Black Blood

I went hunting for news, it was part of my profession and questioning people was the first source of information. But that was the part I least liked when my questions got uncomfortable. In spite of my feelings, it was all part of the package and, with guilt, ready to scratch my chest, I accepted that side of my job too.

«I was wondering if I could spare a few minutes of your time. You know, Mr. Sullivan is a pretentious guy», I explained with a calm and gentle tone. I made an effort to wear the same mask I wore every day at the editorial office.

Father Dorian raised an eyebrow and adjusted the neck of his cassock.

«Come, let's sit down», he invited me, showing the way to the first bench in the row.

«What would you like to know?» he said, pressing on me that pointed look typical of all Tanners.

«You knew the two missing girls? Claire and Rose» I asked as I retrieved a pen and paper from my bag.

Father Dorian looked up and moved his sight to the left, he was remembering.

«They were two good girls. Very active in the community and caring for children. They were two angels», he whispered with a mild and sorry voice. He sighed.

«What do you think is going on? It is not the first time that in Hazycreek similar facts are happening.»

The priest hesitated, blinked several times and made a grimace with his nose.

Did I say something wrong?

«Nothing is given to us to know. Not yet, there is only the hope that the two girls are still alive», he finally answered after having gathered his ideas.

I tightened my eyes and studied Father Dorian.

I made him uncomfortable.

«A lot of people in town believe that the Winterbournes are behind the disappearances, what is your position?»

I had dared again; it was a low blow on my part.

A precise question with no way out.

Father Dorian stirred, seemed struck by a tremor that lasted a few seconds, widened his eyes and stretched out his mouth.

«They are Devil worshippers! They are not allowed to enter the house of God», he raised his voice and its echo rang out through the church and slowly faded away.

I became suspicious.

«I did not ask you this, father», I urged him while maintaining a polite and respectful attitude.

«Don't ask too many questions, Reb. Don't venture into dangerous terrains. Protect yourself and forget the Winterbournes. Now excuse me, but I must resume my daily duties. With permission.»

With that stern earful, Father Dorian, liquidated me and quickly holed up in the sacristy.

I wasn't satisfied with that exchange of words. I had discovered nothing useful except the fact that Dorian Tanner had felt oppressed by the turn our dialogue was taking, and had preferred to run away.

I rubbed the corners of my eyes and, after putting the notebook back in my bag, I got ready to leave Hazy Central Church.

I walked slowly and bitterly, I had also altered a good and peaceful man like Father Dorian.

I had to not attract too much attention, not arouse suspicions and, of course, not get people angry.

«Nobody is talking. The truth is concealed. Buried.»

It was a whisper, soft in sound, dark in tone. It tickled my neck behind my ears, drawing all my attention.

A figure dressed in rags was sitting not far from me. She was bent over and seemed to be praying. She had the hood over her head, and, for the moment, I hesitated.

I approached cautiously.

«What does it mean?» I asked in a low voice.

The strange person looked at me.

I had a gasp.

It was Mary Weather, Frank's crazy sister. Her face was covered with wrinkles, her hair was damaged, frizzy and grey, her eyes were dark covered with a sort of patina as if they were suffering from cataracts, they looked dull, sad.

«While fools stay in fear, who decides, is lying.»

Another enigmatic sentence.

It was for this kind of thing that the city community had decided to push her away. It was difficult to converse with her.

I reflected a few moments, I thought that Mary might be the only one who did not have prejudices or second ends, she lived in her strange occult world and did not participate in the city's life.

I smiled.

«Is there something you'd like to tell me?»

The woman nailed me with her blank glance and forced me to look into her eyes.

«Don’t trust the Black Blood. The Black Raven Hill is infected. Walk away, Reb, or people will call you crazy.»

She awkwardly got up from her seat and walked quickly out of the building.

That was a weird day.

Everyone was telling me to let go and stifle the burning desire that was keeping me searching.

It would never happen.

It was precisely this attitude that pushed me forward.

Sometimes you get angry when you have something to hide. And when you have something to hide it means those secrets are real, unspoken information or untold events, something so wrong that it is better to bury over time. Here: Reb J. Cross would have solved the mystery and revealed all those secrets.

I needed a break to clear my head and regain strength, I continued to feel weak.