chapter 19
Friday, September 7, 9:15 p.m.
Standing in the dark and shadows cast by the wall of the neighboring building, Caden watched the swift approach of Timothy DeRocha. Hushed moonlight fell over the young man’s muted steps as he walked up the back alley running between the Society hall and the warehouse.
Caden grinned. Such a punctual creature. Predictable like a timepiece. Waiting until Mr. DeRocha was only a few steps away, Caden emerged from the shadows at the same moment Timothy DeRocha crossed his path.
“Doctor?” The young man stepped back. “You startled me. I thought you said you wanted to meet in your study.”
“Timothy,” Caden put his gloved hand on his shoulder. “I thought, perhaps, we could take a refreshing evening walk to air our differences. At our last meeting, you seemed so upset and I feel that I am somehow to blame for this misunderstanding that has come between us.” Caden removed his hand then slid both of them into the pockets of his long walking coat.
The young man stared at him, crimping the corner of his eyes, the curve of his lips falling. “You’ve caused me much distress, Doctor,” he said at length. “I want so much to believe in the purity and nobility of what you stand for, but your attentions toward Gabrielle . . .”
He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “I did what you asked me to do. I managed to supply you with information from Arley’s private papers that were entrusted to me for safekeeping. I even took the pistol from Bret’s automobile for God’s sake because I agree that he’s a threat to any respectable person and himself.”
Timothy shook his head. “You promised to help endear me to Gabrielle forever by exposing Bret’s loathsome, immoral character but instead you ingratiate yourself to her father so that now all Arley can talk about is the ‘brilliant and forceful’ Doctor Caden Hellreich!”
“Please, Timothy,” Caden said in smooth, relaxed voice. “Calm yourself. Arley always speaks very highly of you too.” He gestured toward the small side street that intersected the alley just ahead. “Come, walk with me.”
Timothy hesitated for a moment and looked back to the main street. Several well-dressed couples strolled underneath the light of the lamppost by the alley entrance, laughing and enjoying a night out on the town. A group of drunken businessmen wobbled by after, yelling and slapping each other on the back.
“How can anyone have an intelligent conversation over the mindless commotion of the street?” Caden asked, raising his voice with authority. “There is a short cut I follow to the park when I take my walks. So much quieter and it affords me time to reflect on what is truly important in life.”
Timothy shifted his body around, his eyes, cautious, as if his decision rested on what the doctor would say next.
“To win a young woman’s heart takes time,” Caden assured him. “And with an exquisite woman like Gabrielle Caldwell, you cannot possibly expect—”
“I expect, sir, that your intentions be honorable.”
“And so they are, my friend. I have only the most respectful and principled proposal in mind for Miss Caldwell.”
“Proposal?” The young man’s mouth gaped like a startled primate as Caden led him lightly by the elbow back into the darkness of the alleyway.
“Yes, beyond reproach I can assure you.” They turned left at the southwest corner of the Society hall and walked beside the back wall of the building.
One hundred feet ahead at the southeast corner was another alley leading back to the street on the left. Like a mouse being led deeper and deep into the maze, Caden couldn’t help but think.
“I won’t stand for this, Doctor Hellreich. Explain yourself immediately.”
Caden put his arm around the shorter man’s shoulder as if he were counseling a student of the Society. “The reptilian nature of uncontrolled needs always forces less evolved individuals into a flight or fight reaction when, to a rational man, there is clearly no reason for either.”
He glanced ahead to his right where the alley led to an eventual dead end behind an abandoned sawmill. “You are angry with me, Timothy, because I have kindled the spirit of free inquiry and skepticism in Gabrielle as I did in you.”
“No, I don’t object—”
“In truth, my friend,” Caden raised his head, imposing his height against the smaller man. “You are angry with yourself because you feel, somehow, you’ve failed to exert influence on Gabrielle by relying only on the simple virtue of your character, unaided by my . . . talents.”
Timothy stepped free of Caden’s hand and stopped near the Society hall’s rear exit door. “Don’t you understand? That’s all she talks about now when I call on her. It’s always about the Society’s work . . . your work!”
Caden smiled, empowered by the knowledge that this exceptional young woman was finally ready to receive his gift. “But Timothy, didn’t you say how much you appreciated her sharp mind and wit? It seems to me that now, you have so much more to talk about than before.”
“When you first told me about that disgusting incident involving Bret and a prostitute at Ichabod Weems’s place, I felt for certain Gabrielle would curse the day she first felt anything for that animal once she knew.”
He kicked at the pieces of a broken brick near his shoes. “I was sure she would now appreciate the intentions of a real gentleman!”
He ground a small piece under his heel. “Instead, she pities Bret and even hopes you might speak to him, help him find a path to ‘elevate his true nature.’ She quotes you, yet she doesn’t remember the last kind word I’ve said to her.”
Timothy pointed at Caden as if disciplining a school boy. “I’m sorry, you left me no choice, Doctor, but to take matters into my own hands.”
Caden studied his subject with renewed curiosity. “But who knows what Gabrielle really feels? The knowledge of Bret McGowan’s perversions and whore mongering may be more than she can bear, considering her feelings for the man.”
Timothy turned to the doctor, his eyes, narrow and hard once more. “But whose perversions are we really speaking of, Cade? You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?”
Caden felt the familiar spiked cramp in his groin. He stepped back and slipped his gloved hands back into the pockets of his long coat. “My friend, a gentleman never ponders another’s unintelligible insinuation. It is too weak to deliver the intended force of insult, and hence, an embarrassment to both to pursue its explanation.”
Timothy puffed out his stocky chest. “Am I being too vague? Then please, let me clarify.”
He gripped onto the lapels of his jacket with his stubby fingers. “How would the Caldwells feel about the ‘brilliant and forceful’ Doctor Hellreich if they knew it was your assistant, Edward Wallace, who had been at Weems’s den of depravity and engaging in the most unspeakable acts. There is even rumor that he may be involved in these horrendous night attacks on—”
Caden stopped him with a forceful wave of his hand. “If you are attempting to test my composure with ludicrous threats, you will find yourself at a distinct disadvantage, Mr. DeRocha.”
Caden drew upon all his powers of self-composure to quell his racing heart. How could this fool possibly know? He’s bluffing, trying to conceal his impotence when challenged by a superior man.
Withdrawing his gloved left hand, he flexed the muscles, leaving the right inside its pocket. “And considering the source of these accusations, the Caldwells would find no credence in them as I do.”
“A bottle of good brandy makes for quick friends with those who share it, even with those one might otherwise avoid. Someone like . . . Ichabod Weems, for instance.”
“Of what interest is that creature to me? Drunkards and lechers share much in common, including a natural gift for lying.”
“As do many respectable gentleman, wouldn’t you agree?” Timothy reached into his vest pocket and removed a photograph. “For all his faults, Mr. Weems is quite astute when it comes to protecting his own interests.” He handed Caden the picture.
Even in the faint moonlight, the person’s face was clear. Caden slumped and stepped back as if the wind had suddenly been knocked out of him. “Where did you get this?”
Timothy snatched the photograph out of his hand. “Mr. Weems’s reproduction cost me a considerable amount but in the end I’m certain it will pay off handsomely once Gabrielle sees it.” He fanned the air with the picture. “And I wonder what your neice will think. She looks quite stunning in the photograph, don’t you agree?”
Caden glanced away, perplexed and distracted by the absurdity of considering the possibility of wasting any more time on this troublesome, insignificant creature.
So what if the interfering fool had managed to procure a photograph out of the lair and drunkard Weems? He would discipline Edward when he returned since his man had promised that all pictures had been destroyed.
Caden indulged Edward his carnal proclivities as long as they served the greater purpose. He had to keep the man’s hunger for Rebecca in check until the proper time. And what would this pompous imbecile know of that? No, it changes nothing.
He studied the look of smug satisfaction on the smaller man’s face. “How dare you speak of my assistant’s reputation in the same breath as some gutter-dwelling pornographer like Weems? Mr. Wallace is a gentleman of the highest moral virtue and courage.”
“That is not quite how the unfortunate young lady described him after she had sufficiently recovered from their encounter. She spotted your assistant entering the Society building. Mr. Weems had to pay for her silence or she would have gone to the police.”
He raised his stocky chest as though trying to prop up superior poise with an inferior frame. “And all this, of course, has cost me considerably to keep Weems and the woman silent until I could present my terms to you.”
Caden wet his thin lips. The cool, night air now tasted clammy and dank with every rapid breath. Perhaps he had presumed too much and left more to impulse than intuition.
He ran his finger around his shirt collar, conscious of the mounting perspiration and the tightness in his neck. The tension curled in the balled flesh of his fist was uncomfortable and out of place for his character. He extended the long fingers of his hand again, stretching the glove’s leather. “So, am I to assume that blackmail will follow?”
Timothy drooped forward ever so slightly as though being struck by an unexpected blow. He lowered his hands to his sides. “No one is talking about blackmail. I don’t care what a man does in private for gratification. All I want is for you to stop influencing Arley’s decisions and cease immediately in your intentions toward Gabrielle.”
Caden looked down at his shoe. A long scratch ran along the side of the new leather upper, ruining his best pair. He been so distracted by Mr. DeRocha’s underhanded tricks and craftiness that he had neglected to judge the best path to walk in the dark, the cruel irony of which now enraged him and reaffirmed his commitment to his plan.
“To be honest, Tim, your motives elude me. Since Weems requires more money to reconfirm our original intentions then he shall receive it because the story serves all our needs. I’m satisfied because my niece has finally seen reason and ended her infatuation with this lying oil schemer.”
He looked up again, smiling, and took a step toward Timothy. “Why is this so difficult for you to comprehend? Regardless of her lingering feelings for the man, Arley Caldwell will never approve of any business relationship between his daughter and that social pariah while Gabrielle will always look upon Bret McGowan as nothing more than a wretched creature only worthy of her pity and shame.”
He lowered his chin, fixing his unwavering gaze into the rapid blinking eyes of the smaller man. “Being an extraordinary woman, she is now free to fulfill the needs of her greater aspiration . . . and man.”
Timothy’s chest was heaving as though he had just completed strenuous labor. His open mouth appeared to gulp at the air as if there was not enough to share between the two of them.
He raised his pudgy fist up to Caden’s nose and shook it. “Have you not been listening to what I’ve said? You stand here and ridicule my respect and love for Gabrielle to my face? I thought you were a noble man filled with high ideals, but . . . but you’re lower than the crimes your man, Wallace, will be charged with once I’ve spoken with the police.”
Caden felt the unwelcomed flush of humiliation warming his cheeks. He glanced down the alley to the left, then to the right, back the way they had entered.
“Perhaps Bret and Mr. Wallace can’t help their weakness, but you?” Timothy turned to face him again. “Gabrielle will loathe you forever once she knows the truth.”
Caden removed his pocket watch from his vest and clicked open the cover. “Fluorescence,” he remarked. “Such a remarkable thing the way it glows in the dark.”
A puzzled expression flitted across Timothy’s face.
Caden snapped the cover closed and placed the watch back in his vest pocket.
“I believe our business is finished, Doctor, and I would think so is your work in Galveston.”
Caden turned, fixing his dark dilating eyes on the short, swarthy man beneath his gaze. All the forces of nature had converged on this place and time so that the past could reconcile with the present and together, bow before the future. So what manner of groveling thing was this to threaten the greater destiny of the ascendant race?
He reached down and gripped the shorter man by the shoulder. “Timothy,” said Caden, his voice the tone of a deep, lost sigh. “We shouldn’t part company like this. You and I come from higher breeding. If my assistant is guilty of any transgression in your eyes then I would like to make amends for his actions.”
“I think that is too late, Doctor Hellreich,” Timothy answered without turning around. “For both of you.”
“Perhaps not, good friend.” He pulled back slowly on the young man’s shoulder. “Remember when I spoke on the seven root races of mankind?”
Timothy turned around, his face flinching with bafflement at the question. “Vaguely, but I’m not in a mood for anymore of your fancy words.”
“Please, Tim,” Caden smiled. “Give me a final moment to leave you with something to always remember me by.” He put his gloved hand back into the pocket of his long walking coat. “After many thousands of years, the fourth race—the Atlanteans—interbred with beasts.”
He stepped closer until he was only an arm’s length away. “This tragedy split our ancestral stock into two separate species, one of pure, human Aryan and the other, all manner of bestial strain, whose descendants now overpopulate our world and tax its resources to the limit. So, as you can see, Timothy . . .”
Caden grinned, shifting his weight forward. “If the best of humanity is to survive, the others must be removed no matter what the cost.”
They stood in front of the rear door of the hall. From the opposite alleyway there came the growing din and clatter of a motor engine as a vehicle made its way down toward the back of the Society hall.
Timothy looked in the direction of the approaching rumble and racket of backfires then turned and spat, hitting the doctor’s left shoe. “This is pointless and I’ve had enough of your—”
Caden jammed the two barrels of Bret McGowan’s Remington derringer into the side of Timothy’s temple. “My point, little Timoteo. Interbreeding reduces man’s psychic powers to nothing. Proof positive is you standing here with that gaping ape mouth, and only at this instant comprehending your fate. Evolution shows no mercy, my unfortunate friend.” Caden pulled the trigger once, exploding a hole in the petrified man’s temple.
Timothy DeRocha collapsed back on the steps in a crumpled heap of limbs and clothing. The dripping bits of gory bone and blood on the wall of the Society building glistened in the moonlight as they ran down the brick.
The headlights shone against the far end of the adjacent sawmill wall. In a few seconds, the vehicle would be turning the corner.
Caden placed the small revolver in plain view on the dead man’s chest, then turned and ran into the darkness at the opposite end of the alley, concealing himself behind the sawmill wall. He waited and watched, savoring the ferocious animal pleasure he felt from the comfort of his hiding place.
The vehicle turned the corner, advancing only a few feet before stopping. The engine clanked and sputtered to an abrupt silence followed by the dimming glare from the headlight.
In the darkness, Caden heard awkward, irregular steps coming down the alleyway. He edged around the corner of the sawmill wall and watched the reeling figure of a man walk toward the dead body, the somber moonlight coming full upon his face.
Bret McGowan stumbled as he sang bits and pieces of ‘Lorena,’ his hoarse voice coughing out words from the song. “But then, ’tis past; the years have gone. I’ll not call up their shadowy forms; I’ll say to them, ‘Lost years, sleep on, sleep on, nor heed life’s pelting storms.’”
Caden observed as Bret approached the dead body. He watched him pause, his stance wavering as he reached in his jacket and pulled something out of the inside pocket. “What? Don’t like my singing? Then pick yourself up, man, and fight!” He offered a small hip flask toward the reclined corpse. “Or share a drink if you’ve still got the strength to—”
Bret’s arm fell limp and he dropped the flask on the alleyway. The metal container clanged against the brick surface, spilling its liquor in a small puddle.
He took a few more steps closer, then stooped down beside the body. “Lord in heaven . . . Timothy?” He picked up the derringer from the corpse’s chest. “What have you done?”
Caden, concealed in the darkness, focused his concentration on the execution of the final step in his design. He composed his expression, removing any hint of lingering excitement from the necessary removal of that unfortunate DeRocha fool. Breathing in a measured, relaxed pattern, he stepped out from the shadows behind the sawmill wall.
Facing Bret McGowan’s back, he padded toward his stunned and unsuspecting dupe. Society members knew that Doctor Hellreich always took in an evening walk at this time after his lecture or studies, and there was no reason to assume that tonight should be any different. “Ahh. There you are, Mr. McGowan.” Caden paused. “The commotion your vehicle makes is like a gun—”
Bret McGowan spun around, holding the derringer in his shaking hand. His eyes were wide with terror like an escaped convict. “What . . .” He took a tottering step toward Caden. “What happened here?”
Caden glanced down at Timothy’s corpse. He stepped back and raised his head so that Bret could clearly see his look of shock and disbelief. “My God, sir. What have you done?”
The bewildered man stepped toward Caden and raised the revolver. “I . . . I found him like this . . . but how—”
Caden raised his gloved hands, trying to shield his face and chest. “No, please, don’t shoot!” He bellowed the rest of his words as loudly as he could. “Help me someone! Please! He’s got a gun!”
Bret glanced back at the dead body. “You . . . you double-dealing bastard. What are you up to?”
The rear door of the Society hall swung open. Edward ran out of the entrance, holding an oil lantern. “Doctor Hellreich?” He paused as agreed to catch his breath. “Sir, is that you? I heard—Oh, God!”
Edward turned away from the corpse for a moment then swung around to face Bret McGowan. “What are you doing?” He looked down at the corpse then back up to the ill-fated man standing beside the body. “You’ve shot a man in cold blood!”
“No!” Bret shook his head and lurched toward Edward “I found him. He was like that when I arrived!”
Liam Dawson and Hadlee Foster ran outside. The lantern light flared yellow-white against the darkness of the alleyway walls as the men surrounded the body. They looked down at the dead man and then back to their friend, still holding the derringer.
“Liam? Hadlee? Tell them. You know I’d never—”
“Christ, Bret,” Liam contorted his features and took a step back. “We were discussing business and I thought I heard that locomotive of yours back here, but—” He glanced down at the body again. “Why?”
“Come on partner.” Hadlee held out his hand. “Give me the gun.”
“But I didn’t—”
“Bret, for Christ’s sake,” Hadlee yelled. “Arley Caldwell’s inside and Miss Armstrong has likely already called the police. Do you want to get shot too? Now give me the goddamn gun!”
“Rebecca?” Bret raised his hand as if to examine the small gun clenched between his fingers in more detail. “No. It’s impossible. She couldn’t . . .”
The accused man let his head drop as if the weight of terrifying realization that it carried was no longer something it could support. He gripped the gun by the barrel and handed the butt to Hadlee Foster. His friend examined the weapon for a few moments.
“Is it his?” asked Liam.
Hadlee held it up toward the small light over the rear door of the Society hall. “Could be, but I’ll have to check it inside by the light.”
“I . . . I must have lost it somewhere,” Bret offered in his defense, his voice just above a whisper. “Liam, Hadlee . . . somebody found it or it was stolen—”
“The only thing that has been stolen, Mr. McGowan,” Caden said, pointing down to the dead body, “has been that poor man’s life.” He walked over and joined the group of men. “And I shudder to think who would have been next if Edward had not heard my calls for help.”
From within the Society hall, the sound of more rapid footsteps came toward the open door. Arley Caldwell stopped at the threshold and peered at each of the assembled men. He lowered his gaze toward the corpse. Without a word, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a revolver. “Who did this?”
Edward pointed at Bret. “I heard a cry for help and when I arrived I found Mr. McGowan standing over the body and aiming a gun at Doctor Hellreich.” He gestured down at the body. “I think . . . it’s Mr. DeRocha.”
“Timothy?” Arley stepped past the body. He gasped and raised his revolver at the dumbfounded man still holding the derringer. “What’s wrong with you, Bret? You’ve gone sick in the head, boy. Lord, all that poison you keep taking and mixing with liquor.”
He stepped back from the corpse. “I’m just thankful Gabrielle isn’t here to see this after everything else you’ve done to break her heart.”
“Arley, no, I came here to meet him.” Bret McGowan jabbed his finger toward Caden. “We were supposed to meet inside.” He swayed on his feet and took a few steps toward Arley. “Philip told me . . . about what happened to my mother . . . what that goddamn bastard did.”
Bret lunged at Caden. Edward rushed forward and grabbed Bret by the throat, pulling him back as Liam and Hadlee tried to wrestle the flailing man to the bricks. Bret fought back like an enraged beast and maintained his footing.
“Mad as a bull,” Arley said. He stepped forward and knocked the struggling man on the temple with the butt of his revolver.
Bret’s legs buckled, but he would not go down.
“And just as strong.” Arley whacked him harder a second time. Bret McGowan wavered for a few moments then slumped forward as the men wrestled him to the bricks.
“Hold him there,” Caden ordered, “and leave everything as it is until the police arrive.”
Arley turned and faced Caden . “What was all that about meeting Bret?”
Caden lowered his gaze and squinted at the unconscious, prostrate man. “The wild ranting of a drunken opium fiend. Excess of one aggravates the delirium of the other. I suspected this would happen and warned Gabrielle.”
Taking a breath, Caden consciously relaxed his expression and touched Arley on the arm in a gesture of mutual assurance. “I promised to meet Mr. McGowan, try to talk sense with him, but these . . . these violent hallucinations of his about terrible events from his childhood . . .”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but for all my knowledge of human nature, this is quite beyond my abilities to offer a remedy. All we can do now is show compassion . . . and hope the court will too.”
Caden studied each troubled, uncertain face of the whispering men gathered around their unconscious friend. Their words were of disbelief and pity for what Bret McGowan had done but the silence of their deepest fear spoke loudest of all.
After all, how would polite society judge these fine gentlemen? What guilt through association had they already risked if discovered with this murderer still holding the bloody gun in his hand?
Caden glanced up at the open door. Rebecca stood in the moonlit shadows of the threshold, her hand over her mouth. She cried out, reeled, and ran back into the building. Caden grinned. Destiny always keeps her appointments, Mr. McGowan, and so do I.