The Book of Common Dread

by Brent Monahan

  DeVilbiss lay where he had died. Other than the natural effects of rigor mortis and postmortem lividity there were no visible changes to his body. The lake of blood around him had largely congealed. Simon looked for Frederika's reaction and found her regarding the corpse with a mortician's detachment. When she caught Simon staring she smiled.

  "Good," she said, echoing her reaction to the news of his death the previous night. Neil Yoskin had been right; deep down, Frederika was a woman with a cold steel backbone.

  They went about their work with the precision of a bank robbery team. Simon took his system key from the hollowed-out Bible; Frederika already had in hand the one DeVilbiss took from Reverend Spencer. They inserted their keys and turned them in tandem, opening the case that held the priceless scrolls. Simon lifted them out carefully and placed them in the metal tubes in which they had arrived. First using a special machine in the corner of the room to evacuate the air from the tubes, he reversed the process and filled each with inert gas. He cautiously exited the room and carried the tubes to the B-Level air duct where he had hidden Willy's translation. Strapping the tubes securely in place with duct tape and replacing the grille took two minutes. Barring an all-consuming fire, they would be perfectly safe. Even if he and Frederika failed in completing their plan, actions Simon had taken the previous day and would soon take were sure to make the scrolls even more notorious. One day they would be found again, and the memory of those actions would protect them while the translating began anew.

  By the time Simon returned to the Rare Manuscripts chamber, Frederika had used a desktop computer to produce a letter to the authorities. The letter contained four paragraphs. The first argued that the body in the room was that of a vampire and urged an exhaustive chemical as well as physical autopsy to prove the declaration. The second described the vampire's quest for the Ahriman scrolls and his killing of the security guard and Reverend Spencer to reach his purpose. The third stated that the scrolls had been removed for their protection, since others of DeVilbiss's kind were believed to exist. It closed by affirming that the reason for all the deaths and the scrolls' disappearance would very soon be made clear. Frederika lay the sheet of paper in the open case, beside documents of great antiquity but much less import.

  Neither Simon nor Frederika signed the letter. They knew their failure to report to work the next day would do that for them. Simon shut the lid and placed the two security keys on top. As his final act, he took as decoys two empty metal tubes in which other precious scrolls of the Schickner Collection had arrived.

  While Simon locked the room, Frederika patiently held the heavy liquid nitrogen tank. She refused to let him share its burden as they walked to the elevator.

  "You're not going to take any more of that powder," he said.

  "If I did, I could protect us better."

  "You could also die from it. You aren't taking another vital ingredient, remember: human blood?" Frederika offered no more argument, but Simon doubted the disagreement was over.

  The remainder of their plan involved meeting Frederika's mother at the mansion, packing, returning the nitrogen tank to the Physics Lab, returning the pickup truck to Rich, and getting from him a copy of Willy's translation. With the translation in their possession and multiple copies going out to scholars, the theft of the scrolls themselves would create a worldwide stir. Within twenty-four hours they would be in Europe, to retreive DeVilbiss's diaries and visit Professor Elmasri, the Akkadian scholar. From there, their goals generalized to getting the rest of the scrolls safely translated and averting something like biblical Armageddon.

  Since it was still early Christmas Day, they drove by Lynn Gellman's townhouse and were relieved to see a police car beside a sedan with New York license plates. Frederika was the first to break a mutual silence as they headed to the mansion.

  "He wasn't that smart. Not as smart as he thought anyway." DeVilbiss's name was unnecessary. "But we can't assume all their servants are like him. Whenever we travel or go out in public, it has to be in broad daylight."

  Simon nodded. Frederika spoke of "we" so easily. She had made them a team with no formality, not even a passing remark. He was not pursuing; she was not running. He liked to think he was different from the other men she had known.

  After Simon pulled the car into the driveway, he suggested that they make use of the new-fallen snow and circumambulate the mansion. They found only the tracks of rabbits and squirrels; no human footprint approached the house.

  "Maybe we're safe for a while," Simon hoped aloud. He gestured for Frederika to open the front door. "Let's take down the Christmas tree; we'll be gone long past New Year's."

  They had finished undecorating and were carrying the tree out to the curb when a late-model Lexus pulled up in front of the mansion. A woman sat behind the steering wheel. She turned off the engine and stared at Simon and Frederika, who stared back. No one seemed to want to move first.

  Alice emerged slowly from the car. Her expression was pinched with anguish. As soon as she closed her door, Frederika started toward her, closing the distance between them. They hugged for a long moment. Then Frederika took her mother's hand and led her inside, with Simon trailing slowly in grateful silence. By the time he entered the house, they were both releasing tension by chattering about the layout of the furniture when Frederika was small. Frederika took her mother's coat and gestured toward one of the living room chairs.

  "I think I can make this easier for us," she said to Alice, her face growing suddenly serious. "I was recently put under deep hypnosis by a very talented professional." Her eyes darted to Simon, to be sure he was listening. "He regressed me, so that I was able to remember how it truly was in this house."

  Simon finally understood why, at the diner, Frederika had been able to take his news about her father with such equanimity. As Frederika spoke about her youth, Alice glanced at Simon with embarrassment. He determined to hear the revelations privately at a later time, and excused himself to brew tea. Mother and daughter were speaking with far less tension in their voices as he set the tea out, but he excused himself again, to clean out the refrigerator, set back the thermostat, cancel the newspaper delivery, and begin packing.

  Nearly an hour had passed before Frederika came into Simon's bedroom. She wore her placid persona; still impossible for him to read. She placed herself within inches of him, took his face lightly in her hands and kissed him fully on the lips. When he finally mastered his shock and responded, she did not turn away, but returned his passion with interest. Finally, she drew back and regarded him with one eyebrow cocked.

  "You lied to me," she said.

  "When?"

  "When you promised you weren't going to mother me."

  "I won't do it again," he said, "now that we both know you've got a real mother."

  "The question that was puzzling me all night; I'm pretty sure of the real reason you stayed and fought for me. Some day, when you decide to admit it, I promise I won't run away." With no pause to allow reply, Frederika glanced at her wristwatch and said, "You all packed?"

  Simon laughed, then nodded in the direction of a single medium-sized piece of luggage. "Ready."

  "Would you go down and keep my mother company while I throw a bag together?"

  "Of course," Simon said, knowing that he had given her the power to ask almost anything of him.

  "We're even," Frederika declared, her smile fetching a pair of dimples. "I was responsible for your new life, and you were responsible for mine."

  "And," he replied, "it seems to continue."

  "It seems that way." She ran her hand along his cheek. Then she was gone, rushing out of the room.

  When Simon entered the hallway carrying his suitcase, he expected to hear Frederika packing in her bedroom. Instead, he saw that the door to Frederik Vanderveen's sanctum sanctorum lay open. Frederika sat at his desk, rolling a sheet of paper into an old manual typewriter.

  "I'm giving my mother power of attorney," Frederika informed,
"in case we're longer than we expect."

  "Good idea," Simon said, looking around the room.

  "There's more money over there." Frederika gestured toward one of the shelves. Simon found an enormous brandy snifter stuffed with African and European currencies, no doubt accumulated from the diplomat father's many trips abroad. Simon felt deep satisfaction as he plundered one of the room's treasures, as if Frederika had invited him to help exorcize her father's potent ghost. He left her typing at good speed and went down to keep her mother company.

  "I can't thank you enough for what you've done," Alice told Simon.

  "You're very welcome."

  "I think she knows what she's got in you." Simon felt one of his characteristic blushes rising. Before he could offer a response, she looked at his suitcase and said, "So, you two are flying off to England this afternoon."

  "That's right." Frederika had been wise enough not to tell even her mother the truth of their destination. He patted his pocket, making sure his passport was there. "It's only part vacation. Did she mention why she might be gone awhile?"

  "Yes. The job offer." Alice looked a bit sad. "I frankly hope she doesn't get it. Now that we're getting back together, I'm selfish enough to want her near me. I don't know how I'm going to explain this to Tom and the boys."

  "Would you like me to get your old yearbooks for you?" Simon offered. When he returned to the living room with the books, Frederika stood in her coat, beside a large suitcase. She handed her mother a key. "Thanks for having the courage to come here. I love you." They embraced. "And look," Frederika added, "don't feel like we're pushing you out just because we have to catch a plane. Hang around as long as you like… and take whatever you want."

  "Okay. I might catch my breath before heading home."

  Simon smiled at Alice and led Frederika through the foyer toward the back door.

  "You took my phone number?" Alice called out.

  "Yes," Frederika answered. "We'll do some real catching up when I return. 'Bye!"

  Alice listened to the back door closing. She moved to one of the living room's side windows and watched the two young people loading the car in the bright Christmas Day sunlight. They were transferring a black gym bag and a pair of dark metal cylinders from the passenger compartment into the trunk. Oblivious to her watching, they dumped their suitcases in the trunk and climbed into the front seat. She stood at the window for a full minute after the white Mazda had backed down the driveway and her daughter had driven out of sight.

  ***

  Alice broke her reverie and gazed around the room. There had been a number of things she had regretted leaving behind. She struggled to recall them all. Some of it was old sheet music and books. And then there was a box filled with loose family snapshots, dating back to the turn of the century. She opened several built-in cabinets, searching.

  The front door knocker banged twice. Alice opened the door. Standing on the porch was a big-boned woman with wiry blond hair poking out from under a Russian-style fur hat. It was difficult to judge her age, as much of her face was covered by enormous sunglasses. In her gloved hands she held a large gift basket of fruit.

  "Good morning," the woman said, pleasantly. "Is this the residence of Miss Frederika Vanderveen?"

  "Yes, it is."

  "This is for her. Is she home?"

  "No. You just missed her."

  "Oh. Too bad. She'll be back later then?"

  "As a matter of fact, she won't for some time," Alice said. "She and her boyfriend are flying to England."

  The woman's mouth turned down in disappointment. "Oh dear! I'm sure the person who ordered these won't want them left here. Do you… do you mind if I use the phone and call the shop?"

  "No, of course not. Come in." As the woman walked inside, Alice was struck by a thought. "Your shop is open on Christmas Day?"

  The woman smiled. "We never close."

  As Alice shut the door, she was sure she smelled the odor of suntan lotion.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Brent Monahan is the author of DeathBite with Michael Maryk, Satan's Serenade, and The Uprising. He lives in Yardley, Pennsylvania, close by the novel's setting. Both his daughter Caitlin and son Ian were born in Princeton, New Jersey, making them True Princetonians.