hell do you want with me now?” Ismay demanded.
“I should like to kick you in the ribs, draw blood from you through your ears, maybe take inspiration from My man Gidley, strip you naked, and impale you rectally on the rowing machine there,” Lyons sneered. “But, since all of that is something tangible, something plain, I shall do worse and strip you of your pride and your honor.”
“I have done nothing so offensive as to warrant this untenable treatment!” Ismay shrieked in outrage.
Lyons pounced and landed in a kneeling position just inches from Ismay's face. “I shall be the determiner of that,” he whispered menacingly. “It's all right, Mr. Ismay. We men always have Our one special lady that We suffer for. Mine is Lillith. And your lady will be Titanic.”
Before Ismay could protest, Lyons hollered the transfixion charm “This blood shall be enough!” and snapped his fingers, instantly plunging Ismay into a stupor.
“Now, listen carefully. Your memories of this night will be few. Your motives will be questioned, and any respect and sympathy that you might have gained will be lost forever. When you are called forth to explain and describe this night, and trust Me, you will be, your answers will appear self-serving, and baffling. Any attempt on your part to recall information that might help to recover your reputation will be like trying to restore water that's been pulled away by the ocean's tide. Only traces of it will remain, and, even if it returned to you, it would never quite be the same. Have you got all of that?”
Lyons knew he wouldn't be receiving a response. He was mostly enjoying the fact that J. Bruce Ismay- one of the most powerful men on the ship- was currently in a trance resembling an opiate-induced stupor, and completely under his control.
“I think I shall
leave you here for awhile. There is quite a bit more damage to inflict.”
Lyons stood up and left Ismay behind. The head of the White Star Line would not save another life that night.
1:31 A.M.
After wading through seawater for several minutes, all that remained of the gruesome blood spatters that had left Bartholomew Gidley looking like a butcher was a large, fairly pinkish stain on the dress shirt underneath his coat.
He made his way to the Second Class stateroom where Lillith was to have remained secluded. The electric lights in the deserted hallway flickered. Titanic's continued slow plunge downward was becoming more and more keenly felt. As the ship's wood and ironwork faced increasing, unanticipated strain, the twisting and groaning sounds became louder, and even seemed to reverberate throughout the ship's hull like echoes in a haunted cave.
Gidley approached the door to Lillith's stateroom and growled under his breath. “Time to return to your Master, wench. I'd just as soon make a figurehead out of you.”
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