The Broken Trilogy

by Amy Cross

  "Very good, Martin," I say, my heart buoyed by the idea that he has delivered the message to Inspector Matthews. As long as Matthews is a man of his word, my plan is going perfectly. After all this time, it is looking increasingly possible that the game will be over within the next hour, and no girl will ever again have to suffer in such a way.

  Elly

  Today

  "I'm just gonna make a phone call," I say as Rob and I climb out of the van. We're at a motorway service station somewhere near Salisbury, which means we're about halfway to Exeter, and I figure I might as well try to call Mark and see what he wanted.

  "Cool," Rob says. "By the way, have you got any money? I really want a bottle of water or something."

  "Actually," I reply, "I'm a little broke. Sorry."

  "Just a couple of pounds would do it," he continues.

  "Sorry," I say.

  "No problem," he replies, following the other guys inside while I decide to stay out in the car park. As I pull my phone out of my pocket, I start to wonder what we're going to eat and drink for the next twenty-four hours. I guess the band are going to get paid when we get to Exeter, but I'm starving and it doesn't look like there's much chance of any food showing up. I think I've got about twenty pounds on my card, but I really don't want to spent that on food for the others, so I guess I have to be a little sneaky.

  As I bring up Mark's number and wait for him to answer, I look out across the flat, barren car park. Everything's gray and made of concrete; if someone built a car park on the moon, this is what it would look like. Even the sky is gray.

  "Hey, Elly," Mark says as he picks up. This time, the line is good and I can hear him properly. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine," I reply, immediately feeling my chest tighten a little at the sound of his voice. "Sorry about earlier. We were on the motorway and I couldn't really hear you."

  "That's okay," he says. "Who are you with?"

  "Just some friends," I say. "We're going down to Exeter for a gig."

  "Sounds good," he replies. "When are you getting back?"

  "I'm not sure," I say, looking down at my feet for a moment. "I might... I might just go straight to Bristol from here."

  There's a pause on the other end of the line.

  "Did you hear me?" I ask.

  "What about the funeral?" he replies.

  "Well, I..." I pause, not really sure what to say. In my head, I've got this whole argument sorted out, but suddenly the words seem to be stuck in my throat. "I was thinking maybe I don't need to go," I continue eventually. "It's just a bunch of people standing around and staring at a box, and it's not like I get a whole load of invitations to go to gigs with bands, so I was thinking my Dad would actually understand if I..." My voice trails off as I feel a tear in the corner of my eye. Wiping it away, I take a deep breath and try to hold myself together. I want to keep talking, to explain my decision, but I feel like I might start crying if I say another word. Damn it, of all the times, why does this have to happen now?

  "Elly, are you okay?" Mark asks.

  I nod, but there are more tears in my eyes and my bottom lip is starting to tremble. If I speak, he'll know I'm on the verge of tears, and that's the last thing in the whole world that I want. Instead, I quickly walk around the corner, to make sure no-one can see me.

  "Elly, where are you?" he asks.

  I take a deep breath, forcing myself not to cry. It can't happen here.

  "Elly," he says again, "I need you to tell me where you are."

  I take a deep breath and sniff back the tears, but my nose is running and I'm quickly becoming a complete mess. Opening my mouth to reply to Mark, I realize my bottom lip is trembling so hard, I can't possibly say a word.

  "Hang on," Mark says, and there's a pause as I hear the sound of him typing something into a computer. "You're at a service station near Salisbury, aren't you?" he says after a moment.

  "How do you know?" I ask, still just about managing to force back the tears. I could collapse into a sobbing heap right now, but I refuse to let that happen.

  "I have my methods," he replies. "Elly, are you sure you don't want to come back and go to your father's funeral?"

  "I..."

  I take more deep breaths. There's no way I'm going to let myself cry.

  "Here's what I'm going to do," Mark says. "I'm going to have a driver pick you up and bring you back to London. Just stay where you are and he'll be there within the hour, okay?"

  "Can't you come?" I ask, trying to stay calm.

  "Not right now," he says firmly. "The driver who's coming, Howard, is one of my best men. He'll bring you back to London. Also, I'll arrange with the staff in the service station for you to be able to buy anything you want in the restaurant they have there, and I'll take care of the bill. Okay?"

  "You don't have to do all this," I tell him, wiping a tear from my cheek.

  "Let me," he replies.

  I nod, swallowing hard. "When I get back to London," I say, my voice still trembling, "where should I go?" I pause for a moment, wondering whether I might get to spend the night with Mark. I know it's wildly inappropriate to even be thinking about something like that right now, but I can't deny that I want to see him. "Should I -"

  "Howard will take you back to your mother's house," he says firmly. "That's where you should be tonight."

  "But -"

  "Your mother's house," he says again.

  "Okay," I say, realizing I'm not really in a position to argue with him. I swear to God, I have never, ever felt as pitiful and weak and powerless as I feel right now, but at the same time I desperately need Mark's help to get me back to London, and I feel strangely warmed by the thought that he's becoming increasingly involved in my life. I want to thank him in person. No, that's not quite true; if I'm totally honest with myself, I have to admit that I want to do more than just thank him.

  "Everything's going to be okay, Elly," he continues. "You'll come back to London and you'll go to your father's funeral. That's what you want, isn't it?"

  I pause for a moment. "Yeah," I say eventually, and I realize it's true: I do want to go. Even if it just means standing in a stupid room and staring at a stupid box, I want to be there. For the past few days, I guess I've been managing to avoid confronting the finality of what happened, but now I know I have to stand there and look at the coffin and know that my father's body is in there.

  "Elly," Mark says. "Are you sure you're going to be okay while you wait for Howard?"

  "Of course," I reply, realizing that the threat of a full-on breakdown seems to have receded. "I just felt like I wanted to get away, you know?" I pause for a moment. It's weird, but even though I don't know Mark very well, I want to talk to him about this stuff. "I feel like -"

  "Elly, I have to go," he says suddenly. "I'm needed."

  I take a deep breath, horrified at the thought of the call ending. "You do?"

  "I'm in the middle of a very important meeting. I stepped out to speak to you, but there's only so long I can keep these men waiting. If I put the phone down, will you be okay waiting there for Howard to show up? You'll recognize him immediately. I doubt there are too many other black limousines in the area. Make sure you keep your phone on."

  "Okay," I say. "When will I see you again?"

  "Soon," he replies, but he sounds a little distracted.

  "At the funeral tomorrow?" I ask.

  "Maybe."

  "Maybe?"

  "I'll try."

  I pause for a moment. "Okay." At that moment, I hear Rob calling my name in the car park, and I realize I need to go and tell him that I won't be going to Exeter. "I have to go too," I explain to Mark, "but I really want to see you soon. I need to thank you for everything."

  "It was nothing," he says. "Good luck. And wait for Howard." With that, the line goes dead and I'm left sitting on the ground, staring straight ahead. I guess I should probably call my mother and tell her I'll be home soon. She'll be pissed off, but I'll just say I was out with friends.
Sighing, I haul myself up off the ground and put my phone away, before wiping my eyes again and trying to pull myself together. As the sun briefly breaks out from behind the gray clouds and casts a little warmth on my face, I realize that at least I won't have to go back into that freezing cold van. I guess Rob will be able to tell that I've been crying, but I figure he won't make too much of a fuss. He and I had a little fun together for a few days, but we were never a proper couple or anything like that. It's not like we were fused together.

  "You still haven't cried for me," my father's voice whispers. "A few tears don't count. Why are you holding back? Are you scared? Have you worked out why it hasn't happened yet?"

  I want to tell him to go to hell, but I figure it'd be literally insane if I started swearing at the voice in my head. Taking a deep breath, I stare at the motorway traffic for a moment. In a strange way, the rhythm of the passing cars is quite soothing.

  "Oh well," my father's voice whispers. "At least you tried to be a rebel."

  Edward Lockhart

  1895

  The bag containing Elizabeth's body rests at the edge of the ice-cold water, gently lapped by the rising tide. It's long past midnight, and Mr. White and I have been waiting for almost half an hour. All around us, the darkness of this freezing night carries an ominous presence, and I cannot help but wonder if Inspector Matthews is out there somewhere, watching us. I can only hope he has come to pay witness to the terrible deed that is about to be completed, and that soon he will have all the evidence he needs; otherwise, Elizabeth's death will have been in vain.

  "Where is that cursed woman?" Mr. White mutters, glancing around for some sign of Lady Red.

  "Patience," I reply. "She'll be here."

  "Why can't we just dump the body and leave?" he asks, turning to me. "Doesn't she trust us?"

  "It's not a matter of trust," I say. "It's a matter of tradition. This is how the game has been played for more than a century, and it is not our right to make changes." I take a deep breath. While everything I said is true, there is another reason why we must wait for Lady Red to arrive: I need Inspector Matthews to see that she is present, so that he understands I was telling him the truth when I told him about the game.

  "How many are down there?" Mr. White asks, staring into the depths.

  "I shouldn't like to guess," I reply. "Scores, that I know of. Perhaps even hundreds." I look out at the expanse of water. The previous Mr. White once told me that there is an entire second city hidden beneath the Thames, full of the secrets discarded by the citizens of London. Bodies and objects, dropped into the cold water in an attempt to get rid of them. Should the river ever run dry, all these secrets will be exposed and London will find itself once again having to face its nightmares. As the previous Mr. White noted wryly, it is no coincidence that the major buildings of government are all next to the river; that way, it is easier to dispose of things that need to be hidden.

  "We give her five more minutes," Mr. White says eventually, sounding agitated, "and then we -"

  "She's here," I say, spotting a figure walking toward us. I can see immediately from the outline, and indeed from the gait, that it is her. "Steady your tongue," I whisper. "She is unlikely to be in a good mood at such a late hour."

  "Gentlemen," Lady Red says as she reaches us, wrapped as usual in the dark red cape that keeps most of her face hidden. "I trust I did not keep you waiting too long." She turns and looks down at the bag containing Elizabeth's body. "Is this Ms. Elizabeth Cavendish? What a shame. She seemed like such a nice young lady, but I suppose it can be rather hard to tell until one has tried her out."

  "It was unavoidable," I reply.

  "Perhaps," she says, "but this is the second girl in a row to have ended up dead without even getting past the first stage of the game. Poor Mr. White must be getting rather impatient. Do I need to be worried about your conduct, Mr. Blue?"

  "Absolutely not," I reply, hoping beyond hope that Inspector Matthews is out there somewhere, listening to us. "Both Sophia Marchant and Elizabeth Cavendish had their own beneficial qualities, but in the end I determined that neither of them would be suitable to pass on to Mr. White. I certainly wouldn't want to waste his time." Looking over at Mr. White, I can see the frustration in his eyes. He is desperate to get hold of a girl, and he believes that I am standing in his way. In some ways, he is absolutely correct; I have grown weary of sending girls to be hung up in his dark little room, and in many ways I consider him to be the epitome of everything I have come to abhor about the game. It gives me considerable satisfaction to consider that he will never get what he wants. The game will surely be over soon.

  "Perhaps it would be wise to get on with things," Lady Red says. "It's late, and I had hoped to get an early night tonight. I must address some kind of political gathering tomorrow morning, and I'm afraid I haven't given much thought yet to what I might say. I haven't decided whether to push for reform, or argue for the status quo. I shall have to find time to toss a coin."

  "Is everything a game for you?" I ask, as Mr. White and I pick Elizabeth's body up from the ground.

  "Just the important things," she replies.

  Together, Mr. White and I carry Elizabeth's body along the side of the quay, and finally we throw her into the water. Having been weighted down with a few rocks and bricks, the body sinks immediately beneath the surface and is soon gone. We stand and watch as a few bubbles appear from air that was trapped in the bag, but finally the water becomes still once again. I cannot help but glance around at the darkness, wondering when Inspector Matthews might make his move. Surely the man is out there, poised to pounce? Surely he has seen enough already? I am quite certain that I persuaded him to give me one chance to prove my claims, so I am sure he must be here somewhere, watching from the shadows.

  "Are you looking for something, Mr. Blue?" Lady Red asks.

  I force a smile as Mr. White and I walk back over to her. "Not at all," I reply. "I was merely taking in the scene around us. London can be a rather forlorn place late at night."

  "I see," Lady Red says, fixing me with a curious smile. "I hadn't realized you were a philosopher, Mr. Blue. Why, for a moment, I quite imagined that you believed we were being watched tonight."

  I stare at her, as I feel my blood start to run cold. Does she know about my contact with Inspector Matthews, or is she merely guessing that I have been up to something? The last thing I need to do is panic just because she has made an insinuation. "I do not know what you mean," I reply, trying not to let my panic show. "Sometimes, I am merely given to contemplating the great mass of this city, and..." I pause for a moment, realizing that I have started to ramble. "Do you never think about such things?" I continue, stammering slightly. "Surely, with your political interests, you sometimes -"

  "I do," she says, interrupting me. There's an awkward pause. "I do think about such things. And what about you, Mr. White? Do you ever think about such things?"

  "Never," he replies firmly.

  "No," she says, "I didn't think you would." She stares at me for a moment. "Nor do I think you would, Mr. Blue. In fact, it seems rather out of character. So tell me, who do you expect to see come looming out of the darkness?" She bites her bottom lip as she watches me. "Surely not that nice Inspector Matthews from New Scotland Yard? Is that who you think will come to your rescue? Oh, well, I'm sure he might have done, if he had ever received your message." Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out the letter I sent to Inspector Matthews earlier tonight. "Fortunately," she continues, "your manservant Martin chose to come to me with this missive. I must say, Martin is very wise. His true loyalties cannot be broken."

  I stare at the note, and I realize with a sinking heart that Inspector Matthews is in all likelihood fast asleep in his bed, unaware of anything that is happening out here tonight. It never occurred to me that Martin could not be trusted, but now I see that Lady Red is a most formidable operator. She has extended her influence into every corner of my life, and I have made the fatal mistake
of underestimating her. I trusted Martin with my life, and it has proven to be a terrible error.

  "I must admit," she continues, "I am rather surprised that you are so keen to get out of the game, and also that you did not think to simply come to me with your request. Perhaps I would have let you simply walk away." She smiles. "Although, let us be honest with one another, Edward. No-one has ever just walked away from the game, as poor Elizabeth learned to her cost. I liked her, Edward. I liked her a lot. Did you give up her life in an attempt to incriminate Mr. White and myself? How..." She pauses, as if she's searching for the right word. "How clever of you," she says eventually. "How vicious. I wonder, though, if she is cold down there on the river bed? Do you think that perhaps she would like to get her lover back, so that she is not alone?"

  Hearing movement behind my back, I turn to see that Mr. White has removed the knife from his pocket. He's a big man, and I'm quite certain I would not be able to beat him in any kind of physical confrontation, so instead I turn and run. Racing along the dark bank of the river, I see the street up ahead and for a moment I feel quite certain that I shall manage to get away. After all, Mr. White's size must surely count against him in the chase, and there must be -

  Suddenly a shot rings out, and I feel a sharp pain smash through my left hip. I immediately tumble to the ground, landing hard and feeling the agony surge through my flesh. I try desperately to get up, but my left leg is destroyed and all I can do is stumble onward a couple of paces before I feel Mr. White grab my collar and start dragging me back toward the river. I reach up and try to get free, but his grip feels far too strong. Desperately, I try to think of some other way out of this situation, but soon I'm back where I started, with Lady Red standing over me. Smiling, she holds up her pistol.

  "Mr. White is good with a knife," she says, "but when it comes to marksmanship, I cannot be beaten."