The Madness Underneath: Book 2 (THE SHADES OF LONDON)

by Johnson, Maureen

  “So,” he said, “you think it’s just like that? You think you just join because school isn’t working out?”

  “That’s what I just said, basically. Yes.”

  “Do you realize what it entails?”

  “Pretty much,” I said. “I mean, it can’t be much worse than what I’ve already experienced. I’ve been stabbed by the Ripper and turned into a terminus. Do you have some more surprises in store? More than that?”

  “You need to go back. Right now. Before this gets any more serious.”

  “I’m not going back,” I said. “You know I can’t.”

  “You can. You can walk back there right now. They’ve already expelled you, so there’s no harm done.”

  “Except my parents probably know I ran away.”

  “And they’ll be much happier to know you’ve returned.”

  “Why are you being like this?” I asked. “If you hadn’t listened to me, there would still be an insane ghost in the basement of the pub. And now a woman’s been thrown out of a window.”

  “I know,” he said. “I realize you were right. You don’t need to keep reminding me.”

  “Are you angry because I was right about the last one?”

  “Why would I be angry about that?”

  “Because,” I said, “I knew, and you didn’t. I did something about it.”

  He started to laugh. Really, actually laugh. I had never seen Stephen just break down laughing before. It would have been great under any other circumstance, but not this one.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “So why are you laughing?”

  “Trust me, I find nothing funny about any of this.”

  I was filled with the urge to haul off and smack him—I mean really knock him across his face, just to make him stop. I even stepped closer to him, but I didn’t swing, because I’m not like that. But I felt the impulse. Just to bring the flat of my palm against his face, those slightly hollowed-out cheeks. Put some life into that pale skin in the form of a big, red handprint.

  “You don’t think I’m capable?” I said.

  “I never said you weren’t capable.”

  My words were jumping around inside of me, bouncing around my veins, punching my heart, pressing at the backs of my eyes.

  “I’m the one who can hold her own,” I said. “That’s why you brought me here. That’s why you tested me. And now I’m here, and I’m willing to help, and you won’t let me. I bet Thorpe would hire me. He knows what I can do. They need me more than they need you.”

  I said it because I was angry, not because I meant it. I said it because I knew that I had to get to him somehow, to make him react—but he didn’t. He just made a slow circuit around Dawn’s table, examining the cards. He leaned low over them for a moment, staring at them closely.

  “It’s time for us to go,” he said, after a moment. “And it’s time for you to go back to Wexford. That’s the end of it.”

  I think he knew how keyed up I was and that the calmer his reply, the more the wiring in my head would fizz and burn until I just shorted out and did what he wanted. But I wasn’t going to play that game. I took a deep breath, dug my nails hard into my palm, and said, “Sure.”

  He locked the door behind us, and we stepped over to the car, where Callum and Boo stared at us. Boo held up the missing card.

  “Right,” Stephen said. “We have work to do. Rory will be returning to school. Would you like us to take you back, or would you prefer to go yourself?”

  There was an archness in his tone that infuriated me all over again. Callum looked understandably baffled, and Boo immediately turned her attention to the window of the car.

  “I’m fine,” I snapped. I tried to remain dignified as I walked off, but it was starting to wear on me, all of these arguments, all of the fighting. Jane had promised me the country, and now I was ready to go.

  22

  OF COURSE, I WASN’T GOING BACK TO SCHOOL. AND OF course, it rained. It always rained. And it was a particularly miserable December rain at that. Louisiana rain often cracks a day in half, bringing a welcome reprieve from the heat. Sometimes it rains on a sunny day, and sometimes it brings a dramatic storm that turns the sky green and splits it with lightning. English rain feels obligatory, like paperwork. It dampens already damp days and slicks the stones. I went to Liverpool Street and got one of the many cabs in the line. Cabs, as Jane had informed me yesterday, kept records of journeys, and some had cameras. I wore the hat and glasses and divided the journey into two sections, changing cabs at Leicester Square.

  I tried to reason out Stephen’s little tantrum. Stephen liked rules. He wanted to feel in control. Callum and Boo…they would welcome me with open arms. They would work on him. I’d bide my time for a bit, go with Jane to the country. I’d learn something about this condition I had. I’d come back even more valuable than when I left. Everything was going to be fine.

  “There you are,” Jane said, as she let me in. “We were worried you weren’t going to come back. Is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Come through to the kitchen. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  There was a guy in the kitchen, a little older than me, maybe in his twenties. To say that he was striking looking wouldn’t quite have covered it. He was the human equivalent of Jane’s décor. His hair was bright blond, like yellow gold, as artificially colored as Jane’s and just as striking in its unnatural glow. And it was extremely well groomed in a sideways sweep, like some kind of old movie star. He wore a red dress shirt and a strangely wide tie in a bold red and silver stripe. I don’t think that the color of someone’s eyes tells you anything in particular about them, but Jack had cold, clear blue eyes. The blue was almost as unnatural as his hair. And his shoes were red with metallic silver stars worked into the leather. The entire effect was outlandish, costumish.

  “Rory,” Jane said, “I want you to meet Jack.”

  “Pleasure,” Jack said, extending his hand. I shook it, and Jack smiled at me as if I was the punch line to a very funny, very private joke.

  “Jack will be coming with us,” Jane said.

  “It’s an amazing house,” Jack said. He learned against the kitchen table, crossing one leg over the other and the ankle. Kind of a dancer’s stance, or the kind of thing you see in old movie stills. A pose.

  “Are you all right?” Jane said, leaning in to look at me. “You look pale. Have a little something to eat—you look like you might fall over.”

  She pushed forward the ubiquitous plate of baked goods. Jack’s smile widened, and he looked at the floor, as if it might also find this funny.

  “You have quite an interesting story,” Jack said. “Jane’s been telling us all about you.”

  “I think you all have interesting stories,” Jane said. “We are all interesting people.”

  “True,” Jack said, inclining his head in acceptance. He bit his lower lip just a little and looked up at me.

  I can say this about myself—I don’t often meet people and just not like them. That’s not my way. But there was something about Jack I really didn’t like, and it wasn’t just that he seemed like some kind of costumed character from a weird play. He hadn’t said or done much, but something about him was off and unpleasant, and the fact that he was coming to the country with us made the country considerably less appealing. This made no real sense, and I didn’t really have much of a choice about the matter. It was just an immediate feeling, a bit of a chill.

  “I just need to use the bathroom,” I said. Which was true. I also wanted a moment to shake this feeling off.

  I left the kitchen and went down the hall to the stairs. The house was encased in the thick afternoon gloom. The lack of hall windows meant it was very dark. I was about to turn to go up the stairs, and I guess I looked over at the silver leopard, when I noticed something else. I just caught it in the corner of my vi
sion, and I had to stop myself and go into the vestibule to confirm what I’d seen. It was a Wexford blazer on a hook by the door. I’d seen so many Wexford blazers on so many hooks that now the shape of it was imprinted on my mind, and there was no mistake about this one. But I hadn’t worn my blazer to Jane’s.

  I lifted it off the hook and examined it. Because of the laundry system, all of our uniforms were all labeled with our names. I looked inside the collar for the familiar white stripe of label.

  The blazer was Charlotte’s. And it was damp.

  Which made sense. Charlotte came her for therapy. But Charlotte was, at this moment, in a Latin exam.

  “Something wrong?”

  Jane was in the hallway.

  “Oh…” I didn’t know what to say. Was something wrong? “It’s just…Charlotte’s blazer. Is here.”

  I lifted the sleeve as proof.

  “Oh yes. She came by earlier. She must have left it.”

  “She has a Latin exam today,” I said. “It’s all exams today.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Jane said. “She was here, but she didn’t stay, and she didn’t say anything about her exams. I think she was a bit upset you didn’t come back last night. You should get ready to go. We’ll want to hurry. Miss the traffic.”

  That made sense. Charlotte turned to Jane for everything. I nodded and left the blazer and went upstairs.

  But it wasn’t okay. There was a flutter in my chest. My heart was skittering. Julia called this “victim’s instinct.” Once a really bad thing happens to you, your senses heighten. You become very attuned to things that aren’t quite right, things that are potentially dangerous.

  I went to the bathroom and locked the door. I needed to think.

  Sure, Charlotte could have come here, but to miss an exam? And that blazer was wet, not damp. There was a radiator in the vestibule. Had the blazer been here for a while, it would have been warm and drier. And Charlotte wasn’t the kind of person to just leave her blazer. Our blazers were the key part of the Wexford uniform. Putting them on—it was an automatic gesture.

  But sure, she could have left it. It was possible.

  What was the alternative?

  The bathroom window was frosted for privacy. I unlocked it and tried to pull it up, but it made a very loud squeaking noise. I stopped, my nerves jangled. Then I turned on the faucet all the way and went back to the window, nudging it millimeter by millimeter until I had about three inches of room to peer out of. The bathroom faced the back and was a sheer drop down to the garden. There was certainly no way out through here. I could scream…

  …. but there was no reason to scream, was there? Why did I want to scream?

  Why had Jack smiled at me like that? It was just when Jane offered me the tray of cookies and brownies. That was normal. Jane always offered me that.

  Then a thought came into my head that seemed both very, very paranoid and very, very logical. Every time I came to Jane’s she insisted that I eat something. And every time I ate something, I started to feel lightheaded. I would talk a lot. Time seemed weird.

  I don’t take drugs myself, but I’ve heard stories from friends who’d had pot brownies, and it seemed like this was the kind of thing that happened. It didn’t hit all at once—it took about a half an hour or so—but then the talking, the strange things I’d notice in the room. It wasn’t like I was rendered unconscious, but I definitely relaxed to a degree that therapy had never before relaxed me.

  Charlotte had that look when she came from Jane’s as well. The glass-eyed stare…

  If what I was thinking was correct, no wonder Jane seemed so amazingly good at her job. She had gotten us high as kites.

  But why? This was insane. These thoughts were the thoughts of a crazy person.

  But my life was not normal. I was not normal. And neither was Jane, or Devina, or Jack…

  Jack had been the name of the witness in Dawn’s murder.

  Okay, that was a stupid connection. Loads of people are named Jack.

  I flushed the toilet just for the noise. I exited the bathroom and went to the top of the stairs. Jane was waiting for me at the bottom.

  “Rory,” she said. “Ready to go? Why don’t you come down?”

  Why don’t you come down?

  Her words, her voice, they filled me with dread now—a dread I wanted so much to discount, but I just couldn’t. I had absolutely no idea what was happening, but something was wrong. But I had to go downstairs. I couldn’t leave from the second floor anyway unless I leapt from a window, like Dawn.

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Sorry. I was drying myself off.”

  I don’t think I sounded casual. Jack came around. He was next to the staircase, watching me descend as well.

  My heartbeat was irregular, catching in my throat. I took each step at about half speed. This was wrong. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. Something had to happen now, on these steps, at this second. Every fiber of my being screamed it to me.

  So I listened.

  When I reached the bottom step, I opened my mouth as if I were about to speak to Jane, then I broke toward the door. It’s a strange thing to me, running. I only do it in my dreams, and I have often joked that I would only engage in the activity if being chased. This definitely had a dreamlike quality, running into the dark hall- way, feeling the arms grab me from behind. I landed face first on the floor, completely in someone’s grip. My nose smashed into the floorboards, sending a singing pain throughout my face. My eyes welled up from the impact and tears flowed freely.

  “Careful!” Jane said. “By God, Jack, don’t hurt her. Get her up.”

  Two pairs of hands picked me up. Devina had come out of nowhere, and she and Jack got me off the floor.

  “Now, Rory,” Jane said, “don’t struggle like that. Jack will have to use more force, and neither of us want that. Move her to the kitchen.”

  I was half-dragged, half-carried to the kitchen. And strangely, I relaxed a bit. There was a certain relief in just being right, the thing was now just happening. The tick tick had lead to the boom. I scanned the counter. There was nothing useful there. The knives were all the way on the other side of the kitchen. Unless I was going to beat Jack and Devina with a plate of baked goods or a magazine, I was stuck.

  “Eat something,” Jane said, presenting the plate once again. “It will make it easier.”

  “What’s in there?”

  “It’s just a little hash, darling,” she said. “You’ve been enjoying them so far. Perfectly harmless.”

  She held up the plate, and I shook my head. She shrugged and set it down.

  “Up to you,” she said. “It was for your benefit.”

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  “No harm will come to you if you cooperate. I can promise that. Anyone with the sight is my brother or sister, and I take that very, very seriously. If you struggle, Jack will hurt you. But if you remain calm, you will be released.”

  That wasn’t much of a choice, so I stopped struggling. Jane nodded and Devina released me at once.

  “Jack,” Jane said, “let her go.”

  The grip remained.

  “Jack. I said let her go.”

  My arms were released. Jane reached over and rubbed them. “My apologies,” she said. “My apologies. Truly. The things that have happened in the last twenty-four hours, they were not part of the original plan. With the news that you would likely be departing soon, we had to work very quickly. I’ve always been honest with you, Rory, and I’ll continue to be honest with you. Everything about your old life ends right now. The sooner you accept that, the easier things will be for you. But what happens next…that’s really up to you. And I’ve come to explain the possibilities. The good news is, the possibilities are much, much better than your current state of affairs.”

  “Where’s Charlotte?” I asked.

  “Charlotte is in a safe place. She’s already gone off to the country. You’ll see her tod
ay. She’s absolutely fine. She knew that you came here, and we couldn’t have that knowledge getting around. So we had to take her along as well. But I assure you she’ll remain safe as long as you remain with us. You’re a terminus, the first instance of a human terminus that I’ve ever come across. We’re all very excited about it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Oh, Rory,” she said. “We’ve been with you for weeks. We followed you to Bristol. We’ve seen how special you are. And now everything is coming together. You are the sign we’ve been waiting for. You’ll help us, and we’ll help you.”

  “I don’t want to help you.”

  “You care about Charlotte, and those friends of yours in the flat near Waterloo, and…what’s the address again, Jack?

  “Seventy-seven Woodland Road,” he said.

  That was, in fact, my parents’ address in Bristol. He then rattled off our home address in Louisiana, my Uncle Bick’s address, my Aunt Diane’s address, and my parents’ work addresses, both in England and in America. And that’s when everything got very cold.

  “Which is why I say that everything is different now,” Jane said. “We don’t want to force you. Come of your own will. And once you come with us, you’ll see. You’ll see that what we’re doing is right. You’ll be glad. It’s just an awkward adjustment period, but it won’t last. Come now. It’s time to go. Time to go to the country.”

  23

  AS IT HAPPENS, I KNOW A BIT ABOUT SURVIVAL. TO A POINT, I know this because I come from Bénouville, Louisiana, where hurricane preparedness is a topic of conversation every summer. Did you stock up on bottled water? Batteries? Canned food and granola bars? Do you have bleach for when the water goes down and the mold comes? Do you have a radio? Flashlights?

  But the nitty-gritty stuff I know because my neighbor is a nutjob. A nutjob with a lot of practical skills. I mean Billy Mack, who lives down the street.

  Billy was never quite the same after Hurricane Katrina. A lot of people weren’t the same after that. A lot of people went without food and water and help, and a lot of people developed an interest in survival skills. Billy Mack took this to an extreme. He has a boat on his porch roof, tethered to one of the second-story windows. Billy is also the founder of the People’s Church of Universal People, a religion he runs out of his garage. As part of his mission, he sometimes goes up and down the street, handing out pamphlets. His religion is a kind of apocalypse-come-hither thing mixed with the Army Rangers field guide. He believes that the end times are coming, and people in his religion will not only be right with God, but they’ll have the proper supplies on hand.