Written by David de Sola,
DAY 6
"The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources" –Albert Einstein
Gabriel awoke drenched in sweat. He noticed that Mosely and Grace had already left. Gabriel took a quick shower and headed out. No threat would deter him now.
Gabriel dropped by the dean’s office, but she wasn’t in. He went back to the hematology clinic to see if he could do some snooping around. He knocked on the office door, and heard no response. He continued knocking, and still no one would open the door. Gabriel reached for the doorknob and opened the door as quietly as possible. He sneaked into the office and closed the door behind him. He heard a deep voice talking out loud, possibly someone speaking into a telephone, but there was nobody at the desk. He looked behind the office section of the clinic, and noticed there was a corridor. Gabriel quietly continued down the corridor, following the direction of the voice. The voice became louder, and deeper as he got closer. Gabriel came upon a closed door, where he heard the voice coming from. Gabriel tried to open the door, but it was locked.
Gabriel noticed that the next door down was open. He went inside, and noticed he was in a janitor’s closet. There was a window in the back of the room. He opened it and noticed that there was a small ledge that wrapped around the entire building. Then, he remembered his own words from his new novel.
"Blake knew he had to get inside Count von Zimmer’s room somehow, if he was to get any further with his investigation. While searching Herr Lehmann’s somewhat empty room, he found a nylon cord in his closet and noticed that a very narrow ledge, hanging over a very steep drop down the mountainside, wrapped around the building, including by Count von Zimmer’s locked room next door. Blake, terrified of heights since he was a child, was determined to get to von Zimmer’s room any way he could. He harnessed one end of the cord to his belt, and the other to a large, protruding nail stuck in the wall. He crawled out onto the ledge and entered von Zimmer’s room through the unlocked window."
"Damn, talk about your déjà vu." Gabriel said to himself, as he opened the window and climbed out in an almost identical scene to the one in his novel, minus the nylon cord he had used for a safety harness. He kneeled under the window, which to his luck was slightly open. Gabriel pulled out his tape recorder and held it as close as possible to the open window to record every word. He stood up a little, almost losing his footing on the ledge, to get a peek into the window. It was Wrenfeld, talking to himself almost in a daze.
"…do not fear, Dark One. He cannot interfere in your affairs."
"He can, and he will, if given half an opportunity." the voice said. Gabriel could not see anyone else in the room. On looking again, Gabriel noticed that only Wrenfeld’s voice had dramatically changed pitch, like Linda Blair in The Exorcist.
"If he is so troublesome, why not slay him like the others?"
"No. I cannot because he is protected."
"But there is nothing he can do to stop you."
"There is, if he knows where to find it. I need more blood to sustain my power."
"I will find the right person for you and let you know."
"Never mind that for now. My power is almost complete. The astral planes will be aligned in proper position in four nights, and then the Final War may begin."
"But, my Lord, the manuscript can be the means of your demise as well as that of your success."
Suddenly, Wrenfeld was thrown back against a wall by some unseen force. "Silence, fool! Just because I have promised you eternal life doesn’t mean that it gives you the unconditional right to speak. Never mention that to me again!"
"Yes, my Lord…" Wrenfeld said, gasping for air, after the impact knocked the wind out of him.
"Do as I have told you. We shall speak again…"
Suddenly, Wrenfeld’s body convulsed slightly, then relaxed, as if an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Gabriel was confused about what to think. He needed to search Wrenfeld’s office somehow. Gabriel looked inside for the briefest moment and saw a telephone on Wrenfeld’s desk. He searched his notes, and found what was written on the card of the hematology department. On the card, was a telephone number, with Wrenfeld’s extension included.
Gabriel reached into his pocket and pulled out his small cellular phone. He chuckled to himself "Heh, heh…the first schattenjager to use modern electronics…" as he dialed Wrenfeld’s number. Gabriel moved away from the window so Wrenfeld couldn’t hear him speaking into the phone and through his receiver at the same time.
"Hello?"
"Dr. Wrenfeld? This is Lieutenant Jake Thornton from the police department."
"Yes, what can I do for you, Lieutenant?"
"I need to ask you a few questions. Could you come down to my office?" Gabriel asked, using his Southern accent to imitate Thornton’s voice close to perfection.
"Certainly officer, I will be right over." Wrenfeld said, hanging up the phone. He grabbed his coat and left the office, locking it from the outside.
"YES!" Gabriel though to himself. He crawled through the open window, and had the office to himself.
Gabriel began looking at all of the endless stacks of paperwork cluttering Wrenfeld’s desk. He skimmed the papers, reading nothing but incomprehensible medical jargon. Then, he came across the psychiatric evaluation file he had seen earlier. In the privacy of the office he has just broken into, Gabriel began to read the file.
"Mr. Wrenfeld’s obsession with success, combined with the fear of his own mortality after the passing of his wife has triggered a mental condition, which, if left untreated, could have disastrous effects on Mr. Wrenfeld, and those closest to him by family or employment. His condition, though mild now, could worsen drastically, and develop into much a much more serious condition such as paranoid schizophrenia, which could prompt delusional and irrational behavior, making Mr. Wrenfeld completely unaware of reality. His condition may culminate in borderline psychosis, at which he is a physical threat to all those around him. It is the recommendation of this psychiatrist that he be granted a sabbatical or a leave of absence of no less than one year, and not more than two years, during which it is strongly recommended he enroll at the Felder Institute for Mental Ailments. I would be happy to write a letter of reference to the warden of the institute, who I have known since medical school.
Sincerely:
Dr. Jehan Alfred Cazeau
Yale Psychology
BS Tufts University 1972
MS University of Pennsylvania 1976
MD Johns Hopkins University 1981
"God damn, this guy is one sick puppy." Gabriel said to himself, wide eyed at the thought that someone as mentally unstable as Wrenfeld was in such an important position. Gabriel glanced around the room, and found a small xerox machine in the back corner buried under a heavy box. Gabriel could barely move the box, and when he finally managed to move it, its contents spilled all over the floor of Wrenfeld’s office. Gabriel photocopied the evaluation, and wrote down the name of the psychiatrist. After he was finished, he bent over to pick up the mess he had made. Gabriel picked up the first thing he could find, a picture frame, face down on the floor. He looked at the picture, and noticed that it was a photograph of Wrenfeld with another woman, wearing a tuxedo and a wedding gown.
"Good looking wife…" Gabriel thought to himself. He looked down at the bottom of the photograph, and saw, written in gold ink, the phrase "Frederick and Olivia Forever… 2/14/89". Gabriel noticed that Wrenfeld looked like a much happier, much younger man in the photograph. "Yeah, right. Every man looks better in his wedding photograph than he does in real life." He thought to himself. Gabriel put the photograph back in the box, and looked for more items to pick up. There was a small manila envelope with a black piece of tape sealing it. Gabriel opened the seal, which came off easily, implying that it had been opened and sealed again many times. He pulled out the single sheet of paper. It was the death certificate for his wife. Gabriel began to read.
"At 12:31 PM on Monday, November 22, 1995, Mrs. Olivia Jamison Wrenfeld died of Kaposi’s Sarcoma (KS), an AIDS related cancer which attacked her epidermal and immune system beyond medical aid. Mrs. Wrenfeld died of respiratory failure. Based on blood analysis, it is estimated that she had AIDS for a period of approximately four years, and was infected with the virus in its latent phase for an estimated four to seven more years, placing the time of infection between 1984 and 1987. She had volunteered for an experimental treatment proposed by her husband, Dr. Frederick Wrenfeld in an attempt to prolong her life. Whether or not the treatment was successful is unknown…"
"Oh, shit…"Gabriel thought to himself. He made a copy of the death certificate and placed it back in his folder, and picked up all the other things that had been scattered across the floor, which were more mementos of Wrenfeld and his wife. Gabriel went behind Wrenfeld’s desk and started searching the filing cabinets. Finally, he had found the one he was looking for- the drawer labeled "PATIENT FILES".
Gabriel threw open the drawer and began reading the names of the files. He found the files for all of the victims, but was unable to find one on Wrenfeld’s wife. Gabriel closed the drawer and looked around the room again. Gabriel searched all the drawers and filing cabinets and found nothing. Gabriel prepared to leave the office through the window, when suddenly, he saw something in the corner of his eye. Behind Wrenfeld’s desk was a large painting of a serious looking man, gazing off into the distance, drawn with a strange facial expression. The painting looked old. Possibly an original. Gabriel looked down at the plaque at the bottom of the frame. It read "ANTON VON LEEUWENHOEK 1632-1723 : Member of the Scientific Pantheon. Inventor of the Simple Microscope".
"Mmmm….funky painting. I wonder if…nah." Gabriel puzzled to himself, looking at the painting. "People don’t still do that…do they?" he asked himself, as he began feeling the edges of the frame. He pressed his fingers against the bottom of the frame and tried to pull it back, and noticed it was stuck in place. He began to feel the sides with both hands, when he noticed a small, almost unnoticeable break in the texture of the frame only on the right side, and not on the left. "Hinges…" Gabriel thought to himself. Gabriel reached to the left side of the frame, and the painting opened, and revealed its purpose. The painting served as a façade for the high-tech safe behind it. "So the old safe behind the painting trick still works…" Gabriel chuckled. "I thought those things only existed in Agatha Christie novels."
The first thing that Gabriel noticed was that the safe was opened by an electronic keypad, which had all twenty-six letters of the Roman alphabet. "Oh, shit…" Gabriel thought to himself. "I hate modern technology."
Gabriel thought for a moment, then punched in the obvious… "O...L…I... V…I...A…" he spelled aloud to make sure he wouldn’t make a mistake. Suddenly, an artificial voice was heard from a speaker just above the safe. "You have entered an incorrect password. If you do not enter the correct password in thirty seconds, the burglar alarm in this office will be activated…Thirty…Twenty-nine…"
"SHIT!!!!" Gabriel said to himself, racking his brain for possible ideas.
"Twenty-eight….Twenty-seven…" Gabriel punched in "November twenty-second, nineteen ninety-five". The countdown continued.
"DAMMIT!!"
"Seventeen…Sixteen…"
He pondered for a moment, then entered Wrenfeld’s wife’s maiden name. "J…A…M…I…S…O…N…" Gabriel spoke. The countdown would not stop.
"Ten…Nine…"
"Fuuuuuck…." Gabriel mumbled to himself. Then he remembered something he had read in one of Wrenfeld’s files. "A…L…P…H…A…space…T...R…E…A…T… M...E...N…T..."
The countdown was down to three, and continued to two. Gabriel braced himself for the worst, then the countdown stopped. The voice said "You have successfully deactivated the alarm. Please remember the correct password when you wish to open the safe.."
"Thank God…" Gabriel said to himself, wiping the sweat on his forehead with his T-shirt. He opened the safe and found two unlabeled computer diskettes and a portfolio stacked to the brim with papers. Gabriel put all of the contents of the safe into his coat and closed everything the way he had found it. He then made for the window and back to the janitors’ closet and out of the building to head back to Grace’s apartment.
Mosely knocked on Thornton’s door. He was replied by the typical obnoxious "COME IN!!" Mosely entered and saw Thornton reading a forensics report on his desk, while occasionally reaching over to the side table to help himself to another donut from the box.
"What’s going on, Mosely?" Thornton asked.
"Not a whole lot Jake. Just wanted to see what you boys were up to, maybe swap a couple of stories, share notes, that kind of thing." Mosely answered.
"Sure, beats reading these friggin’ reports. It’s all hieroglyphics to me…"
"Well, I’ve been looking around, and the only thing I can’t seem to find any information on is the hematology clinic. I wanted to know if you guys had found anything on that."
"Not a whole lot. The guy in charge…Wrenfeld? He seemed pretty complacent, very cooperative. Doesn’t seem to be a suspect. But again, we can’t ask him for any information on his clients because of the doctor-patient confidentiality agreement. The only way we could get him to answer any questions of that nature is by judicial order. To get an order, we need to have a damn good reason to suspect he’s hiding something from this investigation, and we need the proof to back it up."
"How would we go about finding that proof?" Mosely asked.
"That’s where the detective work comes in…and right now, we don’t have shit on this guy…"Thornton explained.
Suddenly, Mosely’s cell phone started to ring. "Sorry about that, I’ll tell them to call back." He said, reaching into his coat pocket for his phone. "Mosely…" he automatically answered.
"Mosely, it’s Gabriel…"
"Somebody had better be dead, because I’m in the middle of an important meeting here!"
"Somebody will be dead soon if you don’t shut your hole and listen…" Gabriel retorted. "I found some stuff that the cops might be interested in. I’m at an office supply store right now. I need to fax a few pages over, can you get me a number for the station?"
"Just a sec..." Mosely said, holding the phone away. "Jake…I got an informant on the line who says he might have some information about the case. He says he wants to fax it over, and he needs the number."
"It’s written on the machine." Thornton said, suddenly re energized by the news.
Mosely read Gabriel the number. "Alright, it’s on the way. Listen, I got into Wrenfeld’s office. I got him out of there by saying I was Thornton and wanted to ask him a few questions. Just make up some bullshit excuse so it doesn’t seem too much of a coincidence…" Gabriel explained.
"Whatever…" Mosely said, hanging up. Then the thought hit him. "Oh, SHIT!!" He didn’t know how to tell a convincing lie like Gabriel did. Then he noticed the shrieking sound of the fax machine tone. The paper slowly started feeding out. The fax included the Wrenfeld’s psychiatric evaluation and the patient files on all the victims, which all had the mysterious "Alpha Treatment" phrase written on them.
Thornton read the fax with excruciating detail. "Damn, Mosely, this is great!! We can get the judicial order now. He has to answer our questions or be placed under arrest for obstruction of justice!" he said, chuckling to himself. He looked out the window of his office, which led to the main reception area of the makeshift headquarters and noticed that Wrenfeld was at the front desk. "And speak of the devil…" Thornton said to himself.
Wrenfeld was pointed in the general direction of Thornton’s office, and he complied with the directions. Thornton quickly cleaned up his office so Wrenfeld wouldn’t suspect something was up. He probably already did, but that was beside the point.
"Mosely! Help me come up with a good excuse!.." Thornton said to himself.
"How about the truth?" Mosely answered.
"Not a bad idea…it’s so underused these days…" Thornton said, reading over the fax again to know what to ask. "Listen, go into my closet. There’s a door inside that will get you into the room with the window over there…" he said, pointing at the large mirror that almost completely covered one of his walls. "Watch…"
Mosely quickly complied and went in the back room to watch. Wrenfeld quietly entered the office. He seemed somewhat nervous, but didn’t want to show it, like a child on his first visit to the dentist. Thornton motioned him in, with Mosely watching behind the mirror.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Wrenfeld." Thornton began. "I know we’ve been through this, but I have just a few more questions for you about the investigation."
"Fine…"Wrenfeld answered, losing control of his calm. "Go right ahead."
"Thank you Doctor. Now, what can you tell us about the victims that were treated at your office?"
"I don’t know anything other than the fact that they came to the clinic for the annual blood tests. Even if I did know something, I couldn’t legally answer that question without losing my medical license."
"I see…" Thornton began, thinking for a moment. "Just a moment Doctor, I need to make a telephone call." He said, dialing an extension number.
"Hello, Front Desk? This is Detective Thornton. I’m calling from my office. Please send some officers over immediately…Thank you." He said, hanging up the phone.
"What’s the matter officer?" Wrenfeld asked.
"Doctor, we have information that proves you are hiding something from this investigation. That is obstruction of justice, punishable by up to six months in a correctional facility and a fine of up to five thousand dollars. Your doctor-patient confidentiality privilege be damned, I am calling the county judge for a court order which legally requires you to answer these questions. If you should continue to claim confidentiality privilege of the Fifth Amendment or whatever else you can think of, you will also be held in contempt of court, punishable by whatever mood the good judge happens to be in at the time…" Thornton explained.
Wrenfeld was in shock. "What information? It is all lies! Every word of it! I am a respected physician!…" he complained.
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you by the State. Do you understand these rights?" Thornton said, explaining the mandatory "Miranda rights".
Wrenfeld reluctantly nodded.
The door to Thornton’s office opened, and two large, and strong officers entered. "You called sir?" one of them asked.
"Yes, please take Dr. Wrenfeld into custody and book him for medical malpractice. Put him in a cell." Thronton answered.
"Yes sir." The other said, reaching to his belt for the metal handcuffs. He fastened the cuffs tightly around Wrenfeld’s wrists behind his back. Each took an arm and escorted him to the booking station.
Thornton opened the closet and went to the back room to let Mosely know he could come out. "Mosely, thanks for the boost. We got Wrenfeld by his nuts now. Listen, I need to get on the phones and pull a couple of favors. I need you to leave the fax here so I can submit it as state evidence."
"Fine, can I have a copy?" Mosely asked.
Thornton thought it over for a moment, and then reluctantly allowed Mosely to make a photocopy, because he owed Mosely for the favor. Mosely quickly complied, then left the office to meet up with Gabriel at Grace’s apartment.
Grace spent the greater part of the morning at the library, looking up the manuscript and Vlad Tepes, finding nothing of any major significance. The vampire research didn’t uncover anything that she didn’t already know. She periodically allowed her mind to wander, while her body was confined to the small private study room in the endless corridors of the New England style architecture of the Yale library. Her eyes would often look out the window to observe anything to get her mind off the case, and in turn reinforce her motivation. The leaves, turning from the greens of summer to the reds, yellows, and oranges of autumn, and the occasional squirrel picking up an acorn for its winter stash were common sights Grace used for this purpose. The bitter New England winter would hit New Haven in less than a month, and Grace was not looking forward to it, especially after all the time she had spent in New Orleans. During her four hours of broken up reading between what seemed to be an endless supply of books, Grace cross-referenced common information and individual bits and pieces of data that could be relevant to the case. But she still hadn’t tried the source that most mattered. Grace decided to call it a day, check out all the books, and return to her apartment to ask Gerde to fax over whatever she could find at the Schattenjager library.
She arrived at her empty apartment in the early afternoon. She called the local deli to deliver a sub sandwich and a bottle of Coke, which was her regular research meal. After that, she looked at her watch and realized it was the perfect time to call Gerde.
"Hello?"
"Hi Gerde." Grace began. "It’s me. I have some more information I need you to look up. Get a pen and paper, you’ll need to write this down." She said, looking at the bright yellow legal pad where she had scribbled down everything she had found at the library.
"OK, Grace. Ein moment, bitte…" Gerde said, while her voice floated off into the distance in search of something to write with and something to write on. "Ja, go ahead." She said.
"Look up Vlad the Impaler, vampires and vampiric myths, Medieval Romania in the 12th and 13th centuries, anything on illuminated manuscripts, monastic texts, especially from the Saint Benedictine order. Also find anything on dead languages, especially those that made heavy use of symbols, like Egyptian hieroglyphics. I’m forgetting something…" Grace said, skimming over her notes. "Ah…find out about the ‘Claws of the Dragon’. I hope that’s it." Grace began, checking her notes again. "Yep."
"Hold on… ‘dead languages…Claws of Dragon…’ I have everything. I’m going to town for a while, then I’ll pull what I believe you American college students call an ‘all-nighter’." Gerde answered. In the background Grace could hear things being moved and picked up, as if Gerde was preparing to leave.
"That’s right." Grace said, chuckling to herself, remembering how many she had done her undergraduate years. "Load up on caffeine and leave all the lights on. That’s all I can tell you."
"I’ll do that. Bye." Gerde said, hanging up the phone. Grace also hung up, and buried herself in research for the remainder of the afternoon, stopping only to pick up the food she had ordered.
Much to her abysmal, the books had no reference to the manuscript, and she discovered very little about Vlad the Impaler that she didn’t already know. "God dammit," she said to herself. Then Grace remembered her job, looked up and said "Sorry…"But there had to be something she was missing that was in plain sight, screaming for attention, but she just wasn’t seeing it. In New Orleans, voodoo was originally the red herring, but wound up being the key to solving the entire case. In Munich, Ludwig II had merely been a name Gabriel asked her to look up so she could pass the time, and ended up being the answer to a century-old enigma.
Grace’s door opened. Fearing the worst after her abduction by the voodoo cult in New Orleans after Gabriel had asked a few too many questions, Grace ducked down behind the couch. She heard two familiar voices. Gabriel and Mosely, bickering as they entered her apartment, using the extra set of keys she had given them.
"Hey guys…How’d your day go?" she asked cheerfully, trying to break up their argument.
"Don’t even get me started on that one, Grace…" Gabriel began, in a very angry mood, because of his argument with Mosely on the cell phones on the way back, he was simply taking it out on Grace.
"Jesus, Gabe!" Mosely yelled. "I can’t believe you did that! We could all get arrested for your screw-up!"
"Boys…boys…calm down, and tell me what happened." Grace interrupted.
Gabriel and Mosely filled her in on everything. Wrenfeld, Gabriel breaking into his office, Thornton, Wrenfeld’s arrest, the psychiatric evaluation, the stuff Gabriel grabbed from his safe.
"Before you two start beating the crap out of each other, let me see what you got…" Grace asked. Gabriel handed over the patient files, the portfolio, and the two unlabeled diskettes. Grace began reading the files and the portfolio, shocked at the contents.
Apparently, Doctor Wrenfeld became very emotionally unstable after his wife was diagnosed with the HIV virus, and became even more so after she passed. Like any loving and devoted husband, he was willing to do anything to try to save her, including violate his professional ethics. Since Olivia was of the rare AB blood type, Wrenfeld had a difficult time finding fresh blood for her transplants and experimental therapies. According to an interview with one of Wrenfeld’s coworkers, Wrenfeld developed an interest in the occult, specifically magic related with health, regardless of its origin or faith. Wrenfeld’s interest became borderline obsession, spending every spare penny of his income to buy books, spell ingredients, charms, and so forth. The medical school was finally made aware of Wrenfeld’s condition, when one day, he used a university check to pay for four hundred dollars worth of "karma dust", a rare hallucinogenic ingredient derived from a plant in Colombia, similar to those that produce the chemicals and narcotic effects in cocaine and PCP.
Rather than undergo a long, tedious, and embarrassing series of legal hearings to terminate Wrenfeld’s contract, the university forced him to undergo a psychiatric evaluation to diagnose a condition, and possibly recommend a way to treat it. Gabriel found the report and made a copy of it. During his eighteen-month leave of absence, Wrenfeld was back and forth between the institute and the hospital visiting his wife. Olivia died just two weeks before he was scheduled to complete his treatment. As part of his treatment, Wrenfeld was made to attend meetings with family members and friends of terminally ill patients to prepare him for the inevitable. According to the letter of release written by the warden of the Felder institute, Doctor Kelly Rimes, Wrenfeld "took his wife’s passing with dignity and passive sorrow. His mental health is back to its normal state, and Dr. Wrenfeld is more than prepared (in fact, I believe he is EAGER to) return to work as soon as possible."
Also in the portfolio were two blood analysis diagnoses from two separate clinics. One of them was from Yale Hematology, the other from the Pensinger Institute for the Study of Infectious Diseases. Both revealed the same disturbing fact. Taken just days apart, Wrenfeld had been diagnosed by two separate clinics as HIV positive, presumably infected through intercourse with his wife. Grace looked at the date on the reports. The first one, from Yale Hematology, was marked April 14, 1996. The second, from the Pensinger Insitute, was marked April 18, 1996. Wrenfeld had been practicing medicine with HIV for over two years, without ever informing the university, and likely any of his patients. Grace felt sick in the stomach. But to add to her already disturbed state. That was the tip of the iceberg.
Grace inserted one of the diskettes into her computer and opened it. There were dozens of files and analysis reports and so forth. Grace opened the file labeled "SYNOPSIS". What she read made her sprint for the toilet and the sub sandwich she had for dinner come back up the way it came. Gabriel, hearing unmistakable wet sound of vomiting after five years of college, headed to the bathroom to see what was the problem.
"Are you alright, Grace?" he asked. He turned the corner in the corridor and the stench hit him. "Whoa! Grace, what did you eat?"
"Funny Gabriel." Grace said, coming out of the bathroom drying her mouth with a towel. "Take a look at that evidence you found. It’s the sickest thing I’ve ever seen. Worst than that chicken incident in the Voodoo Murders."
Gabriel walked over to the computer, its screen silently projecting the text of a project never meant to be seen by anybody other than Dr. Wrenfeld. It was a typical science lab proposal, written in detailed scientific method. Gabriel read the first page.
"PURPOSE
To discover a cure or a treatment for the AIDS epidemic and HIV virus by
testing new strain of antibodies genetically enhanced specifically to fight the AIDS/HIV genetic code.
CONTROL GROUP
I shall be the control group in the experiment and test the antibodies on my already HIV-positive blood and some preserved samples of my late wife to study the effects on patients with a pre-existing condition. My wife and I are both AB Rh positive, and will begin testing on people of our blood group.
VARIABLE GROUP
The variable group shall be patients with the blood type AB Rh positive, of both sexes ad multiple races, medical histories, etc. I will compare results by using samples of the patients’ blood with the enhanced antibodies in a petri dish. I will infect the samples with the AIDS virus, and based on the results, will inject it back into the patient to see if the antibodies can act as a preventative vaccine or a medicine which directly combats the effects of the illness."
Gabriel cringed at the thought. This guy had been using his patients for guinea pigs without their knowledge or consent, and then infected them with the plague of the twentieth century. "Damn, Thornton and the Dean are gonna be shitting bricks sideways when they see this…" Gabriel said to himself.
"There’s more…keep reading." Grace said, catching her breath.
"NOTE: After I began researching the occult, I studied healing magic in hope of creating a symbiotic relationship between science and magic, and hopefully bridge the gap between the two. I came upon the name Vlad Tepes in an old book titled "Demons of the Dark and Middle Ages", and it listed a summoning spell to call the spirit."
"Shit! This bastard summoned Vlad Tepes?!" Gabriel yelled in disbelief. Mosely quickly walked in from the next room, complaining as usual.
"What’s the big deal, dammit! Can’t you two keep it down for a guy with a headache this big?" he whined.
"We just cracked this case wide open with an axe." Grace explained.
"Actually," Gabriel began "with a stake to the heart." He said, and explained everything they had found out to Mosely.
"Great." Mosely replied. "How do I put out an APB or an arrest warrant for a guy who’s been dead for five hundred years?"
"You don’t." Gabriel answered. "You put it out on the guy who summoned him."
"All right, I guess that’s a start. Now what do we do?" he asked.
"Hit the phone." Gabriel said, hitting the speed dial to get through to Schloss Ritter. It was in the wee hours of dawn over there, and Gabriel felt really bad for calling this late, but he needed this research done right away. After what seemed to be an eternity of ringing, silence broke the monotonous tone, followed by a very groggy-sounding "…Hello?"
"Hi, Gerde. It’s Gabriel." He began. "I’m sorry to call this late, but I need this done as soon as possible. Get a pen and paper, I need you to write something down."
"Ja, ein moment bitte." She said, fumbling for the light switch and looking for something to write on. "Go ahead."
"I need you to find a book titled….hang on. Grace, what’s the name of the book? ‘Demons of the Dark and Middle Ages’. We don’t know the author’s name, or date of publication. It’s an occult book. If you find anything in the library, call us as soon as you find it, regardless of the time. Find out the author’s name, the publishing company, and if it’s still in print. Hang on, there’s something else." Gabriel said, reading over the previous fax. "Look up the Grigurescu family from the Moldavia province. That’s spelled G-R-I…G-U-R…E-S-C-U."Gabriel explained.
"Grigurescu Family…Moldavia…Demons…of…the… Dark…and… Middle… Ages… Alright Gabriel, I’ll hit the library in a few hours after the sun comes up. I’ll let you know as soon as I find anything." Gerde replied.
"Thanks Gerde. Good night." He said.
"Good night, Gabriel." She said, hanging up the phone.
"Well?" Grace asked.
"It’s in God’s hands now." Gabriel replied. "I’m going to hit the sack. Good night." He said as he headed to his sleeping area and crashed. "Please let me have a good night’s sleep tonight…" he whispered to himself, before closing his eyes. No such luck.
This time, the dream was different. Yet it had a very familiar feel to it, like he had been here before. It was a bustling metropolis, but it was in anarchy. Women screaming. Dead bodies everywhere. Burning buildings. Indiscriminate looting. Gabriel felt something in his hands and looked down. He was holding a broadsword that appeared to weigh a ton. His arms and hands were covered by metallic gauntlets. He saw a group of soldiers dressed like him, huddled in a circle and appeared to be beating the crap out of somebody. Gabriel rushed over and immediately began hitting people left and right. At the bottom of the pile was a local man, wearing expensive clothing, beaten to a bloody pulp by the knights. The man could barely speak. It took every ounce of effort he could muster to look at Gabriel and whimper a painful "Thank you". Gabriel picked up the man and looked for help. After exiting the city, he found a tent where the other members of his army were being treated for their wounds. He cleared away a soldier who was being treated for a minor nick on his leg, but was crying like a child every time a medic tried to treat him.
Gabriel called over the first doctor he could find. The doctor told him to keep the man awake by talking to him, that he would be right over. Gabriel looked at the bloody mess of a man lying on the table, cringed slightly, and began.
"Tell me your name." Gabriel said.
"Michaele…Grigurescu," he stuttered, in shock "I am from the Carpathian Mountains. I am a member of a Christian society called "the Claws of the Dragon"
"Really? I am in a Christian society as well." Gabriel found himself saying, as if somebody was speaking for him. "What do you do?"
"Fight…the legions of darkness…" he mumbled. "With…this." He said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the most beautiful medallion he had ever seen. It was a gold necklace, embedded with precious stones. The medallion had an image of a growling dragon, with a knight standing triumphantly over it. "Promise me something…" he said. "Take care…of this manuscript I saved…from the burning Haga Sophia. Take this medallion back to my homeland in the Carpathians, to…my beloved Adjud…Moldavia. Return it to…my family." He said, clutching the medallion tightly, placing it in Gabriel’s hand, letting out a minor gurgle, and quietly died.
"I promise…" Gabriel found himself saying. The image of the beautiful medallion was burned into his memory. The dream ended there, and Gabriel found himself back in the present, lying on Grace’s couch.
If you have any comments, you can email David de Sola at ddesola@emerald.tufts.edu.
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