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Lacey stared for what felt like hours.
Could she really be seeing the little green leather-bound book lying on the shelf? Even more, could it really hold her own name, gilted and embossed on the side and the cover?
Lacey's heart began to thump double-time, a sense of terrible finality gripping her. The first note she found on the desk had read "check diary", and it filled her with trepidation. There could be no doubt this was what it meant. Some part of her didn't want to know; preferred to go on without an end judgment.
Resignating herself to whatever she found inside, Lacey placed her white-knuckled, sweaty-palmed hands on the book. She was trembling so hard that a page shook loose--no, wait... it was a sealed envelope...
Calligraphy with an Arabian flair addressed it to "Lacey Ritter--my otherwordly doppelganger." White wax in the form of a glorious dove held the delicate container closed. Steeling herself, Lacey broke the seal carefully, retrieving a gracefully handwritten note scrawled in black ink. Reinforcing the anti-crease she had made, she sank into the desk chair, setting the diary aside to read later.
Dear Lacey,
My, that feels odd. In a sense, I'm really writing to myself...
but I suppose we have personality differences, and certainly
variations in our life experiences. Nonethless, I hold an odd
sense of a kinship in destiny with you, my friend. I have faith
you will find this soon enough, and I take a grim comfort in
knowing that there will be some person in a far-off place who
will fill my old position; who will understand exactly the kind of
agony I will be experiencing very soon.
And now, my 'cosmic sister'; I will try to add some kind of
sanity to the hell you must've gone through.
Perhaps a month before today, I was visited by members of
a group called Manos Del Sol. Maybe you've heard of them. Via
some strange art I am not privy to or some crazy prophecy
contained in dusty old tomes, they informed me that there was
a universe alternate to ours which stood in great peril...
Lacey realized suddenly that the open, breezy strokes of the pen were growing more tight, as if the other woman had been forcing a kind of sunny enthusiasm which rapidly faded, then died.
That would be your dimension, m' dear.
The Brazilians also spoke of you--how I had a double in this
celestial elsewhere, but somehow she wasn't a Schattenjäger.
In her universe, they said, the Schattenjägers had never come
into existence. There was never a Tetelo, therefore no evil for
them to battle... and, unfortunately, it follows that there would
be no one to fight the new evil they were describing when it
arises.
It's taken the boys of Manos Del Sol all this time to finally
convince me that this is what must be; that there is no other
way for this to be done. But they recently succeeded.
To save both our worlds, my dear double, we must
each lose our own.
You see, only a Schattenjäger can fight the being
threatening your homeworld. So, tonight, I and the visiting
Brazilian brothers will go to a low cliff over water, much like
the one you will be on. At their signal, I will hurl myself off
that ledge. If I hesitate, the process will fail, and we both will
die. The evil will devour you, for a normal human has no defense
against it, and I will be trapped between worlds; in the ether,
perhaps for eternity. I hope to God that I won't flinch when the
time comes, for if I do all is lost for us both. But I'm forgetting...
if you are reading this, it means that the initial danger has
passed. If not, then nothing matters. But on the assumption
it has passed, and the trading of places succeeded--our
situations were close enough that Manos Del Sol was able to
complete the transfer fully--we each have a chance. I may die
in the process of fighting this evil, but rest assured... I will
nevertheless take it down with me if I do.
All I ask is that you keep at bay the lesser evil which
threatens my uncle and my world. You have the blood. And I
feel that you have the heart. The only thing you need now is the
will to act.
Take up the sword I leave behind. Walk the path of the
Shadow Hunter.
Lacey now sensed her double's humor returning. It showed remarkable bravery.
The phrase "taking a leap of faith" holds a whole new
meaning know that I know what I must do. Goodbye, my
friend. Oh... and good luck. You are less experienced at
fighting the darkness than I. Therefore, though the stakes are
not as high, your peril is as great as mine. Keep the Ritter
talisman close to your heart. I have instructed Gerde to give it
to you when you ask.
May moonlight fall before your footsteps in the days ahead
of you, for there is no turning back to the days of sunshine we
once knew.
Lacey Ritter, Schattenjäger
The elegant looped signature was blurred in places. Tears were soaking the pages. In a few seconds, quiet sobs burst from the throat of the reader.
Gerde later found her that way, and gently coaxed her off the floor to come down and have breakfast.
Chapter 3-First Job
Gerde couldn't stand the silence.
Lacey had been staring into her eggs and sausage for the past 20 minutes. It was becoming awkward for Gerde; even more so than it had been opening the door and welcoming what what she knew to be a complete stranger.
It was so hard to believe this was not Lacey, but she now fully understood that since she had discovered the girl in the library clutching the real Lacey's note and crying as if her heart was broken.
Gerde knew how it felt.
But what do you say to someone who has lost their whole world?
"Your breakfast is getting cold, Fräulein Ritter."
The girl had become so accustomed to silence that she nearly hopped out of the polished wooden chair at Gerde's reminder. She appeared almost guilt-stricken. "I... I'm sorry, I was just so..."
"I know." Gerde met her eyes, and a brief look of understanding passed between them.
"The other Lacey told you what she was going to do?" Gerde nodded quietly.
The girl blew out a breath. "Oh, Gerde... I'm honestly sorry. It must be hard to have had to get used to two other Schattenjägers before me, and then... lost them." Her voice was soft; her eyes sad.
Gerde turned her face away to hide the vulnerability in her expression. The wound to her heart was still raw. In fact, it might never heal. Wolfgang was forever lost to her.
The new Lacey was swallowing across the table. Gerde stopped her before she started to apologize again. "It's all right. I do not blame you for anything. I know it was not your intention to harm." She leaned over and placed her hand on Lacey's shoulder. "I am also sorry for the pain you have had to endure. I do realize you lost your family when you came here."
"Thank you, Gerde." The words were barely heard. Such a tiny thing Lacey had always been. This Lacey looked just like her--the same diminutive height of only a bit over five feet, the same glossy curled ponytail of black hair which barely brushed her shoulder when let down, and the same crystal-grey eyes that could be as somber as the grave or shine brightly as jewels. One had a tendency to underestimate her because of her innocent enthusiasm for life and the youthful apearance she had, but the girl was actually very clever and frighteningly skilled in the art of manipulation. In fact, once Gerde saw her at work, she felt extremely grateful that Lacey was on the side of the Schattenjägers. If she had not been, she could have become a powerful weapon for the darkness.
Despite her more tender, gentle soul and her inexperience with hunting the shadows, this girl seemed almost a mirror to the Lacey that Gerde had known. Yes, Gerde felt sure, this one could still be a good Schattenjäger. Her heart was true, and that was most important.
Lacey rifled through the books on the shelf. So far, she hadn't seen much that sounded relevant. Then again, the new Hunter was unsure what she was hunting for.
Her memory--her real memory, that is--didn't seem to want to come back in its full portion. Maybe it was still trapped in her universe, or something wild like that. At any rate, she only remembered bits and pieces of the Gabriel Knight games... most of the first one, and some of the beginning of the second. Not much help. She couldn't even recall whether she finished playing the sequel. If she was right, though, it involved...
Werewolves.
"Hmmm..." Lacey murmured, trying to ignore the fingers of ice playing along her spine. They were triggered by her musings. She filed through the volumes carefully. She'd have to start with the Schattenjäger diaries and werewolf mythology books. Good thing she knew a reasonable amount of the German language. Suddenly, a note posted sideways on one of the shelf's volumes caught her eye. Turning her face almost horizontal, she read the slip of paper. It proclaimed "Read this if you want a laugh."
Well, she could certainly use a laugh at the moment, so Lacey flipped it open and began to read the first page of "Zack's Torture Journal".
(Page 1)
My name is Zack, and I'm in hell. At least, that's the only way I can think to explain all the horrible things that have happened to me. I guess I'm unwittingly responsible for some dreadful crime, for which I am to be forever punished in unspeakably painful ways. That's why I'm writing this down. I get caned again if I speak. Maybe it was how when my grandmother first saw me after I was born, she killed herself because I was ugly. I don't know. All I know is that I wish I could die. Blasted monks. I can't tell how long I've been here, or how many sessions with the torture master I've had, but even though I'm still just a kid I would have to estimate 47 years and 6.3 million sessions.
If there's a God, I hope he'll kill me.
(Next entry)
The Zen priests made me sit up on a really high ledge today. They were probably trying to teach me to throw my mind, or something. You know, like throwing your voice? Or maybe they're just finding new creative ways to cause me horrible pain.
Anyway, I'm sorry if I'm writing crooked but my good arm just happens to be broken. And I twisted this one when I fell down the mountainside. But all that is nothing compared to the pain in my legs. The only thing I can feel grateful for is the fact that my fall was broken by that pool of snapping turtles.
Also, do you have any idea how hard it is to keep a vow of silence when you're falling off a ledge, or when your body is being chomped by nasty little green monsters? Well, the monks sure weren't very understanding.
I hate my life.
By the time she finished reading the first two entries, Lacey shuddered. How terrible! Nonetheless, she tucked the book into a suitcase. The funny parts might come later, and it might be nice to have something to read on any trips she made in the future.
Three days later, an exhausted Schattenjäger sat in the dimly lit library reading one of the journals recommended in her double's diary. She wasn't even sure the other Lacey had known the werewolf-related materials would be useful; she just seemed to have been interested in the concept. Fortunately, with Gerde's periodical assistance she had gone through most of them, translating and memorizing the parts that seemed important. Just as she found herself yawning and was about to put the volume she'd poring over aside, there was a hasty, jittery-sounding rap at the door. Startled, she called, "Come in," and sat up.
Gerde appeared, her face strained and anxious. Immediately concerned, Lacey rose. "What is it, Gerde?"
"Fräulein Ritter, there are some people downstairs to see you."
Lacey blinked, then glanced out the window. A full moon shone silently into the evening's darkness, reflecting off snow-dusted green boughs. "At this time of night?"
"Yes, Fräulein. Will you please come downstairs?"
"All right," she sighed. "But call me Lacey."
"Do not forget your talisman," Gerde admonished, her brow furrowed. "You should never be without it."
Lacey grumbled mildly, but slipped the talisman around her pale throat. Tying up her hair with a handkerchief to hide its disarray, she followed after the German woman, bouncing down the stairs two at a time. As they hurried to the door, she added, "What's the trouble?"
Gerde murmured something she didn't quite catch and then grasped the doorknob. After a beat, she slowly and cautiously pulled it open.
Lacey took in the scene outdoors swiftly. A small mob of townsfolk were gathered outside, swinging flashlights around and muttering amongst themselves. Their group became quiet as soon as the Schattenjäger's presence was known, and all eyes fell on her.
Feeling rather self-concious, (not to mention short) Lacey drew herself up to her full height, meager as it was. She couldn't help smirking just a mite, though. "Hey, shouldn't those be torches?"
Realizing what just came out of her mouth and how familiar it sounded, she closed it very quickly, suppressing a gulp.
An older German gentleman stepped forth from the small crowd. It was Gerde's Uncle Werner. What was he doing here? The man seemed unsettled, but he cleared his throat and fidgeted with his hat, then began to speak. His voice was kindly and apologetic, but held an undertone of gravity that sapped Lacey's humor sense immediately. "I am sorry to disturb you, Fräulein Ritter, but we bring you a matter that needs your attention..." Leaning forward, he added a theatrical flourish--the use of her German title. "The attention... of a Schattenjäger."
A hush settled over the townsfolk.
Werner continued, introducing his cousin, Sepp Huber. The younger man had a pained look in his eyes as he held his wife. The couple seemed grief-stricken, and Lacey's heart twisted as she noted that both of them had red, moist eyes. They'd been weeping; she could tell.
The reason became quickly apparent as Werner related his cousins' horror story, his words heavily accented.
"Near the time of dusk, Fräu Huber goes out to call in the child, Toni, because it is getting late. The mother first sees her near the edge of the woods. Then, she sees a dark shadow rising up behind her. There is a reddish tint to this creature, and it looks like a wolf... a huge wolf."
That left a cold feeling in the pit of Lacey's stomach... considering the fact that wolves were supposed to be extinct in this area of Germany.
"Fräu Huber rushes toward the child with all speed, screaming for her to run... but she does not make it in time. Hearing, Sepp grabs his gun and follows the sound of his wife's cries. Unfortunately, by this time, Toni is..." Werner broke off, lowering his head in a moment of sorrowful silence.
Lacey saw Toni's mother out of the corner of her eye. What she saw made her flinch. A bleary mask of self-blame was displayed from beneath the woman's woolen hood.
"They try to save her, but they only manage to pull her tiny body away from the creature. It... takes a piece of her when it leaves, and there is an air of pure malevolence when it watches them," Werner quietly concluded.
Without warning, Fräu Huber spoke up. Her voice was low and passionate. "I saw the eyes. They... they glowed with hatred as it fled from Sepp's gun. He barely missed it. That horror is still out there. The only thing that will stop it is death."
Startled by the vehement tone, Lacey could only stammer at first. Then she suddenly blurted out, "Wait!" just as Werner was about to speak again. He paused to listen with the rest of the group. Feeling awkward, she nonethless continued, "You don't think the culprit was a... a..."
Even after all her research, Lacey felt it was too ridiculous to give voice to. Yet she saw the gasthof owner nod slowly and solemnly.
"Ja, Fräulein Ritter. It was... a werewolf."
Lacey's neck hairs all prickled onto full alert, and it suddenly became a tight squeeze to draw in breath as she pondered the implications of this story.
If only she could reach into her mind and grasp the missing parts, she would know the wolf's identity and be able to stop it before more innocent people were slaughtered. But the information was as elusive as smoke. Exhaling in frustration, she put a stranglehold on the doorframe. "Werewolf," she muttered. "Great. I knew it was coming, but I'd hoped it would wait until I had a bit more experience in this field."
Her tone and expression softened considerably as she drank in the drawn, grey faces of the brokenhearted Herr and Fräu Huber. "I can't express how sorry I am for the loss of your daughter, Toni. Her death was a terrible injustice," she sincerely told them.
"Then you will help us?" Sepp asked, a slight hopefulness stealing into his face.
Lacey's mouth fell open.
"Well?" Werner prompted. "It is a simple question. Are you or are you not the Schattenjäger?"
Her heart took up residence in her throat. Lacey couldn't quite get the courage to answer until she took a third searching look into the gaze of Fräu Huber and her husband. The bleak wasteland of pain she saw pulled her heart back down into her chest cavity. Her chin lifted and firmed. The issue was now decided. Would she really allow herself to rot in a safe, warm castle while this couple lay awake nights wondering if their daughter's killer would ever meet with justice?
"Yes," she replied to Huber's challenge. "I am the Schattenjäger."
Not a snowball's chance in hell.