I find Edgar’s coat on the floor of the armoire, just as I remembered. Shaking my head, I gingerly pick up the crumpled piece of clothing. But the sound of crinkling paper stops me.
Carrying the jacket over to the window, I look inside the pocket and find a small slip of paper. There are several lines written on it.
THE HEART THAT TOLD NO TALES
THE TALE; A HEART THAT TELLS
TELLING THE TALE OF A MORBID HEART
THE TELL-TALE HEART
The last line is circled. I turn the paper over and find more scribbles there in a heavy hand.
WHERE IS THE HEART???
CUPBOARD? CLOSET?
And then just a single word:
FLOORBOARDS.
I drop the paper like it just singed my fingertips. Mr. Williams’s heart was missing, and it was later found beneath the floorboards.…
Edgar had been planning that murder. He is the one responsible.
I go to the bed and remove Mother’s book from beneath my pillow, stroking the worn cover as I think about what to do. It repulses me to have to touch that piece of paper again. But if I don’t put it inside the coat, Edgar will know I have found it.
With a grimace, I pick the paper up from the floor and carefully place it deep inside the pocket. Edgar sits waiting with an impatient expression on his face when I return, and I toss the coat toward him. “There you are.”
He catches it neatly and stands. “You know, you have further need to thank me.”
“You shall have a very long wait, then, because I see no reason to thank you for anything.” I’m so upset that I forget I’m still clutching the zodiac book.
“Even though I have spared your father?”
His words give me pause. “Spared my father from what?”
“From being hanged as a murderer.”
“How have you done that?”
“It was rather simple. Your maid … Maddy … is it? She was the answer. When Mrs. Tusk’s body is found, she’ll be clutching a locket. A locket that belongs to the person who murdered her.”
He cannot mean … “You intend to place Maddy’s locket on Mrs. Tusk’s corpse?”
Edgar tips his head at me. “Do you not think it brilliant?”
“How did you even come upon it?”
“I found it in the kitchen. She should be more careful where she sets her things. But then”—he shrugs disdainfully—“what do you expect from the help?”
“I will tell everyone the truth.” A blinding rage so fierce I have never felt the like comes over me, and my hands start to tremble. “I will tell them that you are the murderer. That I saw you standing over Mrs. Tusk’s lifeless body.” I grip Mother’s book tightly so I don’t throw it at him.
“I know what you did to Mr. Williams, as well. I have found your thoughts on murder,” I hiss. “In the pocket of your overcoat.”
“Not just me.” Edgar wags his finger. “You shall have to tell everyone what your father and I have done to poor Mr. Williams.”
My stomach lurches. I’m going to be sick. “How could you?” I stare at him, and he grins delightedly.
“It was just another name on a long list, my dear. Williams was well acquainted with Mrs. Tusk, it seems, and they wanted to blackmail your father for money.”
The apothecary shop Mr. Williams was the same Mr. Williams I overheard Mrs. Tusk talking to Father about? Can it be true? Did he really have something to do with their deaths?
I am horrified by my thoughts.
The slip of paper with those horrible words written on it falls from Edgar’s coat pocket, and he stoops to retrieve it. He stares down at it in reverence. “These are not merely thoughts on murder. They are the beginning of a story.”
“A story? You are recording your horrors?”
“How am I to accurately write about something unless I’ve been a firsthand witness to it?”
I tear the paper from his hand and crumple it in my fist. “Have you no shame? These words are disgusting.”
He looks amused. “I wonder if you would think that if someone else had written them? Perhaps Allan—”
“Allan would never write such filth!”
“Wouldn’t he?” Edgar slowly reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small glass vial filled with brown liquid. Right before he uncorks it and puts it to his lips, he says, “Let’s find out, shall we?”
Twenty-Two
As soon as Edgar drinks the liquid, he starts to convulse. His body shakes so fiercely that I fear the vial will be crushed within his clenched fist. He throws his head back, and his jaw snaps shut. Deep moans rattle from between his teeth.
The sounds are horrible. It is like listening to a dying animal.
His head bows, and the bones in his shoulders creak. A ripple runs beneath his shirt and he slowly stands up straight. The convulsing continues and then he lifts his head.
The hint of a beard is no longer there, and the lines that were once etched deeply upon his face begin to fade away. His eyes soften, changing from small pinpoints of darkness to a deep brown that I’ve seen before.
The shaking stops. He blinks. And I realize it’s no longer Edgar standing before me.
It’s Allan.
“What’s happening?” Allan’s face is filled with confusion. “Annabel? How did I get here? I was just—”
My mind cannot comprehend what I’ve just witnessed.
“How did I get here?” he says hoarsely.
“I … I don’t know.” I’m as confused as he is. How can this be? Where did Edgar go? How did Allan come to be standing in his place?
“What happened?” He takes a step toward me, and without thinking, I draw back. Surprise comes over his face, and then it turns to horror. “Dear God …” He looks down at his hands. “What have I done? Annabel, please, you must tell me. What have I done?”
“N-nothing.” I take another step back, but then chide myself for doing so. This is Allan. I’m not afraid of him. “Do you remember anything? Edgar was here only moments ago and then he—”
“Edgar? How do you know that name? I don’t like to use it. It brings back unpleasant memories.”
Understanding dawns on me. “Your name is Edgar?”
“My proper name is Edgar Allan Poe. The only person who knows me as such is your father.”
I put a hand to my cheek. I’m burning up. I must be overly tired and delirious from the excitement of the fire last night. There is no other explanation for what has just transpired. Glancing down, I see the crumpled paper in my hand. “Have you ever seen this before?” I hold the paper out to him and he slowly takes it from me.
Smoothing the creases, he’s silent as he reads. Finally, he says, “Where did you get this?”
“From Edgar’s coat.”
Edgar’s overcoat is still lying at Allan’s feet and he bends to pick it up. His brow furrows. “You said this was in his coat?”
I nod.
“But this is my coat.…” He shifts his attention back to the paper. “Have you read what’s written here?”
I nod again, hesitantly. “Several days ago, I met someone in the library who said he was my father’s second assistant. And that he was your cousin, Edgar. We have met several times, and just now … moments ago … he was here. He was taunting me, asking what I would think if you were the one who had written the words on that paper.”
“And what would you think of me if I were to write such things, Annabel?”
Before I can answer, he turns away. “You would think me monstrous.” He grips his head. “I think it of myself. Why should I want to write of death? But in my darkest moments, I find that I am drawn to the macabre. To the underbelly of things we do not understand. Only when I lose myself can I write so freely, and the feeling is terrifying. To have no control, no remorse, no remembrance of events …”
He turns back to face me. “This is the truth of it: These are my words, Annabel. My darkest vice. My most dangerous secret. I am him, and he is me.
I’ve never seen Edgar, but I know he’s there. I have no control over this. Over … him. But whatever he is, he gives life to my words. Edgar is the worst of me, and the best of me. Without him, I am nothing.”
“I don’t understand. How can you be—”
Allan’s hands start to tremble. He clenches his teeth and his fingers curl inward. “I can’t stop it,” he mumbles. “I haven’t taken enough.”
“Enough of what?”
“Tapping, at my chamber door. I cannot stop this tapping. I must …”
A deep moan cuts off his word. I reach for his hand. “Allan?”
He pulls away from me, convulsing violently. Shoulders hunching, back bowing, he lets out another inhuman groan and clenches his fists so tightly I can hear his very bones creaking. When he looks up again, his eyes are hard. His jaw shadowed. Deep lines mark his face, and I know that somehow, some way, it’s now Edgar standing before me.
Edgar reaches for the cane at his feet and twirls it once before affecting a casual stance. Smoothing back the hair that hangs in his face, he watches me shrewdly. “I expected more from you, Annabel. You are not surprised? Terrified? Repulsed by his weakness?”
“I …” My thoughts tumble so quickly over one another that I cannot keep them straight. Visions of Maddy’s mother fill my head. Is Allan like her? Is he mad?
“You have no interest in how we became this way?”
I try to put the pieces of this puzzle together. “I have heard of morbid changes in the brain that cause certain … afflictions,” I say slowly.
“An affliction? Is that what you think I am?” He laughs. “I am not his affliction. Although it was your father who ultimately released me, I guess you could say I’ve always been there, just below the surface.”
Edgar smirks. “Do you know that your dear Allan is quite mad? I’ve seen what’s inside.” He taps the side of his head. “All the bits and bobs that make him tick.”
With every word, he moves closer.
“He is nothing without me,” Edgar continues. “We are two halves of the same whole. Like the conjoined heart in the laboratory. But now I’m the only part worth saving, and it’s time to burn the chaff.”
Edgar moves swiftly then, grabbing my arm so hard I fear it will bruise. “I will not be controlled like this anymore. You will do as I say, or the next time I set fire to this place, it won’t be just your father’s laboratory. I shall start with your bedroom.”
“You started the fire?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“Your father made me very angry. He refused to do as I asked. So I took away the one thing that meant the most to him—his laboratory. Of course, the fire was supposed to have taken care of Mrs. Tusk’s body, as well. Pity it didn’t burn entirely. Now she will be found clutching her murderer’s locket.”
Edgar started the fire.… And Grand-père was the one to pay the price. Tightness wraps around me again, gripping my insides. “What did you want Father to do?” I finally manage.
“I want him to set me free. So I no longer rely on this cursed serum whenever I wish to come forth.” He holds up the empty vial from which he drank and smashes it on the ground. “Allan takes it after your father’s experimentations on him, to keep me away, but I want a cure so that when he drinks from it the next time, I am the one who stays.”
Edgar waits for me to respond, but I have no words. He is mad. Truly mad.
“Swear that you will convince your father to find a way to free me. His fingers dig harshly into my arm, and I cry out. “Swear it.”
“He will not listen to me,” I say feebly.
“Your precious maid will be next, then. Only I will not burn her. I have been pondering a story in which the character is buried while still alive. I shall need to witness that.”
“No!” I pull my arm free from his grasp. “I’ll talk to Father. I swear it! I will find a way.”
“Excellent.” He twists his cane top and gives me a short bow. “I’m glad we could come to this arrangement.”
Twenty-Three
I return to the house as soon as Edgar leaves so I’m not wasting any time in speaking with Father. But my breath catches when I pass Grand-père’s study doors. I stop before them.
A soft sound comes from behind me, and I turn around nervously, expecting to see Edgar. But it’s only Maddy. Her nose is red and traces of tears stain her cheeks. She sobs, and then covers her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, Miss Annabel,” she says. “It’s so hard to believe.…”
“I know, Maddy.” I bow my head. I cannot look at her grief.
“His body is inside there.” She gestures toward the study. “Mourning customs dictate a laying-in time, but with the fire an’ all, I don’t know what will happen now.” She starts to softly cry again.
“What’s wrong with me, Maddy?” I ask desperately. “I cannot cry. Even though I only knew him for a short time, I loved Grand-père as much as I loved my mother. I was able to cry for her. Even to this day, I still cry. But for Grand-père, I can do nothing.…”
“Everyone is diff’rent, Miss Annabel. Johanna cried up a great storm, while Cook set to making food. Even now with the kitchen all burned up, she’s still cooking. Johanna said it’s just her way.”
“I don’t have a way,” I say bitterly. “I’m like Father. Cold and callous.”
“That’s not true.” Maddy gently touches my arm. “I know that’s not true.” She pulls out the handkerchief I gave her and holds it out to me. “I saw yer caring in this. An’ when you brought me yer special tea, an’ helped Mama, an’ fixed Johanna’s finger. You are nothing like yer father, Miss Annabel.”
“But all I have is this tightness inside me, Maddy. It wraps around my chest and constricts my lungs. It squeezes the very breath out of me. It’s a coldness. Like … him.”
“That’s not coldness.” Her voice lifts, and I meet her eyes. “Don’t you see? It’s sorrow. I felt much the same when I learned Mama would never be right. That she would always need someone to watch her. Sorrow slips beneath yer very bones an’ wraps you in an embrace that never leaves.” She pats my hand. “Even if you can’t cry now, one day, you will. You’ll find yer way.”
Maddy’s words sink into me, and my thoughts finally become clear. Suddenly remembering the reason why I returned to the house, Edgar’s threat, I grip her fingers. “Have you seen my father? I must speak with him. It’s urgent.”
“He left early this morning, right after the fire. Said he was meeting someone an’ would be gone all day.”
I touch my scarf. “Please let me know the moment he returns, Maddy. I have need to speak with him right away.”
She nods and I turn toward the stairs, silently urging Father to hurry back home. Until he returns, all I can do is hope Edgar doesn’t grow too impatient. For now, we both must wait.
As the hour grows late, I cannot sleep. Father has not yet returned, and I’m pacing the confines of my room. When I hear a knock at the door, I open it to find Johanna holding a letter.
“This came for you, miss.” She offers it to me with a slight bob of her head. Her expression is one of curiosity. “It was delivered by Master Allan.”
It’s very strange for me to receive a letter at such a late hour. But this has been a strange day. Thanking her, I wait until she’s gone before I open it. The dark script says:
I must see you —
12th and Pine streets
#4
A.
My heart beats fast at the thought of going to him. Hurrying to the armoire, I remove my cloak and put it on. I place the letter in the pocket and find Johanna again to ask for directions. It’s not far, only two streets over, and she tells me to follow the cobbled alleyway.
Slipping out the kitchen door, I cross the courtyard under the light of a half-moon. It takes me little time to find where 12th and Pine streets intersect. There’s a house on the corner, with a sign on the door that says rooms are available. A bust of Pallas Athena greets me as I step i
nside, and a long hallway stretches out before me. Room number four is the second door on the left.
I knock quietly and pray that Allan answers quickly. If anyone sees me … But there is no answer, and when I knock again, the door gives beneath my fingertips. Silently, I enter.
My breath is quick. It abandons me, then rushes back so fiercely I fear I’m going to faint. The horrors—such horrors!—lie before me.
Blood is everywhere. Splashed on the walls and spilled across the floor. The scent, heavy upon the air, is like a fog that rises up early in the morning. Loops of glistening flesh are strung out upon a table, and in the middle of it all is a single lock of hair. Dark. Curled. Obscene in its loveliness amongst such carnage. I cannot comprehend that such a horrible act has been committed upon someone, and I close my eyes to say a silent prayer for their soul.
I’ve been witness to grim scenes as Mother’s assistant, but nothing could prepare me for this. Only moments ago, this poor person was alive. And now …
A sound comes from behind me. I whirl around, and Edgar steps out of the shadows. “Do you like it?” he purrs. “The small intestine stretches quite far. It is remarkable.”
“You did this?”
At his nod, I put one hand up to cover my mouth. Bile rises in the back of my throat and nausea threatens to overcome me. “Why …?”
“To show you that I keep my word. If you deny my request, this will be Cook next. Carved upon my table like a Christmas ham. Or perhaps Johanna.”
I take a step back and stumble. “I tried to find Father … to speak with him … But he’s gone out of town and has not yet returned.”
Voices come from outside the room, and Edgar springs into action, pushing the door shut behind me, and shoving me backward. Curling his fingers into the collar of my cloak, he holds me up against the wall. My feet barely brush the floor.
Of Monsters and Madness Page 14