Just an Old Legend Ch. 08

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He'll see himself in print.
10.6k words
4.73
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Part 8 of the 12 part series

Updated 10/12/2022
Created 08/01/2011
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TaLtos6
TaLtos6
1,931 Followers

Stan Beamish huffed his way up the steps from the dock, and wondered about the pile of sawn lumber that he saw under a tarpaulin. It had been carefully and neatly stacked. He shrugged and carried on. It was when he got near the house that he stopped again. The scrub and tangled bramble were gone, and the earth that it had covered was freshly turned and he could see bags of peat moss off to the side, ready for the next section to be dug. The mess which had once been the way to the house was in the process of being turned into rock gardens of considerable size. The man doing the work was bent over in work pants and a T-shirt, but before Stan could say a word to him, the gardener was gone around the corner of the house with a wheelbarrow.

Stan walked up the steps and Helen met him at the door with a grin, "Stan! Come on in. Don't worry about tracking dirt in, I never let the broom get far from my hand today."

Beamish sat at the table where she'd indicated, and he offered Helen the bottle of Merlot that he'd picked up. She took it happily and put it in the refrigerator. "I must say that you're not wasting any time in getting the beautification program underway. Those rock gardens will be pretty big, I can see. Who's doing the work for you? I know most of the landscapers around, but obviously not all of their workers. I can't say as I've seen that fellow before. Come to think of it," he said, "I didn't see another boat tied up at your dock."

Helen set a coffee mug in front of Stan and sat down opposite to him, "That's my boyfriend," she smiled, "Once he gets something into his head, he's off and running. How long do you think it would have taken to clear the weeds that were there and turn all of that soil? He ripped out the mess yesterday afternoon, and did everything that you see in the last three hours. He hasn't stopped, except to pee, I guess."

Stan stared out the window, watching Ion work. As he turned back, he was about to ask if she'd met him in town or knew him from the city, but he found himself looking at a copy of his book.

Helen smiled warmly, "I picked this up last week. I've got to say that I really enjoyed it. You've done a wonderful job and I found that when I was done, I wanted so much to read more. It gave me an idea," she said, pushing a small stack of books over to him, "These are mine. I was wondering if you'd like to collaborate on a book with me."

Stan looked at the author's name and then back at Helen blankly, "My wife loves this writer, but, ..."

Helen's smile grew wider, "Well now you can tell her that you know the writer. It's a pen name, Stan. Check the photo and the bio in the back of them. He did and set the books down in wonder, "Well, that's you in the photos, for sure. I'd have never guessed, Helen. How many have you written?"

"Just those three. There are two more, but not under that name," she said.

Pointing at his book on the table, she said, "This isn't a criticism in any way, but though you write superbly, the subject matter and the area have a limited appeal to mostly people around here. I think you might have done it that way on purpose, right?"

Yes," he nodded, "I wanted to document some of the area's quirky history, and doing it that way seemed the best way to get a few sales as well as maybe educate some folks around here that the area does have a rich history, if only they'd take the time to look. Also, I didn't want that history to grow moldier and even more forgotten. You're right, though, sales from that book have mostly been through strictly local vendors, touristy places around here and such."

Helen leaned forward, "Let me tell you what I have in mind, Stan. I was thinking that if you and I worked together on something of a historical romance - the tragedy of this island, set to the way these tales sell as fantasy romances, such as I write, I think we could both pull off one hell of a hit. There is another benefit to you in this. I'm not huge by any means, but I am already fairly widely published, and I can't see how a working association with me could do anything but help your reputation as a writer as well as obviously bring you to the attention of my publisher. I was thinking of an even split on the royalties."

The realtor was grinning, "I'm all ears, Helen. What have you got?"

She stood up, "For that, I can see that we'll need refills on our coffee."

As they went through what he'd brought, Ion finished up and walked up to the house. Stan watched idly as Ion turned on the hose and took off his shirt. He was a bit sideways to Stan's point of view, but Stan marveled at the man's physique. "He's washing under the hose, Helen. That water is pumped right out of the lake, and he doesn't look like he minds the coldness a bit. I'd already be blue trying to get done as fast as I could. Better yet, I'd be using the shower. I wouldn't be using the hose at all."

She smiled, "He doesn't mind it. He's used to hard work. That's the way that he likes it. He doesn't care what kind of work a man does, as long as it's honest, and that there's a component of real physical work at least some of the time. He says that without that a man slowly stops being a man. Like he'd respect you for how you like to tromp around and gather history in addition to your real occupation. That's just his way. If he ran Microsoft, he'd still be wanting to do hard work sometime." She chuckled, "A hot shower to him is something to scrub out any stubborn dirt with soap and then relax under."

"Anyway," Helen said, to pull Stan's attention away from Ion for the moment, "Your research here is after the fact - after the murder was committed and the investigation had long gone cold. What if I could offer you the view before the fact, the things and scenes that led up to it? What if I could give you cause to doubt the foregone conclusion of the investigators?"

Stan smiled, "Where does the fantasy in this begin, or has it already begun, Helen?"

Helen shrugged, "Do you know the identity of the victim other than a name you found in the letters? By the way, there are a lot more letters than what you knew about, and I have translated transcripts. I have both sides of the conversation. The investigators were such idiots that all they had was a well-burned female body with some anomalies which they couldn't explain. No proper autopsy was ever done. They didn't even know who she was."

Helen continued, "They didn't bother to try hard to find out. Remember that this was a very different place then and they had their own prejudices. To them, it was just one dumb immigrant killing somebody that they figured had to be another immigrant, since there was nobody missing from around here at the time. They were only in it for something to break up the boredom and hey, they got to investigate a real murder for once."

Stan was a little doubtful, "And I suppose that you do know her identity?"

Helen smiled, "As you already knew, her name was Danaya Sorescu. At the time of her death, she was twenty-five years and six days old, and was a recent immigrant here from Romania - specifically, the part of Romania once known as Transylvania. I have the name of the place where she was born. It's in the middle of the Carpathian Mountains, but neither of us could pronounce it, trust me. There were no photographs taken here from before her death, and the ones after don't tell you that she was petite and a very light blonde with light blue eyes. There is only one small black and white photograph of her taken for her passport. It obviously doesn't show her eye color, but I know that too. I have her passport and immigration papers. I even know that her people were from the German-speaking minority in that part of the world where her husband was not. They could converse in Romanian between them, and it was the only language that he knew before he picked up English when he was here alone before she came three years after him."

Stan's jaw fell open, "How did you find that out?"

"I'll tell you in a few minutes," Helen smiled, "but I've got more to show you," she said as she reached for her point and shoot camera. Turning it on, she began to step through the photos on the memory card as she continued, "You know how you're always asking me if I've seen anything odd or unusual? Ah, here he is."

She turned the screen of the camera to face the older man, "I think this guy is an old almost-acquaintance of yours."

He put on his glasses, and then almost fell over as he stared at the image there.

"That's him," he blurted, "That's what I thought I saw from the boat the day that I was sure that I was being chased." He looked at the datestamp there on the little screen. "This - this was taken yesterday! How did you get this?"

Helen laughed softly, "I asked him to hold still while I took it," she took the camera back and deleted the image. "Don't worry about this shot. I can always get more, and I only took it so that you'd see that what you were always wondering about was really here. And don't worry, I'm not in any danger here, and neither are you. I met him on the third day. He actually ran off a bear that was getting too close to me for his liking. Of course he didn't look like that at the time."

Beamish was so completely amazed that he hadn't heard the door close. He looked at Helen's boyfriend as he walked over with a thin smile.

"I'm sorry sir," Stan said, a little taken aback by the eyes that regarded him, He stood up a little awkwardly, "I'm - "

He felt his hand being grasped in a warm, friendly handshake, "Please forgive my interrupting you this way. You are Stan Beamish. Elena has told me about you. You and I have almost met many times, but this is the first time that I have the pleasure of really meeting you."

He held on to Stan's hand for just a split-second longer, "I am Ion Sorescu. Danaya was my wife. I am the one who killed her, and now I would like very much to tell you of this if you have the time to hear it."

Stan Beamish shook his head in a friendly doubtful way, "But you can't be the murderer."

"I can understand your ..." Ion looked at Helen.

"Doubts, Ion"

"Thank you," he smiled self-consciously, "I am here over seventy years, but I still fight with English every day. I can understand your doubts, Stan. Let me explain this, please. Did you know that I wrote a letter that day?"

Beamish nodded, "The alleged murderer wrote a confession, saying something about the woman being a werewolf, and that he had been bitten himself and had to kill her. I have a copy of that letter that I got from the archives, but..."

"You found my gun many years ago. You used one shot on a tree outside. I was there that day, and I almost caught you as you ran to the dock. I could have caught you easily, but I did not want to hurt you. I only wanted the gun - to kill myself."

He smiled, and shrugged, "I was very angry with you for this, because it was the only way for me to do it."

Stan was shaking his head, "This is ridiculous. That was almost forty years ago. How can you look like that if you were there?"

Ion turned to Helen, "I told you that he would never believe me." He excused himself and turned away to make himself a cup of coffee.

Helen tried a different angle, "Stan, you've been telling me from day one to keep an eye open for anything unusual. Yes or no?"

"Yes," he nodded, feeling foolish now for having done it.

"And you tried the gun on the tree. Why would anyone use silver slugs? What would you hunt with silver slugs?"

"Come on," Beamish said in a slightly derisive tone, "The slugs were hand-loaded by a sadly deranged individual many years ago who disappeared without a trace. Now you want me to believe that this man is him?"

"Answer my question, Stan. What could silver slugs be deadly against that any other projectile would not be?"

He shook his head, "Next you'll tell me that this guy can be repulsed by garlic too."

Ion laughed, "Sorry, but I am from Romania. You cannot be Romanian or even Eastern European and hate garlic, we cook so many things with it. And it is not true that I disappeared. I never left this island."

"Ok," Helen said, "let's go with the old wives' tales then. What is a silver bullet used to hunt for?"

He drew a deep breath, almost out of patience now, and trying to think of a way to get away from these wing nuts, "Legend has it that you can kill a werewolf with a silver stake through the heart. I suppose that if you had silver bullets, you might kill one - if there were such a thing - with a shot through the heart."

Helen pulled out the dimes, "Hold these in your hand for a second Stan. Come on, just humor me."

He did as he was told, "So?"

She waved Ion over, "Hold out your hand, Ion." To Stan, she said, "Please don't take your eyes off his palm when he opens it. Now please place the coins side by side on Ion's palm."

"Oh for Pete's sake, Helen. All right, I'll do it, and then I'm leaving. I've had enough of this."

He laid the coins on the outstretched palm. One of them laid there quietly, and the other caused Ion to grimace and the skin that was in contact with the coin to begin to smoke and hiss.

Ion reached out with his free hand and grabbed Stan's wrist, "Tell me if the coin feels hot."

Before Beamish could object, the dimes were in his own hand. They felt like they'd both just been held in someone's hand, neither of them was hot. He looked over at the blackened circular outline where the one coin had been.

"Keep watching that spot, Stan." Helen said.

Before his eyes, the obviously burned skin healed in seconds. He looked up, "I don't get it. What did I just see there?"

She pointed to the coins, "Check the dates. One of them is silver. Before you try to explain it away as an allergy..."

He was flummoxed, "I don't... wait a minute, if you're the murderer, how could you have made the slugs?'

There was no humor in Ion's sad smile, "I make them before I was bitten. I could not make them now. I am not trying to fool you somehow. I came here to build a farm. Danaya waited for me to have enough money so that she could come here. But before she came to me, she was bitten and became werewolf. She killed my cows and my horse. I made slugs for shotgun. I cut shotgun short so I could keep it near me. I had to stop her before the water froze. If she could get to the town, many would die. Danaya bit me, and I shot her."

He lifted the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, indicating the scar on his chest, "I cannot be hurt by anything but silver. Please do not move from there, only watch please."

He hurried to the sink only twelve feet away and repeated what he'd shown to Helen using the knife on his forearm. Beamish stared as the deep cut healed and was about to shake his head, but Ion held up his hand, "If you still do not believe me, I can show you more."

Beamish sat still, not knowing what to think.

"Wait," Ion said, "you must understand this before I begin. I do not want to harm anybody. Not you, not Elena, nobody. And I never wanted this," he indicated the ragged scar.

He quickly pulled off his workpants and before Stan Beamish could react, he began to shift. He stood up as what Stan had thought he'd seen long ago, and then shifted further to stand on all fours - the largest wolf that could plainly never exist.

Beamish had turned white, and looked at Helen.

"Well, you weren't getting it, were you? If you haven't crapped yourself yet, Stan, just watch his eyes as he changes back. You'll see that you're looking at the same individual the whole time."

Stan looked at the wolf again, and just as she'd said, those eyes remained constant though everything else changed around them - lashes, eye sockets, skull, teeth, fur, everything. Finally, Ion pulled his pants back on with some shy embarrassment, "I am very sorry to show you like this, but you didn't believe me, and the pants are new."

He looked at the realtor, "Please, I would like now to sit down at the table and tell you what happened, but I think that you still do not want to hear."

"You're wrong, um, what is your name?"

"Call him John if it makes it any easier," Helen said, "That's what the name means here."

Stan looked at Helen questioningly, "Has he bitten you or anything?"

Helen shook her head, "No, and I'm not about to lift up my shirt to show you, either. I'm pretty sure that he wouldn't even if I wanted him to, seeing as how that started all of this in the first place to his eyes."

"John," Beamish began, "I still can't get over what I've just seen and I doubt anybody would. You can sit down, but please, just move slowly. I've got a heart condition. Before you begin, I would like to know if, ..." he opened his shirt and pulled out a small crucifix on a chain, "does this bother you here?"

Ion looked down and shook his head with a sad smile, "The only thing that bothers me a little is the lie of it. What it stands for, ... I no longer believe. As a boy I was raised and taught to believe, and I never did anything bad to anyone. How can such a thing happen to Danaya and me? Why was it allowed to happen? Danaya always wore cross and she was bitten. I had a cross a little bigger around my neck too that day and still she bit me. We were only two poor people. Even after she was bitten, Danaya was good person, but she became crazy because I did not want to let her bite me. I was crazy too for a little while after that, but I became myself again."

He looked at Beamish, "I do not want to hurt anyone unless they try to kill me - because it does not kill me, but it hurts for a while. I know what you will ask, and you can ask me anything. I do not want to bite Elena or anyone. I wanted only to kill myself for many years, but you took the gun and the slugs and so I could not. I could not even hurt you to get the gun. I have been in my prison here alone longer than Elena says that murderers must stay in prison. Now Elena loves me, and I don't want to kill myself anymore." He looked up, "Elena gives me hope for myself. Even before I meet her, I wanted to protect her. I would do anything for her."

He looked at Helen with a soft smile, "Even tell my life to you if you want to know what happened on this island."

Stan Beamish looked into the yellow eyes in front of him. He thought about it and concluded that he couldn't possibly have been misled in everything that had been presented to him here. He also sensed that this strange man was being honest with him.

"John," he said, "forgive me if this does not come across well to you, but what are you now? I've seen that you can change your shape, but which of them is you?"

Ion shrugged, "Truly, I do not know. What I knew of the stories that I had heard, ... I could not believe what Danaya told me was right, that we could go on together if she bit me. That everything would be alright. I could not accept this at all. I thought she must be some terrible creature, but really she was a powerful creature who was losing her mind. Afterward, after I knew that I was still myself somehow, I knew that she was right, but, ... for her, this caused madness. She wanted to hunt people. For me, it was not like this. After the crazy beginning, I hid myself and hunted mice and anything that I could catch."

He looked at Stan, "I think that you want to decide if I am evil, no?" He leaned forward slowly, "Am I evil because of what I am, or am I evil for what I do? None of us can change what we are, not you, or Elena, and not me. I can only change how I look. But we can change what we do. I want to harm nobody. Does that make me evil or good? I cannot answer this. I only try to live my life the way that I know is the right way - to hurt no one. This has not changed from before. I think that I am guilty of killing Danaya, but I still know that it was the right thing. I loved her, but I could not let her hunt. That would be evil, I think, to allow that. I sometimes think that I have suffered because I killed her, but I do not know that it is so."

TaLtos6
TaLtos6
1,931 Followers