Part III

She ran out of the building as the haze settled and thickened the fog. It blinded her. She looked like she was running around like crazy. She seemed insane.

And yet she made her way to the door of the house. But this time, she burst in. Lightning crackled as Charlotte slammed the door shut.

The rain pit-pattered from outside.

Her body was heavy. Her heart was pounding faster. Her mind was even more frazzled.

Her spirit… was unbroken.

She marched onto the study hall, where she found Claude sitting. He looked up, eyes wet, like the rain outside had recently manifested in his face.

“…Charlotte.”

“Claude.”

“I… I don’t understand,” he murmured. He tried to make sense of why Charlotte would come back.

Instead Charlotte stayed behind the door frame, and held her notebook with both her arms. She wished Dr. Finch would be bluffing. She wished it was all a lie.

Her mother disappearing… her grandmother passing away in a trance… the letters she left her…

“Is it true, Claude…?”

He stood up. He knew exactly what she was asking. He had smelled the scent of Dr. Finch on her, and he had an idea what he had told her.

“Charlotte—”

“Answer me!”

Crack!

The lightning roared outside. Claude stood, his eyes horrified at the expression Charlotte was sending his way.

“Did you… kill my mum…?”

A finality. A severance. Claude would never hurt his beloved’s daughter. He swore by that. Her blood captivated him. Just like Anne’s did. Just like Charlotte’s did.

But he had never hurt them.

Never in his existence.

“Answer me, Claude…”

“I would never hurt her.”

“…Liar.”

“I would never hurt her!”

Crack!

The second strike made Charlotte wince in shock. She closed her eyes. She dropped her notebook, and nearly tumbled down but…

Cold hands. Gentle hands.

She was suspended in mid-air. She was being held. As she opened her eyes, she could not believe what she saw.

Claude.

He was carrying her.

She should have pushed him away. She should have. She had all the right and all the motive to.

But she looked into his deep amber eyes.

He was not hungry. He was not thirsty.

He was concerned.

She could not mistake those eyes for anything else. It was the exact ones she had seen in her reflection as she argued with her mother before she left. She thought she was full of herself, and had gone insane just like her grandmother.

And here he was, the proof of their “insanity”.

Charlotte closed her eyes. As she did, tears started flowing.

Claude held her until she calmed down. He felt her warmth radiate through his cold body, allowing himself to melt from her trembling presence. He did not know what Charlotte was dreaming, or if she was truly dreaming.

October 17th.

When she came to, she was lying down on the sofa of the study, morning peeking through the closed curtains. She rose up slowly, realizing that she had been resting on Claude’s cold lap.

“You stayed.”

Charlotte got up. Her notebook was neatly closed on his desk. She rubbed the blur from her eyes. She turned to a stunned Claude, and smiled. A soft smile. A warm smile…

…also a familiar smile.

“I stayed.”

“Why? You shouldn’t love me.”

“I know.”

He reached for her hand, and without warning to Claude, Charlotte grasped his. It was cold and pale, down to the touch, but the warmth of her hands gently made it more alive.

“I will hurt you.”

“You will not.”

“…how do you know?”

She took a deep breath.

“Because you could have killed me…

…but you didn’t.”

Claude paused. He was wrong about her. She had Anne’s blood. She had Emily’s blood. But she was fiercer—more fiery—than either of them.

He pulled her close to him, and he pressed his lips to hers. Not love. Barely romance. He knew she didn’t deserve him.

What he gave instead was a promise.

He broke away. Charlotte was now wide awake. He cupped her cheeks.

“You’ve made me real.”

She smiled, tracing her right hand to trace his freezing hand on her cheek.

“You’ve made me see.”

The day went on. Charlotte spent it all writing. Claude gave her his story. The pages were slowly being filled, but this was not to be published anywhere.

It was a finality.

A closure.

Charlotte and Claude stared down the pages Charlotte had written. As he read the pages he vividly remembered them happening…

The night he met Anne, it was a ballroom party. Advancements of modern technology were the buzz around that roaring period. They were celebrating the first Scottish lawyer, Madge Easton Anderson, who was visiting the University of Edinburgh. Anne had asked the ladies to be more courteous to him, since he was frail.

“That moment,” Claude began. “Started everything.”

Charlotte read through the rest of what she wrote. She began writing more, as Claude shared more of his story…

…until night had fallen.

The haze had settled from outside, only it was thicker than before. Rain had slowed down, and the only danger to the air was the smoke that somehow came with the breeze. It polluted the streets, and every building that was not enclosed or a high rise.

Inside the dark house hugged by shadows, Charlotte continued to write. Claude began to warm up, like the hearth resting by the side of the study.

The endless thunderstorm was long gone, but…

Crack!

A door slam. The sound of the creaking crack resonated through the entire hall. Almost immediately, part of the haze crept through. And within the haze was the dark silhouette of a man. The silhouette revealed that he was holding an axe.

A lumberjack's arsenal. A logger's best friend...

A hunter's severance tool.

Charlotte’s hand stopped as soon as she heard the loud crack from outside. She scanned the study. She stared everywhere from top to bottom. She could not find anything.

“Wh-what was that…?”

Claude stared at the door to the study. His amber eyes glowed intensely into the door. He noticed something.

Leaking.

It was not liquid. It was not solid.

A gaseous substance. A misty substance.

A hazy one.

Claude’s eyes widened. “We’ve got company.”

Charlotte’s eyes trailed where Claude was about to reach. She was frozen still; everything seemed to happen all of a sudden at the exact same time. She should have been exhausted. She could possibly be exhausted.

And yet, she started running.

Not because she was terrified. Not because she didn’t know what would happen when an ominous event caught the ominous storm.

She was not terrified at what Claude was becoming.

She was terrified at what Claude was losing.

She had given him an opportunity to be human, and he was about to blow it all away.

She ran in quick strides, reaching for Claude by the door.

There she saw it:

Ominous gray aura emanating from outside…

…to the eerie nature of his eyes when he fixed on something…

…to the door taking all the light and shadow from both sides—

“Claude, wait…!”

Boom!

The door to the study burst open. Charlotte didn’t know what happened after. After the sound had bellowed, ringing through her eardrums, everything went pitch black.

The ringing continued.

Her eyes sealed shut.

She trembled.

Is this the end?

Is this how she will…?

Slowly fluttering her eyes open, she saw an incredible sight. It would have been wondrous, had she not known of what happened before. It would have been incredible. It was.

It was also impossible…

…had she not experienced this beforehand.

Drops of crimson trickled down, and slowly pattered onto her. It felt warm, unlike where it had come from. She directed her eyes. She gasped in utter horror.

He was there. Claude.

He was holding her again. Claude.

He was bleeding from his side. Claude.

He was hurt. Claude was hurt…

…because he cradled her.

She could not believe it.

“Claude, you’re…”

Claude panted. A sign that should not happen to him, especially as Charlotte knew who—or what—he was.

“I’m fine,” he replied, still heavily breathing. “Never better, Miss Charlotte.”

“Get away from him, Miss Charlotte!”

Immediately, Charlotte jerked her already bewildered eyes onto the place where the door had been smashed through. There stood a man, all too familiar to Claude; all too familiar to Charlotte.

Dr. Finch.

He was holding the sharp axe. This time its features were made clearer. It was made out of metal, the one used by lumberjacks. The metal was not coated, but truly forged from silver, which was said in old legends could kill a—

“Miss Charlotte… please…”

Charlotte gripped Claude tighter. She looked deep into his eyes, and Claude realized something about her. Unlike Anne. Unlike Emily.

Charlotte was not about to back down…

…not even if her life was in danger.

“Miss Charlotte,” Dr. Finch began. He had lowered his axe. “Do you not know what he’s capable of…?”

She nodded.

“Then, you must get away from him—”

“No.”

A drip of sweat from Dr. Finch’s face fell freely down onto the floor, the water particles catching debris faster than Charlotte had rebutted him.

“I… I will not leave Claude.”

“But, Miss,” he tried once more. “He’s dangerous…”

Charlotte shook her head. She used Claude’s weight to assist her in standing up.

“That’s not what I saw, Doctor.”

“Miss…”

“Enough, Doctor…”

It was not commanding, nor was it threatening. It was soft, and exasperated. It was the sound from someone who could not take any more deceit. Any more lies. It was the voice of someone who just wanted the truth.

“Please,” she gazed at him. “That’s enough.”

“You don’t know him.”

“You don’t know me.”

He paused.

“You don’t know why I’m here. You don’t know what I wanted to know. You have no idea how hard it was for me to get here…”

Claude stood behind Charlotte, staring at Dr. Finch with utter contempt. Charlotte continued.

“You don’t know if Claude was a good person. You only knew him as a monster. You never stopped…

…but he did.”

Claude’s eyes widened. He stopped. It was exactly as she had said. He never hurt her. He knew he never hurt Anne. He never hurt Emily either.

“He tried…” Charlotte continued, tears now breaking from herself. “He tried to save my mum… and—”

She knelt down and broke down. Dr. Finch tried to reach out to her…

…but Claude held her.

He clenched his fist. He knew what he should do. He should do it right then.

How could he?

If he did not, he would let another one run rampant.

Yet if he did, he would break Miss Charlotte.

And what he did not know…

…Claude was already her lifeline. 

He was her lifeline to her past. To the letters of her grandmother. To the pleas of her mother. All while he was trying to protect them.

The anthropologist dropped his axe. He shook... He could not do it. 

So he left.

The hunter disappeared into the haze of night, the clocktower nearby striking the midpoint as the fog crept closer to the house; Claude continued cradling Charlotte close to him.

“You are my witness…” he said. Repeatedly. Until dawn broke.

October 18th.

The fifth day since Charlotte had reached the enigmatic city of Edinburgh. The fifth day since she had left her life to unravel the enigma of her matrilineage. The fifth day since she had met the man who had lived four men’s lifetimes. The fifth day…

…when she quietly stood beside him.

By the broken door. Her eyes had been wet. She had remembered her mother disappearing. She had remembered her grandmother’s letters. And now she knew, with the notebook that she had.

She was holding his hand. His cold hand. Her warmth sent shivers up his cold body. It was not from cringe…

…it was from peace.

“So what happens now?”

“Now,” she smiled, turning towards him. “We wait.”

Day continued to break outside as they stood there, tightening their held hands as the wind knocked through the open doors of the house and into the study, where her notebook was flipped to the cover.

In letters that were surprisingly elegant, the cover wrote:

An Enigmatic Claude Douglas

The byline, which never changed, remained:

Charlotte Foster.