Who Wants to Live Forever? (24 page)

“Yes, but it’s nothing to worry about. She had a little accident but everything is going to be fine.”

“Oh. That’s good, then. I noticed Debbie and Trish before as well. How are they? Is Gail with you too?”

I paused for an instant before replying. “Trish has gone home and…Debbie has left. Gail isn't with us — she went back to London a fortnight ago.”

Emma looked genuinely disappointed. “London? I’ll never get the chance to put things right. I did something that I’m not proud of, and I wanted to see her and explain. I’ve been holding off because I’m scared of what Mike will do to me if he finds me again.”

I put a consoling arm around her shoulder. “Gail spoke to us before she went, and
she
wanted to see
you
to apologise. She knows whose fault everything was. As for Mike, I don’t think you ever need worry about him again.”

I left Emma, who suddenly seemed much taller, as if a burden had been removed from her small shoulders, and returned to the flat. I was about to lock the door when I remembered Deborah’s satchel. I knew it had slid under the bed when I stopped her murdering Louise; had it, too, turned to dust, or would its separation from its owner preserve it from that fate? I went back inside Louise’s bedroom and bent to look under the bed; it was still there. Pulling it out, I hoisted it over my shoulder and went home.

Chapter Eighteen

Mrs Rhodes’ Diary — Thursday 1
^st
December 2011

Surprisingly, considering what had happened, I slept like a newborn. Or perhaps it wasn’t surprising, as, after the evening’s adrenalin rush, I was exhausted. I had planned to look at the contents of the satchel as soon as I arrived home, but when I realised I couldn’t keep my eyes open I flung it in a corner of the kitchen and fell asleep with my head on the kitchen table. Early next morning, I was woken by a frantic knocking on the door. It was Julie.

“What was going on last night?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. Let me have a cup of tea first to wake me up.”

“Dad! I’ve been worried sick all night. Is something wrong?”

“Not any more. Relax. I’m telling you, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not happy with you. There’d better be a damned good explanation.”

“Oh, there is, I can assure you of that.”

“Okay, then,” she said, cooling down a little. “Are you going to tell me now, or does it have to wait until we meet Debbie?” Then she paused and looked at me with her concerned-daughter face. “Is she the reason for all this?”

I smiled. “Yes, she is, but not in any way you could possibly be thinking. And no, we won’t be meeting Debbie. Not today, not ever.”

“Had a tiff, had you?”

“Let me make that drink, then I’ll tell you.” I went into the kitchen and thought about the previous evening. How could it have happened? Had it really happened? Perhaps it had all been a vivid nightmare? Then I noticed the discarded satchel, and I knew it had been real.

But that didn’t explain the how at all. How could somebody crumble to dust in front of my eyes? How could somebody have committed murders across a century and yet still appear to be a healthy middle-aged woman? Perhaps the satchel might hold the answer?

I walked across and opened it up. All it contained was the writing book that Debbie had said she was using to scribe her novel. As I took it out I was impressed by the magnificence of the tome. It was bound in dark-brown leather, and measured approximately twelve inches by eight inches. There must have been about five hundred pages inside, but when I started skimming through them from the back, all were blank. However, as I came to the front half I could see that the pages were crammed full of neat, handwritten notes.

“What’s that, Dad?” I jumped, as I hadn’t heard Julie coming into the kitchen.

“This? I’m not sure, but it might help explain what has been happening. Last night’s phone calls, for example. Why don’t we take a look?” I sat at the kitchen table, and Julie stood behind me, looking over my shoulder. I opened the book at the beginning.

On the very first page, it read, “The Diary of Eve Haborham, 1908”. The “Haborham” had been crossed out, and the word “Rhodes” was written neatly underneath it. There followed a series of diary entries, but not as in a conventional diary, where something would be recorded for every day. As I flicked through the pages, it looked as if Eve had only recorded events that she considered to be of great importance, as there were whole periods, sometimes several years in length, where no entries had been written. I turned back to the first completed page and we began to read:

Wednesday 13
^th
May 1908
. Mama and Papa brought a man home tonight. They said they want me to marry him as nobody else will take me. That’s hardly a surprise; who would want a spinster approaching her fortieth year? So I have to ask, why would he? His name is Anthony Rhodes and he is a lumberjack. He frightens me. He is so big and strong and I feel that he will break me. I know that Mama and Papa hate the shame of having an unmarried offspring, but I am happy here. Why can’t they leave me alone?

Saturday 15
^th
August 1908
. The day I have dreaded has arrived. In a few hours’ time, Eve Haborham will be no more and Eve Rhodes will take her place. But I fear that she will live a lonely unloved existence. I should be filling these pages with joy on my wedding day, but the only future I can see is one of sorrow
.

Tuesday 17
^th
November 1908
. He beat me again last night. This time, he didn’t use the cigarettes to burn my skin; would that he had. He was drunk, as always, and thought it would be good sport to brand me with the bottle of beer he had just finished. His idea of branding was to break the neck of the bottle and jab the broken glass into my back and side. I cried for hours, more from frustration than pain; I’m used to the pain now. I cannot continue like this. Tomorrow, I will leave him and begin a new life
.

Wednesday 2
^nd
December 1908
. He found me and dragged me back to the cabin in Montreal. In the solitude, nobody can hear my cries for help
.

Thursday 18
^th
February 1909
. A new life grows inside me. I should be happy, but I fear for the kind of existence my baby will have with that brute. Perhaps the beatings will cease while I’m carrying his child. That is all I can hope for
.

Friday 4
^th
June 1909
. The beatings have intensified as he blames me for getting fat. He is the one responsible for my condition. He takes care not to hit me in my belly any more, and he still ensures there are no visible marks for when my parents visit. They think he is wonderful and won’t hear a bad word against him
.

Wednesday 14
^th
July 1909
. My baby son was born today, but he took him away from me within moments of him taking his first breath. He appears to dote on the child, but when he saw me looking at him, he began to beat me again even before my bleeding had stopped. I wanted to love my son, but I don’t think I will ever get the chance. Now I have provided an heir, I fear for my life
.

There followed several entries detailing the nightmare that Eve’s life became. Twice more she ran, taking her son, Edward, with her, but each time her husband tracked them down and brought her back. I felt a great sympathy for the poor girl. I turned the pages, hoping to find a happier entry. I did, of sorts:

Thursday 10
^th
March 1910.
This time I think I have made good my escape, but I had to leave baby Edward behind. It is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, but I know that he will be safe with his father, even though I would not be. I have left Montreal far behind me and have vowed never again to set foot there. I arrived in Quebec City yesterday and am begging for food on the streets. But even with this level of deprivation, I have never been happier
.

Sunday 26
^th
June 1910
. I have come across something so amazing that I can hardly believe it is true. It seems incredible, but I know in my bones that it is real. It rained heavily yesterday and I sought shelter in the Samuel de Champlain Booke Shoppe close to the harbour. I have been there many times before, as the proprietor looks kindly upon me, and I do not find his intentions towards me to be too onerous. While I was browsing through the ancient works that he keeps in the cellar, I came upon the book. It was a beautiful leather-bound seventeenth-century vellum tome. Its contents didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary at first, but as I read it I could feel its vitality permeating through the pages
.

Much of it meant nothing to me, although I wondered if it was akin to the prophecies of Nostradamus, which I had heard of but never seen. One page in particular caused the hairs to stand up on my arms when I read it; it was as if I were outside in the middle of winter. I can remember what it said; I think I will always remember what it said. ‘Eternal Life can be attained if you follow the rule of eleven. The stolen essence of ten souls, taken at periods of eleven revolutions and eleven seven-days, when combined with your own, will provide eternity. Each soul must be nurtured for a full eleven seven-days before it can be captured.’

I should have laughed off the words as being mere fantasy, yet I had no doubt whatsoever that they were true; the book was alive, of that I was certain, although whether its essence was benevolent or malevolent, I could not detect
.

I could feel a change happening deep inside me, and it gave me a hope for the future. My future. Something that I felt had been forever taken from me. If I believed in the book — and I did — then I could have that future back. I almost closed the book, knowing that it is wrong to take another person’s life, but it wouldn’t permit me to. I was no longer in control of my actions
.

I continued to read, and deciphered the cryptic references to dates. The next time when the confluence will occur is early in 1911. If I miss that, I will have to wait a further eleven years. But in order to meet the first date, I must initially make contact with the current soul’s host, and that must be in three months’ time. I have much to think about. But I think the book has already decided for me
.

I wondered if it spoke to others, and I felt it answer in my head, telling me that it wanted only those with the greatest needs. I had that need, and it had chosen me
.

Wednesday 3
^rd
August 1910.
Everybody is talking about the arrest of the murderer Dr Crippen. To think that it occurred so close to me. I can see the SS Laurentic at dock as I write. I have been delaying action for far too long, but this has helped make up my mind. I will leave this country behind and begin a new life in England. A life that will last forever
.

Thursday 11
^th
August 1910
. All is arranged. I read the book, for the thousandth time, and am clear what it entails. My victim must also fulfil the rule of eleven by name. I have everything I need to start my adventure. The proprietor of the Booke Shoppe won’t even know I have stolen from his till until I am on the other side of the world; besides, it is my due, in return for the favours he has taken from me so freely. My passage is booked, on board the
SS Laurentic
when it sets sail next for England. I feel it is fitting that my new life should begin on the decks graced by so eminent a doctor as Crippen. All I need do now is make my pledge to the task ahead of me, on pain of forfeiture of my very soul should I fail. But failure is not an option
.

Friday 12
^th
August 1910
. The pledge is taken, the words have been said. I feel more alive than I have ever done before; I can sense the essence flowing through my veins. Any tiny doubts I might have had about the veracity of the text are now long gone
.

Tuesday 11
^th
October 1910.
I cannot go through with it. What seemed so straightforward three months ago has become a constant worry for me. How
can
I take someone’s life? The memory of the horrors I had endured faded with each mile I travelled. Now I am in a new world, and I can make a new life for myself. I can see now that the pledge that I spoke was nothing other than meaningless words. I have found some lodgings, and now I will seek out a job
.

Thursday 13
^th
October 1910.
My new life has begun! A nice man called Mr Rodgers saw me walking home tonight and he offered me a job. He wants me to be a nanny to his three children. He is a widower and the children’s previous nanny left suddenly earlier this week, so he has nobody else he can turn to. I am to meet the children tomorrow afternoon. He said I have a kind face, which is why he approached me. I hope he doesn’t change his mind when he sees me in daylight, for I am sure I still bear the browbeaten look from my previous life. He has the same initials as my brute of a husband, but, unlike him, he is kind and gentle. I am so happy that I chose to abandon the path of hatred
.

Friday 14
^th
October 1910.
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have ever believed that
any
man could be trusted? I went to the address where I was supposed to meet that man and his children, but it was an old abandoned building. I was about to leave, thinking I had come to the wrong establishment, when he grabbed me. Only then did I realise that it was a trap. He subjected me to hours of torture and humiliation that even my husband would have baulked at, and in all that time he never once looked me in the face, which somehow made it many times worse. He abused me repeatedly, laughing as he did so, saying I was fulfilling a need that his wife found abhorrent. I felt sympathy for his wife, having to live with such a brute, until he said that she was the one who advised him to undertake these despicable activities while she is at work. Now, I despise both Enid and Alfred Rodgers in equal measures
.