Van Cross

Van Cross
Behind the prestige. Behind the glory. Behind the power. Is a Van Cross.
It's in my bloodline's hideous past and tormenting future.
–
At last, when all the summer shine
That warmed life's early hours is past,
Your loving fingers seek for mine
And hold them close—at last—at last!

- Elizabeth Akers Allen
-

Chapter 1
The Van Cross
It is a privilege to become a Van Cross. Being one, by just simply having the name, means affluence, power, beauty, pride, and influence; though the multitude sees us this way, we are plague by a contagious, uncontrollable, permeating sickness we just dream to put an end.

I bear the name Nikolaus Van Cross, the last heir of our family – a carrier of the pure and untarnished bloodline of our family. I have never given the chance to be with my parents for a long time. My father, Eleazar Heines Van Cross, died when I was just 4; but I never saw him – I was not given the luxury of even a single chance to flush a memory of his cold corpse. I can still remember how I was locked inside a hotel room in Vienna just to keep me from going to that little chapel in Manhattan. The more with Sierra Le Anne, my mother. My paternal grandfather, Heinrich Van Cross always says Sierra went away with a business tycoon named Ivan Demesina and left my father.

But two months before Eleazar reposed to his death, he came to meet me. I never knew the man when our paths collide into our first encounter as father and son. I was craving for my parents – a lot! I thought he had come to reprise his role as a father to me – but instead, he was just a stern man. He had given me something – an old wine box made from cedar wood emblazoned with intricate designs of carved random images. His hand was shaking when he hand it to me as if he wanted to take it back and run away far from me. He hand the box to me and turn his back. He said, “Keep it safe, and keep it with you.” I was hoping then that I can have a father; but I am wrong. He came as a Van Cross not as my father.

Those years are gone, seventeen years covered everything. I am twenty-one, an age, as what my grandfather always says, “The Age of the Van Cross.”

–
Chapter 2
Heinrich and Simonne

Today marks the seventeenth death anniversary of my father. The moon was gallantly ascending over the clear night when Simonne, my grandmother told me to prepare my self for the ball to commemorate my father's death anniversary this year. It was so ridiculous! Simonne always have head-bleeding ideas when it comes to family events; and with this, it seems it's not about her son's death at all! Other people think she must be suffering from a severe case of dementia – but she's not. She is a Van Cross and a Van Cross' world does not pause even to wipe any tear! However, what can I do – though wrinkle coveted her face, she is Sionne Dorotea Van Cross – an icon of prestige, wealth, and power. No one shakes her. So I put on my khaki pants and a black coat to pair with my gray shirt. I only consume two minutes of her precious time. She seems too grimly optimistic tonight. Her usual bun-tied blond hair is laid flowing majestically tonight, as if she can't feel her age. Her blue eyes were like screaming in valor. She was wearing a blue dress draping her olden physique, though, tonight Simonne re-ascends the Van Cross celestial beauty, and she appeared not of her age.

“I don't think you are properly aware that you should look as a Van Cross tonight, grandchild,” her voice demanding.

“I assume it's not so fitting to look so loud in this day of Eleazar's death, Simonne,” I spat the words clearly to answer her.

“With your words, I can perfectly say, Sierra Le Anne's blood is running through your veins.” she twisted her mouth.
She had always been like that. The more I insist on what I want to do, the more she contests and puts you down deliberately. I shrugged my shoulders as she swung her back around me. The family had bowed to her whims, as much as we do, not even Heinrich can compete with her decisions. She turn around with a mockery smile hoping I will feel a little discomfort by the way she does her way of humiliation.
“'You use your Lamborghini then,” she added, bluntly dropping the conversation.

I am always compelled to follow Heinrich and Simonne's words; after all, they are the only remaining immediate family that I have.

As I get in to my silver Lamborghini, my eyes hit Heinrich as he was opening the car's door for Simonne. “What a hell of a couple,” I murmured. Heinrich is a prudent, strict old man in his seventies with brown eyes and sleek silver hair. Though he is in his retiring age, he possesses the dashing charm of a Van Cross machismo.

I let their convoy pass the wide gates first – a way of honoring the valor of elders in the Van Cross family. I pull the party invitation slid in my pocket to know the venue of the ball since I am not able to look at the invitation when James, the manor butler, gave it to me two days ago.

“71 Westhill-McHailley Piazzo, San Pablo Basilica” I read the script written on the velvet linen invitation.

“The ball for Eleazar's death anniversary is set foot in a basilica? I can't even think of anyone in the world who deliberately holds a ball in a basilica!”

This is how influential the Van Cross name is. James, the butler, once told me that there are exactly fifty Van Cross alive as of the moment, a number maintained by the elders of our clan throughout every year; but only a few has the de facto of having the affluence, beauty, influence, grace, and power of a true Van Cross – the Van Cross familia central, to where Heinrich, Simonne, and I belong. Among the three of us, no one stands equal. I can still recall how Rebekah, Heinrich's niece, despised the familia central during the Heinrich's 67th birthday. She dislikes the familia central. She was saying about plagues, treachery, and death that day; I thought I can get more of her hysterically misspelled presence following that incident, but after that hateful event, Rebekah was said to take an exile to a place no one knows – even her family. They say Rebekah accepted her action's consequences and has chosen to exile herself without any pronouncement coming from the elders.
--

Chapter 3
Gabrielle
As I pave through 23rd Longhaven Street, a shortcut to my destination, heavy rain started to fall like billions of needles mourning in this prestigious Van Cross' ball tonight. In an instant, umbrellas flooded the sidewalks as the billionaires’ cars swerving and roaring on the street.

As the traffic light signals the rushing cars to stop, as I turn my eyes to my left window. From my distance, I catch a glimpse of a familiar face that I thought I will not be able to see again after all this years. She is standing right outside a convenient store looking graciously up the sky as if praying hallelujah for the heavy rain to stop. She is as beautiful and youthful just like when I first met her. She has this jet black with elegant curls at the tips; she still owns that ever-lovely hazel eyes paired with her naturally long lashes accentuating the beauty of her glamorous face. She was wears a baggy pants, an ivory white shirt, and a worn out shoes.

“Gabrielle!” I shouted at her after pulling down the window of my car.

She can't hear my call even from this distant considering the roaring of the engines of every cars and the sound of the heavy down pour of rain. I can't let this moment escape! I just can't! For a reason comprehensible by my own vial of reason, something is forcing me to be near to hear.

I maneuver the wheels and tremendously heave to an empty car space to park my Lamborghini. I pull the key out of the car, open the door, and exquisitely close my car's door – just like how a Van Cross does.

“Gabrielle!” I call her name as I get my feet never minding the dampness of the rain just to reach where she is standing.

Her eyes wander, searching for the person calling her name. As her eyes meet mine, her face turns puzzled to who this person is calling out her name in this rainy night. She squints trying to focus, reconciling every human faces she has seen in her life. After sumptuously recognizing who I am, she let her face lighten by her lavish dimples in her cheeks. I am standing a few feet right next to her now – something I am not comfortable doing before.

“Nikolaus? Nikolaus Van Cross?” she calls out my name.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her with a slight grin just to hide any unnecessary smile wanting to burst out within me.

“You, what are you doing here?” she returns the question.

I am momentarily astounded by her beauty that brightens this rainy night. My eyes looking straight to her hazel eyes as if I am taking the moment staring at perfection right through her.

“Hey, are you alright?” her words wake me up from my untamed amusing.

“Oh, sorry. I mean, where are we again?” I just let the words out.

“I am asking why you are here. You shouldn't be here. You know, bad guys lurking everywhere in this area,” she explains her question.

“I am taking a shortcut to San Pablo Basilica over at Piazzo. So, how about you?” I quickly pick up my lines to catch up.

“I am waiting for a cab for almost an hour but every cab is full,” her voice unarguably in harmony with the dripping rain.

This is my chance. Though it is unlikely for a Van Cross to offer a ride unto someone outside the family, I do not feel it is righteous to leave Gabrielle and proceed to my destination.

“If you don't mind, I can propose for a ride for you. I have a car.”

The worries emanating on her face dissipated. “Sure,” she answered.

Gabrielle is sitting right next to me in my car. I can't believe I'm just inches away from her now. Way back in college, Gabrielle was the aloof beauty, the “Ice Queen on Exile” as people call her. Before, she wears this thick glasses, angry-looking braces, and she has lack the grace of fashion in her. Her best friend then was her thick books or sometimes her big purse. Nobody look at her as a beautiful bud just waiting to bloom – just me.

But looking at her now, I say, things really do change.

“So, do you have any job at the moment?” she asked.

“Job-“I am trying to reconcile the ordinary people's idea on job to that of the Van Cross.

“Yes job, so what keep you busy these days?” she asked me again.

I really have no idea how to tell her in the common understanding that the Van Cross properties runs almost one-third of the world. The Van Cross owns a part of the Pacific Ocean or already reaches our affluence to the lunar soil. Having the name Van Cross means life-time security though camouflaged as mere influence. The Van Cross family supplies the most research facility for advancing the combat technology for wars including the development of several neo-type atomic bombs across three continents. How will I make all these things simple yet comprehensive? For if I divulge these family secrets, a commotion will then take control throughout major areas of lives?

“As of the moment, I take responsibility of the Van Cross Gateways,” I answer her with the first idea to pop out from my head.

“I never heard of that before. Is it a magazine or something print-related?” she grappled the idea.

“Yes, it’s an exclusive business magazine. We, sort of, publish the latest market status of any company needing the facts and everything, from alpha to omega, apples to zebra. We have the ‘it’ when it comes to matters like such,” I answer her, though even I could not understand what I mean.

–

Chapter 4
Gareth Lennox

My hand was gripping the wheel as my intolerable eyes were in attempt to stare at Gabrielle at any stolen moment. It's too hard to act casual whenever I'm beside with a full bloom beauty.

“You are married right?” she asked.

I didn't expect to hear such question but her innocent lips said the words without any intention to wrong me. She's Gabrielle – innocent, alive, beautiful.

“What do you think?” I answered her query, trying to play with the conversation.

“I asked first, remember?” she hastily threw her words back to me.

As I was about to give her a hint, her phone beeped. It's an unexpected twist halting our sowing conversation. I didn't bother to ask her who was calling her though I felt a little annoyed at whoever that caller was. I never thought my annoyance became so evident in my physiognomy for her to clear out my mind that the caller was, as if she can read what I am thinking.

“It's Gareth,” she said.

I don't know who the person was or at least, at the moment. Upon knowing that it is a guy calling her, I felt a sudden uneasiness running deep down inside me like cold, sharp blade lacerating a hollow portion in my core. I was in no position to feel emotive but I could not help it! To think of her beside me but with attention divulged to another man, the feeling is so rusting.

“If you don't mind me asking, may you tell me who Gareth is?” I tried to sound casually friendly as what Simone's Van Cross lesson 101 has taught me.

“Don't tell me you don't remember Gareth,” she answered, her voice jumping with a mocking jolt.

“Sorry, I completely have no idea of who is that Gareth you're talking to me. You don't mind giving me some hints, do you?” I said, forcing my voice to sound placid and casual.

“You still remember that boy in Humanities and Culture subject way back in college? He was an exchange student from Europe! Remember him?” she said, flaring with giggly undertones.

My memory failed to travel back to that Universidad where I graduated. All I can remember was the bellisima of her untarnished beauty, which I became so fond to recall patiently. This is attraction inviting inattention.

“Come on, you can't forget someone like Gareth Lennox!” she whined, making exuberant effort not to burst her giggling to mark a flaw to where she is seated.

Was he that important for me to remember? I wanted to ask her the annoying question just to tell her how the topic eroded my feelings. Somehow, the Van Cross in me wanted to shout and exclaim, “I am a Van Cross!” Am I in the position to feel such uneasiness around her with this conversation? The exaggerating conversation reaches the climax. I do not want her to feel bad or provoke her to get out from the car walking in the cold rain but I think it will be quite a relief to ask her the pill that can get me out from this foamy jungle of uneasiness, somehow.

“Is he your - “the words seem too stuck in my throat.
“Is he someone special to you?” I finally throw the words but as I spat them out, it was not a relief but the words just bloated the swelling.

“I don't know. We are dating but he is not saying anything. Why am I doing all the talking here, I believe I raise the question first!” she said, trying to build the humor in her fluctuating voice.

I do not know how to tell her something about me. Do I really have to tell her things about me? Then I thought of my being-a-Van Cross lessons if there's anything on how to deal with this situation – unfortunately, there was not!

Van Cross lessons – Simone's Affluence Ball!

I almost forgot the party Simone was throwing for my father's death anniversary! It maybe too much for a death anniversary but it is a family affair as she said. I should be there now. The family has been waiting. Then my eyes lingered on Gabrielle. Gabrielle – pretty and admirable. Will she come with me to the ball? It is an instant thought but it is not that bad.

“I will go to a ball tonight, you know, family party. I wonder if you want to come. Just for experience?” I proposed.

“Family affair?” she asked.

“Yes. I was wondering if you want to come” I spitted back.

“It's not that I don't want to but -” she suddenly stops. Then her eyes moved to the window, looking outside the rain.

“Maybe I can invite you on other parties, perhaps?” I said, breaking the silence.

“I'm sorry, I hope you don't mind but I have to go now” she answered.

I've never encountered anyone who refused a Van Cross offer before. Gabrielle is such a woman of cunning spirit – beautiful and bold. I guess it's now time to let her be. I've taken much of her time, even my time – no, Simone's time. The party must have started without me.

“I'll take you home. It is not a Van Cross to let a woman out of the rain” I said.

“No, I'll take it from here. I'm afraid you're car couldn't make it to the narrow street of Rushmore 23 Avenue,” then she let a thrift smile to escape her face – she is beautiful.

“I don't mind taking you there, you're my responsibility now. You're inside my car and it’s raining out there” I tried to push my offer.

She just set the thrift smile escape again.
Chapter 6
Heinrich and Lassie

The ball gowns and the ties elegantly emblem the night in Westhill-McHailley Piazzo with majestic jubilation. The guest one by one step out from their glorious pricey luxury cars. It was the night when all of the most affluent, regnant personalities and ravishing faces collide. Upon entrance the guest were exulted with the hospitality of poignant ball maids wearing baleful skin tone gowns hugging their breast down to their hips and revealing their tanned backs. The cosmic sensation can be felt outside as the guests walk through the carpeted steps to where the ball maids stand to the fine huge oak doors. The air inside the hall is filled with sweet-smelling nectar and a flooding aroma of ambrosia trumpeting the position of the exclusive party for such guests. The halls were appalled by ivory-white walls embellished with ebony-colored vine from the Amazons giving the party a flossy, classic, and godly-like celebration. The drapes grandly express the impression as the gallant white fabric clothes the windows with an alluring frenzy. On the ceiling hang sublime chandeliers made from sheen opals and finely shaped shale from the Pacific igniting the splendid moment. The guests were served cuisine of English courts and Oriental delicacies. A fountain was set in the middle of the hall with its waters forming entertaining shapes while it blurts waters from the wooing black sculpture of couples in tight embrace amidst the effervescing water.

“I came” a woman in jet black gown spoke earnestly to Heinrich.

“You're in grave danger here loved,” Heinrich voice fussed with sweet concern.

“I endured seeing you being dragged by that beldame for twenty-five years. I can see in you the flaunty happiness. I can't bear seeing you with such woes!” the woman now turned decisive.

“Leave now Lassie. We can't be together. Time has changed us and though I regret such change, it blew me inevitable” Heinrich pleaded.

“There are things that time sheds no power. It breaks me to see you in this misery though you know you have the chance to cast this somber life” the woman gusted.

“Lassie, the life you want for me is a life to give you wretchedness!” answered Heinrich.

“You can't make any choice for me. If I choose to be with you, let me bear the misery it will cast on me, Heinrich. All I want is you to be happy” Lassie’s voice dwindled as a tear fell from her blue eyes.

Heinrich turned his back on the woman before the tear escaped from Lassie’s eyes. It was sudden.

“You don't mind if I ask you to leave the party, do you?” Heinrich's voice turned rude.

Lassie tried to grapple any word she knows but the struggle to win him with her proposal made her cry. Her hands searched for a hankie to wipe her eyes dry.

“Go!” Heinrich shouted.

With nothing for her to response, Lassie walk pass the newly arrived guests with her eyes half-shut while her hands covering the tears falling from her hazel eyes. None of the guests mined her exit. She just went out of the party as tranquil as the soft chromatic wind brushing her blond hair.

“Go on with your life. I love you so much that I am willing to set you free. I want you not to endure this abominable life I have,” Heinrich whispered the velvet words as he watched his beloved woman exited the door.

Chapter 7
The Ashford

“If you are not part of this ancestry, I have been embittered by your moronic disrespect for this occasion!” my cognizance telling me of how aggravated Simonne will be by my unsolicited unpunctuality for her ‘Affluence Ball’ she had perpetually prepared for the death anniversary of Eleazar, she said she does.

I arrived at the gruesome celebration an hour late. I get off from my car and took the invitation Simonne had placed in the coffee table in my room. I tucked it inside my coat and walk casually on the marble stairs as casual as I can. From the stairs outside the Piazzo, I can hear the violins gallantly playing in harmony with the sweet-sounding harps. The sound of the instruments marks a luscious ball happening from the inside of the San Pablo Basilica.

“Why in this Basilica?” I asked myself but every ticking of the clock I spend in asking reminds me of how Simonne wanted me to be here on time! Was it wrong to choose for a detour to accompany Gabrielle home? Maybe – if I am Simonne; for her, a Van Cross' ball is way too important than anything.

The welcoming usherettes smell like afternoon petunias with their ball gowns spawning over their velvety physique. I handed my invitation to the nearest usherette but to my surprise, a man with cocky vector-like face slide his invitation above the receiving hand of the usherette.

“Andreas Ashford, the heir of rival family to the Van Cross,” he introduced himself with such arrogance hovering his piercing eyes. His short blond hair swarming gallantly with the billowing wind. His white tuxedo making a statement of flushing me out before I can enter the Van Cross' ball.

The thing is, I am the Van Cross heir. With or without the invitation, I am the priced presence for this ball.

“For God's sake! How dare you show up in this ball!” it was Simonne's voice gritting with intensified hate. It was his end. This Ashford will have to move to the side to let the heir pass.

The wrathful demand was not for the newly arrived Ashford. The remark was for me. Am I not needed here? It was too embarrassing to be kicked out of your own party in front of a smirking Andreas Ashford.

I felt a sudden uneasiness as I let Simonne's wrathful eyes pierce my consciousness. I wonder how on earth she makes me shiver this way. She is a Van Cross. Pure of breed. Contemptuous yet strong.

“Bellisima!”

Her attention shifted, as the words break free from the lips of a gypsy-looking woman who suddenly appeared from her back. Simonne's eyes flickered with emotive facade of ghastly vexation. Without any fuss, she turned to face the woman still with the grace and posture of a divining Van Cross.

“Elise Ashford, baroness of Reinhold, how kind of you to come her uninvited” Simonne brushed her words though with bitter intonation.

Then her assistant in gray tux gallantly handed her a silver Gucci purse.
“Thank you, Hegel” she thanked her meek assistant.

“See Simonne? Looks like you forgot the divine hierarchy. To where the rich, famous, powerful collides, I must never be left out, I must always standout” Elise spoke deliberately with sarcasm.

It was a gruesome encounter between the esteemed women of the Van Cross family. Though Elise renounced the name to marry Frederich Ashford, whose ancestry can be traced to only being an honorary member of the Van Cross family, she was once the heiress of the family before my father took over her unoccupied position. The genealogy of the Ashford ancestry can be traced in our family history as servants of the family elders during the plague that swept Europe during the 13th century.

“You are certainly not welcome,” Simonne grudgingly spoke the words without any further ruckus.

“Feeling uneasy?” Elise squabbled. “I am a Van Cross even before your fanciful family took over the reign of this family. The alter family buffed the original family away. Shame on you Simonne,” she added.

Simonne was caught straggled by the words. Her glamour froze as the tones of the words blow her pride and equanimity away. It seems like her thoughts twisted and brattled against the credulous charge of Elise.

“Can you still remember how you stun the elders of your ploy to supersede my position?’Rightful heiress renounced the Van Cross ancestry for the sake of the man she loves'. Interesting isn't it? But not so fortunate of you,” Elise words made Simonne's face turn red.

“Emulator. I wonder where the elders will put you and your family if I my lips accidentally whisper to them why your crude grandson is not the fitting heir of the lineage. That can be a perfect pastime for me then!” Elise added waving an eye to me.

Simonne couldn't speak any word in her defense. She was powerless against the pressing accusations of Elise. Andreas, leaning on the obelisk on the stairway, was staring at me ever since the conversation of the two woman started. He was grinning with his leery eyes forging insult on me.
“That's it! I only came to warn you. Business done,” a sarcastic flares hovering over Elise's remark.

“We're done here mother. Let's go. Ciao!” Andreas walk pass his mother, suggesting to leave the place.


Chapter 8
Genn Terence

“But I have nothing against them!” Genn tried to resonate noncompliance.
“Certainly, cousin. But the situation demands for you to reconsider this action. After all, the families will be reunited with your self-sacrifice” Andreas pushed his demand.

The Terence family is a outgrowth of the Van Cross genealogy. Though they share the same blood as the Van Cross, the Terence's were not involving themselves in matters concerning affluence, wealth, and prestige experienced by the Van Cross. They simply live in their manor silently without anyone knowing of their existence in the stocks and bonds. They are as rich as the central family but not as influential. A number of reasons are said for this seemingly willful exile of the Terence clan from the luxuriant Van Cross lifestyle. One of which can be traced with the decision made by the elders that vetoes the Terence never to intrude in any of the central family's affairs. There was no reason ever given though a few of the family heads know the reason of why such veto exists.

A few things remarkable of the Terence clan are the training they give to each of their family member. Early on, exactly on the third new moon after the birth of a child, the newly born is made aware of his abilities unlike the Van Cross who believes in self-discovery. They are my cousins. I can remember them as the brightest students in their class. I had the chance to encounter Flay Terence, the eldest daughter of the Terence, in first grade before her unexpected transfer to another school. Her brown hair was long then. It complements her lazy chocolate-brown eyes. At such a young age, she was able to play five different instruments. She was keen in playing the cello, piano, violin, flute, and the guitar. And there was Pierre Terence. It has been 15 years since I last saw him. He was an excellent painter. With the strokes of his brush, I can say, he shares the same quality as Picasso. As how I always hear about them in Heinrich and Simonne's conversations, the Terences are indifferent. But I know of a Terence who thinks contrary to what his clan demand.

As how I know him to be way back in preschool, he is good in making poems even at young age. He is altruistic and rational. I knew him that way. But two weeks after his parents knew of us being classmates, he transferred to another school. It was always that way. Two clans of the same lineage always go separate ways. That was the case of the Van Cross and the Terence.

Andreas paced towards the window and gaze at the glinting lights outside the villa.

“The real successor of the heritage must rise. As I spoke to you now, it is as if tolerating the rag dolls in their rotten gaiety,” Andreas tried to sound vale.

“Tolerance is inevitable Andreas. You think too much of the Van Cross heir. It seems like the interest is not that of the bloodline's interest. Are you clamoring for the promise of goodness that being a successor brings?” Genn asked him intently as he slowly raised his head to meet Andreas with his gaze.

“Is it bad to think of it that way?”

“Whatever it is, try to moderate. You don't have to be so much of a hypocrite just to thresh victory in your hands,” Genn spoke with defying tones.

“Do you not see how victorious we will be against the successor when we join forces, huh?” Andreas tried to persuade.

One card, one chance. It was spoiled. The Terence family does not appreciate clamors coming from any of the other families. What they say is always final and irreconcilable.

Andreas, without any word, walk to the ebony door and lift the knob tightly as he left the Terence's manor. Genn was just there. Showing no trace of emotion to linger on his face. The air inside tensed. The light coming from the chandelier lit off. With the howl of the wind, the bulbs blew away its thin glass. Genn locked his stare at the breaking glass revealing his sinister eyes.

With his sulky expression, Genn murmured, “Van Cross. Ashford. Such pitiful families. A Van Cross who does not know what he is and an Ashford corrupted of avaritia. Shame! In the first place, no one among us must exist!”


Chapter 9
Mother and Daughter

“It always manifests its ways at times unknown to all. I thought we can hope another start from her after the treatment,” Baroness Veronica muttered with somber.

Everyone in the room became tense and uneasy listening to the baroness' vexation over the matter of her daughter, Bridgette.

“My daughter insists that what she saw that night is flawlessly real. But who wants to believe the words coming from a ten year-old child who says she saw a grim creature with scarlet eyes devouring a man?” the baroness explained to the attending physicians.

“Err, quite despondent case, my lady,” the physician with troublesome black hair responded.

The physicians exchanged looks of confusion hearing the explanation of the baroness. They couldn't believe what has been claimed to be seen by the baroness' daughter. The air rose with tension when Bridgette opened her eyes retrieving the last traces of memory before making her reaction. Pulses began to beat fast and terminating.

Bridgette's eyes tensed and became fixed on the white ceiling of the ward. With an unexpected jolt, Bridgette screamed and with all her energy, trying to unleash herself from the belts and straps fastening her whole body against the bed.
“I saw them! I did! Believe me. Let me go! They will come and devour me!” Bridgette yelled with all her energies.
“Worst of our kind! Where's your manners! You sure have lost your mind!” keep her away from my sight doctors, she wounds my heart painfully,” the baroness uttered with disgust.
“Mother, release me! I have to make him aware. Please help me. Please!”
Nevertheless, the Baroness Veronica pretended not to hear. She acted as the afflicted mother amidst the scenario. Everyone believed her emotionalism. She didn't stop her sobbing ploy not until the attending physicians are inside the room unable to see her. She sobbed with the macabre voice she tried to project.
After the attending physicians left, a sudden gush of wind entered the room. The aura inside the room began to harbor queasiness and dampness. Bridgette began to freeze as if her senses have been numbed by the sudden change happening to the room. Then, as the baroness gazed at the door to prepare to exit, a small white hand gripped the knob. A little girl with sleek black hair with cold blue eyes peeked. Without any indecision the little girl pull herself inside the room. She was wearing an ashen blue dress with little black pearls cushioned over the buttons of her dress. She was undoubtedly beautiful for a little girl of her age.
“They’re gone now,” a little girl appeared in front of her as if she knows that she is just making a scene.

“Huh? Please leave me. The mother's heart in me mourns for my child,” she said to the little girl.

“Am I supposed to believe in you or shall I tell you the truth?” the little girl spoke calmly.

Baroness Victoria's eyes grow wild wanting to strangle the little girl’s neck with her hands. She was hit by the little girl's words. She tried to mock the child but to do such action would untimely reveal and destroy her plot without a purpose.
“Who are you?” asked the baroness.
“You know me. I’m older than I look, Victoria.” The little girl’s eyes turned into icy blue.
“Come with me. I will take you to a place where sweet candies never go sour,” the baroness reached for the hands of the little girl. But as soon as she touched the hand of the girl, the baroness froze. Her consciousness withered. Her eyes turned blank and dead-like.

“Let's go to a place where I can let you rest. You seem so tired of crying, mother,” the little girl said. Her face became sweet as she held the hands of the baroness. She led the baroness out of the ward as her eyes wizened and became ominous.

Chapter 10
Elders
The Van Cross Manor is a popular place in downtown New York. From the Victorian architecture to the ivory-casted entrance hall, the Van Cross proves their profuse living.
From the outside, the manor looks like a grand attraction but inside, lies nothing but an array of swishy things of the Van Cross ancestry. For me, the place is nothing but a cold and empty building.
The only place I feel as my niche in this house was the library. No one visits this place other than Heinrich, but these past few days, he is not coming here anymore. It used to be our hangout place; but changes happened after the ball. He drives his car at nine in the morning and arrives at eight in the evening. I did not bother to ask him his sudden change in schedule since Simmone became so very busy after the party. They have their own right to do their business whatever these may be. The Van Cross library harbors fifteen thousand books that are added forty-two books every month. Simmone collects the books but she never read any of them.
I am inside the library. It is a pain for me to sit idly on this cozy Venetian chair without anyone to talk and share my thoughts. Heinrich has not home yet since last night, making Simmone trample with such annoyance with everything. As I flip the pages of Dante’s book, The Inferno, a sudden whistle of cold air caressed my spine. I am alone, I guess. The moment I turn my head, I hear something so distracting yet very faint.
“Anybody there?”
I tried to sound as comfortable as possible. Though I am assured that the mansion’s security is an A class, I toyed with the possibility of some lapses.
I scan the towering bookshelves and the ladders therein but I saw no one. I am alone yet I can feel someone else’s presence inside, luring me to go the paintings wing of the library.
I suddenly felt some inky sense running down my spine. Then, I became lightheaded. I could not feel my body. There was just something that garbling my forehead. It was cold yet so placid. I tried to hold to the bookshelf at my right but it is just too far to reach at this condition. I felt less aware of myself. The numbness is just so hard to resist this time. I felt like I am slowly deteriorating with my senses failing me.
I could not feel me. I passed out.
As I open my eyes, it was already dark. The library lights were in their iridescent glow. The library lights up the gleaming lamps every time the library clock strikes twelve midnight.
Somewhere in the room, I can hear footsteps. The well-calculated, faint vibration it creates on the floor tells me that this person is a woman. At this dead of the night, Mrs. Dockerwood must be somewhere in the gallery area sipping her favorite cup of tea.
I can hear the steps coming closer to me. Though I am unsure who could this person be, I desperately need someone to help me recuperate from the deadened situation I am now.
“Err, Sir. You are not supposed to sleep here,” a voice I heard trying o wake me up from my oblivious sleep. I tried to move my fingers just to check if I will see the spirit-like thing departing me from my body. But they won’t even make a twitch.
“Will it be now that you get up Sir,” the voice continued.
I move my head trying to relieve the little headache that seemed to be stuck in my head. It was something that I would like to do after the strain bought by the sudden distress.
I tried to move but the numbness circulated like flame throughout my body. Muscles would not even make such any haste neither to move nor to make any twitch.
“I guess Heinrich did not prepare you well to muddle through such situation,” the voice said with unnerving loathing.
“I can’t help you dear boy. Not alone,” she continued.
Then I hear more footsteps coming. From every shelf. They were like emerging from every corner of the room. Some footsteps are heavy, others are light, some are like doing their tiptoes, and a single footstep is something very familiar – slow, lighter than the others, and oddly cat-like, Simonne!











Sammihr