Death Angel

Chapter 17: Van Dyke

The woman continued to stare at the magistrate. John Hathorne had to admit that it was making him more than just the slightest bit uncomfortable.

"You do realize what it is that you are accused of? The seriousness of these allegations?" The magistrate continued.

It was heartbreaking to see such a beautiful girl get convicted of such an irrational crime. John Hathorne trained his eye upon the hapless woman. Her dress was dirty; covered in grime. Her hair, slovenly and unkempt. The dried blood on her fingertips and toes hinted at the tortures she'd endured at the hands of her captors. He could see bruises covering her entire body. Her frame was frail. John Hathorne wondered how long it had been since she last had a good meal.

And yet, there was such fire in those eyes.

No, not just fire.

Defiance.

She was so beautiful. So full of life. So, alive, despite her circumstances.

Something else bothered John Hathorne. Why did she have the oddest of smiles on her face? As if she already knew this was going to happen?

"Catherine Van Dyke," John Hathorne finally continued. "Although your silence in and of itself is not considered an admission of guilt, the evidence provided by the prosecution has been compelling."

John paused to see what the reaction of the masses would be.

He was saddened.

He knew what it was they expected of him now. John Hathorne wished he was anyone other than himself at the moment. There would be no escaping the verdict. The woman had decided her fate. He could save her no more.

"Catherine Van Dyke," he said once more, addressing the beautiful young woman that stood before him, her eyes burning like wildfire; the weight of his own voice slowing him down. "Because of your refusal to testify in your defense, this court of law finds you guilty of the crime of Witchcraft," John paused, just enough to hide the cracking in his voice, the remorse he felt at the judgment he was about to hand out.

"You are hereby sentenced to death."

***

"Witches?" I asked incredulously.

"That is perhaps the most commonly used term, yes," Sylvia replied. "Although it has received a rather unsavory reputation over time."

"So you have this too? You have the same powers?"

"No, sadly, I do not," Sylvia walked over to the couch and sat back down. She placed her hands on her lap, her eyes looking afar. I could tell she was lost in memory.

"The Van Dykes were of Dutch origin, but came to America not too far after the initial settlers came aboard the Mayflower. Catherine Van Dyke was one of the earliest documented in our history to have possessed the power. Only one in each generation is gifted with it."

"And so Catherine was burned at the stake?" I asked.

"Oh don't be silly," laughed Sylvia. "Catherine was hanged."

"Hanged?" I found it hard to speak. "Surely that wasn't any better than being burned at the stake."

Sylvia shrugged. "Makes no difference, I guess," she said.

"And what exactly is this power that Catherine possessed?"

"The power to come back. Immortality. Freedom from Death. The Van Dykes were blessed with the power of the spirits. Magic. The same power you now possess, Vanessa."

"I'm sorry, what did you call me?"

Sylvia smiled. "It's quite alright, child. I knew it the moment you mentioned Helen Rutherford. Why else would I tell a complete stranger the entire tale?"