Who Wants to Live Forever? (25 page)

Saturday 15
^th
October 1910.
I reflected for a long time on what happened to me yesterday. Now I am clear in my resolve. I
will
take the first step along the path that initially brought me to this country. And, because of what happened yesterday, I have already selected my victim. I have yet to meet her – the book told me that I must wait another six-days before that can happen. It is Enid Rodgers. I would have preferred it to be her husband, but his name contains more than the requisite number of letters. I considered ignoring the demands of the tome altogether and just killing him, but it speaks to me in my head again now, telling me to follow the chosen path. It will give me tremendous pleasure and satisfaction to see
him
found guilty of the murder of his wife, and I pledge to make that happen. I have found out that she works at the mill, and I will seek employment there next week
.

Friday 21
^st
October 1910
. The contact has been made, everything is set in motion. It was easy to get to know her at the mill, as she is a friendless woman. She has already offered me an invite to her home in Arnside Street. I have few worries that
he
might recognise me. He barely looked at me, and on the few occasions that he did it was night-time. I had my hair cut and coloured before I commenced work, so now my appearance is much changed from the terrified girl that he preyed on. I have also decided on my method; I will use poison, just as Dr Crippen did
.

Friday 6
^th
January 1911
. Enid Rodgers is dead and I feel so alive; her essence flows through my body, mingling with mine, rejuvenating me. It was a wonderful sensation when her soul combined with mine, a feeling that no opiate could ever hope to match. I suppose I didn’t fully believe in the book until I felt her spirit join with mine; up until that point, revenge on her husband was the driving force, but now I know where my full destiny lies. I will follow the path through to its conclusion, and eternal life will be mine
.

And yet, she could easily have died too soon — or even too late — for I had little control over how long it would take the poison to act. Now I have purpose to my life, I must move on. I have eleven years to make preparations for the next victim, and this time I will take no chances; the execution will be precise and at the specified time
.

The next few entries detailed Eve’s journey across Lancashire, and I skipped forward until I came to the time of the second murder. I winced as Julie’s fingers bit into my shoulder; I don’t think she even knew that she had done it.

Tuesday 3
^rd
January 1922
. The time fast approaches when I will make contact with my second victim. The craving has intensified the nearer the date arrives. Sometimes, the need is so intense that it is almost impossible to get through each day. I live in Ormskirk now, and have selected a man who goes by the name of Len Phillips to be next. I, too, have decided on a different chosen name. Eve Rhodes is no more. Bea Ashmere will take her place. I will make this a century-long game, choosing names and places that are all connected to the letters in my real name. Eve Haborham Rhodes will live on through my art
.

Friday 6
^th
January 1922
. I can feel the essence flowing away from me. It crawled to a trickle once I made acquaintance with Phillips. Now I understand why I had to meet the next victim on the eleventh anniversary of the previous death. And if ever I had doubts about continuing, they disappeared once I realised what truly was at stake here
.

Friday 24
^th
March 1922
. Bea Ashmere is no more. Neither is Len Phillips. Or perhaps that is not so, for surely he lives within me. I was at my weakest in the final moments before I took his life, but the invigorating effect afterwards far exceeded that which I experienced eleven years prior
.

I flicked through the pages as she described, in a gloating manner, how Rose Ember and Maeve O’Hara disposed of Harold Scott and Virginia Lee. The author of the diary was no longer the frightened woman who had left Canada.

Her next murder, when Odea Shearer killed Thomas Brent, proved a little trickier.

Thursday 10
^th
November 1955
. This one was more troublesome. Before I pushed Brent out of the window, I had to be certain that nobody was in the street, as I had to get down there to ensure his demise and draw in his essence before anybody could save him. In my rush to get down to street level, I neglected to return Brent’s hearing aid. The police will be alerted to foul play and I must make sure I am not suspected and searched for. It is my own fault; I could have shot him, but I wanted to have a different method for each of the ten. But I’m halfway through, now, and I’ve never felt more alive
.

The account continued with details of how she became, in turn, Hermosa Vebraho to run Chris Newton down, Vera Broad to stab Yasmine Bond — after first adding rotten meat to one of Yasmine’s meals to force her away from work with a stomach bug —- Sarah Moore to suffocate Frank Uttley and Amber Davore to electrocute Alan Ingleby. I realised I was coming up to the present attempted murder, and curiosity made me continue, as I wanted to know what she had written about each of us. There was an entry a few years before, though, that caught my attention:

Monday 8
^th
May 2006
. For the first time in almost a hundred years, I have returned to the land of my birth. Not by sea this time, but by air. It wasn’t easy, of course. Is anything? Since 9/11 and 7/7, security has been tightened considerably. I could hardly apply for a passport using my real birth certificate, could I? I can just imagine them at passport control: My, don’t you look young for your age?” But I am nothing if not resourceful, and I have had plenty of opportunity to use my full resources over the years. Even so, applying for a passport using the birth certificate of Alita Reija’s daughter — her mother left the papers behind in her haste to flee the country nearly forty years ago — was fraught with concern. Thankfully, officialdom might have tightened many measures, but they still believe that people are inherently truthful, and if you are sincere enough I have found that you will normally be believed. Especially by men, who equate truth in direct proportion to the shortness of a hemline
.

Now that I have experienced air-travel, I can’t believe I didn’t try it before. I think I will enjoy flying for many years to come. While in Quebec, I sought out the old Booke Shoppe. Hardly surprisingly, it didn’t exist any more; but that wasn’t where my search ended. I came across an antiquarian bookstore — you could say I was drawn to it, for I felt the presence as I entered. And there was the tome, exactly as it had been the last time I saw it. I swear it growled with pleasure and anticipation when I reached out to touch it. It is reassuring to know that it still lives, driving me on to fulfil my purpose in life. I know it will be here, waiting for me, when I complete my task in five and a half years’ time
.

I let out a deep whistle as I read this. When I’d read about the book being discovered in the early years of the twentieth century, I had sort of believed in it, yet it still didn’t seem altogether
real
. Now that it had been seen again less than half a dozen years ago, it took on an entirely new perspective. It was out there still, and that meant somebody else could begin the same cycle of events that had almost given Eve Rhodes immortality. I tried not to think about the potential consequences. I skimmed through the few remaining entries, stopping when I found those for the current year.

Tuesday 9
^th
August 2011
. It is getting near. In little over a month, my final journey commences. The craving has reached a new intensity, and at times I find it hard to bear. As this is the final step along the path, I feel tempted to use my real name. But temptation can lead to disaster, and I know I cannot give in to it. I can, though, come close. So I have chosen, and Eve Haborham Rhodes will become Deborah Havers-Home for this last adventure — my full real name will be present in my last assumed name. One thing is for certain, though; I will not waste a moment in trying to make it appear that this last death is an accident. What is the point? Every time I have tried, I have failed; Ingleby’s death should have been viewed as a simple heart attack, but in my meticulous removing of the evidence I managed to wrap up the teaspoon inside the towelling. After I have selected my final target, it will not matter if I am suspected, apprehended even. I will have achieved my aim, and will be immortal
.

I shuddered as I read the words. The true impact of what could have happened was only just now beginning to dawn on me. I continued reading the entries that coincided with my own first-hand knowledge.

Tuesday 13
^th
September 2011
. I know who the last one will be — a history teacher called Louise James. She is running a course that starts next Tuesday, the key day, so I will go along and meet her then. Who knows, I might even learn something during the eleven ‘incubation’ weeks
.

Tuesday 20
^th
September 2011
. I almost made a stupid mistake tonight. After Louise James introduced herself, she began to talk about an unsolved murder from a century ago. I gasped involuntarily, and one of the other students — an elderly man — turned to look. Fortunately, he didn’t know who had gasped — and he certainly didn’t know why — but I must take more care. I am too close now to spoil it all by a stupid excited reaction
.

Tuesday 4
^th
October 2011
. I am beginning to feel uncomfortable. Last week could have been seen as one of those coincidences, but she has done the same again tonight — concentrated on another of my murders. Two weeks, and the first two murders. Does she know? Or, perhaps, I should ask, what does she know? And what is she hoping to achieve? I would kill her now if it weren’t for the unbreakable rule of 11. I can’t switch to another, as I had to make contact with my victim on September 14
^th
; apart from Louise James, the only other people I met that day don’t fulfil the eleven-letters rule. There are two others on the course whose names contain the required number of letters, but I didn’t meet them on the enrolment evening
.

The next few entries detailed our meetings and after-class talks, little of which surprised me. But then her records explained how she was able to throw suspicion away from her and onto Trish, with my being an unwitting dupe in the deception:

Friday 18
^th
November 2011
. Ethan knows. Or at least, he’s on the way to knowing. I was waiting in the pub when he came in with that harlot Trish. She’s the sort who would throw herself at any man with a pulse. Or even some without, no doubt. I’d wondered how I could get close enough to overhear their conversation, but the pub was busy and they came and sat at an adjoining table. I realise that although he might have the general idea, it’s far too late. He can’t possibly decipher it all before the end of the month. But perhaps it’s best not to take that chance
.

Saturday 19
^th
November 2011.
I tried to injure Ethan tonight. I drove towards him when he was crossing the road; I didn’t intend to kill him, of course. That would have been disastrous, and would have destroyed everything I have been working towards for over a century. The lives I must take are defined by the laws of eleven; no others can interrupt that sequence. But I wanted to put him out of action, hospitalise him for a few days. He saw me and jumped out of the way, so I don’t think he’s badly hurt. But I’m sure he’ll be shaken. And I wore a red wig, so if he did see anything he would think it was her
.

Sunday 20
^th
November 2011.
Success. Ethan cannot get any further without Louise’s help. I couldn’t get him, but I did get her. She’ll be in hospital for at least a week. And, as an added bonus, I’ve taken her computer and all of her research information. She’d have to start again from the beginning even if she was well enough to work. Now nothing can stop me
.

Wednesday 23
^rd
November 2011
. Everything is back on track again. It was clear last night that without Louise to stimulate the thought processes, Ethan can get nowhere. I made the right choice when I attacked her. And Trish — well, she just doesn’t have a clue
.

Tuesday 29
^th
November 2011
. Perhaps I should revise the first part of last Wednesday’s entry. It seems that Ethan has been continuing the investigation, and he has made some good progress. Far more progress, in fact, than Louise seemed to have made with all the time she spent researching me. Ethan wants to go and see Louise tomorrow, as he knows the importance of the date. He doesn’t, though, realise who the intended victim is or where the murder will occur, so I can still rest easy. I managed to forestall Ethan from visiting Louise on his own; he wasn’t too happy about it. As long as I’m there, I can control events. I need to get a good night’s sleep; I have been feeling gradually weaker with every passing day, far more so than on the nine previous occasions. I even made a huge mistake tonight when I corrected Ethan over the pronunciation of my last alter-ego — how he didn’t realise I don’t know! But he didn’t, and the last doubt has gone now. It will all be over tomorrow. And then, in a final irony, I will meet Ethan’s beloved daughter. Once I am immortal, I am free. Why should the killings have to stop?

“Did you write all this, Dad? No, you couldn’t have. It mentions you. I don’t understand.” I couldn’t speak, as the final few sentences had paralysed me. “What is going on?”

Debbie had been right in only one thing; it was all over, although not in the way she anticipated. I closed the book and returned it to the satchel. I put my hand on top of Julie’s and squeezed softly. “I’ll tell you all about it,” I said. “Come and sit down.”