Dr. Emerald Bruttenholm is the sole survivor of the Blackwood massacre and is taken to the BPRD to help them investigate the attack. She takes the meeting with the paranormal creatures surprisingly well because deep down she has secrets of her own...
Taking the slip of paper containing the number of the hospital, Emerald thanked the cop and got out of the car. She felt drained physically and emotionally. Tiredly, she walked through the wicket-fenced gate and reached her doorstop. She hadn't heard the cop car pull away yet. She ignored the feeling of being watched and entered the house. The familiar smell of old books hit her nostrils and she suddenly felt warm and safe.
The living room had the resemblance of an old library. The walls were lined with shelves containing antique looking books with thick worn out leather covers. Some had tarnished metal covers. Most of the floor was also covered with long towering stacks of books. Only the small area with a few couches and the coffee table seemed to be free of books. She got out her coat and draped it over one of the couches. Quickly, she removed her boots and tossed them away. By the time she reached her bathroom, she was in her inner wears. She got into the shower and let the warm water slide over her. She stood in the shower for a long time, willing the water to wash away her fatigue.
The incident in the alley behind the museum still kept playing in her mind. The sight of the battered and bloodied girl crying in the clutches of those monsters rose up in her mind and she had to fight another surge of anger. She loathed bullies and the people who derived their sick pleasure by hurting the weak. Those men had to be in their thirties and their victim was barely sixteen. She felt the girl's pain as the memory of her terrified face rose up in her memories. It was good that she was trained to fight.
She was grateful that her father and uncle had both trained her in hand-to-hand combat. Her uncle had arranged an expert to train her when she was twelve. Mr. Yakahashi always came on weekend mornings wearing a black suit. She suspected him to be in the FBI, though when asked, he had said he worked with her uncle.
Emerald had turned out to be a fast learner, just as she had been with her academics. Her father had detected her potential when she was a child and had decided to home school her. Physically, she was faster and stronger than most people, which always helped her in such times. Within a year of training, Mr. Yakahashi had announced that Emerald had learned all that he had to teach her in Aikido and physical combat and that regular practise would her further hone her abilities. Physical strength and dexterity was something that she had been gifted with a few other oddities. She had never been sick in her life. She had decided that it was something to do with not attending school as a child and simply staying away from the germs that attacked children. As she had grown older and stronger, the germs simply had no effect on her. That was her reasoning behind her infallible health.
She turned the knob of the shower in the opposite direction and allowed the ice cold water to fall on her. It helped to clear her mind. She would have her supper and start on the introduction to the legend of Bethmoora. Perhaps, she could change the minds of the filthy-rich hoarders and have them donate the artefacts to the museum. She would use every chance to save them from being locked away in private vaults along with her father's lost reputation. In the morning, she would call at the hospital to know how the girl was doing. Making up her mind, she got out of the shower.
After drying herself and donning her pyjamas, Emerald made her way to the kitchen. The kitchen had a rustic look with several large copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. There was hardly any food left in the fridge.
"I need to make a visit to Farmer Sam soon or I am going to starve" she thought.
The Bruttenholms never shopped at the supermarkets. They got whatever they could buy at the weekend farmer's market or visited Sam Mcinlay's farm to buy fresh bread and milk. Emerald attributed her excellent health to eating only organic food. In fact, when she ate a cup of instant noodles in one of her college mate's dorm, she had fallen violently sick. Unaccustomed to falling sick, Emerald had sworn never to touch packaged and processed food again. She made herself a cold cheese sandwich and sat down with a cup of coffee.
After finishing her supper, she brought her writing pad and began writing the story of Bethmoora. The words flowed freely as she remembered the words her father had often spoken when she was a child, weaving her tales of the lost and forgotten faerie kingdom. By the time she had finished, it was 2 am but Emerald had a smile on her face. She read the manuscript of her lecture again and was sure to impress her audience by referring to the several objects that they had brought back. She had to let the patrons know the significance of this discovery, that there were other intelligent and magical creatures among the humans. Everyone had the right to know such information. It may even cause greater stir among people than aliens and lead them to preserve whatever natural resources remained on the earth. "They just can't buy these artefacts and hide them. Father didn't spend all his life for this!" Emerald grew frustrated again and threw the papers away.
She made her way up the creaky, wooden staircase to her bedroom. Without switching on the lights, she crossed the room towards the window. It was not difficult owing to the orange light that came filtering through the light linen curtains. Emerald peered through the gap in the curtain. The police car had left off. She stepped towards the bed and blissfully sank into its soft depths. As she lay there, letting her mind relax, she felt a prickling feeling, like she was being watched. She looked around at her lightly lighted bedroom but nothing seemed out of place or unusual. Very soon sleep had taken its toll and she fell into a fitful sleep.
Out of the dark shadowy corner at the foot of the wardrobe, a small creature with two heads peered out and shuffled its way out of the room through the crack left at the door.
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