Blood & Soul

Blood & Soul by Deborah O'Toole (aka Deidre Dalton) is Book #3 in the Bloodline Trilogy.

Emma Beckett is adopted into a loving home as an infant, never knowing the true circumstances of her birth. As a child, she discovers she has unique powers of healing but eventually realizes her abilities could be an instrument of evil, begotten by a bloodthirsty monster.

From Chapter Twelve: Visit with the Devil

THE SPRAWLING COMPOUND known as the Massachusetts Correctional Institution (MCI) astounded Emma. Her first sight of the large, white structure, along with its several adjacent buildings and guard towers, caused her eyes to widen in surprise. It was a massive display of strength, and intimidation. Her eyes followed the barbed wire spires lining the top of the fence line, which coiled around the entire area.

She and Shawn were in the back seat of a taxi cab, which they had hailed at Louisburg Square early that morning. The thirty-five-mile trip took nearly an hour by the time the cab pulled in front of the main gate. A uniformed officer stepped from the guard shack and approached the driver's side door of the taxi. The cabbie rolled down the window.

"Do you have an appointment?" The officer asked as he peered into the backseat.

The cabbie gestured to Emma and Shawn with a wave of his hand. "These two do."

The officer leaned over from his waist in order to get a better look at the back seat occupants.

"Superintendent Masterson is expecting us," Emma told him calmly. "I'm Emma Beckett, and this is Shawn Baskerville."

The officer nodded. "Of course. The superintendent informed me of your visit. You'll have to walk from here, though. The taxi is not cleared to proceed, but the distance is not far."

Emma and Shawn alighted from the cab, paying the driver. They followed the officer to a smaller gate next to the guard shack. He opened it and pointed forward. "Follow the path about twenty-five yards and you'll see the door. I'm sure Superintendent Masterson is waiting for you. He told me you'd be arriving this morning."

Emma thanked him, and then she and Shawn began walking along the well-worn path. He reached for her hand, holding on tightly. A man emerged from the door just as they reached it.

"Miss Beckett?" He questioned in a deep voice.

Emma smiled. "Yes, and this is my friend, Shawn Baskerville."

"Very good," the man replied. "I'm Superintendent Masterson. Once we get inside, I'll need to see your identification and you'll have to complete some paperwork. We will also have to take photographs of you for the visitor badges. All standard procedure for a visit here."

Emma nodded, and then watched the Superintendent  as they entered the building. He was tall and painfully thin, and looked to be nearing retirement age. His hair, surprisingly dark and windblown, fell just below his jaw line. He wore a dark suit and tie, which only seemed to emphasize his pale gauntness. In Emma's mind, he gave the impression of being an undertaker rather than the superintendent of a large prison.

Then she noticed the cool - yet somehow cloying - air as they moved inside the prison. A long hallway led from the entryway, with several doors on both sides of the hall, all closed. Superintendent Masterson stopped at the third door on the right and ushered them in.

The room contained a few tables, a camera stand with a white backdrop, and a fingerprint tray off to the side. The superintendent motioned for them to sit at the table nearest the door, pushing two small stacks of paper and pens toward them as he gave instructions. "Get started on these while I fetch a sergeant, who will prepare your visitor badges. I'll be right back."

Emma and Shawn sat down, both of them taking a look at the forms.

"Good Lord," Shawn said in a low tone. "Ten pages of questions. It's worse than filling out an employment application. Name, address, birth date, birthplace, parents names, social security number, race, education, references, the usual have you ever been convicted of a felony? question, purpose of the visit and, finally, room for a signature."

"We've got nothing to hide," Emma told him as she began filling out the form. "We'll be done in a jiffy."

They had nearly completed the forms when Superintendent Masterson returned with a female officer dressed in black slacks and a blue dress shirt. She was tall, with short dark hair and a creamy complexion.

"This is Sergeant Boyer," the superintendent said. "She'll fingerprint you, take copies of your identification, and then take your pictures. The photo will be used to make your visitor badges, but will be destroyed after the visit is complete. Once all that's done, we can be on our way to Ten Block to meet the prisoner Lester."

"Does he know we're here?" Emma asked.

Superintendent Masterson shook his head. "No. He just knows he has two visitors, but has no idea who you are yet."

"Good," Shawn muttered. "The less he knows, the better."

The superintendent pursed his lips. "I quite agree with you, Mr. Baskerville. Lester is an unsavory character, to say the least. He is the worst of the worst. Please don't worry, however. He will be shackled the entire time you are with him, and there will be guards present."

Finally, after Emma and Shawn were given visitor badges with their photos intact, they exited the room with Superintendent Masterson and made their way along the hall again.

Emma swallowed nervously. The time had come.

She was ready to meet her grandfather.

* * *

KEN LESTER HAD aged considerably in the last nineteen years, but he still bore the unmistakable Lester resemblance. The long time in prison had hardened him, yet his mind still worked clearly, and maliciously. Moldering evil still pulsated strongly in his black heart.

Shackled at the waist, wrists and ankles, he shuffled down a hallway, accompanied by two armed officers. He knew them, of course, even though they treated him with a barely-veiled contempt. He understood that while they hated him, they also feared him, despite his rather frail and aged appearance.

He was curious about who was visiting him today. No one had come to see him in several years, not even the brainless women who imagined themselves in love with him. He still received letters on occasion, but not as many as he used to. His cult following had dwindled over the past decade. It was disappointing, but something he soon shrugged off in typical, derisive fashion.

The visiting room had not changed much over time, he noted, even though he hadn't seen it in years. It was reached through a long hallway in Ten Block, located near the portal to the rest of the prison. The windowless room was approximately the size of four standard jail cells, bars included. There was a large table - bolted to the cement floor - with four chairs. A glassy mirror overlooking the room was, in fact, a one-way window whereby visits could be observed and heard in an adjacent space.

The officers attached Ken's shackles to the table once he sat down, ensuring he could not make a move in any direction. Then they stood nearby, expressionless and silent, as the waiting began.

When Ken saw a young woman enter the cell, his first thought was she must be a long-lost Lester relative. She had the look of a Lester all right; tall and lithe with wheat-colored hair. It was more than that, though. She resembled Kirk in a haunting way, which caused him a brief moment of consternation.

Then his eyes darted to the young man with her. He appeared to be a light-skinned African-American with blue eyes. Those light eyes were directed at him, where Ken detected an obvious flow of hostility. The young man was angry without speaking, that much was clear, and it piqued his interest as to why.

Ken finally found his voice. "Who the hell are you two?" He barked, allowing the aggression in his voice to be the first nuance they heard from him. "I don't know either one of you. Let me guess." He snorted. "You're reporters, looking to interview me."

The girl regarded him coolly as she took a seat. "No, we're not reporters. My name is Emma Beckett, and this is my friend, Shawn Baskerville." She paused briefly before continuing. "My biological parents are Kate Grady and Kirk Lester."

For one of the few times in his life, Ken was speechless. But not for long.

"So," he sneered. "You're the little whelp Katie gave away all those years ago. I should have known. You look exactly like my idiot son." He chuckled. "Tell me, are you as feather-brained as he is?"

Emma's voice came cold as Shawn clenched his jaw muscles. "Kirk is not like you at all, if that's what you're referring to. He's not a depraved killer or a non-human specimen such as yourself."

Ken laughed. "Do you honestly think I give a damn?" He shook his head. "Why did you come here? I care as much about you as I do my worthless son. I can see you are cut from the same cloth."

"I wanted to reassure myself that I'm nothing like you," Emma retorted. "You answered my question the minute you opened your mouth."

Ken shrugged as best he could in shackles. "Makes no never mind to me." His eyes went to Shawn, who was glowering at him. "Who's your half-breed friend here? Will he be joining the family soon?"

"If I ever have the honor of joining Emma's family, you'll be the last one to know about it," Shawn said, his tone seething.

Ken threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Again - what's it to me? I don't give a rat's ass about any of it. The two of you are losers, just like my son and his prissy Katie." He glared at them. "She was a great piece of ass, by the way. Are you sure I'm not your father, instead of Kirk?" His eyes were glittering with malice as he waited for her reaction.

Emma felt a wrench in her heart. Could it be possible? Could this loathsome monster be her father, instead of Kirk? No, it couldn't be. Surely Kate would have told her if there were any doubts . . .

"He's lying," Shawn said harshly. He turned to look at Emma. "Do the math, Em. You were conceived while Kate and Kirk were in England, remember? This lowlife was nowhere near England at that time."

Emma felt relief wash over her as her eyes expressed gratitude to Shawn.

Ken snickered, his face an ugly mask of hatred. "Had you going for a minute there, though. Didn't I?"

"What made you the way you are?" Emma asked calmly, ignoring his snide remark. "Did your father do something to you when you were young? Something terrible that made an indelible impression on you, that scarred you for life?"

Ken snorted. "My father - your great-great grandfather, Richard - was a milquetoast, a real panty-waist. He was nothing to me. On the other hand, my mother - the late, great Elizabeth McInerney Lester - ruled the roost. She pretty much let me do as I pleased."

"Elizabeth was a poet," Emma stated. "Like Kirk."

"Poetry is a complete waste of time if you ask me," Ken replied as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "A bunch of mincing words that mean absolutely nothing to anyone."

"Were you jealous of their talent?" Shawn spoke up, a look of contempt on his face. "Their creative abilities must have bothered you. It far outshone anything you could possibly do."

Ken chuckled. "Oh, but there you are dead wrong, son. No one - and I mean no one - has the special kind of ability that I have. The ability of deciding who lives and, more importantly, who dies. Elizabeth would never dream of it. In fact, she was repulsed by me. Yet she kept my secrets to her dying day. And Kirk," he waved his hand dismissively. "Never possessed my set of skills. He was just a pathetic wannabe."

Emma stared at her grandfather, disgusted by him yet compelled to hear more. Her mind filled with a thought, an improbability at best. "I can heal animals and people of their physical injuries, but can I rectify a mental affliction as well? Or can I even possibly heal a person filled with so much poisonous hate and evil? Do I even care enough to try?" She did not know her grandfather, but she could feel the malevolence in him just as sure as she was sitting there, regarding him.

Shawn turned his head to look at Emma. "I think we're wasting our time here. Are you ready to go?"

She shook her head. "Not just yet. Give me a few more minutes, will you?"

Shawn sighed impatiently, but gave her a short nod of acquiescence.

Emma returned her focus to Ken. "Have you ever been treated by a doctor for your mental disorder?"

"Mental disorder?" He repeated angrily. "I don't have a mental disorder." He shrugged. "Sure, they've set doctors on me over the years to try and drag something out of me that doesn't exist, but it never worked. I like myself the way I am."

"How could you possibly?" She countered.

Ken lowered his head slightly, his glaring eyes trained on her face. "Look, little girl, I didn't ask you to come here. Frankly, I'd rather not know you at all. You remind me too much of Kirk, who was such a huge disappointment to me, and still is. Why don't you just go home and diddle your boyfriend here, and leave me alone."

Emma closed her eyes briefly. Should she try to salvage what little humanity might be lurking in her grandfather, or let it be? Without warning, she opened her eyes and quickly reached across the table. When she touched the top of Ken's hand, he jerked slightly, startled by the contact.

"Get your hand off me," he snarled, but then paused. He returned Emma's stare, momentarily speechless.

Emma felt the warmth flowing from her into Ken, but it wasn't like it had been with other people. Something was wrong. The heat was not fluid. It refused to transmit. It was as if it was being blocked by a force within Ken, not allowing a free transfer or accepting passage. He might not be aware of what was happening - the healing attempt or the blockage thereof - but it was real, and she could feel it.

It was blowing back on her, the pressure growing by the second. It felt like a molten stream fighting back at her, a shiny black blood of pulsation refused entry by her subject. She was aware of her hand, and then her body, growing warmer until it became unbearable for her. With an audible gasp she drew back, taking her hand away and leaning back into her chair with a loud exhale of air.

"Em?" Shawn asked in alarm. "Are you okay?"

She glanced at him and nodded. "I'll be fine in a minute."

Ken gazed at her with a mixture of anger and fear. "What the hell were you trying to do?" He demanded.

She returned his stare but said nothing.

Recognition suddenly dawned in his eyes. "You're like your mother, aren't you? She tried her will-bending shit on me once, but never again. Nothing persuades me, not even the hokey, witchy stuff." He leered across the table at her. "Tell me, little girl, what's your particular specialty, eh? Are you a will-bender like your whore mother? Or do you have a special talent of your own?"

Emma stood from the table abruptly. "I've seen and heard enough. You sicken me. I was going to ask you how you could kill all those women . . . but now I don't want to know. It's obvious to me as to why . . . you are sub-human, a sociopath, incapable of feeling compassion or love. It's as natural to you as breathing. You are the true personification of evil." She paused, her smile triumphant. "And I am nothing like you."

Shawn stood to join her, grabbing Emma's hand.

"Keep your eyes on her," Ken taunted Shawn. "She could very well be like me and not realize it yet. She might turn on you at a moment's notice. You'll never see it coming."

Shawn ignored him, nodding to one of the guards. "We're ready to leave," he indicated.

"Give my love to Kirk and his precious Katie," Ken chortled as the guard slid open the cell room door. "I have fond memories of the night both Kirk and I had our way with Katie. In fact, we did her good the night you were born, Emma. Quite a family history we have, eh?" Then he laughed loudly, the uproarious sound seeming to fill the entire cell.

Emma couldn't leave fast enough.