‘And how do you think you will be judged, Jacob? At the time of judgement, how do you think Vesta, the Goddess of love, peace and harmony will see the terrible things you have done.’
‘She will know I acted always with her in mind,’ he said, ‘Those who were punished, died because they failed her expectations. They fell short of her high standards.’
‘Because they were not Virgins?’
‘Exactly, and died in the manner that all who failed her have done so throughout history.’
‘Then you have fulfilled your role, Jacob. There is no need for anyone else to die. Go to meet your Goddess with a lighter conscious. Tell me where this last little girl is. Do the right thing and tell me where she is.’
Jacob closed his eyes and Brandon’s head fell forward in defeat. He stood up to leave, when Jacob spoke one last time.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I will tell you. Come close.’
India sat on the second step of the stairway, talking to Mike when Brandon approached.
‘Well?’ she asked, ‘What happened?’
‘He died,’ he said.
‘Did he tell you where Camille is?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Brandon, ‘But he did confirm she is probably still alive.’
‘So, how does that help?’
‘It doesn’t,’ said Brandon, ‘But before he died, he did say something else.’
‘What?’
‘He said she is laying in the arms of the Goddess.’
‘The arms of the Goddess?’ repeated India, ‘Is that it?’
‘That’s it.’
‘But what does it mean?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Brandon.
They all stared at each other blankly for a few minutes before India spoke again.
‘What else did he say?’
‘Not much.’
‘You talked with him for several minutes,’ she insisted, ‘He must have said something else.’
‘Only that they died in the way that all such women have died throughout history.’
India’s eyes widened.
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘Why didn’t we see it before?’
‘What?’ asked Brandon, looking at her expectantly.
‘This guy, this whole organisation is based around the rituals of Vesta. Anything he has done has been true to the traditions. Those girls in the train station, they were killed according to the ancient ways of Vesta.’
‘One was flogged and one was crucified,’ said Brandon.
‘Yes but in the beginning, that was the way most of them were killed. Flogging in particular was used by the Pontifex Maximus to discipline wayward priestesses. This guy was being true to his predecessors. Jacob said she is still alive and laying in the arms of the Goddess. That can mean only one thing. She has been buried alive.’
‘
‘Has to be,’ said India, ‘It is a typical execution method for fallen Vestal Virgins, and despite her age, Jacob’s delusion saw her as soiled and needing punishment. He has buried her somewhere.’
‘Then she is probably dead by now.’
‘Not necessarily, Vestals suffering this punishment were buried with enough food, water and blankets to keep them alive for a long time. It just relies on how much food and water he left her.’
‘But where?’ asked Mike, ‘She could be buried anywhere.’
‘No,’ said India, ‘Not really, the tomb would be quite large and need a lot of work. Most of his days were spent here in this convent. It has to be somewhere near.’
‘An existing room, then,’ said Brandon, ‘This place must be filled with them.’
‘I’m not sure,’ said, India, ‘It is apparent that the Nuns knew nothing about his actions. I think he would have been found out if he was using this place. There has to be an obvious answer.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Brandon, ‘He was the caretaker’s son, right?’
‘Yes, amongst other things.’
‘Exactly, and one of those tasks was grave digging.’
India stared at him.
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘There must be dozens of tombs in the cemetery that are suitable.’
‘Then what are we waiting for,’ asked Brandon, ‘Let’s get going.’
They jumped up and started up the stairs, closely followed by Mike and two of the soldiers.
Outside the convent, the storm had abated, leaving a deep layer of snow over everything. In contrast to the anger of the storm, the cemetery was now an eerie and silent landscape, full of indistinguishable shapes that hinted at the sad secrets they protected. India and Brandon stopped in their tracks, staring at the scene before them.
‘Where do we start?’ asked Brandon.
‘Lying in the arms of the Goddess,’ said India, ‘There has to be a clue there, somewhere.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, said India, ‘But the longer we wait here the longer we will be. Look for anything that looks out of place.’
The two of them, along with the three soldiers started sweeping the snow from the covers of the tombs, reading each in turn to find anything that may shed a clue to the occupant’s identity.
Brandon made his focus any that had a statue of an angel or anything that could be interpreted as a goddess.
‘In loving memory of Sister Rachel,’ he read at the base of one.
‘Shout them out,’ shouted India, ‘Let me hear every one. They may mean more to me than you.’
‘Sister Leanne,’ shouted one of the soldiers.
‘Mother Superior, Elizabeth,’ shouted the other.
Over and over again, the names of the long dead echoed across the cemetery as they systematically checked the tombs.
‘No name on this one,’ came a shout.
‘This one’s collapsed,’ shouted Brandon.
‘Come on,’ said India to herself, ‘You have to be here somewhere.’
Between the five of them, they had cleared most of the tombs within the hour.
Brandon sat on a flat topped vault, blowing on his freezing fingers.
‘It’s no use,’ he said, ‘There’s nothing here. We are wasting our time.’
‘She has to be,’ said India, ‘It makes total sense.’
‘I don’t know, India,’ he said, She’s probably dead. Perhaps we should call it a day.’
India didn’t answer, just stared over his shoulder.
‘India,’ said Brandon again, ‘I said…’
‘That’s odd,’ she said.
‘What is?’
‘On the head stone, there’s no name, just a date.’
‘One thousand and five,’ read Brandon, ‘Must be one of the oldest here.’
‘The headstone may be old,’ said India, ‘But the engraving is quite modern.’
‘Perhaps someone just refreshed the date,’ suggested Brandon.
‘But why just the date,’ mused India, ‘Why would anyone do that?’
‘Who knows?’ asked Brandon.
‘Actually, it’s not one thousand and five,’ said India, ‘Look at the numbers, It says 100 then a space and then the number 5. It doesn’t make sense.’
