Wilderwood Ch. 11

"Naturally the town authorities downplayed the idea that there was a madman on the loose, but the were quite happy to capitalise on the interest generated by the reported sightings of the Devil itself. Wilderwood has done well out of that nine day wonder -- good for tourism and the sale of plush toys."

I kind of want to ask Uncle Nathan if we actually do get a cut of the profits from sales of Wildy dolls, but this probably isn't a good time.

"In the winter of 1932 Joseph Wilderwood was quietly committed to the Wilderwood Insane Asylum, and after that the murders ceased. Given the influence my father wielded at this time it is safe to say that he would not have allowed Joseph to be put away had his younger brother not been guilty of these crimes. Jane took a different view, and soon after she left Wilderwood, never to return.

"Jane died in London in 1940, at the age of 36. A few months later Joseph was released from the asylum and returned to Wilderwood House, and In 1942 he died there, also at the age of 36. He had rarely known good health and eight years of confinement had taken its toll. It is perhaps surprising he lived as long as he did."

I look over to Emma again, but she's still looking out of the window.

"None of that proves Joseph was a killer. Your father might have just wanted him out of the way," I don't have to say why Richard would have wanted his brother out of the way, "and if Jane knew that then that's why she left."

Uncle Nathan shakes his head. "By all accounts there was no antagonism between the brothers -- unusual enough for our family to be remarked upon at the time. They were very different from one another, but not enemies or, I think, rivals.

"There is also the fact that Dr. Eric Newley, then director of the asylum, would never have agreed to such a plot. Dr. Newley was a man of impeccable ethical and moral standards, and even my father could not have swayed him in this. No, Joseph was guilty, and judging by the savagery of the crimes, he was clearly insane."

"Lucky you've only got Dr. Dunning to deal with, huh?"

A smile flickers over our great-uncle's lips. "Quite so."

"Is Dr. Reinmar one of yours too?"

He shakes his head again. "Dr. Reinmar knows nothing of any of this. She is..." he pauses, and it's the first time all night I've seen him have to think of the right words to use, "...a precaution. Insurance, you might say."

"Insurance for what, Uncle Nathan?" Emma asks.

He turns his head slightly in my sister's direction, though he's speaking over his shoulder, not looking at her. "For the day on which your relationship with your brother becomes public knowledge. It will happen. You both know that."

He lets that hang in the air for a moment, while Emma and I exchange glances. Now we're getting to it.

"Stories about our family have always been told, certainly in print, with a certain discretion. Even in more modern times there was little written in the society pages of Jane and Joseph's relationship, and when it was it took the form of blind items, with no names given. Most of what I've told you of that I learned from my father many years later, shortly before his own death in 1973. Families such as ours were only written about when we wished to be. So it was then.

"I need not tell you that this is no longer the case. You are young and personable, and the scions of an old and wealthy family with a colorful past. When this story breaks it will go far beyond Wilderwood, beyond even my reach. There will be no way to stifle the scandal, only to manage it. Dr. Reinmar is a recognised expert in this field, and her position as the director of the Newley Institute has given her not only prestige and connections far superior to what she would otherwise have at her disposal, but also experience in dealing with intense media scrutiny. When the time comes, if it comes, she will be essential in ensuring the reputation of the Wilderwoods is only damaged, not destroyed."

Emma has turned back round to look at us now, but I'm still finding it hard to read her mood right now. The connection we share is fizzling, crackling, shorting out under the load of all this new information, and my sister is drawing into herself, cautious and guarded. Even so I can see the surprise on her face as Uncle Nathan calmly explains all of this. Not that I'm reacting any differently.

"Dr. Reinmar came to the Institute a year ago," I say to Uncle Nathan.

"Yes."

"Uncle Nathan, we weren't together a year ago." I shake my head. "You couldn't have known."

"I've known longer than you have known yourselves."

* * * * *

Emma stays by the window, leaning against the wall and mostly not looking at either me or at Uncle Nathan. Her gaze keeps turning back to the window itself, like she's fascinated by the patterns the raindrops make as they run down the glass, but I know she's listening to every word our great-uncle says as closely as I am.

"My father was a practical man, not given to introspection. He saw the old stories as nothing more than superstitions which, he believed, had influenced Jane and Joseph and led to their affair. When he named me as his heir he did so on the condition that I would keep our family secrets from my brother, allowing James to lead a life untroubled by the sins of our past.

"I kept that promise. It was not difficult as my older brother was of an unimaginative and unenquiring disposition -- a trait he in turn passed on to your father. Your mother had her suspicions, no doubt amplified by her dislike of me, but no actual knowledge other than having heard some vague whispers about the Wilderwoods being a cursed line. There are few left now who remember Jane and Joseph, and as I say very little was written down except in private letters and journals."

Uncle Nathan tilts his head down, his eyes almost closed and his fingers interlocked in front of him as he continues.

"I have looked deeper into our family's past than my father ever did, and I have come to a different understanding. It is true that there is little direct evidence of incest in our history. There is less, in fact, than there is in the lineage of certain other old families, and yet it is to our name, not theirs, that is whispered up on Hamilton Hill. It is not hard to see why, for there is no lack of circumstantial evidence.

"The low number of children born to most generations of the Wilderwoods has long been noted, as has the intense rivalries that characterise so many of the family's relationships with one another, especially between siblings. So few of our line marry it is almost remarkable that we have survived as long as we have, and few of those marriages have ended well. The family tree has thrown out few branches, and has invariably done so only when there has been some dispute between siblings leading to one of them leaving Wilderwood.

"Many of the Wilderwoods have lived adventurous, dangerous lives. At times that has given them a degree of fame, at other times infamy. Often both. Too many of the family have died young, and in doubtful circumstances. Simon and James are not the only alleged fratricides in our line. Taken individually any one of these things might not be considered so unusual in a family as old as ours. All families have their eccentricities. Taken together it points to something else."

I look over to Emma, but she doesn't meet my gaze, still looking out of the window into the night.

Uncle Nathan stands up and reaches for his cane, and walks over to stand in front of the fire, facing us. Facing me really, since Emma is still by the window at the edge of his vision. With the fire behind him his face is mostly in shadow.

"Ironically some of the very same facts of our history that point toward incest also serve to disprove the related allegation of inbreeding. With so few chiilden born to each generation, and being under such careful scrutiny, our bloodline is unusually well documented. Of that sin, at least, we are innocent. At least since Jason Wilderwood came to the Hall in 1715, and in the direct line." An edge comes into his voice. "I cannot confidently say the same for every other branch of the family, but they do not concern us."

The way he's standing there reminds me of earlier when he was at the top of the stairs looking down at us, so I stand up too, turning it into a stretch -- not faked, I really am tired -- and walking around my chair to lean over the back of it, fingers interlocked like his were earlier. Emma glances my way as I do this, but I still can't read her expression at all, and she hasn't said a word since Uncle Nathan talked about our relationship being revealed.

"So why were you so sure this would happen between us?" I ask. "You were setting this up over a year ago. Why?"

He replies as steadily and evenly as he has all night, but there's still that edge to his tone.

"There is something in our family, Jamie. A poison in our blood that has driven us to do the things we do for three centuries. Whether you call it a curse or prefer to think of it in terms of psychology or genetics the end result is the same. Three hundred years of secrets, of lies, of acts that can be explained in no other way.

"The Wilderwood Devil is a legend, but within legends there is often hidden an allegorical truth. There is a devil that walks upon the heels of the Wilderwoods and always has." He turns his head to look across to Emma. "A green eyed devil."

* * * * *

My sister straightens up from where she's been leaning against the wall and takes a couple of steps, turning to face us with the window behind her now, silhouetted against the wet glass. She looks straight at our great-uncle, meeting his gaze with her own.

"You're kidding, right?" Emma says.

"The Wilderwoods have never been noted for distinctive physical characteristics recurring from one generation to the next. Indeed the lack of such has been another source of conjecture over the centuries. Except in one respect. The recurrence of what is colloquially referred to as the Wilderwood eyes - a rare, brilliant green that is the most telling indication that we do in fact trace our line of descent from James and Emma Wilderwood, or from Simon and Emma."

"Hold on..." I start saying, but he ignores me.

"I have studied our family history more closely than my father ever did, and I have come to certain conclusions. Whenever there has been a credible suggestion of incest -- true or untrue, acted upon or not -- it has been between siblings, and the female of the couple has always been one of those where the Wilderwood blood is so dominant it shows in her eyes."

"So?" Emma shrugs, but as she does she looks away, and her fingers stray up to tug on the collar of her black leather jacket.

"There are other indications. An unusual closeness to a brother in childhood. A history of destructive relationships in adulthood. Jane was notorious for the scandals of her personal life even before the affair with Joseph. An affair that commenced following her return to Wilderwood, sporting a striking new look -- you have seen the portrait -- and a manner so markedly changed it was as if she had acquired an entirely new personality. Does any of this sound familiar?"

Emma shakes her head, her shoulders up and her head down, and I can only just hear her when she says, "No."

Uncle Nathan turns to me. "It is not love your sister feels for you, it is need. A need to be with her brother. To belong to her brother. You blind yourself to this because to answer that need she has made herself into any young man's perfect fantasy -- an eager, willing slave who will do anything you desire. Who will be everything you desire."

"I didn't..." says Emma, but it's barely a whisper and he gives no sign of having heard her.

"Three centuries ago they would perhaps have spoken of possession, of the devil that Simon placed inside his sister in some dark ritual in the deep forest. An allegory, perhaps, for what we would now call a split personality, though it appears that in these cases once the new persona has asserted itself it remains dominant indefinitely."

"I'm not listening to this," Emma says. She's shaking, reaching up to drag her fingers through her hair, her arms hiding her face. "I'm not..."

"You are not who you were," Uncle Nathan says, turning back to her, cold and relentless. "Neither are you who you think you are."

I don't know what to do, or what to say. What he's telling us is my sister's worst nightmare, and mine. So often I look at Emma and I can't believe I'm really this lucky, that she's so perfect for me and that she chose me. If this is true then none of this has been her own choice.

"I know who I am," Emma says softly.

Uncle Nathan shrugs, and his voice is calm and matter of fact again. "You are exactly who your brother wants you to be."

I could kill him in that moment, just for the sheer indifference in how he says it. If I had a weapon in my hand right now I'd end the night the same way the other James Wilderwood did three hundred years ago and not think twice about it. That moment tells me a lot about the history of the Wilderwoods.

"I know who I am," my sister says again. She tries to say it defiantly, but her voice cracks and she backs away from the window and toward the door.

"Emma..." I reach out to her.

She flinches, pulling back from my touch, and her expression is like nothing I've ever seen. She's terrified.

Of him. Of me. Of herself.

That look in her eyes hits me like I've been run straight through with one of the swords hanging on the wall outside.

Straight through the heart.

* * * * *

Uncle Nathan doesn't say anything after Emma walks out of the room, just stands there in front of the fire, his eyes on mine. Mom said he liked to play games and now he's waiting for me to make the next move. Only I still dont know exactly what game it is that he's playing, and I need to find out before I dare walk out of this room. He can destroy us if he wants to -- if he hasn't already -- and I need to know if he will.

"So what now, Uncle Nathan?"

I keep my voice level. It's not easy. The moment has passed, but I still have to tense and flex my fingers to keep my hands at my sides. I'm more on edge right now than I can ever remember being in my life.

He studies me a moment longer and if he can see how strung out I am he doesn't show it. "You need to end your relationship with your sister, Jamie."

"You don't get to decide that."

"Your relationship cannot be kept a secret forever, and the longer it goes on the harder it will be to salvage your reputation and that of the family when it becomes known to the wider world. I have retained Dr. Reinmar for that contingency, but it is not one I wish to use if it can be avoided. End this now, and that expertise can be more usefully employed in the treatment of your sister's psychosis."

"Emma isn't crazy. You're wrong."

He doesn't even bother to argue, like it's so obviously true that there's no need to.

"End this, Jamie. You are the last of the direct line of the Wilderwoods," he says instead, "and I meant what I said about naming you my heir. Do this one thing for me, and for yourself, and you will finally lead the life that your name entitles you to. It is a life to be envied, and there is no reason why anyone should ever learn of this moment of youthful folly."

"And if I don't?"

"I will not expose your secret, but nor will I interfere in any way to stop anyone else from doing so, other than Alex Trowley, who is too dangerous to us to be allowed to run unchecked." He sighs, and for a moment there's a tinge of what sounds like genuine regret in his voice. "You know as well as I do that you cannot keep up this masquerade forever, and even if you were able to do so you will break in the end, as Joseph broke, under the weight of the lies you must tell the world, and of the lies you tell each other."

"You're wrong," I tell him again, but I don't sound convincing, even to myself.

He studies me again, fingers drumming on the head of his cane. "I hope you come to your senses before you realise that I'm right," he says. "Think of what I've said and make the right decision, for yourself, for your sister, for the family." Uncle Nathan inclines his head in a slight nod. "Goodnight, Jamie."

* * * * *

There's nothing else to say, so I turn and walk out of the room because if I stay in here with him any longer I'll do something at least one of us will regret later. I've found out what I needed to know, and weirdly I believe him when he says he won't expose us, but I also believe the unspoken ending of that sentence was...for now.

It really is no fucking wonder that all the Wilderwoods hate each other.

Fine. We'll deal with that later. I'm less concerned with what my great-uncle might do in the future than with what Emma will do right now.

Felix is standing at the top of the stairs, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his vest. I just look at him as I walk by, still wondering how much he knows of all of this, and feeling betrayed by the thought that he probably knows all of it. He looks away and says nothing.

Emma is standing at the foot of the stairs, her arms wrapped tight around herself. As I walk up to her I reach out to her, but then I remember the way she flinched, the way she looked at me upstairs, and I let my hand drop to my side again.

"He won't tell anyone," I say quietly and for a moment I'm not even sure my sister hears me, but then she nods.

"Okay."

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

Another nod. We walk out of Wilderwood Hall and over to Emma's bike, and neither of us look back as we leave our ancestral home behind us. One more time the headlamps illuminate the old stone carvings that flank the gates, and now they really do look like crouching devils.

* * * * *

I usually love these rides. Sitting behind Emma, pressed up against her with my hands resting on her waist. It's a fantastic way to go places. Usually. Tonight is different. I can feel the tension in my sister and so I sit as far back on the bike as I can, and hold on as lightly as I can.

It's still raining, not heavily, but enough to make the road wet, and the lack of her usual sureness in the way Emma steers the motorcycle makes for an uncomfortable ride. When we come back to the main road she draws up, letting the engine idle for a moment, long enough for her helmeted head to turn from left to right, then left again.

To the right is the road back to Wilderwood. To the left is everywhere else in the world.

We turn right.

Soon we come to the bridge that carries the road over the valley and onward to the town. The bridge itself is the boundary, marking where the town of Wilderwood really begins, and there's a sign by the side of the road.

WELCOME TO WILDERWOOD

Population: 21,201

And below that the town motto, and ours.

'Family, Fealty, Faith'

Emma pulls up level with the sign and turns off the engine. It must be close to 3AM and the sudden stillness, broken only by the soft drumming of the rain on the road, is something I can literally feel all around us.

My sister gets off the bike, takes off her helmet and places it on the seat, and walks over to the edge of the bridge. I do the same. She hasn't said a word to me, not one word, since we left the Hall.

The bridge isn't as old as the one leading up to the Newley Institute, and the slope down to the valley isn't as sheer, though it's still a drop from the centre of the bridge to the river below. Emma brushes her fingers over the old wood of the first of the support posts that run along the sides of the bridge and then turns to me. Even in the rain I can see her expression clearly in the moonlight, her eyes bright under the dark strands of her black hair.

"Do you love me, Jamie?" she asks, very softly.