Mark Kee
Magistrate
FINAL PART OF FINAL CHAPTER--
(Chapter 12, continued...)
One day, after receiving and reading one of the anonymous messages, Jennifer felt some degree of panic. Her confidence, so firm as it had been in recent years, now seemed to falter. Within a few days she had ended her sessions with the young women in the back room. She had also bid farewell to her beloved Jessica, who cried sorrowfully at being sent away without explanation.
At the same time, Alexander made a point of showing up at her frequent public appearances, his dark eyes boring into her and searching for signs of a soul. She would tremble a little when she saw him, but she was quick to start up a conversation with someone nearby in an effort to ignore him. She would try hard not to glance back at him, but she always would, much to his satisfaction.
He also befriended a few of Jennifer's maids and learned of the recent activities with young women in the back room. They had heard screams and laughs, the former coming from the girls, the latter from Jennifer. The maids had been entrusted with cleaning and bandaging the young women after a session. They described whip marks, cuts, bruises and terrible dark welts. They told him how Jennifer had suddenly ended that activity recently, much to their surprise and gratification. They said she seemed to have lost much of her previous confidence, bordering on arrogance, and had grown somewhat melancholy.
But Jennifer continued her social life to a great extent and often came to parties in the finest clothes, looking every bit as elegant and charming as she always had. In her most recent appearances at soirees, she looked about for the persistent monk, but did not see him. Finally, she thought, he had tired of his vigilance and would leave her in peace.
Then, one night in the garden of a large house where a party was being held, Jennifer heard a voice whisper to her. She had come for a breath of fresh air and was alone, so the voice startled her. She let out a little yelp, but no one seemed to have heard her. Then a large hand reached out of the shrubbery and pulled her by the throat further into the darkness.
She felt the rub of a beard against her bejeweled neck and felt the hot breath of a demon in her ear. Part of her was enjoying this experience, but another part was crying out in panic.
“You will never be rid of me and the ghosts of those women, nor the specter of your old friend Jack.; They will haunt you forever,” Alexander said, holding her tight.
“This is rather disgraceful behavior for a holy man,” she whispered as he relaxed his grip on her throat. “You are the one now violating the law and I suppose you intend to violate me to satisfy the lust you have always had for me but tried to suppress under your cloak of holiness.”
“Hah,” he replied while squeezing her neck tighter again,”you should not flatter yourself so. I won't harm you, but I will relate to you some details of what was found at your friend's play room down by the harbor.”
Her eyes rolled about trying to see some avenue of escape or some possibility of rescue, but they were too deep into the foliage to be easily detected by anyone. Her husband, she knew, would be gathered with some of his male friends, laughing and telling stories. They would not look for their women until much later.
“You remember them, don't you?” he asked, “Jane and Madeleine?”
“Of course.”
“I wonder if you heard much about how they died and what happened to them before they died,” he said. “I went there with my detective friend and he brought me in to see the ghastly room. I saw where one of them had suffered on a cross, one similar to the one used to torture and kill Jesus. Like Jesus, she had been fixed to the device with nails, through both hands and both feet. I saw the blood stains all around the post where the detective supposed they had been whipped mercilessly. I saw the tunnel used to dispose of the bodies and the cauldron used to burn off their lovely faces. If not for that I might have been able to relegate the memory of these women to a murky past, but I can never forget what horrors were visited on them. So, perhaps I have gone a little mad now. Perhaps I will seek revenge for them, rather than wait for the law or the judgment of God above. You will know when it happens. I want you to know of my design. I want you to be waiting for it and thinking about it for some time. I want you to die thinking of me and those beautiful flowers you helped crush.”
With that, he gave her a shove and she ended up sprawled on the dirt in front of the shrubs. She heard some rustling within, but in the darkness she could not see him. Her throat was now recovering and she was breathing in deep breaths. After awhile she managed to rise and brush off her dress. When she emerged into the light by the outdoor pavilion behind the manor house, she stumbled a bit and then grabbed a chair for support. Another woman came to her assistance. She said she was ill and asked for her husband.
On the ride home, her husband burned inside with frustration. He had been looking forward to another wild, hot night of fierce sex with her, but now he figured that plan was ruined. She sat quietly, hiding her neck, where she assumed there might be bruises. From that night on, her husband, as well as some friends and servants, noticed that she had lost even more of her former spunk. She seemed ill at ease and sorrowful much of the time and began to develop some odd habits. She would often go to the French doors that led to the garden and stare out for long periods as if in a trance. Yet she rarely stepped into that garden anymore.
In the evenings, she would go to the second floor and stand in front of a window that faced a nearby hill. There, she would stare out at the scenery until sunset or until she fainted and lay spreadeagled on the floor. The servant girls would then rush to help her. Her husband sometimes came up to see what it was she was looking at, but when he glanced out he saw only a hill with long grass waving in the breeze and a few stark trees huddled together near the top. Neither he nor anyone else could see the figure standing there. The figure Jennifer saw was that of a bearded man in a long dark frock, his eyes staring intently at her from the hill and reminding her that one day she might die at his hand. She feared him mostly because he was the only person who had been able to peer into her cold, dark soul and fully comprehend the sickness there. He was also the only man she had desired, but failed to conquer.
She did not believe Alexander's threat to kill her, for he was still a devoted Christian, an unlikely murderer. But she knew that one day she would die, as everyone does, and then she might feel hot flames licking her still glorious body. She thought of a fire that would never stop, pain that would never stop. And she imagined the monk with his dark eyes, staring down at her and smiling. As much as that lurid image terrified her, it also aroused her.
(Chapter 12, continued...)
One day, after receiving and reading one of the anonymous messages, Jennifer felt some degree of panic. Her confidence, so firm as it had been in recent years, now seemed to falter. Within a few days she had ended her sessions with the young women in the back room. She had also bid farewell to her beloved Jessica, who cried sorrowfully at being sent away without explanation.
At the same time, Alexander made a point of showing up at her frequent public appearances, his dark eyes boring into her and searching for signs of a soul. She would tremble a little when she saw him, but she was quick to start up a conversation with someone nearby in an effort to ignore him. She would try hard not to glance back at him, but she always would, much to his satisfaction.
He also befriended a few of Jennifer's maids and learned of the recent activities with young women in the back room. They had heard screams and laughs, the former coming from the girls, the latter from Jennifer. The maids had been entrusted with cleaning and bandaging the young women after a session. They described whip marks, cuts, bruises and terrible dark welts. They told him how Jennifer had suddenly ended that activity recently, much to their surprise and gratification. They said she seemed to have lost much of her previous confidence, bordering on arrogance, and had grown somewhat melancholy.
But Jennifer continued her social life to a great extent and often came to parties in the finest clothes, looking every bit as elegant and charming as she always had. In her most recent appearances at soirees, she looked about for the persistent monk, but did not see him. Finally, she thought, he had tired of his vigilance and would leave her in peace.
Then, one night in the garden of a large house where a party was being held, Jennifer heard a voice whisper to her. She had come for a breath of fresh air and was alone, so the voice startled her. She let out a little yelp, but no one seemed to have heard her. Then a large hand reached out of the shrubbery and pulled her by the throat further into the darkness.
She felt the rub of a beard against her bejeweled neck and felt the hot breath of a demon in her ear. Part of her was enjoying this experience, but another part was crying out in panic.
“You will never be rid of me and the ghosts of those women, nor the specter of your old friend Jack.; They will haunt you forever,” Alexander said, holding her tight.
“This is rather disgraceful behavior for a holy man,” she whispered as he relaxed his grip on her throat. “You are the one now violating the law and I suppose you intend to violate me to satisfy the lust you have always had for me but tried to suppress under your cloak of holiness.”
“Hah,” he replied while squeezing her neck tighter again,”you should not flatter yourself so. I won't harm you, but I will relate to you some details of what was found at your friend's play room down by the harbor.”
Her eyes rolled about trying to see some avenue of escape or some possibility of rescue, but they were too deep into the foliage to be easily detected by anyone. Her husband, she knew, would be gathered with some of his male friends, laughing and telling stories. They would not look for their women until much later.
“You remember them, don't you?” he asked, “Jane and Madeleine?”
“Of course.”
“I wonder if you heard much about how they died and what happened to them before they died,” he said. “I went there with my detective friend and he brought me in to see the ghastly room. I saw where one of them had suffered on a cross, one similar to the one used to torture and kill Jesus. Like Jesus, she had been fixed to the device with nails, through both hands and both feet. I saw the blood stains all around the post where the detective supposed they had been whipped mercilessly. I saw the tunnel used to dispose of the bodies and the cauldron used to burn off their lovely faces. If not for that I might have been able to relegate the memory of these women to a murky past, but I can never forget what horrors were visited on them. So, perhaps I have gone a little mad now. Perhaps I will seek revenge for them, rather than wait for the law or the judgment of God above. You will know when it happens. I want you to know of my design. I want you to be waiting for it and thinking about it for some time. I want you to die thinking of me and those beautiful flowers you helped crush.”
With that, he gave her a shove and she ended up sprawled on the dirt in front of the shrubs. She heard some rustling within, but in the darkness she could not see him. Her throat was now recovering and she was breathing in deep breaths. After awhile she managed to rise and brush off her dress. When she emerged into the light by the outdoor pavilion behind the manor house, she stumbled a bit and then grabbed a chair for support. Another woman came to her assistance. She said she was ill and asked for her husband.
On the ride home, her husband burned inside with frustration. He had been looking forward to another wild, hot night of fierce sex with her, but now he figured that plan was ruined. She sat quietly, hiding her neck, where she assumed there might be bruises. From that night on, her husband, as well as some friends and servants, noticed that she had lost even more of her former spunk. She seemed ill at ease and sorrowful much of the time and began to develop some odd habits. She would often go to the French doors that led to the garden and stare out for long periods as if in a trance. Yet she rarely stepped into that garden anymore.
In the evenings, she would go to the second floor and stand in front of a window that faced a nearby hill. There, she would stare out at the scenery until sunset or until she fainted and lay spreadeagled on the floor. The servant girls would then rush to help her. Her husband sometimes came up to see what it was she was looking at, but when he glanced out he saw only a hill with long grass waving in the breeze and a few stark trees huddled together near the top. Neither he nor anyone else could see the figure standing there. The figure Jennifer saw was that of a bearded man in a long dark frock, his eyes staring intently at her from the hill and reminding her that one day she might die at his hand. She feared him mostly because he was the only person who had been able to peer into her cold, dark soul and fully comprehend the sickness there. He was also the only man she had desired, but failed to conquer.
She did not believe Alexander's threat to kill her, for he was still a devoted Christian, an unlikely murderer. But she knew that one day she would die, as everyone does, and then she might feel hot flames licking her still glorious body. She thought of a fire that would never stop, pain that would never stop. And she imagined the monk with his dark eyes, staring down at her and smiling. As much as that lurid image terrified her, it also aroused her.
The End