Terror in the Night

by J. M. Robinson

  It was still night. The quality of the light hadn’t changed significantly so she couldn’t have been unconscious for long. Experimentally she tried moving her legs but even sitting down the pain was unbearable. She was half a mile from the train tracks so even if another happened to pass no one would see her.

  She felt as if she might as well give up, resolve to lay there and die. She didn’t have Bridget anymore so what was the point of going on? Then all of a sudden he was beside her.

  Although she hadn’t seen or heard him approach his sudden presence didn’t startle her. It was as if he came from a dream and it would have been easy to believe that he wasn’t there at all.

  “You’re awake,” he said.

  She nodded and it hurt. She couldn’t bring herself to speak.

  “They have taken your daughter but I believe she is unharmed.”

  He crouched on the ground beside her, his hands in the long grass were invisible. He looked like an animal.

  “We need to get to Lunden,” he said.

  “I can’t...” She felt the tears coming and fought them back. She couldn’t cry in front of a stranger. “I can’t walk.”

  He nodded. “Then I shall carry you. With your permission of course.”

  “It must be twenty miles to Lunden,” she said. “You can’t carry me all that way.”

  He smiled. “Perhaps I will surprise you.”

  She didn’t protest as he slid his arms behind and beneath her but when she turned to look at him he suddenly stepped back with an expression of pain. “What is it?” she said, reaching up with her good hand to feel her face, fearing that she was more badly hurt than she thought.

  “It’s nothing,” he said, reaching into his jacket and taking out a tissue. “Just a little blood.” He handed the square of cloth to her and she wiped her nose.

  “Did I get it?”

  He looked at her again and nodded.

  She looked at the tissue, a small amount of blood stained the surface but not very much. She would have thought that anyone who fought as well as he did would be used to the sight of blood.

  “Put it in your pocket,” he said and she did as she was told. “Is it gone?”

  “It’s gone,” she said.

  He turned back to her, tentatively at first. He looked at her face, examined it for any further trace of blood but apparently found none. “Okay,” he said and without further explanation he put his arms back around her and lifted her into the air.

  The sudden movement sent a shudder of pain through her body but once she had settled in his arms it passed and became merely uncomfortable. “Am I very heavy?” she said.

  “Not at all Mrs Kable. I shall have you in Lunden before sunrise.”

  She didn’t think he meant it. Even without her extra weight and the awkwardness of carrying her he would have struggled to reach the city before sunrise but, in that, he was to surprise her as well.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE MAN WITH THE POINTED SHOES HURRIED THROUGH narrow lane that wound between the tall trees and buildings with dark windows. His long coat billowed out behind him like a cloak. There was a leather case clasped tightly in his hand. His eyes were full of panic and his skin shiny with a film of oily sweat. His dark hair, which was usually neatly combed, was, on this occasion, ruffled into peaks.

  He stopped in front of an unremarkable building. Truly the only thing that separated it from those around it was the light in the top most window. He closed the door behind him and hurried up the stairs.

  At the top of the stairs he paused to catch his breath. He opened the folder he had brought with him and rifled through the papers it contained. Apparently satisfied he turned to the door behind him and went inside.

  “You’re late,” said a deep voice.

  Across the long table Mr Shadowbank filled a large leather chair and spilled over onto the table. He had a large cigar clasped in his fat hand and a cloud of the dreadful smelling smoke hung above him, writhing and curling lazily in the light of the lamp.

  The other people around the table he didn’t know. Their faces were hidden in the darkness and that was a good thing, the less he knew about what was going on here the better.

  “I’m very sorry Mr Shadowbank. I came as quickly as I could.”

  The fat man nodded and huffed. He raised his fat paw to his mouth and sucked deeply. “Well get on with it then boy.”

  He was not, in fact ‘a boy’. It was easily twenty years since he could accurately be described as such. But it would take a braver man than he to tell Mr Shadowbank that.

  “Sir, Park has failed.”

  If he had expected Mr Shadowbank to be angry he was disappointed. The fat man simply took another long drag on his cigar and asked: “What happened?”

  He opened his folder and leafed through his notes, muttering to himself as he went. Eventually he came to the relevant article. “We believe he tried to rescue her.”

  Mr Shadowbank nodded as if this wasn’t news to him. “Do they have her?”

  The man with the pointed shoes nodded. “We believe so sir.”

  “And the mother?”

  “She turned up at the hospital two hours ago.”

  Mr Shadowbank looked around the table at the other people sitting there but didn’t say anything to them. Finally he looked back at the man and said: “Thank you Mr Fairchild.”

  Just like that he was dismissed from the room, his services were no longer required. Mr Fairchild walked back down the lonely stairs and onto the street. A few more of the buildings had lights in them now but the sky had brightened to the degree that they weren’t really required.

  He was no longer alone on the streets. Women in dark clothes wandered past him in groups, talking in hushed voices of gossip and rumour. Men in business suits walked quickly to their first appointment of the day. A Hansom cab clattered past on the cobbled road. Mr Fairchild wondered at their innocence. How nice it would be, he thought, to have no idea that the world was about to end.

  CHAPTER 10

  MR HAYES WAS WAITING FOR HIM BENEATH THE clock at Paddington station. It was eleven thirty-four. Hayes was wearing a brown wool suit and a bowler hat. He had a black umbrella in his hand. He didn’t notice Graham at first which was hardly surprising.

  He had come as soon as he received the telegram from Scotland Yard. Charlie had woken him in the middle of the night with the delivery. He had barely taken the time to dress, let alone wash and pack, and sleep on the train had been out of the question. He had arrived in Lunden looking like a vagrant who had been wandering through fields for the last month.

  “Kable,” Hayes said when he finally did turn and notice him approaching. “It’s good to see you. I wish the circumstances were better but you’re here now, that’s the important thing.”

  Graham nodded and limply shook the mans hand. He felt as if he was in a dream. He had made it to Lunden but the cost was too high.

  “It’s this way,” Hayes said, full of boundless enthusiasm that seemed almost theatrical to Graham. “I have a cab waiting.”

  He followed Hayes out into the street. Busy people with strangers faces and names he didn’t know hurried past in a blur. The sky was dark with storm clouds and he felt cold. There was a numbness to everything about him, the way he moved, the things he saw and heard, none of it could touch him. It was all just scenery on a stage.

  Hayes held the cab door open and he climbed into a dark carriage that smelled of pipe smoke and perfume. He could hear Hayes talking to the driver and then he closed the door and sat down opposite him.

  It was a bumpy journey and Graham was not used to riding in cabs. There had been a few in Odamere but mostly he walked everywhere he went.

  Hayes tried to make conversation with him but Graham’s short blunt answers soon put him off and they travelled most of the way in silence. Graham couldn’t even bring himself to look out the window and see the city pass them by. It had been a dream for so long that he was afraid the joy of it would ov
erwhelm him. But it would be a cheap joy and the only joy he wanted now was his family back together.

  They arrived at Lunden City hospital and Hayes paid the driver. The grey stone building towered above them. He walked towards the door without waiting for Hayes but the man called after him and caught up to him on the stairs.

  “Kable hold on.”

  The cab driver shook his reigns and the horse neighed as they pulled away from the path. Graham stopped and turned back to Hayes.

  “There’s something you need to know before you go in there.”

  She was disfigured, he knew it. Hayes would tell him not to act shocked at the hideous creature that his wife had become. Flesh would be hanging loose and there would be bruises and swelling, she might never look the same. But that was not what Hayes told him.

  “Mrs Kable has had a terrible shock,” he said. “It’s hardly surprising under the circumstances.”

  “What is it?” he said, wishing the man would hurry up and spit it out.

  Hayes sighed. “She’s saying some things about the men who took your daughter, things that cannot be true.”

  “What sort of things?” Graham said. He was well aware that Agnes had a tendency to believe in the impossible. He had tried to work it out of her with careful explanations of how the things she called miracles actually worked but it was still there. She had once tried to tell him that she and Bridget could talk to each other with their minds. No matter how many times he had told her that Bridget was just picking up on her unconscious visual ticks she persisted to believe it. In the end he had simply forbidden her to do it.

  “She seems to think that the men who took Bridget were all the same person. That this person could divide his body at will so that there appeared to more of them.”

  “A trick,” Graham said. “It was the middle of the night, she must have been confused.”

  “Precisely,” Hayes agreed. “Such a thing cannot possibly happen. Nevertheless she believes it to be so.”

  Graham nodded. “Thank you for the warning. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to see my wife.”

  “Of course. It’s this way.”

  Hayes took him into the hospital and spoke to the young lady on reception. He explained who they had come to see and when she fetched the doctor he spoke to him too. Graham listened absently but he couldn’t focus properly on what they said.

  He followed Hayes and the nurse onto the ward. There were two long rows of beds occupied by women. Coughs, sneezes and laboured breathing filled the air. He tried not to look as they walked along the aisle between the beds.

  The nurse was a round woman with her hair pulled back tightly and hidden beneath a white cap. She wobbled as she walked.

  They walked to the end of the row and stopped. Agnes looked up at them with vacant eyes, the dirty white sheet pulled up to her chin. Although he hadn’t expected her to be the picture of health he was shocked to see her that way. Her skin was pale and clammy, her eyes dark and sunken. She didn’t even seem to realise he was there.

  “What are her injuries?” Graham said, the words felt strange and foreign. It was a question he asked at work; a husband beat a wife so ‘what are her injuries?’, a drunk beat up another drunk so ‘what were his injuries?’. It was not a question to be asked about his Agnes.

  The nurse lifted a clipboard from the end of the bed and read the notes on it. “She has a fractured ankle and a broken wrist. A few cuts and bruises.” Then she put the clipboard back with no more interest than if Agnes had been a drunk or a homeless person. “I will leave you to it,” she said and then she was gone.

  Graham wanted to go after her, to give her a piece of his mind. This was not just ‘some woman’ brought in off the street. This was his wife, she was important and she deserved respect. He deserved respect. Hayes put a hand on his arm and stopped him. “It’s not worth it,” he said. “She’s just doing her job.”

  He nodded and looked again at poor Agnes.

  “Graham? Is that you?” she said, her voice was weak.

  “It’s me,” Graham said and pushed past Hayes to get to her bedside. He sat beside her and took her hand. When he looked back Hayes was gone.

  “Graham they’ve got her,” Agnes said, the desperation in her voice clear.

  “I know,” Graham said because he didn’t want to get into a discussion about it with her. He didn’t want to hear her crazy story about a man who turned into several men because it wasn’t possible. She had suffered a trauma, it was understandable. He would wait and talk to Hayes at length and find out what had really happened.

  But Agnes didn’t try to tell him what had happened. She squeezed his hand gently and said, “you have to find her Graham.” He nodded but he didn’t really hear her and she knew it. “I mean it Graham.”

  What he wanted to say was: ‘Dear it’s not as easy as that. I don’t get to choose the cases I work on and there are good reasons why they might not want me to work on something that I am personally involved with.’ But instead he said: “I will speak to Commissioner Lodge in the morning.”

  She smiled and closed her eyes. She looked almost peaceful, although frail and unwell with it.

  Hayes was waiting for him outside. He was surprised to find it still early morning when he walked out, it seemed as if days must have passed while in the gloomy ward. They travelled together to Border Street where a boarding house had been arranged. The cab stopped outside a large white townhouse, the garden impeccably neat.

  “You can ask Mrs White to send for me if you need anything,” Hayes said while they sat outside in the carriage. “There is no rush to start work. We weren’t expecting you for another week anyway.”

  Graham opened the door. “Thank you.” He didn’t feel like saying more. A wash and the oblivion of sleep were all he could think about.

  The cab pulled away behind him and he walked down the garden path to the black front door which swung open before he could knock.

  “Detective Kable,” said a little voice from within. “Won’t you come through and make yourself at home.”

  Mrs White was a small woman, perhaps even a dwarf but without any of the other physical characteristics. It was difficult to tell her age but Graham would have guessed she was sixty. Her husband had died more than ten years ago and left the business to her. They hadn’t had children.

  She pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and indicated that Graham should sit. He was too tired to argue so he did as he was told.

  There was a leather bound bible on the table. The large kind that he had only ever seen in a Church. He couldn’t imagine that little Mrs White would be able to lift it, let alone carry it. There was a large wooden crucifix hanging from the wall opposite the door. Another, in gold, was visible around her neck. There was no need for her to tell him, “I run a Christian household Detective Kable.”

  “Yes M’am,” he said.

  She sat in a chair opposite him which must have been specially made for her. Sitting in it brought her eye level to the same as his.

  “That means I expect you to conduct yourself as a good Christian would. You are a good Christian, aren’t you detective?”

  Graham nodded. He dutifully went to Church every Sunday and tried to be a good person but he wasn’t a true believer. It seemed to him that the Holy Ghost was about as believable as a standard ghost and a man rising from the dead was either playing a trick or made up. He saw no reason to tell Mrs White this, however, she was clearly a woman whose faith was important to her.

  “I know what some of you police officers are like,” she continued. “And there will be no drinking or whoring here. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly madam.”

  “You’re fortunate that your friend Detective Hayes is known to me. Ordinarily I wouldn’t board a member of the police.”

  “He’s a good man,” Graham said.

  “He is an excellent man. A fine and upstanding member of the Church.”

  Graham nodded. Mrs
White looked at him for a moment longer but the interview seemed to be over.

  “Let me show you to your rooms,” Mrs White said.

  A dark corridor led to a white door marked with a silver ‘B’. Mrs White unlocked the door and then handed him the key.

  “Rent is due on Friday’s, paid one week in advance. I hope you’ll be very happy here, and Mrs Kable too when she joins us.”

  “Thank you,” Graham said, he felt dazed and ready to put the day behind him.

  “Don’t mention it detective.” She turned and started to walk back along the corridor. He started to close the door behind him. “Oh and detective.”

  He was starting to wonder if she would ever leave. “Yes Mrs White?”

  “I was sorry to hear about your loss. If there is anything, anything at all, I can do to help, please let me know.”

  “Thank you Mrs White,” he said.

  She smiled, an old cracked smile that looked as if it caused her physical pain, and then she turned away and disappeared down the dark corridor. He waited until he heard her light steps on the stairs and then finally closed the door.

  Alone at last.

  The room smelled dusty and empty. The curtains were drawn so that only a thin line of light lit the whole room. Graham pulled them open and squinted against the brightness of the day. When he turned around he saw the boxes and bags that had been sent ahead of Agnes piled around the room. The only furniture was a long leather seat.

  He sat down heavily. Air from the cushions billowed out around him. His head fell back and he closed his eyes. Moments later he was asleep.

  CHAPTER 11

  IN THE DARK IT COULD HAVE BEEN ANY building in Lunden. On the corner of Christchurch Garden a high wall surrounded the vicarage. A locked gate blocked his path. There was a light on in the Church behind him so he thought he was alone and the singing and music suggested that would continue to be the case for a while yet.