The Killing Hand

by Andrew Bishop

  Evening rolled round. I still did not know if he would be home, for today would be an unruly shift indeed, but I tried nevertheless. It was my luck that I caught him at home, and he looked like he had been settled some time. He answered the door wearily, before realising it was me and invited me in. He was on the drink.

  “I just heard the news about the Mayor,” I said. I wanted to apologise to him, but I knew I could not.

  James simply nodded as he sat. “A great loss indeed.”

  “What will happen now?”

  James stared flatly as he stared at the notes on the table in the corner of the room, beginning to mumble to himself. “With the Mayor dead, they dismissed the case. Cold feet. Out of fear that he would strike again.”

  “W-what? They’re not going to arrest a murderer because they’re worried he might kill again? Do they realise how inane that sounds?”

  “They are worried that, if he can get to the Mayor, he has the ability to get to other people of importance. Mayor Cowan was the one who headed the case, hence why he was targeted.”

  “I see, nobody else is willing to step up in the wake of his death?”

  “No, that is not it,” James said, and fixed me with a burning stare. “I offered to do it, but they would not accept. Instead, those spineless cowards closed off the entire case.”

  “You offered? But, then you would have been the next one to go.”

  James drunkenly smiled. “Not if I caught him before he managed to.”

  “It would have been suicide, James. You know how little you have to go off. And of the case, how can they just close it? What will the public think?”

  “The public will be none the wiser. The police will act as if the investigation is ongoing, but make no real effort. If no harm comes to Jack, they hope everything will die down, then the media may quieten, and that’ll be that.”

  “And they, your superiors, believe that?”

  James laughed. “No! Of course they do not. But none of them are willing to put their necks on the line, so this is the path they have chosen. Despite this set back, I will continue on by my own resolve. I have all the papers here, Eric. I know the notes inside out. Perhaps, by keeping the investigation unofficial, this might work in my favour. Jack would not catch wind of it as he would with a high profile case. And I still have friends in the station, people who still have resolve.”

  “You think this wise?”

  James ignored me. “He is a dead man. This Spring-heeled Jack is solely responsible for many high profile murders committed over the past half a year, and responsible to the murder of our dear Mayor. The mark of his steel claws branded into his flesh, it sickens me that he has done this to such a great man, but it sickens me even more to see that he simply did it as a warning to us. This is his way of threatening us without having to say a word. The body of the Mayor spoke for him: speak against me and this will be your fate. Perhaps he did it due to the public enquiries, but why now? After many months? The investigation had advanced little since then.”

  “Perhaps he just did it because he felt like it. He is a villain, James, and his logic will not flow with ours.”

  With an aggressive scream he lashed out, pummelling his fist into the sofa. “He is mocking me, Eric.”

  I glanced down at his desk full of papers. There was a map will all the alleged Spring-heeled Jack murders, with the detail of each murder.

  James caught sight of me doing so. “I have been watching, looking for some anomaly, some mistake,” he said. “Something to give him away, but I have nothing. We had people flocking to the station reporting Spring-heeled Jack every day. For weeks people had been helping us with reports, but there was simply no evidence. The reports were whimsical, or outright lies.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “I will find him. I have to somehow. I cannot just let such a foul beast roam free at the behest of straw men. Think of the men he has killed, Eric. Think of Rufus. What about your Father?”

  “You do not know that for certain.”

  “Just like we do not know for certain Jack killed the Mayor? The motive and the means are there, Eric. I am sorry it hurts to acknowledge, but denying to truth will do you no good.”

  I felt unable to respond, the guilty of having a part in all of this, no matter how small, made me feel vile.

  James paced for a while, muttering to himself. “Why now? Why did he strike now and not before?” He frequently lashed out in frustration and drank. Then, just as I was thinking about leaving him alone, he suddenly stopped. “Eric, I have an absurd notion. Are you sure Lucius could not be involved somehow? The more I look at his arrest…”

  I shook my head. “I do not have many dealings with Lucius, I try to stay away from the man.”

  “Is that why you went to the public hearing with him then?”

  A pang of worry overcame me. Did James suspect me, too? Had he cornered me? He surveyed me with cold eyes.

  I answered, “I visited there of my own accord and came across him inside. We did not speak much, he mainly commented on my absence from London. I told you this on the day.”

  A warm smile spread back over James’ face. “I know. I know full well you would not willingly spend any time with that wretch of a man. I just wondered if you had heard any news of him recently.”

  “I cannot say I have, I am afraid, other than the news you informed me of his arrest.”

  “Of which he has now been released. It could not be helped, I guess. Lucius also has an alibi for when the Mayor was killed, so that protects him.”

  “You checked?”

  James nodded. “I will keep you informed of any progress I make in my investigations. I would appreciate if you could inform me of any news you hear that could be of use to me. Even though the Mayor is gone, I will find Spring-heeled Jack.”

  I felt that, in the absence of a superior, James had taken to reporting back to me. I did not feel worthy enough, but it worked in my favour nevertheless. James’ willingness to continue pleased me, but also concerned me about his safety. It is as he said though, with the investigation unofficial, hopefully Jack would not notice. The fact that in all of this hell someone was willing to see it through relaxed me somewhat. I had hoped that it would be James that would bring Jack to justice, and that day could not come sooner for me. I left him in high spirits, and hoped that the next time I saw him he would have more news to share with me.

  When I returned home that evening, I no longer saw the home my family belonged to. I saw a temple of darkness which I sat in and worshipped every night. And as time passed, I sensed that He were getting closer. Perhaps He could already be waiting within, ready to loom over my bed whilst I slept and dig His claws in.

  I needed convincing no further. I walked up the steps of my house to collect the bag I had packed, but nothing more. As I stood in the open doorway I gave the house one parting glance. I thought about the horrors that had been committed here, and the horrors that were to be committed. Could I simply shut it off as a mausoleum and never return to it? No, I could not. And what if Lilly were to come visit and look for me?

  I had to burn my steps if I were to truly throw Jack, and I needed to do so in such a way that Lilly would not move back into the house – for I knew only too well that Gilbert would steal such an idea given the chance. I gave myself no time to neither think nor regret, I could only think of survival now and nothing more. I lit a candle and placed it on the sofa and left, making my way into the depths of night.

  Chapter XXII

  I made my way to a local inn, where I paid for a room and holed myself for the night. I did not sleep. I sat on the edge of the bed and peering through the slit in the curtains. I felt as though the world was picking up speed around me, but I remained rooted to the spot. That I would soon be caught under the gears.

  I thought how I could avoid Him from now on, perhaps moving from inn to inn. But my funds would be limited, I could not survive forever this way. My mind was clouded for
some time, but no thoughts came clearly. I remained peering through the window until I saw a warm orange glow several streets away.

  The rain was pelting when I made my way outside. The streets were empty. The reflection of the rising moon shone against the drenched cobblestones of the street. I began to walk, the clicking of my shoes against stone indiscernible from the hammering of rain.

  As I neared my street, my nostrils filled with fresh, sickly smoke. Many would have assumed it to be the industry of the area pouring its smog out onto the street, but the air was too thick with it. When my home came into view it was as I suspected, I was that it was engulfed in ravenous flame, curling around every window and door like veins. A crowd had already gathered around it and I ran to them. There was nothing I could do, the flames were far too great and the house had fallen to it, but this was my intention. I regretted it, but I could do nothing about it now. To have simply left would have meant I could always return, but this was final. I struggled to simply stand by and watch, several bypassers had to hold me as I tried to get near to the house. I did not know what I would do, there was nothing I could do. I wanted to salvage some part of it before it was all gone, erased from this world, but I was too late. My home was gone.

  By the time the fire brigade turned up it was too late; the fire had done its work. 13 Womersley Place had been completely destroyed. The very home that I had been born and raised in was now a smouldering skeletal frame. My life had burned before me. The once finely decorated home had been peeled and stripped by flame and stood as a simple reminder that nothing is forever and all that awaits us when our time on this planet ends is decay.

  Lilly appeared about an hour later, having being informed by a neighbour to visit me with haste. She had little expected to find me wallowing over the ruins of our home that morning. She did not cry when she saw the remains of the home. Perhaps there was too much tragedy consigned to it now for her to wish it back. “It is horrible to see it like this,” she simply whispered to herself.

  I could only nod. Some of the fine details from within the skeletal frame were still distinguishable – banisters and railings singed and broken, resembling a fraction of what the house once was.

  “Are you the owner?” one of the firemen called out to me after they had finished wrestling with the flames.

  I nodded.

  “There is very little left, I am afraid.”

  “I can see that much.”

  The fireman, undeterred, continued. “The flames spread to most of the rooms, although there are some items that were unscathed.” He pointed to a mound that had been dragged from the wreckage. They were now the only possessions I owned, an ash coated pile of materials, clothes and ornaments.

  “Thank you.”

  “We also believe we found the source of the fire.” He held out the candle holder, burned and warped by the flame. “You should be more careful in future.”

  I simply nodded and said nothing further. The fireman, understanding further preaching would be useless, left me alone with Lilly.

  “What will you do now?” Lilly asked from behind me.

  “I am not quite sure. I never really planned it.”

  “You shall stay with us,” she said. “You cannot go anywhere else, with no money and no possessions.”

  “I still have money in the bank,” I argued.

  “Not nearly enough to start afresh. You shall stay with us until you find your feet.”

  She was right. I was bound to London for now, although I knew I was bound until I could break those damned chains. “I appreciate the offer, but I cannot invade your home. I am certain Gilbert would not appreciate me under your roof.”

  “It was not an offer, Eric. It was a demand. I will not have you sleeping rough.'

  I grumbled, realising that Lilly would not take no for an answer, and eventually relinquished. I stood staring at the charred remains of my life, unable to tear myself from the horrific picture. She took me by the arm and led me away. Behind me, my old life was smoking. But maybe it was better that way. Maybe freedom from it was better than the memory.

  “What is he doing here?” was the first thing Gilbert said as Lilly led me into her home.

  “There has been a fire,” Lilly said as she took my drenched coat from me. “Eric no longer has a home.”

  Gilbert huffed, seemingly affected by the news of my homelessness - or perhaps of the loss of the house. He eventually composed himself. “A tragedy I am sure, but you have failed to answer my question. What is he doing here?”

  “I have invited him to stay with us until he finds his feet again.”

  “This is not your home to invite him to. I will have no such man under this roof.”

  “You shall have no choice in the matter,” Lilly snapped. “You have treat my brother with nothing but discontent since his arrival. You can make it up by offering one of our many spare rooms out to him in his time of need. You have married me and now he is part of your family, so you must treat him as such.”

  Gilbert did not argue further, although I could see he did not agree. He snarled, giving me a glare, before disappearing back into his study.

  “Ignore him,” Lilly said as she led me into the house and lit the fire for me. “He probably will not get much better, but that is the price of free accommodation I am afraid.”

  “I have put up with him so far, I am sure I will find a way to continue.” Even as I said this, I could hear Gilbert stomping around in the study.

  Lilly offered me tea, which I accepted, and I began to dry myself near the fire from the rain. I stank of damp and smoke, but there was little I could do about it. After Lilly had settled me, she joined me beside the fire.

  “Feeling better?” she asked.

  I nodded. “I am just glad I was not in it when it happened.”

  “Where were you?”

  “At a friend’s. James’.”

  “A very peculiar hour to be visiting, although I suppose it was fortunate in itself.”

  I nodded.

  She continued, “So now that you are stuck in London, do you wish to tell me about what is wrong?”

  “Wrong?”

  “You have alluded to it many times, Eric. You have obviously entwined yourself since your arrival. You should tell me.”

  “No. I fear that it will inflict upon you.”

  “I can help you, Eric. Please do not feel as though you must suffer in silence.”

  Lilly was the only person I had left to reach out to, but I could not. I wanted her to be safe, and to remove her from the situation was best. If I told her and died, she would only remain vengeful. Silence was best. “My dear Sister, I am sorry, but I will not endanger you. It is with no pleasure that I have to keep this from you, Lilly.”

  “I know. I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “It was not by choice that you were put in this situation, was it? I know you, Eric. You would never do such a thing to yourself. I do not know the details, and I do not know how to help you, but know that this house is always open to you now. I cannot imagine how horrible it has been for you.”

  “I wish I could tell you. Suffering alone has only made it worse.”

  “Not alone.” She smiled at me. That warm smile that seemed to reassure me that everything would be alright. “Share your burdens with me, when you can.”

  I smiled back at her. Although I did not know what we could do together, I knew her offer was genuine.

  Gilbert entered moments later, eyeing me with disdain. “Where is my tea?” he asked, eyeing the drink in my hand.

  “Ah, sorry dear. I shall make you one now.” Lilly stood and hurried away to the kitchen.

  Gilbert followed suit, and I remained in the living room listening to them bicker. Gilbert was obviously cranky, presumably from working far too much since my absence from work. They argued about nothing between themselves for a while as she made the tea. I thought it merely a tiny spat at first, but then I heard the smash of a cup aga
inst the floor. It had had a long day and his patience had long since snapped, and I heard his hand strike my sister.

  Pushing my way through into the kitchen, I caught him with one arm raised and the other grabbing her by the arm. “Remove your hands from my Sister you wretch.” I grabbed him and pushed him away.

  “She is not your Sister, she is my wife - and that is all that matters under this roof.”

  Lilly steadied herself, brushing her hair back into place. “Eric, it is fine. Please, leave us. Go settle in your room.”

  “I will not leave you with this crook of a man, a man who takes pleasure in beating you.”

  “Eric, I was not asking.”

  Two strangers stood before me. Gilbert, the strong domineering man with a gaze suggesting he would like nothing more than to turn his fist on me right now if he had the spine, and Lilly who, for reasons I shall never understand, looked at me with a sorrowful expression. An innocent man would have assumed that her sad expression was due to the situation we had found ourselves caught in, but the look in her eyes was one I had seen before. It was the expression of a person who merely wished to be left to their own devices and, in this case, her own devices were the horrors of married life.

  I did not feel proud leaving that room. I sat upstairs for some time, making sure I could not hear any further commotion. Everything had died down though, and Gilbert returned to his usual grumpy, but not aggressive, self.

  Before either of them could pester me further, I left the house and returned to the inn to retrieve my bag. I did not return to their home straight away, instead wandering idly. I did not want to be in a home where my own Sister was subservient to such a man, but another part of me told me it was better to be there when it did happen. That was the only part that made me return.

  Chapter XXIII

  After I had packed I made the decision to return back to their home later on in the evening. I knocked on the door and Lilly answered. To my relief I found that Gilbert was absent, schmoozing in bars with those he barely knew most likely. I took my bag upstairs and unpacked before returning to the living room to sit with Lilly. We did not speak about the event that had just transpired. I knew that the issue of Gilbert would lay on my mind, but until I knew how to best deal with it, I decided preaching at Lilly would do no good. Instead, we spoke of better things. Reminisced of our childhoods, of the times we spent in that now lost home of ours, and of our Father.