THE CHILD, PART 2: REVELATION
For all that the story itself is finished, I have listed The Child, Part 2 under Incomplete because it lacks the poetry and song lyrics that set the tone and mood of The Child. The idea behind this story, aside from the obvious references to Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s Christabel, is that of a multi-part story where each part can stand on its own. This story doesn’t stand well on its own and is given another reason to be listed as incomplete.
The Child, Part 2: Revelation
“Mr. Hillman?” the man named Samuel walked upstairs, taking the breakfast set with him. He set in on the small table outside the bedroom.
The door was closed. Mr. Hillman had over slept, Samuel thought to himself. He knocked on the door, calling: “Mr. Hillman? Are awake, sir?”
Samuel opened the door and went inside. To his surprise Mr. Hillman wasn’t in his bed. Samuel was beginning to worry.
He went downstairs again, leaving the tray upstairs. Samuel searched the house inside and had Mr. Hillman’s grounds keepers search outside. It was what one of them found that genuinely alarmed Samuel. Mr. Hillman’s car was missing. And the maid in her search discovered Mr. Hillman’s coat was also missing. But none of his other clothes were.
Samuel went to the phone and called the police. Maybe they could find Mr. Alex Hillman.
Within half an hour they arrived, six policemen, three in each of two cars.
“When did you discover Mr. Hillman was gone?” one of them asked Samuel.
“This morning, when he wasn’t in his study for breakfast. Mr. Hillman always takes breakfast in his study.”
“And you searched the house and grounds?”
Samuel told him he and the others searched every centimeter and discovered the car and Mr. Hillman’s coat missing.
“Lieutenant,” another policeman called from the front door. The lieutenant went to the door and looked where his subordinate was pointing.
“Foot prints. Trainers,” said the lieutenant, “Small ones, too.” He looked outside but could find no more. “The rain must have washed them away.”
“Mr. Hillman is fond of children,” said Samuel.
At that moment the radio crackled. The lieutenant picked it up. “Go ahead.”
“We found a wrecked car six kilometers from the house on Deason Road. You might want to take a look.”
“I’ll be back later today,” he told Samuel, leaving. He got in his car and drove off.
Only minutes later the lieutenant arrived to find a new model car turned on its driver side. He stopped his car and got out to look at all the glass.
“No one about,” he said flatly.
“I wouldn’t say that,” said the other policeman. “We found Mr. Hillman.”
The lieutenant went to the side of the road where it began a downhill slope. There in the tall grass lay Alex Hillman. The lieutenant looked him over. Alex was dead, a large gash in his neck.
The lieutenant straightened up and put in a call for the coroner. “I know what he’s going to say. ‘Death by loss of blood from severe neck wound.’
“Looks like a vampire got hold of him.”
Further down the road, an older model car sat on the side of the road. Alex’s car, having run out of gas, left his attackers without transportation. Except for walking, which is what they were doing. The woman and the child had made good progress in the overcast day. They were several kilometers from the old car.
The woman limped slowly along, her daughter beside her. They were both still wet from last night’s rain and the woman had dried blood in her blond hair.
Her dark eyes scanned the road, as did her daughter’s. Soon enough they found what they were looking for: a victim.
The bright red compact pulled off the road just ahead of them and a young man opened the passenger side door.
The girl climbed in the back and her mother took the passenger seat, closing the door.
“Where to?” he asked cheerfully. “Say, was that your car back there?”
“Yes,” said the woman. “We’re out of petrol.”
Suddenly the young man grew concerned. “Say, you’re hurt,” he said, seeing the blood in her hair. “I’m getting you to a doctor.”
The woman took his chin in her hand and stared him in the eyes. “You will take us to where you live,” she ordered.
“What… are… you…” the young man managed before his will seeped away. “I will take you to my flat,” he intoned.
Within minutes, they pulled into an apartment complex just off the highway. The young man got out and walked to his apartment. He unlocked the door and went inside. Geraldine and her daughter followed his.
The woman went into the bathroom, setting the task watching the young man to her daughter. She came out a few minutes later, having gotten cleaned up.
“Are you ready?” she asked her daughter, smiling, “for your initiation?”
“Yes, mother,” the child answered eagerly.
“Then do it.”
The girl’s eyes turned red as she leapt for the young man. She knocked him down on the bed, going for his throat. She got up minutes later, saying: “You need him more than I do. Take the rest, mother.”
With that, she did. As she went to the young man, her daughter bathed. After her bath she and her mother began digging through drawers and closets. Soon enough they found clothes to that made a close fit for the woman but were too large for her daughter.
With what they had, satisfying them for now, they left the small apartment and began walking.
“Why don’t we take the man’s car?” the girl asked.
“Because it will be missed, like the old man’s. The police can trace it. We can use the money we took from them to take a bus to Wiltshire.”
And they continued to walk until they came to a bus station. The woman got tickets and they boarded the next southbound bus. It would be several hours before they came to Wiltshire, but it would be time they needed.
Several hours later, a young woman entered the small apartment.
“Matt?” she called. “Why are you home so …”
Turning the corner into the bedroom she stopped and screamed. There on the bed was her boyfriend, his throat slashed.
Crying and trembling, the young woman went to the phone and called the police. Within minutes, the lieutenant and his group, smaller now, arrived. The four policemen looked the apartment over.
“And this is how you found him?” the lieutenant asked the young woman.
“Lieutenant,” his underling called. “We found what looks like dried blood in the car. And the seats are wet.”
The lieutenant went outside and looked the car over. The young woman, shivering, came out of the apartment.
“Some of my clothes are missing.”
“Looks like he picked up a hitchhiker and brought him back here. The attacker cut his throat and left.”
“But there’s no blood,” said another policeman.
“Must’ve used the young lady’s clothes to soak it up. Anyway, the attacker’s long gone.”
Two days later the body of a ten-year-old girl is found in London. The police, having gotten the call from a public works employee, went to the scene.
“Throat slashed,” said the policeman on the scene. “Just like the two in Sunderland. Cut her throat and stripped her naked. Call Lieutenant Hulke in Sunderland and get him down here. Tell him to take his slasher home with him.”
“You think it’s the same person as up there?” asked another policeman.
“Same M.O. Throat slashed, no blood, something stolen. I’d say we have a serial killer on our hands.”
A Blue Line bus was traveling south as they spoke. On it was a pretty blond haired woman with dark eyes. And a little girl …
“My place is of the sun and this place is of the dark”
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