The Vampire Tree

by Paul Halter

  ‘Yes, I remember,’ said David. ‘He said he was on the track of the killer.’

  ‘And Patricia had noticed a voluminous object under his coat: provisions for a two or three day stay in his cabin, it turned out. We found breadcrumbs there. The rest is simplicity itself. On the afternoon he was released, on the pretext of helping with the search, Sheridan went to find his young accomplice and give him his reward in the form of a slit throat. He then dragged the body to the marsh to make it disappear. He laid a false trail by planting his cap some distance away in order to delay the discovery. A subsequent autopsy pinpointed the time of death and destroyed his alibi. But when suspicion fell on the vicar he was able to manipulate the situation. He let himself be persuaded when you came to him with your theory and proposed a trap. When Patricia volunteered to become the bait, he didn’t oppose it strongly as a normal husband would do, because he knew she was in no danger!’

  ‘He did seem to try and dissuade her, but his arguments were ineffective and contradictory.’

  ‘Obviously he was a past master in the art of manipulation.’

  ‘What a vile individual. He deceived me right to the end. And, worst of all, I told him about Fielding’s suspicions... so he killed him. I can’t forgive myself. Roger was rightly worried about him.’

  ‘Then there was the famous trap. I assume you’ve understood by now what he did?’

  ‘I think so,’ replied David, clenching his fists. ‘He simply knocked out the vicar as he was entering the pass behind Patricia, who turned and fired twice. I assume he’d given her a pistol full of blanks. Then, after we’d separated in order to look for Patricia, he took the opportunity to load the pistol she’d left behind with real bullets. He shot the vicar and presumably used some thick material to muffle the sound.’

  ‘That’s right. His plan assumed that his wife would fire, but if she didn’t, he had other tricks up his sleeve which would produce the same result. If she didn’t drop the gun, he could get to her first in the darkness, which was his friend. That, and your fear, were to his advantage. It was a risky plan, but often fortune favours the bold.’

  David looked at Dr. Twist without appearing to see him:

  ‘When I think of the hours we spent together discussing art, beauty in general, and Patricia’s beauty in particular. There was something excessive about his admiration for her, and something strange about his frequent comparisons to Lavinia, but how could I have suspected such an abomination?

  ‘I’ll never forget that night. That night of madness when he came to wake me from a deep sleep....’

  EPILOGUE

  Heavy knocks sounded on the studio door. David woke up with a start, asking himself if there were hordes of angry villagers about to break in. He turned on the light and looked at the alarm, which showed a quarter past two in the morning. He could hear Roger’s voice calling him loudly.

  He went hurriedly down the stairs, dressed in his nightshirt.

  As soon as he saw Roger on the doorstep looking drawn and haggard and out of breath, he knew it was not just a friendly visit. He sensed something was wrong; something surely connected with Patricia.

  ‘She—she’s gone, David,’ panted Roger. ‘She’s gone into the woods... I’ve been looking for her everywhere for more than two hours and I can’t find her.’

  Covering the entire woods in two hours was no mean feat, thought David, still half asleep.

  ‘Gone?’ he replied. ‘I presume it was another quarrel, like last week?’

  ‘Like last week?’ repeated Roger, puzzled.

  ‘Yes. Don’t you remember? We pretty well got drunk together.’

  ‘Ah! Yes, vaguely... But this time it’s much more serious. David... David, I’ve got to find her as soon as possible. Help me, I beg you!’

  Despite the dim light, David could see there was something strange in his friend’s gaze which he had never seen before.

  ‘Quickly, David. There’s not a moment to lose.’

  ‘Just give me time to get dressed. But for heaven’s sake tell me what happened. When did she leave and why? Surely you’re not suggesting we go blundering about in the woods in total darkness? That would just be a wild goose chase.’

  But, despite David’s misgivings, Roger persuaded him to go.

  Five minutes later, as the two friends reached the edge of the woods, David was unclear about what had provoked Patricia to disappear barefoot into the woods. Obviously it had been because of an argument, but about what?

  ‘I caught up with her at first,’ moaned Roger, ‘but because she told me she didn’t want to see me anymore, I stupidly turned back. It was a bad mistake, I should never have left her alone... She’s capable of anything. I fear the worst David. We have to find her, and quickly.’

  ‘You still haven’t told me why you quarrelled. I’m not trying to pry, but it might give us a clue about the direction she took.’

  Roger was breathing more heavily. David had the impression he was speaking with the greatest reluctance.

  ‘She—she didn’t want to drink. She didn’t want to drink what was in her glass.’

  ‘Didn’t want to drink what was in her glass?’ repeated David, his eyes wide open. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Yes, her glass. She dropped it on the floor and left.’

  David decided to keep quiet and, for the next half hour, they scoured the woods. The rays of their torch-lights went from tree to tree and from bush to bush, with Roger desperately calling out his wife’s name, but to no effect. They were greeted with nothing but silence.

  When they emerged into a clearing, empty-handed and disconsolate, David was surprised to hear his companion sobbing with despair. The situation was certainly worrying but had not yet turned tragic. Roger sat down on a tree trunk with his head in his hands.

  ‘David, if you only knew... The fruit of several months is about to vanish in a single night... When I think of what all this has cost me, it’s frightful, David, frightful. I was on the point of realising my dream... It’s all my fault. She wasn’t ready to understand... I shouldn’t have told her tonight, but the evening had started so well. We’d just brought a copy of Lavinia’s dress back from London.’

  It was all David could do to remain patient in the face of Roger’s confused statements.

  ‘What dream? What fruit of several months? Understand what? I’m trying to understand as well and, believe me, it’s not easy!’

  He had raised his voice in exasperation, but regretted it immediately. Roger seemed too demoralised to take affront.

  ‘I’d almost succeeded, David... She was just about to become Lavinia.’

  David couldn’t believe his ears:

  ‘Who are you talking about? Patricia?’

  Roger nodded his head slowly.

  ‘That’s why I chose her... Because she was beautiful, like Lavinia. You know Lavinia, David. You’ve seen her photograph. You’ve read her diary. She’s a wonderful girl. You know she can drive anyone on the planet crazy. But I love her more than anyone else... What I’ve done for her few others would have tried to do, believe me... When I saw Patricia for the first time I knew she was Lavinia... And she responded, in her own way. I must have been worthy of her... Luckily, I’m quite well versed in the ancient practices of conserving life—or bringing it back when it seems justified... Do you realise what I had to do, David, to draw Patricia’s true personality out of her?’

  David stood rooted to the spot, unable to speak a word. The truth was beginning to dawn, but his mind was struggling to accept it.

  ‘But,’ continued Roger in a calmer voice, ‘I also had to look after the place where her mortal coil lay buried. Several times I went out at night to sprinkle the vital fluid on her tomb... She had to be reborn... And, at the same time, I gave it to Patricia to drink.’

  David sensed that his knees were about to buckle, but he managed to blurt out a question:

  ‘And what was it that you made her drink?’

  ‘What Mede
a gave to Jason to make him younger, David... And what Liza Gribble drank to keep her body that of a young girl.’

  There was a terrible silence, save for the sound of the wind moaning in the surrounding trees. Transfixed with horror, David wondered if he were about to lose his mind. The atrocious truth was starting to dawn on him. A quick glance at Roger convinced him his friend had gone mad: he looked like a child who’d lost his favourite toy, and his eyes gleamed with a fanatical intensity.

  ‘Needless to say, it wasn’t easy,’ continued Roger with a slight sneer, ‘because I had to operate incognito. With regard to Patricia, I mean. At night, when she was asleep, and after I’d collected... the vital fluid, I diluted it slightly in order to make ice cubes. But I had to be vigilant because the colour could have attracted attention in the ice compartment. I had to stop her several times, in fact, when she started to stick her nose in. But in the end it was all for her... I made her drink a grenadine-coloured cocktail. She grew to like the taste and she even called it “Red Devil.”’

  He chuckled nervously, then lowered his head and said, in a repentant tone of voice:

  ‘But there was something more... You have to understand, David, it wasn’t easy. I had to add a light drug, which numbed her a bit at first, but actually accelerated the process... And, thanks to my attentive care and flattering remarks, and also the diary which she read regularly, she eventually understood that she was really Lavinia.’

  David remained speechless. A lot of things were starting to become clear. Patricia had always been fragile and unstable, thanks to her painful childhood memories, but now he understood the reason for her vacant stares and strange behaviour.

  After a long silence he asked:

  ‘So it was you who killed the children?’

  Roger’s reply was imploring:

  ‘I had to, David, I had to... It was for her sake. And I was just about to succeed... She’d almost become Lavinia....’

  With a considerable effort, David looked at the man he had once called his friend. But it was more than he could stand and he turned on his heel and started to retrace his footsteps. After he’d gone a few yards, he heard Roger coming hurriedly towards him, sobbing again:

  ‘Don’t leave me, David. She’s in danger. We have to find her.’

  Unmoved, the sculptor continued to press forward while Roger continued to beg for help. They continued in that manner until they reached the edge of the woods. David was walking like a zombie: what he’d heard had traumatised him. Shocking images swirled in his mind. Nevertheless, he began to analyse the situation calmly. Roger, although clearly mad, was harmless for now. But that could change at any moment and he could once again become the monster who’d slit the throats of young children. Under no circumstances could he be allowed to find Patricia, who must herself now be aware of the full horror of the situation. He’d just had an idea as to where she might be found, but first he needed to get rid of his unwanted companion.

  ‘Roger,’ he said suddenly, ‘I’ve just had an idea. I know someone who could help find her quickly.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Dr. Twist.’

  ‘The detective? But, David—.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Roger. You can trust him and he’s the only one who can help at this point. Get in your car and drive to London. Explain the situation to him.’

  ‘B-But that’ll take hours,’ stammered Roger.

  ‘Then go to the nearest police station and phone him. That’ll take less time. Do as I say, Roger. It’s the best way to help Pat—Lavinia.’

  After a brief internal struggle, Roger Sheridan meekly acquiesced to his friend’s suggestion.

  ‘Alright, alright, if you say so. But I don’t know his number.’

  ‘They’ll know it at the police station. But hurry up, every minute counts!’

  As he watched Roger walk away, David wondered whether his crude trick would work long enough for him to reach the police station. But, for now, the most pressing need was to find Patricia.

  Patricia....

  David found his heart was starting to beat faster. What state would she be in, if and when he found her? There was not a moment to lose. He went west and strode hurriedly along a sandy path for half a mile. The thick undergrowth and twists in the trail slowed him down, but when he saw the rocky outcrops he knew he was close.

  It was half-past three by the time he reached the marsh, perspiring and out of breath.

  She was there.

  It couldn’t be anyone else. The young woman with the light-coloured jumper could only be her. She glided gracefully forward under the pale moonlight and, with her elegant drape, he once again imagined her as an Olympian goddess. A goddess about to ascend to heaven after a brief stay amongst mere mortals.

  He drank in the divine vision, then realised with horror that she was starting to wade into the marshy water. He ran towards her, shouting at the top of his lungs:

  ‘Patricia! Patricia! Come back!’

  He stopped abruptly at the edge of the water, then tried a few tentative steps in her direction. After a few yards he fell forward in the mud and had great difficulty extricating himself. As he dragged himself back to the edge it felt as though there was a giant squid beneath the waters, trying to drag him under. All the while, he continued to call out desperately to Patricia.

  Once he was back on firm ground, it became apparent that the situation was irreversible. Thirty yards away, Patricia was already up to her waist in the muddy water and seemed to be making no effort to escape the deadly trap. Frustrated by his impotence, David desperately called out the name of the woman he loved and beseeched her to stop.

  Patricia advanced inexorably towards her destiny.

  As the mud reached her chest, Patricia at last broke her silence. Her calm voice came to him across the marsh, ethereal and strangely soft:

  ‘Is that you, Eric? I’m coming to you, my darling, I’m coming to you....’