Chapter 11
Byron suffered when she was gone. Everything that he had believed about himself that was good and noble seemed a falsehood to him. He could not be a witness to the struggles of humanity, to her overcoming her trials and tribulations when he felt as though his world was over.
Her absence was a wound that bled and yet he didn’t die. He fasted until he slowly reached middle age again, and then, because the idea of punishing himself appealed to him, he continued to fast.
So it was when a messenger showed up on his doorstep, he looked like he was old enough to be Elena’s father.
“Sir,” the young man explained as he stood on Byron’s porch, “I was sent to inquire why no-one has come for Ms. Elena.”
“What do you mean, come for her?” Byron asked.
He had uncharacteristically answered the door when Margaret had been out of earshot of the bell in the garden.
“Her semester isn’t over until June,” Byron explained, “Is something wrong?”
“Why yes, sir, didn’t you receive the letters?”
It was then that Margaret walked by in the hall with the laundry and stopped, her face stricken. Byron glanced at her and quickly caught the thought in her mind. She had hidden letters from him.
The growl that escaped him made the messenger jump.
“What letters are these?” he questioned the boy gruffly.
“Oh sir, you don’t know? I’m very sorry…” and Byron could tell that he’d meant it because the boy was a natural transmitter of his thoughts and he received a mental image of the sick Elena from him, “but your daughter is very ill. She is at Memorial hospital in Brooklyn sir, that’s where I work.”
The boy looked down and away from the pain in Byron’s eyes.
Byron found himself stuck in place as his world shifted around him. He whipped around suddenly and Margaret was backing away from him. She reached the door, all but cowering, and ran down the hall towards her room.
“You’d better come back with me now if you are going to make it in time…” The boy offered quietly.
Byron made some quick calculations in his head. It was three hours before sunset. Before he could change and move faster than any automobile….
“Get your car started and I’ll be there in a moment.” He growled, “There is one thing I have to do first…”
“Yes sir.” The boy answered, and backed down the stairs.
Byron turned on his heel and stalked through the house to the servant’s quarters. He dropped every shield he had so that when he kicked in the door to Margaret’s rooms, he was all monster.
Margaret took one look at him and screamed, which drew her husband Eric into the room.
“What is going on here?” The middle-aged farmer said, looking from Margaret to Byron and back again. He slowly moved into the room and put himself between them. Realizing that she was in some kind of danger.
Byron didn’t know how much she had told him and he didn’t care. He only had one care in the world and he needed to know what the letters said.
“Give me the letters, Margaret.” He said in a deadly quite voice.
“Margaret?” Eric asked over his shoulder, “if you have something Mr. Murphy needs, then perhaps you ought to get it quickly.”
Margaret sidled over to a bookshelf and pulled out a volume. A small handful fell out into her trembling hands. Byron tracked her every move, everything within him poised to jump and take her. It was only with an excruciating amount of control that he was able to hold back from it and watch as she placed the letters none to steadily into her husband’s hands.
Eric reached forward with the letters out to Byron.
“You will send the doctor to me at the hospital when he returns today from his rounds. Tell him to bring whatever he has.” Byron’s voice dropped impossibly lower still. “If she dies, Margaret, there will be nowhere you can hide from me.”
It was the worst threat Byron had ever uttered. Parts of him hated it that he could make that statement and mean it, but he did. The man inside and the monster inside both loved that little girl and if Margaret cost her the future she had fought for, no matter what the reason, Byron was sure that both Man and Beast would happily kill her. He gave a parting growl and ran to the waiting car.
Her absence was a wound that bled and yet he didn’t die. He fasted until he slowly reached middle age again, and then, because the idea of punishing himself appealed to him, he continued to fast.
So it was when a messenger showed up on his doorstep, he looked like he was old enough to be Elena’s father.
“Sir,” the young man explained as he stood on Byron’s porch, “I was sent to inquire why no-one has come for Ms. Elena.”
“What do you mean, come for her?” Byron asked.
He had uncharacteristically answered the door when Margaret had been out of earshot of the bell in the garden.
“Her semester isn’t over until June,” Byron explained, “Is something wrong?”
“Why yes, sir, didn’t you receive the letters?”
It was then that Margaret walked by in the hall with the laundry and stopped, her face stricken. Byron glanced at her and quickly caught the thought in her mind. She had hidden letters from him.
The growl that escaped him made the messenger jump.
“What letters are these?” he questioned the boy gruffly.
“Oh sir, you don’t know? I’m very sorry…” and Byron could tell that he’d meant it because the boy was a natural transmitter of his thoughts and he received a mental image of the sick Elena from him, “but your daughter is very ill. She is at Memorial hospital in Brooklyn sir, that’s where I work.”
The boy looked down and away from the pain in Byron’s eyes.
Byron found himself stuck in place as his world shifted around him. He whipped around suddenly and Margaret was backing away from him. She reached the door, all but cowering, and ran down the hall towards her room.
“You’d better come back with me now if you are going to make it in time…” The boy offered quietly.
Byron made some quick calculations in his head. It was three hours before sunset. Before he could change and move faster than any automobile….
“Get your car started and I’ll be there in a moment.” He growled, “There is one thing I have to do first…”
“Yes sir.” The boy answered, and backed down the stairs.
Byron turned on his heel and stalked through the house to the servant’s quarters. He dropped every shield he had so that when he kicked in the door to Margaret’s rooms, he was all monster.
Margaret took one look at him and screamed, which drew her husband Eric into the room.
“What is going on here?” The middle-aged farmer said, looking from Margaret to Byron and back again. He slowly moved into the room and put himself between them. Realizing that she was in some kind of danger.
Byron didn’t know how much she had told him and he didn’t care. He only had one care in the world and he needed to know what the letters said.
“Give me the letters, Margaret.” He said in a deadly quite voice.
“Margaret?” Eric asked over his shoulder, “if you have something Mr. Murphy needs, then perhaps you ought to get it quickly.”
Margaret sidled over to a bookshelf and pulled out a volume. A small handful fell out into her trembling hands. Byron tracked her every move, everything within him poised to jump and take her. It was only with an excruciating amount of control that he was able to hold back from it and watch as she placed the letters none to steadily into her husband’s hands.
Eric reached forward with the letters out to Byron.
“You will send the doctor to me at the hospital when he returns today from his rounds. Tell him to bring whatever he has.” Byron’s voice dropped impossibly lower still. “If she dies, Margaret, there will be nowhere you can hide from me.”
It was the worst threat Byron had ever uttered. Parts of him hated it that he could make that statement and mean it, but he did. The man inside and the monster inside both loved that little girl and if Margaret cost her the future she had fought for, no matter what the reason, Byron was sure that both Man and Beast would happily kill her. He gave a parting growl and ran to the waiting car.