The Broken Trilogy

by Amy Cross

  "Working on what?"

  "Can we talk about something else?" There's a new sense of tension in his voice, and I realize with surprise that I've managed to bring the 'old' Mark back. "I'm sorry," he adds." It's a complex situation, but you'll just have to trust me. I've got everything under control. I just need a day or two more, and then everything'll be okay".

  "Sorry," I mutter. "I didn't mean to -"

  "It's fine," he replies quickly. "I understand that you're curious, but the whole thing is very complicated. We can't just walk away from the game. No-one's supposed to be able to leave. I've been planning ahead, though, and the game is always susceptible to change. I'm certain that both Mr. White and Lady Red are going to come around eventually". He pauses. "They have a choice. They can either let the game die, or they can accept the need for change. They know that there are no other options, and I'm just waiting for them to make their decision. There's a deadline, and they know exactly what they have to do. Just let me get on with handling things".

  "Sure," I say. "Just promise me one thing. Promise me you'll explain the whole thing to me one day. Like, years from now. Promise me you'll fill me in on all the details. Even if you have to wait until we're an old gray couple with grandchildren, promise you'll..." I pause as I suddenly realize how many assumptions I just packed into that sentence. "When it's all finished, I mean. I want to know the story of the game".

  "You might not like it," he replies. "From what I understand, the game has been pretty dark in the past".

  "I can handle dark".

  "I'll tell you about it one day," he adds, with a hint of a smile. "But you really might have to wait until we're old and gray".

  As our food comes, we sit in silence. I feel as if our conversation has reached a point at which we're both just assuming that we'll stay together. I haven't quite decided whether or not I'm going to answer his proposal tonight, and there's definitely still a part of me that's worried I might be heading into this whole thing way too fast. The smart thing might be to take a step back, spend some time away from Mark, and look at things rationally before making a commitment. At the same time, my heart attack has altered everything, and now that we seem to be on the verge of leaving the game, I can't stop thinking that everything has changed.

  Jonathan Pope

  1901

  "The fever's getting worse again," John the Pig says as he leans over Henrietta's emaciated body. "She's burning up. It comes and goes, but I can never get rid of it entirely. It's as if it's coming from within. I don't know much about the female body, but I'm certain this is no ordinary condition". He turns to me. "She's dying, Mr. Pope. We need to -"

  "Not yet," I say firmly. "Keep trying to soothe her".

  It has been many months since I first brought Henrietta to the King's Arms. In that time, she has not recovered her old self once, not even for a moment. John the Pig has done his best, and to his credit he appears to have learned a great deal about the female body. He might be disgusting, disreputable creature, but he seems more than able to apply his knowledge to the matter at hand. I heard many years ago that he was on track to become a leading surgeon before falling into a life of addiction and alcoholism, and finally I am coming to believe such a tale. Beneath the crusty, foul-smelling exterior, John the Pig is an intelligent man who seems to actually care about his patients.

  "It's getting to that point we talked about," he says as he mops Henrietta's sweaty brow. "I warned you -"

  "Not yet," I say again.

  "You keep saying that, but I'm telling you, it's time! We have to decide what to do about the baby!"

  "The baby's going to be fine".

  "The baby's going to kill her". He pauses. "The baby's going to drain all the blood from her body, and then once she's dead, the baby won't last much longer. You have to make a decision".

  Looking down at Henrietta's swollen belly, I realize that he's right. The child has been growing and growing, to the extent that it almost seems as if he's drawing sustenance and strength away from his mother's body. So far, it would seem that the baby is healthy, but it's clear that Henrietta is not in the right condition to give birth. John the Pig has warned me on many occasions that by not making a decision, I risk losing both mother and child. Henrietta seems close to the point of death anyway, and although we're a little early for the birth, I'm starting to wonder whether I should agree to a forced labor. At least that way, the child might have a chance.

  "Let me explain this to you," John the Pig continues, "in terms that you might actually understand. At first, this was a fairly normal pregnancy. Mother and child were working in harmony. When the woman became sick, however, their relationship changed. They're in opposition. The child draws everything it can from the mother, and the mother fights back. If this continues, they'll kill one another. The only godly thing to do right now would be for you to allow me to cut her belly open and retrieve the child. There's a good chance it could survive".

  "But you'd be killing Henrietta in the process," I reply, barely able to comprehend the loss of this strong, proud woman. Since I first became aware of her, I've always seen Henrietta as one of the strongest people who has ever lived. She has a reputation across London for being a firebrand and a political orator, and there were times when I allowed myself to believe that she might be invincible. It's such a shock, therefore, to find her now in such a terrible state. I can't help but feel that this is partly my fault. If I'd never taken an interest in the game, if I'd never been drawn into the role of Mr. Blue, this perfect, brilliant woman would still be okay.

  "A life for a life," John the Pig replies. "Either way, she dies. The only question is whether the child lives". He pauses. "If you're worried about what you'd do with it after it was out, I have connections. I can find a decent home for the baby. Sure, it won't grow up in a palace, but it'll have food and water, and a roof over its head. What can you offer it, Mr. Pope? Do you truly believe you can look after a child alone? A man such as yourself might make a decent father, but you'd be a damnably awful mother".

  "I can't decide right now," I mutter, heading to the door. "I need time. I can't..." My voice trails off as I try to make sense of the conflicting thoughts that are rushing through my mind.

  "You have twelve hours," he says.

  I turn back to look at him.

  "Maximum," he adds. "I'm not setting the deadline. She is. She can't last much longer. In twelve hours, it might even be too late. You have to find a way to make it settle in your mind, Mr. Pope. There's no alternative. She's as good as dead. Just give the word and I'll save the child".

  Glancing over at his makeshift set of instruments, I see several saws and blades. It's impossible to believe that I could ever allow this butcher to cut into Henrietta's body, yet I'm gradually coming to the conclusion that there might be no alternative. When he says that she's close to death, I believe him, and if the child lives, I will at least have a reminder of Henrietta's spirit in the form of a new life. For the first time in many, many years, I actually find myself hoping that God might intervene and give me the strength that I require.

  "Give me one hour," I say eventually. "I'll make a decision, and then you can..." I pause, and even though it's painfully obvious what the decision will be, I cannot quite bring myself to say the words. Not yet. It's too soon. "Give me one hour," I say again. "Just one hour. I'll be downstairs. When I've made the decision, I'll..." I pause for a moment. "When I've made the decision, will you act immediately?"

  "There's nothing to be gained by waiting," he replies.

  Leaving the room, I make my way toward the stairs. I already know what I'm going to decide, but I need to summon the strength to get the words out. After all, I'm about to sign a death sentence for the woman I love. I can't shake the hope that perhaps some miracle will come down upon us and change everything, and that suddenly Henrietta will recover. Still, deep down, I know that such things simply do not happen. She is as good as dead, and I should probably give the word to John the
Pig immediately. Not only will the child perhaps be saved, but Henrietta will be spared the undoubted pain and suffering that she is currently enduring. Stopping at the top of the stairs, I try to force myself to go back and tell him to start the operation, but I can't. Not yet. I want my love to live a moment longer, even if ultimately we're both doomed.

  Elly

  Today

  "What's the name of this place again?" Mark shouts.

  "The King's Arms!" I shout back, struggling to make myself heard over the sound of the music. Having finished dinner, we've south of the river to the pub where I used to hang out when I was younger. It's strange, but earlier this evening I suddenly realized that I'd never actually taken Mark to any of 'my' places, and I'd never really shown him what my life was like before we met. It took a while to persuade him to come all the way down here, and it's clear that he's feeling pretty uncomfortable, but I kind of feel like it's important to help him understand the real 'me'. After all, so far he's only known me as part of the game, but with the game coming to an end, he needs to know a lot more about my life.

  "It's very loud!" he shouts.

  Smiling, I pass him a pint of beer.

  "So you really used to come here?" he continues, as we head away from the bar and over to a slightly quieter booth. There's something about his tone of voice that makes it clear he has a hard time picturing me in the King's Arms on a regular basis. I guess maybe he's always seen me as a kind of vanilla girl, never actually going out and having fun.

  "Does that surprise you?" I ask.

  "Maybe. It just seems a little..." His voice trails off, and I can tell that he's trying to come up with the right word.

  "Rough?" I suggest.

  He nods.

  "It wasn't quite so bad in the old days," I continue. "I mean, it wasn't exactly posh, but over the past few years it seems to have gone downhill a bit. Then again, it used to be way, way worse. Apparently this place was notorious in the nineteenth century. It had a reputation as the toughest pub in London. Seriously, you could have been killed just for walking in at the wrong moment".

  "I'm glad to see it's improved so much," Mark replies with a cautious smile.

  "Look at that guy," I say, pointing at a small framed portrait hanging in the booth. "His name was Darius Wolff. He was the landlord here for a while, and he's supposed to have been this insanely violent figure who was feared throughout the London underworld. Eventually they found him dead here, hacked to pieces. No-one ever discovered exactly what happened, but they think he was mixed up in some pretty shady business. There was this other guy here, like a kind of amateur doctor who went by the name John the Dog or John the Pig, something like that, and he used to operate on people for money. He was found dead here too, at the same time as the Darius Wolff guy".

  "Sounds like there was quite a bloodbath," Mark says.

  "You should look it up some time," I continue. "The history of this place is enough to make your toes curl. It's like every murderer in London used to come here to drink. There used to be a joke about the King's Arms having its own laws. It wasn't until the old landlord died that it started to get cleaned up, but even then, something about the place seems to have really stuck. It's like the pub attracts trouble, generation after generation".

  Staring at him for a moment, I eventually start to smile.

  "What?" he asks.

  I shake my head.

  "You think I don't fit in here?" he continues.

  "I'm sorry," I reply, "but you really don't. I mean, it's kind of cute watching you try, but I bet you've never been anywhere like this before. You look totally lost".

  He takes a sip from his beer. "Is this really beer?" he asks after a moment. "It's so... fizzy".

  "It's lager," I reply, glancing across the room. "Don't tell me -" Spotting a familiar face over by the bar, I fall silent. It's been a while since I even thought of Rob, the old friend whose band took me halfway to Exeter before I had to be rescued by Mark, but suddenly I see that he's ordering a drink. For a moment, I'm frozen in the headlights, trying to decide whether I should go and say hello, but seconds later he glances in my direction and we make eye contact. It's an awkward moment, and I quickly turn back to Mark. I guess this is exactly the kind of stress I'm supposed to be avoiding.

  "Someone you know?" he asks.

  "An old..." I pause. How do I explain Rob? He was a guy I slept with for a few days, but that's about it. "Just an old friend," I continue eventually. "We had a thing. Briefly. I guess it's coincidences like this that could've been avoided if we hadn't come to this place at all. I'm sorry -"

  "It's fine," Mark replies. "I don't mind meeting an old boyfriend".

  "He wasn't my boyfriend!" I say firmly. "No way! He was just this guy. There was no boyfriend or girlfriend stuff going on. It was just..." My voice trails off.

  "Sex?" Mark adds helpfully.

  I nod.

  "So aren't you going to invite him over?" Mark asks.

  "God, no," I reply. "I don't want anything to do with him. I mean, I've got a few old friends knocking around, but he's definitely not one of them. As far as I'm concerned, he doesn't even exist. I'd forgotten all about him until..." I pause for a moment. "He's not looking this way, is he?"

  "Actually he's gone over to another booth," Mark replies. "I think he's with some other people".

  "Thank God," I mutter, taking a big gulp from my pint. I'm starting to realize that bringing Mark here was a disaster. It's not like I was some kind of slut or tramp when I was younger, and I didn't even sleep around, but I still feel like my life is better divided into a pre-Mark phase and a post-Mark phase. This misguided attempt to blur the line between the two is starting to fall apart, and right now I just want to get out of here. "I just need to go to the bathroom," I mutter, getting up and hurrying through the crowd.

  Once I'm in the dingy, dirty bathroom at the back of the pub, I manage to force myself to calm down. Sure, my old life wasn't exactly perfect, but I didn't ever do anything that should make me embarrassed. Looking in the mirror, I realize that I look totally out of place in this dump. The King's Arms hasn't changed at all, but I have... I feel as if I'm older and more focused. It's not that I'm too mature for this place... Scratch that. I am too mature. Well, maybe 'mature' isn't the right word, but I've definitely moved on, and I don't belong here.

  After taking a couple more minutes to freshen up, I head back out into the bustle of the pub, and to my surprise I see that Mark is no longer sitting at our booth, which has already been claimed by a bunch of girls. Turning and looking across the crowded room, I try to work out where Mark has gone, before finally I accidentally make eye contact with Rob again. I smile weakly, and he reciprocates, but I quickly turn and hurry through the crowd. There are way too many people packed around the doorway, and it takes me a couple of minutes to finally force my way out into the cool evening, at which point I immediately spot Mark standing over by the railing, watching the passing traffic.

  "You okay?" I ask, walking over to him.

  "I just needed some air," he replies. "That place can be a little intense. I think I was breathing in someone else's sweat".

  "That's what it's like in there".

  "It's not a bad place," he continues. "If you really want to go here, I -"

  "No!" I say quickly. "No! Definitely not! No, this was..." I turn and stare at the bustling pub. "I guess this was my last visit," I add eventually, feeling a hint of melancholy in my chest. "It's a good thing. I don't want to still be going here for the rest of my life, but I guess I needed to come back and say goodbye to the place. Now I've done that, though, I just need to move on".

  "You sure?"

  I nod. "Don't you have places like that? Places you liked once, but you don't like any more?"

  "Sure".

  "That's what this place is to me," I continue. "It's a symbol of my old life, and symbols are made to be destroyed. Right?"

  "That's one way of looking at it," he replies. "I'm glad we
came, though. I like seeing glimpses of the old Elly. If I ever hope to know you properly in the future, I need to know a few things about your past".

  "You really want that?" I ask, a little shocked at how forward he's being. "You want to know me properly?"

  "Would I be here if I didn't?"

  "Yeah, but..." I pause, and suddenly I realize that this is exactly how I've been wanting things with Mark to work. He seems to actually care about me. "Promise me the game is over," I say suddenly. "It is over, right?"

  He nods.

  "Just for us, or... Is it over permanently, for everyone?"

  "That depends on other people," he continues, "but as far as we're concerned, it's finished. I've made that very clear. I'm not going back to that life, and they can't make me. At the same time, I was careful to have an insurance policy in place. These can be dangerous people, Elly, but they're not stupid. They know what could happen to them if they try to hurt me. One of the few advantages of this situation is that everyone has always been very open and honest about what happens in certain circumstances. They know what I want, and I know what they want. I'm pretty certain an agreement can be reached".

  "You think they'd try to hurt you?" I ask.

  He shrugs.

  "But..." I pause, realizing that my long-suppressed fears regarding Mr. White and Lady Red are starting to come to the surface. Although I've never been able to really put my finger on it, I've suspected for a while that there might be more danger and violence to the game than Mark has ever admitted. It's as if he's deliberately holding back certain information from me, and this in turn makes me worried about whether he can handle any problems that arise.

  "It's okay," he says, forcing a smile.

  "You'd tell me if it wasn't, right?"

  He nods.

  "I need to know that you trust me," I continue. "If we're going to make a go of this, we need to be able to do things together, and not just the good things".