Nature or Nurture Ch. 62-64

Vincent now looks at the others, each in his turn, then asks, 'Have you ever felt as if you were carefully herded towards something?'

The others shake their heads, they are all excellent examples of people who have spent their whole lives avoiding destiny and working towards being who they wanted to be, even little Catherine.

'Last night in the carriage I dreamt of being set up by the Master to meet Dorian Grey, I suppose to be seduced by him, and of Dorian Grey refusing to comply to the Master's wishes and even lying to him about it.

Oh, and Father Nicholas had a role in my dream, too, warning me of Mr Grey. It was all as real as my flashbacks ever were.'

It sounds as if there is more to come, and there is.

'It is as if my subconscious wants to tell me Dorian really couldn't help what he did to me, it was all the Master's evil and he is the one who should be punished. And to trust Father Nicholas besides. But that is not all, you know I remembered having been seduced by Mr Grey when I was still Heathcliff, and tonight I didn't just remember how, I relived it in great detail. Too much detail, frankly, in the end I couldn't face what I remembered was going to happen. Heathcliff didn't try to forget that evening for nothing.

It started at the Master's place, I was there on his bidding, drinking his dark red wine and talking to him, mostly bemoaning my existence without Cathy. Little did I know that by then he already had perfected his plans to relieve me of my life, taking my body for himself and sending my personality into oblivion.

I didn't believe in Heaven even then, so maybe he felt he would be doing me a favour, ending my miserable existence. I felt my predecessor's desperation, it's hard to shake that loose, those flash-backs are so incredibly real.

Anyway, I sat there, drinking wine and complaining, feeling a bit light-headed already, and very thankful to the Master for allowing me to relieve my feelings a little, when the man from the trek through town with magic stuff came in. Remember, I had seen him just once, and that was months ago. But I remembered him, and I saw recognition in his eyes as well, as well as displeased surprise, which hurt me a little. How could he be displeased to meet me, I never did anything to deserve that, did I?

The Master noticed his look and observed, 'I thought Heathcliff and yourself had spent some good times together, Dorian? You look as if you are not pleased to see him.'

This admonishment caused the newcomer to welcome me with obvious pleasure, and he embraced me quickly.

'Remember me, Heathcliff, Dorian Grey? We crossed town together through the shadows, I felt so secure with you by my side!'

At his touch, a flash of desire came over me, and that little hug was not nearly enough. The feeling of bemusement was the same as recently, strange thing is, as Heathcliff I now also had a detached part observing what happened: the future me.

But I didn't comment as the creature did in my case, I kept quiet and watched, and at the same time I felt everything happen as if it was me, and I have the memory, but it's weird, for in fact it wasn't me, but him.

Still, when Dorian took a chair and a glass of wine the feeling of bemusement lessened, but I really wanted to be noticed by him, and seriously drew my chair closer and started to talk to him with interest. He listened and replied politely, and all this time the Master must have been very pleased to have his aim a step closer.

At a sign of the Master, Dorian invited me to come with him, and of course I did. Still he didn't touch me, and he didn't call for a cab but traced back the entire way we came a few months earlier. Of course I noticed this, but Heathcliff didn't, and we didn't meet Father Nicholas to stop him either. It was a long walk but at last we came to a beautiful house, where I got a tour and we drank absinthe together.

We talked a lot, and all this time I felt impatient and eager to get on with it, though of course I also realized what was happening.

It was a very weird situation, for in the past I had changed things in Heathcliff's life but this time I didn't dare to, what if I messed up everything and lost all of you? I wasn't eager to experience being raped by Dorian Grey either, though, and of what use would it be to watch what happened further? I knew it did, didn't I, I was there when it nearly happened again.

But I didn't know how to leave the flash-back either, and by now Dorian took me to his bedroom, much the same except with a little more colour in the fabrics. He did take a little more time to woo me, we undressed each other, and kissed, and touched a lot. I had never been with a man before, but at the same time was starting to get very curious how he would proceed, and compared him to how he was on Miss Angelique's party.

Then he got up and fetched an appliance, which both Heathcliff and myself knew was a camera to make photographs with. Mr Grey demonstrated it to me, and we took photographs of each other. It was hardly noticeable that he did it very thoroughly, every pose he photographed of me, he took himself and let me photograph.

When he had taken away the camera once more he became serious in his attentions, and though Heathcliff was totally bemused and helpless, I wasn't. I was not going to live through now, what I had narrowly escaped before, the photographs were taken, what use could letting Heathcliff be humiliated have for both our futures?

I must admit I lost my temper and may have roughed Mr Grey up more than a little, as the creature did for me, though of course with a lot less physical strength at my disposal. But despite not being supernaturally strong, Heathcliff was a street-hardened mean fighter, and Mr Grey did take some damage. He did not even try to resist, he took his punishment with as much shock and surprise as he took it from me.

After the scuffle he went through the same phase he did with Lukas and me, of realizing what had happened. As we talked of what the Master had done to him, I saw the bruises in his face fade, and his right arm straightened itself whereas he had clearly broken it trying to defend himself from one of Heathcliff's powerful blows.

On some kind of impulse he led me through a few halls, then through a hidden door, down a stairs to a little room where a painting hung on the wall, covered with a beautiful cloth of purple satin, heavily embroidered with gold.

He removed the cloth, and it was a painting of him, guys, and it was old and decrepit, and it sported a bruised face and a broken arm. It had taken the punishment for him, had done that for centuries. How can that be?

'This may cost me my life, Heathcliff,' he said, 'but I want you to see my biggest secret. I don't know what happened to make you accept my intimacies against your will, but I suppose it has something to do with this. The painting takes my advancing years, and all the hurts my body suffers.

The Master promised me everlasting youth, and he delivered, through this painting.

I stood for it for weeks, a very talented young artist painted it. I never saw him again after he was finished, but I didn't care since my taste didn't include men at that time, just ladies, preferably lush and a bit older than myself, somehow that improved conversation a lot.

Only after two score years did I finally get so bored I started to get interested in my own gender, and a very powerful change that was. I felt really strong and connected to the world, and from that very moment only the strongest and most beautiful women can interest me anymore.'

With him getting a bit distracted reminiscing about his younger years, I studied the portrait and found it skilfully painted, with a beautiful frame, and the silk cover now lying beside it a stunning work of art in itself.

Then Mr Grey continued.

'When it was done, the Master took me to an ugly house in a middle-class neighbourhood, and into a special room with a pentagram inlaid in the floor. A pretty young lady assisted him, she called herself Hecate, she was lusciously dressed and wore her hair loose.

Beautiful young women could still interest me, and this one was very, very tempting, though not interested in me at all.

The Master and herself performed some mumbo-jumbo ritual inside the pentagram, and it seemed as if there was some real energy generated by their muttering. I couldn't understand a word of it, it sounded foul. Suddenly they stopped, my hair standing on end, and the girl invited me into the circle and put the painting in by herself. It was on an easel then, and uncovered, as it is now.

She drew symbols on me and on the corresponding places of the painting, in my own blood, which she obtained by nicking me with some kind of weird knife, it looked like it was made of actual stone. I can tell you, I lost my fancy for her quickly when she did that, somehow I didn't even manage to protest or resist.

Then the two of them stood outside the pentagram and continued their mutterings, there was some rhythm to it but virtually no melody, it certainly wasn't a chant. I didn't feel a thing, except my hair standing on end stopped after they stopped their incantation, and I didn't have much faith in the procedure.

But the Master proved it worked by coolly taking my hand and breaking my little finger against the stone altar. It hurt like Hell, and it was all crooked, but within moments it righted itself and the pain went away.

We all watched the painting, even I, and lo and behold, it now had the crooked finger. It was incredible. I thanked the Master despite his casual cruelty towards me, and the lady as well. Neither of them accepted those thanks, and as a young man I found that hurtful, but now I understand: she got her payment from him, and he now owned my soul and was going to get his value out of me yet.'

Vincent looks at his wife, his daughter and his friend, and asks, 'Do you think I changed the future once more? I truly remembered him molesting me, and me unable to do anything to stop it from happening. And I never saw that painting before, this was different from my memories.

I suppose it happened more than a year ago, I guess a month or so before I died. That house sounds like Mrs Poole's, and it seems as if the lady, whoever she was, did most of the magic.'

'Well, you're still here,' Victor says dryly, 'so I guess you didn't change things too far.

But you'd better watch it, or you'll be Heathcliff once more, lonely and fey, Adison and I will be married, and Mina will probably be obliterated by yourself, in revenge for trying to kill you. Catherine will become a buxom farmer's daughter, raised by Nelly on cream and lard.'

Despite the seriousness of the moment, Vincent has after all found out how Mr Grey was spelled, they all burst out laughing, and Catherine pulls a disgusted face.

'Cream and lard, that is just gross, Victor. But he is right, daddy, better take no changes with changing the future if you have another flashback. I like living with all of you, I have a feeling you're not just a better person now, but much happier as well.'

'So do you think we should confront Mr Grey with this? And the Master? Apparently he has little magic himself, and those witches are all accounted for, so why bother?'

'Maybe you are free, Vincent,' Adison remarks, 'but I think Mr Grey isn't, and he must be aching to be released from his servitude after all this time.'

Trust Adison to point out what is right, even though free probably means dead in Mr Grey's case. But somehow it seems to Vincent he is always the one who does the bleeding. Immediately ashamed of himself, Vincent remembers Adison with concussion, Adison out cold, not once, but at least three times, with overspending magic.

And they were right about Mrs Poole.

'All right, I give in. I will talk to Mr Grey, and if he wants to we'll pay the Master a visit. Mina will want to come, but I don't want to risk our friends, Father Nicholas said his council has its eyes on the Master. I'll ask Lord Douglas, he was eager to do some real fighting. You can be our magic user, Adison, and Victor and Mina can handle the steel swords and the fire power. Catherine, I suggest you go on a sleepover with Bertha.'

'I'll be worried the whole night. Can't you at least take someone to let me know how things work out?'

'It'll have to be after the show, so by the time we're done it'll be morning. I frankly don't know, Catherine, maybe you will have to bear the suspense for one night, I cannot see a solution just like that. Let's first wait for Father Nicholas' visit anyway, maybe we will not have to do this ourselves, maybe he'll send in his witch-hunters.'

And so they wait, and visit Lucy for her lesson. She practises very constantly and as her control over her body is growing, it seems as if she is gaining self-confidence. Today she says, 'I'm ready to get hands-on with you, Vincent, I trust you and I think I dare start offensive martial arts.'

So Vincent first shows her some moves on Bertha, who likes to participate because she generally does everything with Lucy, and after that he teaches Lucy how to use an opponent's physical strength against him.

Though visibly conquering some fear, Lucy performs admirably and soon has Vincent flying about. 'Practise this on each other, and on Jonathan, Lukas, George, anyone willing to take a few falls for you, and next time we'll embellish on these exercises.'

After practise they have lunch with the family, and then Bertha insists on showing Vincent the estate from her new little sleigh. Lucy is taking her own horse, a relatively new addition to the stables, a rather large, sleek mare and very skittish.

'She's a thoroughbred,' Lucy explains proudly, 'they're the fastest horses on the planet, but very nervous. Suzy was bred for racing, but no-one understood her character and she became so nervous she couldn't stand the crowds. She was going to be slaughtered for being dangerous to people, George got her cheaply. He thought I might like to try, and I do, I'm not afraid of her, I know what her problem is.

I've been working with her for months, and she trusts me now, so I've started to ride her a week or so ago. If I fall off I land in the snow, this is the perfect time of the year to start riding a skittish horse.'

'As if you'd ever fall off,' Bertha comments scathingly, in the way teenage girls talk to each other.

Vincent is not looking forward to being exposed to Bertha's driving, but he is looking forward to seeing Lucy ride a horse too dangerous for other people to even approach. He is amazed that George dares let her, though if there is one thing this family can do, it is helping their children develop their talents. But still..

Sitting on a bench in the back of the sleigh with an excited Catherine in his arms, Vincent has just his long legs and one arm to clutch himself to the side, with his other arm he holds on to his tiny daughter. And Bertha is off, starting out at a walk, Lucy following on her huge horse. Poor Percy cannot come along, there are strangers on the estate, working on the greenhouse, and there is no way even Sir George Nomes can explain owning a dog with two heads.

After five minutes of walking, Bertha gives her ponies a little more rein, and they change to a fast trot. Still, Vincent is not getting nauseous, maybe Bertha will spare him. It is actually quite enjoyable to see this beautiful estate with its rolling hills covered in deep snow fly by, there are some magnificent solitary trees and some beautiful views back towards the house. Their distance to the house is growing fast, and Lucy and Suzy are enjoying themselves hugely, the large horse keeping up easily with the little sleigh of course.

Seeing Catherine relishing the speed, Vincent imagines she must often feel frustrated by her tiny body. She probably feels like a teenager, wanting to do all the things her friends do, but unable to do so because of her delicate little frame, needing an adult to hold on to her just for a rough ride in a carriage or a sleigh. And it may take as much as ten years before she will be able to ride her own bicycle.

'Does it bother you that you need help with so many things, Catherine?'

His little girl looks up at her father, and replies, 'Sometimes it does, I want to try riding a horse, but I cannot, and I cannot run as fast as Bertha and Lucy, nor climb the haystack by myself. But then I remind myself I'm just two, and I look at other children of that age and feel glad to no longer need diapers or help eating or dressing.

And I'm pleased I have such nice parents I can talk to, and who make me feel safe, and let me read whatever I want. Suppose I still lived with Nelly? Or was indeed an ordinary toddler, barely able to speak, let alone read and visit your shows. I'd miss all that.

And I'm sure Lukas wouldn't hold me if I were a teenager, nor allow me to kiss him. So you see, there are good points as well.'

Just then, Bertha speeds up some more, but still Vincent doesn't get nauseous, he actually appreciates this a lot. It's very exciting, and it is clear that Bertha is in total control of the little horses, they cross a long flat stretch of grassland at top speed, snow flying from the little hoofs, then slow down once more. Lucy is having more trouble with her big horse now, apparently running is something she likes to do a lot and she does not want to stop doing so.

Stretched flat, mane and tail flying, Suzy overtakes the slowing ponies and practically flies towards the house.

Vincent is shocked to see the speed this horse can develop, in a thick layer of snow, but Bertha turns around and says with humour and yes, some admiration, 'Don't worry, that is what Suzy was bred for. Lucy can handle Suzy and she sticks to the horse like a burr. Look!'

And indeed, Suzy is now slowing just a fraction, because she is turning a very large circle around their sleigh, losing speed in the large curve, though just a little. Lucy is a still shape on her back, her body doesn't move nor does she make a sound. They complete one very large circle still at breakneck speed, then a slightly smaller one again a bit slower, and so on and so forth for five or six circles until Suzy is walking beside the sleigh once more, sides heaving and sweating profusely despite the cold, and Lucy comments dryly, 'She does seem to need to stretch her legs once a day, so I just let her. Fast, isn't she?'

Vincent likes to ride as much as anyone, and Lord Douglas' hunters are fast and very spirited, but this would be a little too much of a good thing for him. He asks, 'Aren't you afraid going that fast in the snow? What if she slips?'

'She's not shod,' Lucy replies dryly, 'and the snow is very loose, somehow it only seems to get slippery once it's packed tight. If I had felt her slipping I wouldn't have let her run off like that. I wish you could ride her and feel her speed.'

'And I wish we could ride together sometimes, Lucy,' Vincent replies, 'though not as fast as that. Do you suppose George would lend me one of his horses? I usually ride with a friend, but I don't think you'd like him, he's young and very handsome. And I have no clue whether George would allow us to ride on his grounds.'

Although, maybe George already knows Lord Douglas, it cannot hurt to ask, this would be a great place to ride, so much space, and so few people about.

'I'll ask George, or rather Marcus, for George only has carriage horses. Marcus has a hunter. I'd love to ride with you Vincent. I'll also ask George about letting your friend and you ride here, I suppose he will not mind. He likes handsome young men.'

By now the horses have stopped breathing heavily, and they are approaching the house. Once at the stables, Bertha is helped by a stable-hand to put away the carriage and rub down the little ponies. But Lucy does everything herself, and last of all covers Suzy with a blanket and puts her in a paddock instead of a stable.