With the looming house of Collinwood beyond in the distance, as the great estate rises upwards, the land suddenly gives way to create the grand headland known as Widows’ Hill. There, from it’s sheer summit one could gaze out upon the vastness of the Atlantic ocean, or, from a dizzying height, peer down the precipice to watch the violent crash of angry waves lashing upon the foam washed, razor sharp edges of the jagged shoreline below. A rocky shore that has been worn vicious by time and the relentless sea. Solitary. Isolated. It was long considered a place of tragedy. An accursed headland. A place of death. As will those who come tonight – to look out over the darkening sea and the tragically haunted town of Collinsport, just visible in a gathering mist beginning to invade the bend of bay – will soon discover.
The access road had narrowed slowly transitioning to merely a single lane. Catriona Kaye pulled the Jaguar off the broken, uneven pavement into the wild grass. For a moment she sat silently looking out through the windscreen – as if she were making a decision.
“I must say, this is a bit off the path, right? Agent Thirteen – who had arrived most unexpectedly the day before last, standing at the front door to Catriona’s beach cottage, with a single valise sitting as if it had carefully arranged at her side. Agent Nine looking at her in silence, then to the valise. The valise was a warning – she was far too precise for a field agent. A spay. For Coats. “Our Lady in Collinsport, as it where, Hey? Thirteen.” Catriona, had asked blithely, sitting behind her desk, as she abruptly sliced the letter opener through the envelope in hand.
“This isn’t actually an assignment, per say, Ms. Kaye.” Thirteen had replied coolly – apparently not at all impressed with the fact she was speaking to a former chairman of the Diogenes Club’s Ruling Cabal. “Ms. Coats does expect regular status reports.”
“She does?” Kaye replied not looking at her, but rather at the ivory card she had removed from the envelope.
“Yes.”
Kaye, having read the enclosure, dropped the high quality cardstock rather languidly upon her desk as she looked up at the agent, “Then by all means—we should keep her informed of our status.”
“Miss—“ Agent Nine asks as she has picked up the discarded enclosure and cautiously scanned the location.
“Shall we take a walk?” and Catriona snaps open the car door and steps out.
She lifts her head to catch the scent of the sea in the air as she begins to stroll ahead of the others, extricating themselves from the Jaguar in order to follow.
Agent Nine was well aware of the terrain, the pathway ahead leading up to the high, sheer cliffs that dropped dangerously from the Collins Estate – as she had furtively slipped away in order to reconnoitre to indicated site They were, and had been, for some time, on the grounds of the vast Collinwood Estate.
What she did not understand was the reason why they had been invited here.
Catriona leading the way turns off the badly paved road and begins to make her way up the incline of the dirt path,
Although it looks as if the land had been left long unattended, it seemed the weeds and wild grass have not encroached upon the pathway. Almost as if fearful to do so—Good God, this place gets to to me. The red-haired agent thought.
“A rather God forsaken bit of a path I wonder.” Agent Thirteen observes as she hesitantly looks about the terrain.
Catriona turns to look over he shoulder, “This is Collinwood—God has very little to with what happens here.” and then she continues her leisurely stride.
Nine quickens her step in order to catch up with Catriona, “It is growing late Ms. Kaye.”
Catriona nods, “Yes—dusk is giving way even now to night.”
“Are—are you okay?”
“Have I ever been okay – since that night?” She looks over to Agent Nine.
Both aware her reply concerns the night in Westminster where she took three shots in the chest and recovered in hospital – quite miraculously – to awaken, somehow physically thirty years younger.
“Why are you bringing that up now?” Nine asks, as they stroll along the uneven path, “Something I need to know?”
“Need to know?” Catriona smiles and shakes her head ever so slightly, “No, nothing you need to know.”
Catriona and Nine in the lead, Agent Thirteen trailing, as she frowns well aware this twilight would not last long. They round a bend, and there to the left, to the side of the path, there is a small shelter constructed about an old well.
“What is this? One of those quaint American wishing wells?” Agent Thirteen asks, catching up and stepping ahead in order to move over to the wooden shelter built over the well, and quickly steps up on the concrete flooring. She approaches the old well and curiously glances over the side to peer into the gloom, “One drops in say a fish – in anticipation of setting sail to receive a profitable harvest from the sea?”
Nine eyes it suspiciously – everything suspicious now.
“No – a keepsake – in hopes of a homecoming.” Catriona corrects as she stops to take a look about. “I wonder . . . “
Nine turns to watch her.
“A homecoming?” Thirteen asks.
“It is a rather forlorn path we take tonight, Thirteen.” Catriona replies as she begins to walk ahead once more.
There is a sudden rustle in the underbrush – a strong wind rushing through the trees.
Catriona stops and turns around.
Nine is also aware that the song of the crickets has abruptly come to an end.
“Miss—“ Nine urges.
“I think if you were to stay a bit Thirteen you would come to love the countryside.” She says suddenly.
“I am not the woman taken by the outdoors.”
“How long are you truly here for?” And Catriona is now heading toward a huge gate and a massive stone wall just ahead.
Thirteen looks up from the well and moves off the concrete platform to once again follow this rambling woman . . . “No more than two days.”
“Two days? Well, that ‘s hardly any time at all.”
“Time enough.”
“Not nearly enough time to learn of the canneries.” Agent Nine adds to this inane conversation. Kaye was hiding something—
“Quite right.” Kaye concurs, and turns to address the newly arrived Agent Thirteen. “It is agreed. You should take the tour. They have it all automated now.”
“I’m not here to take in the local culture ma’am.”
Nine cuts a sharp glance toward Agent Thirteen, her demeanour is far more curt with this newly arrived representative from the Ruling Cabal of the Diogenes Club that she can find good cause – other than the valise standing at attention. Catriona Kaye was her charge – her mission, and yet, apparently Coats saw fit to send this weasel of a agent . . .
They approached a set of large wrought iron gates build into the stonework structure of a large wall, seeming built in order to secure the area beyond the path.
“Gates?” Nine says rather nonchalantly as she looked at them, “Does anyone serious think they can adequately secure or keep anyone out these days?”
Catriona approaches them almost languidly before reaching out to grasp one of the iron bars, “Well—the Collins Family put this up quite some time ago – trying to restrict access to the cliff tops.”
Why was Kaye so pensive, Nine thought to herself – her voice was not full of her usual animation. She moved as if . . . if she had been drugged.
“As I said—this is a rather forlorn path we tread,” She pulled on the gate, but it refused to move. Her longer fingered hand reached into a pocket and she removed a key. “Do you know what lies beyond?”
“The top of some cliffs, you said.” Agent Thirteen replies rather disinterested. The whole meandering walk and the even more oblique conversation was becoming ever so tiresome.
Catriona inserted the key into the lock, and the tumblers clicked. “One needs to know one’s history –“
“And you got that from –“ Nine asked.
Her reply was a wry smile as she pushed the heavy gate back and it slowly moves to reveal a space large enough for a person to pass.
“Ahead lies Widow’s Hill.”
“Hill?” Thirteen asks, “Not a cliff?”
“From the village of Collinsport – to travel this road by foot was an upward hike – to reach the vantage point so as to look out across the sea to the far horizon.”
“Yet another tourist attraction—I gather. A bit more of a scenic one is should gather than this cannery, you mentioned earlier. Is that all there is that keeps this place viable, tourist attractions?” Agent Thirteen sighs.
“There is the Collins Family.” Nine interjects.
“Oh, one shan’t forget abut them” Thirteen adds sarcastically.
“Why are we . . . here . . . walking as you said this forlorn path?” Nine turns to Catriona Kaye.
With a fanning wave of her fingers and a motion of her hand toward the opening in the gate, Catriona smiles mysteriously, “An invitation my dear. We are here by invitation – as you very well know.”
“I for one do not see the need to meet Miss Collins out here – at night.” Nine replies.
“Whom?” Thirteen replies.
“Why, Nicole Collins.” And Kaye steps through the parted gates and begins to stride along the uneven rocky path.
“Nicole Collins?” Thirteen repeats hurrying to catch up.
“Yes—my unholy creation—she beacons.”
Thirteen looks to Nine – there is something seriously disconcerting now about all of this. . . . “Why would anyone invite anyone to meet here?”
“If you were aware of the local culture, you would know the fortuitous meaning of meeting here.”
“Fortuitous?” Thirteen swats at a worrisome insect.
“”Yes—Widow’s Hill,” Kaye replies, “From the days of the founding of this hamlet build here upon the sheer edge of the sea, wives have trekked up this lonely path to seek these cliff tops in the aftermath of dreadful storms.” She hurries suddenly ahead in order to suddenly slip through an open gash in the stonework of the wall, “Seeking the advantage of nature’s height.”
Thirteen shakes her head – definitely this is going into the report.
“Miss—“ Nine cries after her and quickly catches up as Catriona Kaye has quickly covered the distance from the stone wall toward the jaggered edge of the rocky outcropping of the cliffs. The wind from the Atlantic grows harsh the closer one gains the edge of the world. Nine hurries up the uneven path—as she feel the soles of her boots slip on the damp, uneven rocks – aware that Catriona was wearing heels. Not at all wise – especially as close as she was moving now to the end of the dangerous perch overlooking the crashing waves of the sea below.
Catriona suddenly turns as she stands, wind bellowing her dress against her, lashing her hair about her face, “From here you see, the wives reached the end of their quest. The edge of their world—where they could gaze out upon the cruel, dark ocean and await the return of the ships.” She turns to look into the gathering night. “Each seeking an answer to their prayers – please, please Lord, let it not be mine. Let it not be my husband’s ship that fails to return from that far horizon. And, as they stood here transfixed, in the wind, and the rain, for hours, waiting, ever waiting – till . .. . a ship crossed the horizon and a prayer was answered.”
“Miss—can we not get so close.” Nine asks as she moves closer – trying to remember which hand goes first, right over left, left over right, for the best leverage as she can not help peering over the edge at the dizzying drop to the crashing surf below.
“Till the last . . . the last ship returns. And there is a lonely wife with the unanswered prayer.” Catriona seems to be entranced. “No ship upon the horizon – and so, it is but one step—yes, just one single step, beyond, to join the missing loved one. “
Her foot dangles over the edge.
“Yes, now that is really quite a demonstration, Miss Kaye – perhaps, you should straightway make application to the Collinsport Historical Society. I am rather certain they would be more than pleased to have someone with your wealth of knowledge, concerning the local attractions.” Agent Thirteen say abruptly, “ But, I think you should really step back from that precipice. It grows dark and late.”
“Ah,” Catriona turns to look at her and smiles, “Yes, my time is come.”
“Agent Nine?” Thirteen asks now uncertain of Catriona’s motivations – and concerned – playing as she is on the edge of an abyss.
Catriona turns abruptly and steps away from the edge and approaching Agent Nine places a hand upon her shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze, “Let us see if we can find this elusive Miss Collins, shall we?”
“I suppose it is fair play considering our invitation to her.” Nine nods.
“Right you are.” And Catriona strides away, leaving the two agents in her wake as she moves back toward the fissure in the stone wall.
“Is this usual behaviour for her?”
“There isn’t much about her that is not unusual” Nine replies candidly as she kneels down to jab something into the crack of a rock facing, before rising and quickly following the ex-Chairman of the Diogenes Club’s Ruling Cabal.
Kaye finding the opening in the wall slips through and once again strides along her forlorn path.
“It is all very disconcerting Nine.” Thirteen tells her as they make their own way through the crack in the wall. “It is little wonder Miss Coats is concerned.”
“I for one found one should not take anything at face value from Coats.” Nine replies contemptuously.
Thirteen looks at her in wonderment – so little time here across the pond and she’s already questioning authority? But then, how would she have reacted had they given her the assignment? It was certainly high risk . . . not the job of protecting the enigmatic Miss Kaye. But, for one’s career. The suspicious circles within the Ruling Cabal have far too long suspected that rather than an acquiescence to retirement Catriona Kaye has been all along plotting a return to power. Even here, in seeming exile . . .
Nine calls out, “Miss . . . if you would please . . . not so far ahead.”
Catriona Kaye strolling along another rocky path, leading up into the isolation of what surely will be yet another precipice, says to herself softly, “Yes, if you please . . . But, alas, and alack—he is playing by another set of rules . . . “
And she can see ahead now that the uneven path leads to a cluster of old tombstones belonging to some long neglected cemetery, shrouded now in the mist arising from the crashing waves at the foot of Widow’s Hill.
She approaches warily.
Suddenly there is a wry smile – even as the mist begins to gather, to swirl slowly into a form that begins to coalesce. “Miss Collins I presume.”
The mist having slithered along the tombstones, having swirled and gathered as it has arisen, suddenly gives way to reveal Nicole Collins, who stands near one of the graves, “Miss Kaye, so good of you to come.”
“So good of you to ask.”
Agent Nine’s approaches slowly as she places a hand on her weapon – Agent Thirteen steps in behind her.
“So—should I make the tea . . . this time?” Nine asks dryly.
“I don’t think we have time for tea, Agent Nine.” Nicole Collins acknowledges the red-haired agent, “And, who is this young lady?”
Thirteen stands now a bit off to the side, distancing herself from the social interaction, but remains close enough to observe.
“Really?” Catriona asks, “My dear, there is always time for tea.”
“It’s four o clock somewhere.” Agent Nine adds reflectively.
Nicole Collins turns her aloof attention once more to Catriona Kaye, “Sadly, not tonight I fear.”
“So – you finally get your moment, Miss Collins?”
Nicole lifts an eyebrow and Catriona can not help but think of Erzsébet, “You knew this moment would come from the moment you invited her to Westminster.”
Nine subtly positions her hand over the hilt of her gun.
“True,” Catriona replies. “But surely, Nicole, having read about Thalarion, have you not longed to actually see the City of a Thousand Wonders? A city that contains all the mysteries man has long endeavoured in vain to fathom?”
“Even as you well knew it meant death to pass through its gate.” Nicole admonishes. “And yet, still you sought Lathi’s curse.”
“Yes – the curse. There was what. But there was also a stratagem only he could accomplish.” Catriona’s voice now taking on a different tone and register. “Timing so precise – to the instant. Can you imagine? The planning . . . the connection maintained through the curves and angles – the spheres. Maintained by sheer force of will. So that I could step from the ship upon the wharf in order to pass through the carven gate. To gaze upon those hideous hieroglyphics carved upon the legendary Akariel. To marvel at the temples, to look up . . . and see those glorious spires reaching far, far above, dizzyingly so, into the azure sky – “ She takes a step closer toward Nicole Collins, “To have actually walked upon the streets that are truly white with the unburied bones of all those who have trespassed . . . who braved the curse. To have entered into the temple of mysteries . . . were even you, the Undead cannot tread.”
Thirteen looks now with acute interest at the blonde standing before Catriona Kaye – so, this was Nicole Collins.
“You’re as crazy as your father.”
“And you as brazen as your own.” Catriona replies. “The Wizard’s Daughter? Was it not for you that I was sent.”
“That was not of my doing?”
“Really? “ Nine aware now that Catriona’s voice was no longer her own – had not been since she had said the word curse. “Did you not want the book? And so, did he not sent me to retrieve it from where he let so many of the Legati die in order to conceal it.” She steps closer to Nicole Collins, “Can you image how many of those bones lying in the street are of those who, each taking yet one more step closer to the temple, died in order to hide it away from man’s eyes. Have you thought of the consequences of having the P’Dwahr M’Ankanon Nyarlathotep once more in this world . . . All because the little girl who had so long ago enthralled a god was desirous of it?”
“Oh,” Nicole’s voice growing far more haughty than ethereal. “Don’t play the innocent with me.” Her blue eyes growing now an artic blue, cold and harsh. “Either one of you. You—who would gladly sacrifice anything upon the altar of the ONE you serve, if it would further your desire to achieve the knowledge of what lies beyond the ultimate gate . . . in order to follow after your father. And you—you sanctimonious hypocrite,” Her fangs now visible, “Having fought for how long against the marvels, you call evil . . . to only accept, at the moment of sweet temptation, the longed of life.”
Nine stands now looking at Catriona Kaye aware that perhaps some of this should not be overheard by Agent Thirteen.
“Whatever you need to do – do it quickly. I do not need to be lectured by the messenger of the messenger!” Catriona replies sardonically as her hand grasps the ornate, Silver Key that hangs about her neck, “It is time . . . long past time.” She lifts the key and turns it in the air, “Time now . . . for night’s black agents—to their prey do rouse.”
“Black is the badge of hell.” Nicole Collins replies, “The hue of dungeons . . . and the school of night.”
And all too suddenly Nine knows why they are here atop Widow’s Hill. Why Kaye has taken this forlorn path tonight. Why she has been so filled with ennui. And her prays that all of her hours of tireless training, her reflexes honed for just a moment do not fail as she quickly moves toward Kaye, her visor aligning now for one clear shot in the hopes that she can—
Only it is a blur as Collins quickly crosses the few steps between herself and Catriona Kaye.
Even as Nine’s gun clears the holster and swings up.
Nicole Collins hands grasp about her head as she abruptly snaps Catriona’s neck.
Even as Nine fires two shots in the same instant.
And Nicole Collins releases Kaye, whose body given over to gravity collapses to the ground at Nine’s feet, as she staggers back from the impact of the 9mm.
“S**T!” Nine screams in rage – Kaye must have changed out the clip because the bullets apparently are not silver as Nicole Collins’s holds the wound of her chest.
Agent Thirteen leaps back and draws a hidden pistol from her bag, and kneels into firing position. Only, as she looks at Nicole Collins standing there removing her hand to reveal the lack of blood or damage from the 9mm shells, she can see the vague image of an old antique clock, beginning to appear now beside Catriona’s body.
Nine aware that Thirteen has a gun – and not at all certain just who is one of the night’s black agents, steps forward to shield Catriona’s body as she demands: “BOTH OF YOU BACK AWAY. NOW!”
Training her gun first on Nicole Collins, and then over to the kneeling figure of Thirteen.
Thirteen, uncertain of Nine’s intentions, keeps an wary eye upon the 9mm, as she has become, in the few hours that she has had to observe them, more than aware that when it comes to Kaye, Nine’s motivations are clearly more than professional; but she does not have time to attempt to defuse the situation, for in utter amazement she watches now as an seemingly impossible transformation takes place. Nicole Collins seems to be fading. At first, it is as if she’s merely becoming translucent, ghostly, so that like the two buttons on the back of Jacob Marley’s coat could be seen by Ebenezer the tombstone behind her can be viewed, hazily, as at the same time a light mist is beginning to defuse around her, like some wispy aura. Thirteen’s training has of course covered the basic vampiric powers, as the Diogenes’s Club understands them – seeing as how even with all of Mycroft’s inter-governmental connections, the Club had never been given a full seat at Her Majesties clandestine intelligence buffet table of various initialled and/or numbered intelligence agencies, instead having been relegated to being a very distant relative to MI6’s classification classified Edom Operation, and so has not been privileged with Dr. Seward’s reports – and so she is aware of their ability to mesomorph, but does not understand that this is merely an illusion. A product of the evolving symbolic relationship with the viral infection’s alien enhancements of the host, giving them the shadowy capability of clouding men’s minds, of not only inducing, but controlling hallucinations. Thus it would appear that Nicole Collin’s corporal form is disintegrating, tearing apart, into wafts of mist.
But even as she is all by mesmerized by watching this apparent mesomorphosis, she is taken aback by the sudden appearance of a nude woman standing above the body of Catriona Kaye.
“I SAID BACK AWAY.” Nine shouts now at the new materialized nude woman now stepping back from the body of Catriona Kay.
“You must hurry Agent.” Commands the wraithlike voice of Nicole Collins.
“Yes,” The nude woman replies, “Yes, you must go . . . as we all must do his bidding when it pleases him, blessed be his name.”
“There is nothing blessed by him.” Collis ethereal voice can be hear to dissipate upon the mist descending to slither through the tombstones.
Thirteen quickly arises from her kneeling position.
“If you DO NOT STEP AWAY . . . I will shoot you where it doesn’t stop bleeding.” Nine snaps, fighting the urge to just unload the clip into everyone – and uncertain why she has not.
Agent Thirteen steps forward, her Walther PPK held leisurely, as she approaches the trail of mist, “Yes—now then. Ms. Collins. You must forgive Agent Nine’s outburst, I fear she has perhaps . . . over stayed far too long in the States. But, however—you must understand our duty as far as the events that have just transpired – and so, as an Agent of the Diogenes Club, acting under the sanction of her majesty the Queen, by fiat of mutual intelligence acts and International Treaty, as it pertains to adversaries of humanity, I demand you cease this dematerialization, and rematerialize straightway so as to be placed in custody.” And she turns to look over her shoulder at the nude woman, “That goes for you as well, whomever you are. I mean custody – not the dematerialization of course.”
“Oh, of course.” Victoria Wren replies bemused, even as Agent Thirteen is bewildered to see yet another ethereal manifestation: the slow materialization of a large, coffin-shaped clock, which, as it took on more and more solidity, bore a face whose dial was marked in unearthly hieroglyphs. The nude woman strode toward it.
“Agent Nine—everything has been prepared for this moment and so you need to put away that gun. You do not have the luxury of time. There is a far more urgent matter at hand . . . an immediate errand to be performed if you wish to restore your Miss Kaye.”
“Restore?” Nine frowns, gun levelling on the nude woman, whose voice she does recognize
“You need to take her—“
“Take her?”
“Yes—you are well aware of who you need to see.”
And before Nine can pull the trigger the nude Victoria Wren steps back into the opening frontispiece of the old clock.
It shuts and the clock begins to fade away.
The mist paying no heed to Agent Thirteen’s demands continues to dissipate through the old, neglected cemetery, as Agent Nine fires in frustration emptying the clip as the bullets strike sparks and stone slivers from the old tombstones.
“I say, some vampires are just rude.” Thirteen observes as she holsters her firearm.
Nine suddenly remembers . . . the portal and Frankenstein’s arrival.
“Thirteen.”
“Yes Nine?” She replies as she bends down now to check the lifeless Catriona Kaye. .
“Don’t touch her.”
“Agent Nine, I do believe that Ms. Kaye was under your protection.” She looks up, “Is that correct?”
Nine moves over to kneel beside Catriona Kaye, “You can put it in your bloody report dammit.”
“Ms. Coats will most certainly not be pleased.”
“I am not too pleased at the moment myself.” She lifts Catriona’s body.
“Obviously we need to inform the local authorities; and then we need to return to London – where you can make a full report to Ms. Coats.”
“Well Thirteen, my passport is in my rucksack at the house, why don’t you take a cab, get it for me, then shove it up your arse.” And shifting the dead weight of Catriona, Agent Nine (refusing any assistance from Thirteen), begins to quickly hurry back down the forlorn path – back over the uneven footpath, her boots slipping and all but tripping as she stumbles several times making her way finally back to the useless gates, which failed to keep Catriona away . . . away from her rendezvous with death.
{Fade to black}
{We Fade in on a pair of high beams illuminating the front of what appears to be an long neglected outbuilding of some unkempt and perhaps abandoned estate as the Catriona Kay’s Jaguar pulls to a halt. The lights extinguish and the doors open. Thirteen gets out of the car and look about, surveying the immediate environs, while Nine hurries to the back passenger door.}
Agent Nine struggles to pull forward and lift from the back seat of the Jaguar the weight of Catriona Kaye’s lifeless body.
Time—Goddmaned the time! How long has it been?
Too long!
In the light of the overhead dome, she is more than aware that the flesh has taken on a more ghastly pallor, the lips blue –
And she’s improvising now . . . which is not especially her forte. Agent Nine needs a plan – a well thought out, strategic, or tactical, plan, not something hastily thrown together over the corpse of the woman she was assigned to protect, a woman for whom she has harboured affection. You know where to take her – the woman she assumed to be Victoria Wren had said – but she had had no idea in hell where the foul doctor may be . . . racing down the winding access road back to the main highway, she had rung up Praetorius, who had told her, in that damned detached and irksome pedantic voice of his, oh no, no, no my dear that just will not do . . . there is not enough time don’t you know. Taking a launch out to the isle would be a journey I am afraid poor Catriona would most certainly not survive. “
“Survive?”
“Yes, yes, no time to explain . . . now, you must take her to Victor, “ {there were some inaudible movements on the other end of the mobile’s connection}, “No! The other one! Yes—that one. He has a place on the Pierce Estate. . . you are aware of it, yes . . . . lovely. Now you said a broken neck? Right, then I shall put together a few things and hurry along. Now, you can not dally, Nine – you have to get her there straightaway. “
She stoops now to get a good grip of the body and lifts, banging her head sharply on the doorframe, “S**T.”
“’I say, this is certainly not at all protocol.” Agent Thirteen comments removing a high beam torch from her pocket and flicking it on to cast the bright ray of light across the wild underbrush that has overgrown the foot path which lead up to the weather-beaten building “What is this beastly place: and what are you planning. We are dealing with the body of an ex-Chairman of the Ruling Cabal, I am sure you are aware.”
“It there anything you don’t find obvious?” Nine asks, hefting the body up and using her heel to close the door of the Jaguar.
She hurries past Thirteen – who not certain what Nine is proposing to do, but has decided to follow her lead, seeing as she has been here on the ground in Collinsport for quite some time., and so shines the torch’s light on the footpath ahead for Nine to traverse.
They approach the porch and Thirteen hurries up the wooden steps and knocks on the door.
“The door!” Nine says with irritation, “Just open it!”
Thirteen tries the door, “Locked.”
Nine does not have time for this, and with a well placed boot smashes it against the door. It holds, she tires it again, and again and the old frame shatters allowing the door to swing open violently. She adjusts Kaye’s weight to balance herself once more and enters. The old foyer is deserted – long ago abandoned to neglect and dust. The interior of the house is illuminated only by the pale moonlight falling through the tall, dirty, bare windows. She looks around – there are a pair of open doors to the left, a parlour . . . “Frankenstein!” She calls out.
“Frankenstein?” Thirteen echoes rather startled by the name.
Only there is no answer – but this is where Praetorius had said he would be.
Her boot heels sound loudly on the old wooden floor as she strides back into the house.
Thirteen shines the light of her torch to cut through the gloom. “Well if you are talking about Frankenstein, there no doubt has to be a basement,” she says and tries a door in the middle of the corridor they have just entered. It opens with a loud creak of an protesting hinge. The beam of torch directed through the threshold she discovers a flight of stairs leading downward.
She looks at Nine, “As I said: no doubt.”
Nine once again has to adjust the body of Catriona Kaye as she makes her way awkwardly down the stairs and they find a small bare landing. “Dammit!”
Thirteen’s torchlight cuts through the darkness as she shines it around to come to a halt on another old door. She moves over and opens it revealing a large subterranean laboratory.
Nine rushes in, “WHERE ARE YOU?!”
She is answered by silence.
Thirteen stands looking at the vast array of odd equipment – some of which appears amazingly antique mixed as they are in among a host of new electronics.
“FRANKENSTEIN!”
A tall gaunt man suddenly steps out from behind a piece of equipment, “So—you have finally arrived.”
“You were expecting us?” Thirteen asks.
“Praetorius rang a few moments ago.” He says matter-of-factly.
“We met on the island.” Nine tells him.
“So we did,” He pays no mind to the agent but instead looks with intense interest at the woman’s body in her arms. “Precisely how long ago did this happen?”
“Thirteen minutes and thirty-nine seconds.” Thirteen replies, “And those seconds are counting.”
Nine grimaces even as the Baron looks at her with some bemused curiosity, “”Certainly—less than an hour?”
“Yes.” Nine nods.
“Good, bring her over to the examination table—quickly.” He motions with a black gloved hand.
Agent Nine carefully settles Kaye onto the table – a table very similar to the one in Dr. Praetorius’s crazy lab.
Where does Frankenstein end and Praetorius begin she wonders.
Thirteen carefully observing the cellar laboratory steps back to watch in silence.
“Quickly – you must do something doctor.” Agent Nine implores as she looks at the lifeless body of Catriona Kaye on an odd examination table – which looks far more like some experimentation table.
Frankenstein lifts a rather supercilious brow and turns to step over to the table. His gaunt features now set rather grimly as he begins to examine the body. “You are certain it has been less than an hour?” He asks without looking up from his examination.
“Yes.”
“But—there’s no way that you – can. . . . I mean the lack of oxygen alone . . .” Thirteen suddenly interjects. . .
The Baron looks up at her rather bemused and nods, “So say the strictures of modern medicine and science.” He reaches up and runs a hand along the base of Kaye’s neck. “But my dear, the strictures of medicine and science end at that door.” And he gives her a sinister smile—it is the most sinister smile she has ever seen.
Back to his work, he begins to loll Catriona’s head back and forth: and then, as if she were merely on a chiropractor’s table he grasps her head with both hands and suddenly wrenches it back. His left hand runs along the back of her neck “Ah—“ He says almost to himself.
“You,” He suddenly motions to Agent Nine, “Those three consoles, there. Yes. You need to turn all three of those on.
A hand beneath the table, he grasps an odd metallic object shaped like a half ring, ”It is the first knob on the right—for each.” He continues to instruct Agent Nine as he lifts the curved metal object and begins to carefully place it above Kaye’s head. With rounded metal inserts fitting into snug holes within the table, he pushes the metallic half-ring down so that it fits over Kaye’s forehead to secure her head.
There is a static hum now beginning to fill the room as Nine turns the indicated knobs.
He turns and quickly walks over to one of his work tables. There he moves some odd bottles, one of which falls and shatters upon the stone floor, but he gives little heed to its destruction as he moves a rack of test tubes, an Erlenmeyer flask so as to reveal an antique, ebony box. He picks it up and opens it in order to remove a vial and an old glass syringe.
“There are cables on the side of either console, there on the floor. Uncoil them and lay them out so as to reach the table.” He orders Nine as he inserts the needle and begins to fill the syringe. He watches with a keen interest as the fluid fills the glass cylinder, and then he stops. He removes the syringe from the vial and then replaces it into the ebony box.
Thirteen steps over to watch. Of course, she had heard of the him. Everybody has – he’s a legend. A myth. A fictional character? Of course being an Valuable Member of the Diogenes Club, she knew him to have been rather the inspiration for a fictional character. She had heard his name mentioned on a couple of occasions but had never suspected she would someday actually meet the man. As she watches him, she wonders when and ever he had met the author.
This Frankenstein certainly had never travelled to the Artic in search of his creation. No – this man was without remorse or regret for anything he had done – the breaking of any law that did not suit his maniacal genius and desire for knowledge – perhaps knowledge man was never meant to know.
One thing was for certain – myth or legend or novelization – he was a murderer and a madman.
How in god’s name had he been sanctioned by the Club?
With a slight raised eyebrow he glances at her briefly and then steps away from the table to slip between some laboratory equipment. Thirteen watches Agent Nine working with the cables, uncertain what she do as she steps over so as to keep an eye on the Baron She watches as he removes a set of keys from his pocket, he unlocks the doors of a narrow wooden cabinet. From it he removes what looks like an IV bag – it is filled with some ambler liquid.
“And what is that?” She asks as he returns now to the table upon which Catriona Kaye lies.
“A variation of the Seward Serum.” He says, as she watches him place the bag upon an IV stand and rolls it over to the table. “Which, of course, I have refined.” He works with the tubing, the assembled burette with drip chamber. An eventual attempt at precision eludes him as he lifts Kaye’s hand and begins to try and spike her vein. “Damn!” he snaps in irritation.
He looks up. “You,” and he motions to Thirteen, “You will have to do this.”
As way of explanation he lifts his glove encased hands.
Agent Thirteen hurries over and takes the needle from his fingers, “And so—what – you want me to . . . “
He sighs, “The vein atop her hand! Surely you have been in Hospital. Seen an IV infusion done.” He snaps in frustration – silly woman.
“Seen yes, but, have never done one. No.”
“Then – learn.” He motions to Kaye’s hand, a lock of his hair spilling across his forehead.
Thirteen moves over and having in fact seen this done before, mimics a past experience in hospital.
Nine steps over, “Let me”
“No!” He waves a commanding hand at her, “You have to attach those cables to the connections underneath the table.”
“We are running out of time.” Nine protests.
“Upon that we agree!” He replies, “I would suggest you should get back to work with those cables.”
His keen eyes examine the drip chamber as he begins to allow the IV to drip the amber fluid. He then takes the syringe and lifts it looking at the needle as he forces a small spurt – and then kneels so as to find the base of Catriona Kaye’s neck and spikes the needle in deep, pushing the liquid within.
“You are sure the connections are secure?” He asks evenly.
Nine nods.
He tosses the syringe aside as it clatters across the floor and he moves purposely around the shielding of an observation console.
He flips a series of switches and the whine of electrical generators fills the room, even as sparks arise from various tubes attached to odd equipment.
“Get out of there!” he snaps at Agent Nine standing beside the lifeless body of Catriona.
He begins to work the console and suddenly the room is filled with a tingling sense of electricity.
“You,” He waves his hand to Nine, to join him, “Watch that dial, let me know when it is 7.9, precisely.”
She looks at the dial – “Yes.”
He looks back at her, his eyes like those of a hawk, “Precisely.”
“I know what that means!”
He returns to the table and looks at Kaye’s body; lifts an eyelid; adjusts the flow of the amber fluid through the infuser, and then suddenly rips open her dress. He reaches down under the table and reveals a round copper ring one side of which bears a series of sharp needles. He places it over Kaye’s heart and then as if doing a CPR chest compression, he thrusts his fist down in order to push it deep into her flesh. He reaches above and pulls a cable, which is suspended above in a roller, and attaches the connector to the copper ring.
“7.9– precisely!” Nine yells out over the whine of the generators.
He steps back over toward the observation console and gives Agent Thirteen a stern look: “You are quite calm. Usually people become a bit nervous around all of this.”
“I have seen many things Doctor. One must learn to detach oneself from the moment to remain calm. Else, we go through life from one series of panic attacks to the next..”
“Remarkable woman.” He says with admiration.
Back behind the console he checks the readings of his dials—”Step back.” he says, to Nine and removes a pair of goggles and places them on. “Best you two shield your eyes.’ And then without hesitation he flips a lever and huge burst of blue white light, blindingly bright, fills the entire Laboratory.
Nine steps back and shields her visor, even as Thirteen closes her eyes and turns her head away.
He lifts the goggles and checks the readings of his instrument panel and steps around the observation station and over to the table.
He checks for a pulse.
He pushes the goggles back further and leans over to lift an eyelid . . . “Dammit! How long did it take you to get her here?” He snaps angrily.
Nine is about to answer but he brushes past her as he hurries back to the observation station.
His gloved hands pushing the sliding levers upward, even further.
“This is insane.” Thirteen yells over at Nine, “The poor woman is dead.”
The Baron flips back the lock of his hair and glares at her for a moment as he works on an equalization of charges, releasing safety dampers, and there is a loud click and the generators whine increases.
“Stand back, and protect your eyes.”
Thirteen stands back further, closing her eyes and lightly covering them with her hand.
He pulls the goggles down again and flips the switch.
A huge burst of blue white light fills the room as there is an explosion of electricity which rips one of his transformers apart.
Fragments of metal sizzle in the air.
‘Live—dammit!” He commands.
Generators whine and electricity crackles.
The intensity of light fades. The whole of the laboratory feels charged with static electricity. The whine of the generators are like some caged animals. Flames are dancing about the transformer that exploded—which he plays little attention to as he moves back over to the table.
He pushes up his goggles and reaches for a pulse.
A wild smile crosses his lips – “Yes!”
Agent Nine steps closer.
“She lives.” He calmly informs her.
Nine lets out a huge sigh of relief, collapsing to her knees.
Kaye’s fingers begin to move slowly, grasping.
Agent Thirteen opens her eyes and removes her hand from her face. He is a madman – and a genius.
Catriona Kaye on the table takes a deep breath.
Agent Nine scrambles over to the table, “Miss Kaye don’t move.”
“Yes,” He instructed expressionlessly as he steps over to monitor the IV drip, “You must allow the regenerative process to continue. Your injuries were quite extensive.”
“Frankenstein,” Catriona’s lips barely whisper looking up to the Baron.
He steps over to her and looks down so that she can see him – as her head is immobilized, “We last we met, you admonished me for longing to be a God. Tonight, Catriona, at least you should be thankful that I have learned several of his most closely guarded secrets.”
“H-how is it – you. . . are here?”
“I was told I would be needed.” He replied with detached indifference as he released the connector to the metallic ring embedded into her chest, allowing the cable to swiftly whip upward as it rewound about the roller suspended high above.
Her eyes cut to see the amber fluid, “Seward’s Serum?”
He turns upon her his wicked smile, “Ironic is it not.”
Cue Music End of Episode