The Abyss Stares Back - 17
“Lady Vandermeer?” the receptionist called out, bringing Ophelia out of her thoughts.
“Huh? What?” she asked, forgetting where she was for a moment.
She was sitting in the reception area of the Kirkholm watchtower, dressed in her finest maroon dress with her hair elegantly fastened in a bun with a dark hat and veil forming a canopy around her head. She had her blade by her side though there was no need for it. Her grimoire she carried in her purse. None of this was new to her when in a quasi-official capacity like this.
The only new addition to any of this was her eyepatch.
“They’re ready for you,” said the receptionist before motioning for her to follow.
She got up from her chair, walked past a mother and a child, who had been very interested in her presence there, and followed the receptionist to the back.
They walked solemnly past the desks of various watchers and inspectors to where a group of people were gathered. There was a rupture of laughter among them, one in particular she realized she knew. The receptionist waved at them and a familiar face seemed to see them and nod in acknowledgement.
“Excuse me, lads.” Said Hitch as he untangled himself from the group, now sporting a new cane. “Gotta see some people about a corpse.”
“Hitch,” Ophelia greeted with a nod.
“Lady Vandermeer,” he replied awkwardly. “What a day, huh?”
“I’ll be glad when its done.” She sad with a forced smile.
The two of them followed the receptionist, though their pace was slower than before as Hitch had double the limp now. Their climb down the stairs was especially slow. But eventually they found themselves on the lower floors of the watchtower, though this time they were not brought to the holding cells but to a cold steel door with the word ‘morgue’ stenciled into it.
“Through here,” the receptionist motioned before returning to her other duties.
Ophelia took a deep breath before placing her hand on the door.
“Are you alright?” Hitch asked, putting on his kindest smile. “I can’t imagine this is easy.”
She smiled back sadly. “It’s alright, but thank you.”
Then together they walked in.
“Sloan!” Ophelia screamed as her bloodied hands cupped the blackguard’s ruined face. “Wake up, we did it! We did it!”
She only managed to lift her left eyelid up an inch, the other one was swollen shut. She smiled or at least she thought she smiled. The lips were split and her face and teeth were broken. But through that bloody ruin she smiled.
Then her eyelid dropped and her body went limp. Her shallow ragged breathing grew even shorter and slower.
Ophelia reached for the blackguard’s satchel which lay on the floor. “Please, please, please tell me there’s one left!”
Her hands searched the interior of the bag, finding most of Sloan’s tools broken and destroyed. But she found the bloodshot and one vial of healing solution. Her fingers trembled as she struggled to slide the vial in. “Just hold on! Just hold on a bit longer!”
She closed the bloodshot and placed it against Sloan’s jugular and pulled the trigger.
Hitch and Ophelia stepped through the door of the morgue where they found five figures waiting for them, standing over a covered table.
Inspectors Eldon and Tiege gave respectable nods as they entered and Eldon even gave a smile. Next to them stood Watcher Wulfgang Petersen. He was dressed in his uniform but it was clear he was still bandaged up and injured, as was Eldon for that matter. But Wulf did not regard them as they entered. His sad green eyes were fixed on the table they stood around. For under the white sheet lay a figure, the shape of which made Ophelia falter for a moment.
“You must be Lady Vandermeer and Mr Hitch.” Said another figure they didn’t recognize.
“This is Soulguard Veronica Verlach,” Inspector Eldon introduced, motioning for the smaller of the two.
A woman of possible hyperian descent but her skin was a bright red and she had horns growing from her brow, a tiefling. But she was dressed in religious vestments bearing the insignia of the blackguards. She had a kind smile but very sad eyes.
“On behalf of the blackguards I wish to thank you for your efforts to thwart this demonic infestation. I know our methods can be brutal and unkind…”, Inspector Tiege scoffed, but the herald continued. “…but when the need arose you put your lives in danger and faced against the darkest and cruelest of foes.”
“May I?” asked the other figure, a towering man dressed in a heavy but tattered black coat with clearly visible plate mail beneath. However, the most striking thing about him was not his immense size, which was even greater than that of Inspector Eldon, nor his large curved horns. No, the most striking thing about him was the demonic helmet he had on that seemed as if it had been fused, bolted and riveted together out of scrap metal.
“Of course, Kairon,” said the herald.
The towering figure named Kairon reached over and gently pulled off the white sheet.
Ophelia’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment she had hoped her memory of events was wrong, but now she was faced with the truth of it.
Lying on the table were the preserved remains of Sloan.
Wulf quietly cried. Eldon put his hand on the watcher’s shoulder for comfort.
“She saved my life.” He muttered.
“I didn’t approve of her methods,” added Eldon. “But without her Kirkholm would have been lost, and thousands would have died.”
Wulfgang nodded and tears fell from his face. “She made it so I could see my daughters again.”
Hitch leaned on a nearby, unoccupied, table. Alleviating the weight off of his feet for a moment. “She was bloody mad. Shot me in the fucking leg. Never met a crazier bitch than her. But she wasn’t in it for profit or fame. She just…did it save people. Regular people.”
Ophelia stared at the lifeless corpse of the blackguard she had worked so closely with. Was this how soldiers felt after briefly fighting together in the trenches of the Cataclysm War? Was this how life threatening situations bonded you so intensely to others?
Her mind became drowned by the memory of her cradling Sloan’s broken body in her family’s home. How it felt when the realization hit that she was too far gone for any remedy. In that moment she would have given anything to reverse time. She even briefly considered necromancy in her traumatized state. She had researched it and knew the words. But despite everything she knew Sloan wouldn’t have wanted that. It was forbidden for a reason.
She stepped forward, quiet as a mouse, and placed her hand on the blackguard’s cold, pale shoulder. She was even paler than she had normally been.
It was so strange. It looked like Sloan but she could tell it wasn’t her. Not anymore. A vital part of her was missing. She was no longer in there. Just as her cousin had no longer been in the body that they fought. It was all just dead flesh.
“She…” but her words failed her and for a moment she felt she’d be engulfed by a vast abyss of grief. But she refused to. “She fought. Even when she had nothing left, she fought. It took her arm, broke her face, burnt her hand, crushed her windpipe…but she kept going. I’ve never met anyone like her before. She saved me. She saved us all.”
The towering giant, Kairon, looked to the herald who reached a frail hand over to the table.
“This is not an age of heroes. But heroism can still be found everywhere. It can be found in acts of kindness. It can be found of acts of necessary evil. And it can be found whenever a regular person puts them self in danger to help others. Do not cry for her. Live by her example.”
The morgue was quiet with subdued tears after that.
Ophelia stepped out of the watchtower into the summer sun, welcoming its warmth in the hopes it would drive away this sadness.
“We would appreciate it if your family allowed us to conduct a proper search of the estate.” She heard the voice of Inspector Eldon follow her out.
She turned and smiled. “You know my family will never allow that.”
Eldon smiled back. “I know. Which is why I trust you to do it for us. Not for evidence, this whole case is filled with a lack of evidence. But instead just…just to be safe.”
Ophelia Vandermeer allowed herself to embrace the imperial inspector. It wasn’t professional nor proper, but how else was one to greet brother-at-arms.
“I’ll make sure it’s done,” she said as she turned to board her carriage.
She took a moment to look out upon the city, marveling at the people that passed her and the pride it filled her with. She was expected to return to Lexingrad to resume her duties as an imperial arcanist. But she didn’t want to. She wasn’t done here.
“Where to?” asked the driver.
Ophelia thought on it for a moment before smiling to herself. “Take me to the Vandermeer Estate.”
“Really?” asked Wulfgang, his eyes wide at the sight of his new desk.
“Yes, well, given your astute deduction in the blackguard case and for going above and beyond in the line of fire, we think it’s fitting to have you among the inspectors,” said Teige as he bristled his moustache. “Besides, command can be far too…slow to acknowledge true accomplishments.”
The once-watcher stared at his desk and the adjacent filing cabinet.
“I don’t know what to say…” he muttered as he laid his fingers on its surface.
“We’ll still have to put you through the training regiment,” Tiege continued. “There are intense courses you have to take and exams but I’m sure you’ll get through that just fine. Plus, the pay raise won’t hurt.”
“Thank you.” He said, still struggling to find his words.
“Think none of it. Just don’t let us down,” said Tiege as he pulled out his pipe and walked hurriedly away.
Inspector Eldon placed his large hand gently on Wulf’s shoulder and smiled. “You did well, you deserve it.”
He then left the new inspector to marvel at his new station. Wulfgang thought back to Sloan, to the others, and smiled. I’ll be worthy of it. Just you wait and see.
“I beg your pardon?” her father’s voice asked in his usual indignant tone over the enchanted stone.
“I said I’m buying it.” Said Ophelia as she stepped out the front doors of the Vandermeer estate with a handful of broken floorboards.
“I heard that,” her father’s voice continued. “I meant why do you think you’ll be allowed to do that?”
“Because I said so.”
“Absolutely not! My brother, Edilon, has shamed the family even more with this demonic nonsense and people are already talking. I will have the estate leveled and the land sold. I will not suffer his blight on my reputation any more!”
Ophelia had to take a deep breath to calm herself. “Then the Academy will have some serious questions about the details of what happened at the estate.”
“And why would they do that?”
“Because I would tell them.”
She was met with only silence on the other end of the line. A rare opportunity she was sure to capitalize on.
“And I have some fantastic witnesses not only here in the city of Kirkholm but also among the blackguards, who would be very eager to hear all the nitty gritty details of the demonic rituals that took place here.”
After more silence her father’s voice slithered through the sending stone. “You would ruin us, Ophelia.”
“Then you only stand to benefit from me buy the house.”
A sigh sounded over the stone. “Why, if I may ask?”
“Because we abandoned our family and it resulted in tragedy. I will not stand idly by as you try to erase the part of our family you tried to sweep under the rug. I will honor them and I will do my part in revitalizing the image of the Vandermeers here in Kirkholm.”
“Fine, but do not expect me to help finance your endeavors!”
And thus the spell ended and Ophelia was blessed with sweet silence.
She placed the broken floor boards in a pile and gazed upon the building. The restoration would be slow but it filled her with joy and sadness in equal measure. She would cleanse this place, both of any demonic traces and of bad memories. She wanted to one day sit there and remember the years of her youth fondly. Though she never wanted to clean it of Sloan. She would honor her with the rest of her family that met their end in this house.
She would honor them all.
“What are you talking about?!” Hitch spat out, sitting in one of the booths of his new pub.
“We know you had a hand in Luther’s murder, you gimp!” said one of the hoodlums who had once worked for the man in question. “The Tillbone’s don’t forget!”
“Had a hand in it?” Hitch laughed. “Are you stupid? You know who I am? I ran his books, for the love of the gods! I’ve never been good with blades or guns, you know that!”
“Are you saying you weren’t there?” the man hissed in his face.
“I’m saying I just barely escaped out with my life. That blackguard went crazy! You saw the state she left those bodies in! She was out of her mind! She was going all around town killing people. Bloody bonkers.”
“We’ve heard the talk, you know?”
“The talk?”
“That you were seen with her and some inspectors later that night. I think you were making moves that night, Hitch”
“That’s Mr Hitch to you, small fry. And do you really believe everything you hear? I was knocked out and left in the gutter by the docks in Tollstock that night. I was just glad she didn’t kill me too. Probably felt bad for me, being as I am.”
The hoodlum narrowed his eyes before scanning the interior of Hitch’s new establishment. Aside from the musicians who were warming up on stage and the bartender behind the counter, there were two other associates of Hitch’s who would probably pull out blades if they did anything. So instead he spat at the fat man and stepped back.
“The Tillbones never forget,” he said before he exited the establishment.
Hitch chuckled. “The youths.”
“Problem boss?” asked his half-orc associate.
“Not right now. But we should expect the Tillbones to do something stupid eventually. So stay sharp.”
His associate nodded and stepped back to his post.
Sitting in the privacy of his booth, Hitch pulled out Luther Tillbone’s ring. A fine piece of jewelry that signified leadership in the criminal underworld of Kirkholm. A piece of jewelry he couldn’t wear…yet. But one day, once he’d carved himself out a proper place here, he could openly wear it and no one would dare say a thing. This pub was the beginning of it. With the money had embezzled from Luther’s books over the years and with the man finally out of the way, he could at long last buy his own pub. The cornerstone of his very own criminal empire.
Mr Hitch raised a glass of bourbon towards charred and bent blade affixed to a mantle over the bar.
“Here’s to you, Sloan,” he said with a smile. “You’ve earned the rest, you crazy bitch.”
Her carriage rode through town as Ophelia took in the sights on this fine summer’s day.
In Lindon she rode past Hitch’s Pub where outside she saw him instructing his men moving a new shipment of alcohol. His cold, dark eyes found her and he nodded with a smile.
Further on she rode past a sectioned off street where a murder had happened. There she saw a half giant inspector paired with a shorter, younger man, a fledgling inspector learning the ropes. They didn’t see her but she knew with their eyes they’d quickly find the killer. Eventually.
She rode past the apartment building where she had first met Sloan, the place now scrubbed clean and reoccupied with new tenants. Life had a funny way of paving over tragedy. For life always needed to continue. But she remembered. She refused to forget.
And finally her carriage stopped in front of the Vandermeer estate. The lawn now freshly cut, the windows, walls and roof tiles restored. Standing outside, soaking in the sun, she saw the pale and gaunt figure of Ailene Butler emerge from within.
“Hello, miss Vandermeer!” Ailene called out smiling. “Welcome back!”
Ophelia smiled back as she stepped out. The young woman still had a long road ahead in her recovery, but she had gotten so far already. It warmed Ophelia’s heart to see her smiling in the sun. She hoped Sloan smiled on them as well.
She had much to atone for, she felt. Not only for her own inactions but of her family’s dereliction. But she was determined to fix that.
And standing here, at long last, she finally felt like she was right where she belonged.
She was home.
