House of Bathory(100)

She stood, a white statue, nude in the snow.

“Douse her with cold water,” said the Countess. “Make her suffer for refusing to obey me.”

A greasy-haired woman with a fiendish smile threw a bucket of ice-cold water on the shivering girl.

“NO!” the victim cried, her courage and pride dissolving. “What have I done to deserve this?”

A smile broke the stony countenance of Countess Bathory.

“Push her into the snow,” she commanded. “Roll her about until she chatters and her tongue is silent. Pack her mouth with snow, I say!”

Ilona Joo pressed wet snow into the young noblewoman’s mouth. The girl gagged, fighting the maid’s beefy fingers.

Hedvika pushed aside the two other girls, their lips blue and puckered, coated in ice. She roughly pushed the young countess to the ground and, together with Ilona Joo, rolled her over and over in the snow.

Countess Bathory threw her head back in ecstasy. Before her lay one dead servant girl and three naked women, all dying, their skin pale and tender as rose petals in the snow.





Chapter 86

FOOTHILLS OF THE TATRA MOUNTAINS

BORDER OF SLOVAKIA AND POLAND

DECEMBER 28, 2010





As John drove, Betsy continued to read.

During the course of treatment—a period of two years—Bathory confided his dreams to his therapist. The patient regularly dreamed of his ancestor, the Countess Erzsebet Bathory—a notorious sadist and murderer of hundreds of young women. The patient described the brutal torture and sadistic pleasure of watching innocent women die. Count Bathory became noticeably excited at the description. He displayed physical signs of sexual arousal: penile erection, glittering eyes, and increased swallowing of saliva.

Attending Physician initiated questioning, asking why Bathory so delighted in the suffering of women. The patient drew back his lips, snarling like a wolf. He refused to answer any more questions or participate in any further therapy.

Attending Physician ordered the dietician to stop the feedings of blood, which Bathory continued to insist on referring to as “pressed meat juice.” Bathory reacted violently to this change in diet, exhibiting signs of acute withdrawal, much as a heroin addict would manifest if suddenly deprived of drugs.

In the hours that followed, the patient collapsed in the corner of his room, shaking with spasms.

John put his hand on Betsy’s arm. He could see she was so engrossed in reading that she hadn’t looked up to see where they were.

“There it is,” he said.

Betsy saw a dark-turreted castle rising before them. On one side extended a vast garden, encircled by a black iron-spiked fence. The other side was built flush with the edge of a rocky cliff. A murder of crows swooped and circled, their harsh cries echoing down.

“Oh my God!” gasped Daisy, looking up from her iPhone. “It’s the castle from my dreams!”





John parked the car in a wooded pullout.

“Let’s reconnoiter,” he said, setting the parking brake. “We need to figure out how to get inside the gates. And it’ll be dark in a few hours.”

John and Betsy both got out of the car. Daisy didn’t move.

“Go on without me. I’ll be fine,” she said.

“Daisy!” said Betsy. “That madman tried to kidnap you in the tower. We’re not going to leave you here alone.”

“Look, I’ve got to call Morgan.”

“I don’t—”

“I’ve got to talk to Morgan. Privately. It’s really important. I told you we haven’t really talked with each other in years. I’ve got to ask her some things while she’s still talking to me.”

Betsy hesitated.

“Important things, Betsy,” Daisy pleaded.

“Come on,” said John. “Daisy, sit in the front and blast the horn if anyone comes near.”

Betsy nodded. She dug a finger under her glove, scratching at the palm of her hand. “Don’t move, don’t go anywhere, promise?”

Daisy nodded, catching the worry in Betsy’s eyes. “I promise.”

“And lock the doors.”

“OK, OK!” Daisy turned back to the tiny screen.

John and Betsy walked along the edge of the woods, trying to stay out of sight.

John went a little ahead in the shadow of a rocky knoll. He suddenly jumped backward.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“What?”

He lifted up one foot and stared at his shoe. It was covered in mud, despite the patches of hard snow and dirty ice on the cold ground.

“It’s all wet here,” he said. He looked at a rivulet carving through the mud and moss.

Betsy traced the source of the water to a seeping hole in the rocks. She brushed aside the tangle of dead vines and heard the rush of water.