by Jen Haeger
Philip smiled sadly and nodded.
“Now,” she said her voice turning a modicum less chilly, “do you have any idea what he meant by ‘It doesn’t end well’?”
Philip met her gaze. “I believe I do.”
9
They soon found themselves back in a more familiar part of The Scribe’s compound. They were once again in the library, but it looked very different than it had previously. Last time books, scrolls, and other debris had littered the huge, ornately carved table as well as the floor and the shelves. Now the table was not only completely free of clutter, but looked as if it had been polished and shone in the fluorescent lights. The floor was likewise spotless, and the shelves were lined with neat rows of books. The scrolls were all wound tightly and held closed with leather cords. They were shelved separately from the books, some bound together and some neatly stacked. Evelyn didn’t immediately spot the computer, so Philip seemed to also be hiding the incongruous technology from Madeline.
Philip walked right up to a section of wall holding books and glanced up above his head before retrieving a ladder and climbing to one of the higher shelves. He ran his finger along the spines of several books, which Evelyn noted had tiny stickers with identifying, Dewey Decimalesque numbers and letters on them. After a moment of deliberation, he chose a small black, leather-bound volume that appeared to be a journal. It was old with a worn, tired-looking cover that had ragged edges from passing through many hands through the years. When he was back on the floor, he went to the table and pulled out a chair for himself and sat down lightly. Philip opened the book and paged through it. Then he looked up at the rest of them and motioned for them to sit. Wearily, they all took a place at the table, and when they were settled Philip spoke.
“This is the journal of an English missionary in China during the sixteen hundreds. In it he talks about a young child that was brought to him with an affliction. The local villagers were afraid of the boy and said that he was possessed by a demon. They begged the missionary, Father Coventry, to exorcise the demon, but he instead took the child in for fear that the villagers would do him harm,” he paused and looked up at them briefly before turning a few more delicate pages. “Let me read for you his final journal entry. ‘Alas I am the victim of the sin of pride in mine own knowledge, for the child is indeed a demon. His screams began with the rise of the full moon and I, fearing the villagers had acted upon their superstitions, ran to the boy’s room. As shocking as it is to write these words, I must write them as a confession and a warning, for the child had in fact become a demon. The demon was covered in fur to its waist and had the face and mouth of a wolf, but legs of a man and hands that were an ungodly marriage between beast and man. It attacked me with its claws and sharp teeth, inflicting grievous injuries from which I do not expect to recover. But still, the Lord must have been with me for as the beast left me, an earthquake shook the ground such that the very stone wall of the mission collapsed upon the monster and buried it. I take comfort in the thought that the villagers will be spared more torment from the demon, but despair that I will no longer be here to guide them to the light of God. I ask for my Lord’s forgiveness for my sins. Amen.’” Philip stopped reading and closed the book. David shook his head.
“Oh come on. That was one freak occurrence,” David complained.
“There are others,” said Philip grimly, “Shall I read to you the one about the orphanage?”
Evelyn shivered. David fell silent. Madeline appeared nonplussed.
Philip sighed, “It is not expressly forbidden by Wolfkin law to change a child or to harbor a Wolfkin child; however, I do want to reiterate the dangers. From what I have read, they are particularly wild and strong when the moon is full. They are too young to control themselves and being a Wolfkin takes a terrible toll on both their minds and their bodies. I would not expect her to stay healthy and sane much passed her early teens. Additionally, they are dangerous because of their apparent innocence. One moment of misplaced compassion or weakness or underestimating their strength can be fatal.”
Evelyn turned to him soberly. “Is there anything that you can do to help her?”
Philip averted his gaze. “I think it would be best and most humane to put her down.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Evelyn replied in a steely tone.
Philip considered a moment. He suddenly looked very tired, and he glanced up at Evelyn, his eyes pleading her to see reason. Evelyn’s eyes told him that she would not be persuaded to prematurely end the child’s life. He frowned.
“I suppose I can write an affidavit stating that Wolfkin children are not expressly against Wolfkin law-“ Evelyn started to thank him, but he raised his hand to silence her. “But, I cannot do that in good conscience without also including a warning of the dangers of such children that are clear from historical records. I’m sorry, but that is the best that I can do for her, and if something should happen, the responsibility of her actions will fall on you and the Wahya. Do you understand?”
Evelyn nodded. David sighed and nodded as well. Philip then rose and told them he would begin writing the document immediately, but that it might take him some time to put it into the right words. He asked Madeline to take them back to the guest quarters for some food and to get a little rest before they headed out again. Evelyn abruptly felt both ravenous and exhausted.
She sluggishly followed Madeline back to the kitchen, but this time she and David had brought their own freeze dried dinners and camp stove so that Madeline did not have to cook for them. When they pulled the supplies from their packs Madeline arched one approving eyebrow at them and said nothing. They prepared the food and ate in silence. Madeline, a bit quicker and more practiced at preparing her meal, finished a few minutes before them, had packed up her supplies and trash in her pack, and was about to leave the kitchen and head to the sleeping quarters, when she unexpectedly turned to David and Evelyn.
“I zeenk ‘e ees right. Zat child ees too dangerous,” she said harshly, then her tone softened and her face grew more troubled. “And she weel suffer. Eet would be better to put ‘er down.” Then she rounded the corner and was gone.
Evelyn and David didn’t speak until they too had packed up the remains of their meal and headed towards the guest rooms. David opened the door of the room that they had stayed in before and held it open for Evelyn. She went inside and flipped the switch on the wall to turn on the light. The room was much as she remembered it, though it looked slightly neater and much less dusty than it had previously. Evelyn wondered vaguely if anyone else had been to see The Scribe since she and David had two years ago, or if Philip was just a better housekeeper. Then she wondered about Philip and how he had gotten the job of taking care of The Scribe and being his apprentice. She thought about asking him or Madeline, but then decided that she didn’t care to know that much. She sat down heavily on her bed and set her pack down on the floor. David did the same. She knew he was staring at her, but she didn’t want to look at him. She knew what he was going to say.
“Evie...” he began.
She held up a hand without looking at him.
“I know what you’re going to say. You think that they’re right, that Katie’s too dangerous and that it would be cruel to let her live. You think that if something…bad happened that it would mean trouble for us and we can’t afford any more trouble.” She finally glanced at him.
David frowned but nodded.
Evelyn sighed, “But what if we can save her? What if we can find the cure before…before something bad happens.” She felt her eyes tearing up again.
David went over to her and knelt down in front of her.
“Evie, you know I believe that you can cure us, but what if it takes years? Could you watch Katie suffer for years? And what if something happened and she accidently killed Marcus or Clem?” he said gently.
She didn’t look him in the eye, but the tears began rolling down her cheeks. David cradled Evelyn’s face in his hand and gent
ly wiped a tear away with his thumb. Then he lifted her chin and caught her in a gaze with his deep green eyes.
“And Evie, it isn’t our decision to make. Not this time. It will be Marcus’s decision.”
The weight of the previous few days at last came crashing over Evelyn and she threw herself at David. Wracked with sobs, she held him tightly and he rocked her back and forth stroking her hair.
“I-I w-wish Clem was here,” she wept.
“I know,” David soothed. “I do too.”
10
It felt good to have David hold her again. Evelyn didn’t want it to end. She buried her head in his shoulder and just let his strong arms embrace her. Then she lifted her head and looked him in the eye.
“Why is this happening?” she said shakily.
David slowly shook his head, and brought a hand up to her face to brush away another tear.
“I don’t know.”
She knew that he understood better than anyone, that it seemed that bad things just kept happening in their lives, to them, around them. Even their love for one another had suffered terribly in the past two years and withered to more of a professional working relationship than even a friendship. Evelyn realized that this was mainly her fault, her inability to come to terms with becoming a werewolf through contamination by David’s blood and the strange instinctual subservience she felt towards him because of it. Still, even if the reasons for the strain on their bond were irrational, they were still strong and two years had not been enough time for Evelyn to overcome them.
But then, in that moment on the floor of the claustrophobic sleeping quarters deep in the stone of The Scribe’s compound, Evelyn looked into David’s bottomless green eyes and they were kissing. It was a firm, passionate kiss that held in it two years of pent up emotion, a kiss full of need, a kiss of apology and forgiveness. Evelyn felt a great release of pressure on her very soul as the barriers she had put up around her heart crumbled, and it was pure bliss.
Unfortunately, when the emotional walls came down there was a vacuum, and into that vacuum was pulled pain. Pain from Clem’s disappearance, pain for little Katie and what might happen to her, and pain from doubt in her own ability to cure the werewolf virus flooded into Evelyn’s heart. And then another sensation swept in behind the pain riding on its wake through the suddenly open gates. Fear. Fear of what might become of her and David, of Clem and Katie. The Scribe’s filthy, maddened face hung in her mind’s eye behind her closed eyelids and she could almost smell his unwashed skin and his decaying teeth again. Even though she and David had agreed to put each other out of their misery if it ever got anywhere close to that bad, what if we were very close to the cure? Or what if the insanity happened at the same time to both of us? Or what if one of us turns lunatic and kills the other before the sane one can put them down? And then Evelyn thought of Katie and her fierce reluctance to let the child be put down. Would I even be able to complete the task if David lost his mind?
The fear gripped her heart in an icy embrace and Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat. She drew back from David and avoided his gaze, staring instead at her lap. He didn’t press her or speak, but just let her be still for a while.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Please don’t be sorry,” he said gruffly.
Evelyn wanted everything to be all right now, but she knew that it wasn’t. Despite the kiss, she knew that it would be a long, slow, uncomfortable process for them to reconcile, and also that, depending on what the future held, it could be derailed again, maybe for good. She tried to push those thoughts away. One step at a time. She looked up at David.
“We need to talk to Marcus about Katie. Find Clem. Figure things out,” she said.
David nodded. He understood. Evelyn was glad that they had kissed, but there were more important things to worry about without their already complicated relationship getting in the way. They mutually untangled themselves and got up. Evelyn went to the bathroom and splashed water on her face and wet her hair which had felt dirty since The Scribe had grabbed it. By the time she got back to the room, David was face down on his bed breathing steadily with the light still on. He obviously hadn’t slept much on the plane, and while she did still feel exhausted, there was something that she had to do.
As she made her way back to the library memories raced through her mind of the last time they had seen The Scribe and she had snuck down to the library and had a personal conversation alone with him. She couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sadness. The Scribe that she had known was gone. The screaming thing that they had encountered today was merely a shell and she doubted that any cure that she might find would bring back the man he had been. She silently prayed that his body would give out soon and that he would find peace.
When Evelyn reached the library she found Philip at the table with several open books around him, a parchment in front of him, and a feather quill in his hand. He was frowning down at a still wet line of the parchment and didn’t notice her until she was fully in the room. He peered up at her in annoyance.
“I’m not finished yet. I said that I would come and get you when I was done.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just need…the computer.” Evelyn cleared her throat.
Philip’s face was blank and he didn’t move.
“What computer?” he said without emphasis.
“Look, I know he didn’t want anyone to know about it, but he showed it to me. Let me use it. I have a file on it,” Evelyn explained, drawing closer to the table.
Philip continued to stare at her blankly. Evelyn was starting to get annoyed. She had a lot of information to get down and not that much time. She was about to get testy with Philip, but then thought of something.
“The file name is ‘For David’.”
Philip nodded and walked over to a shelf with scrolls neatly sorted into thick bundles. From under and behind most of the scrolls he pulled out the laptop.
“That is a dangerous file,” he said, setting the computer in front of a chair at the table.
“So I’ve been told,” Evelyn muttered sitting down and booting up the computer.
Philip looked like he wanted to say more but seemed to decide against it and sat back at his place resuming work on the affidavit. Evelyn picked up where she had left off in her notes about the werewolf virus, describing which hunches had been right and which had been way off. She laid out where they had begun the research and tried to briefly explain what they had discovered and where they currently were in the process of curing the werewolf retrovirus. She then paraphrased where they hoped the research would go and after much hesitation and lip pulling, finally typed in the location of their secret lab in Tennessee.
After rereading the personal note that she had left for David last time, she then deleted it and wrote a new one. It read: “Dear David, If you are reading this, then I have let you down and I’m sorry. I know that none of this was your fault. I hope that someday you can forgive me. I will love you always, Evie”. She stared at the screen for a while and then saved the file and shut down the computer.
Evelyn glanced over at Philip who had just finished embossing the parchment with the special raised seal of The Scribe that required a bit of his blood for the stylized paw print stamp. He got out a small medical kit from behind a row and books and cleaned the wound he had made on his hand with a small, alcohol soaked piece of gauze, then squirted some antibacterial gel on it and covered it with a large Band-aid. He put the kit away and used the alcohol square to wipe off and sterilize the silver dagger that he had used to cut his palm and the seal itself in turn. Finally, he replaced the dagger and seal inside a dark, wooden, velvet-lined box and then placed this behind the same row of books as the medical kit. Philip then turned his attention to the scroll and made certain that it was dry before rolling it up and binding it with a leather strap. At length he turned to Evelyn with the scroll, “Do you want to deliver it while I clean up here? I will meet you shortly in the kitchen.”
Evelyn got up and took the scroll from Philip. She turned to leave but then curiosity got the better of her and she turned back to him.
“Why you?”
Philip sighed. He didn’t even ask her what she meant. Evelyn could tell that he was debating in his mind whether to answer her. Finally he cleared his throat and looked her in the eye.
“I met him online several years ago,” Philip began.
Evelyn’s eyebrows shot up. “Online?”
Philip shrugged slightly. “He used to get very bored and lonely, so he found a way to get an internet connection. There’s a tower he built somewhere close by.”
At first Evelyn was incredulous, but then she thought about it some more. The Scribe had supposedly been a genius, and when geniuses are motivated they can do truly amazing things. The Scribe’s whole compound was astounding in its size and functionality.
“Anyway, we began chatting…and eventually he told me everything,” Philip explained.
“And you just believed him and dropped everything to rush off to the Canadian wilderness to take over for him?”
Philip looked away, “Not exactly.”
Philip was silent as Evelyn puzzled over the entire situation until suddenly it dawned on her.
“You were in a relationship with him,” she guessed.
Philip jerked his head towards her, and Evelyn could sense that he was going to deny it, but then he just nodded.
“I still am.”
Evelyn’s mind couldn’t even process the horror of Philip’s situation. For Philip to be in love with The Scribe, probably he knew him as William, and then for William to ask Philip to come care for him and take over being The Scribe. It was impossibly tragic. She could imagine their conversations over the years slowly metamorphosing as The Scribe’s madness took hold. She wondered what Philip had felt when he first saw The Scribe in person. Obviously Philip hadn’t run away, so he had to be an amazingly compassionate man in spite of his detached facade. She certainly felt differently towards Philip now. If she thought that her and David’s relationship was complicated, it was absolutely nothing compared to Philip and The Scribe’s. She could see that Philip was now on the verge on tears, and she couldn’t just leave him alone like that, so she tried to change the subject.