The Lovely Beast by J.S. Cook

Author:J.S. Cook [Cook, J.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

April 2

Diary—Jacob van Willigen

I HAVE failed.

I admit I conducted myself poorly, but his assertion that I am something other shocked me so horribly. For some time now, I have been aware of the unnatural impulses within me, but I have never imagined anything like what he suggests. I had always assumed I was born with them, or perhaps my scars came from some childhood injury, something so painful and traumatic I had put it from my memory. I have had a mortal life, the same as anyone. I was born in Maastricht to Julia and Vincent van Willigen. I was sent to school at the usual age and tutored in the usual subjects. I drew trouble to myself in measure equal to that of other boys my age. At sixteen I entered the university, intending to read philosophy, theology, and the law. My mother died young. These facts are irrefutable, and yet….

On what street in Maastricht did you live? The voice in my mind is like an imaginary prosecutor, inspecting the facts of the case. Can you recall the number of the house in which you grew to manhood? Describe, if you will, the objects in your childhood bedroom, your mother’s kitchen, your university common room, the church where you made your first Holy Communion. Of course I remember: the street was…. There was a tall oak at the end of it, just before it…. No, that was in another part of town, closer to Frau Besser’s house, my music teacher, the one who taught me how to play the violin…. I didn’t play the violin. I had never played the violin. Clearly that was someone else.

My heart begins to hammer in my breast and my palms are sweating. I take a piece of paper and immediately draft a message to Brother Inish: Request immediate details of—Of what? How on earth could I phrase such an appeal? Greatly fear I am misremembering the details of my own life. Request clarification. Attempting to compose such a request makes me seem like a blithering madman. Of course I had been born in Maastricht; of course I grew up the son of Julia and Vincent van Willigen; of course I was put to university and ultimately emerged with degrees in theology and law. Eventually my studies had commended me to the notice of the Society, whereupon I was drafted by Brother Inish. Surely there were records kept, somewhere. Surely I exist.

I remember once, some years ago, when I was still in my novitiate, I was invited by Brother Inish to accompany him to the home of a woman who believed herself in possession of the wrong soul. Her parish priest had contacted the Society, worried because this formerly healthy young woman had suddenly become gravely ill and, furthermore, was on her deathbed. Normally such cases—last confessions and the dispatching of the soul into Heaven—were the responsibility of the local church. In this case Brother Inish had decided to intervene because the woman’s admission

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