The Killing Hand

by Andrew Bishop

  "You..." James stuttered, looking at Him in paralysed horror. "You wretch! I arrest you in the name of…"

  In effortless motion, Jack's claws tore through the cold night air and through James, sending him to the ground in one swift, but strong, swipe. James hit the floor with a sickening, earthly thud, and a soft rain of blood followed him. The claws had gone straight for his throat. With a loud, howling laugh, Jack sprung into the night sky, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. I stood, frozen by the horror of the situation, listening to his howling burrowing into the depths of my mind as it echoed about me.

  Before me, in the now lonely street, the still form of James lay. When the scream finally formed, and my legs returned to me, I darted forwards and collapsed beside him. He was already dead. His expression was one of pain. One of someone who was not meant to, nor deserve, to die.

  I found myself unable to run. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I could not flee. Not this time. I called out into the street like a lost child, howling for someone to find me.

  "Murder... murder in the street...”

  Chapter XXV

  Many people gathered at the funeral of London's Greatest Detective. They were people from all walks of life - politicians, policemen, bankers, lawyers, all the way down to the working class people. We all huddled around the freshly dug grave en mass. Every one of us watched as James' casket vanished under layers of dirt. I watched as my friend was buried. I was barely able to contain myself, knowing that I was the one who had helped condemn him.

  I remained transfixed throughout the entire ceremony. I let the hate and anger build up inside me. I let it consume my soul and harnessed it as a tool to strike out. Seeing my close friend now lifeless before me both enraged and sickened me. When the ceremony came to an end the good people paid their respects and left. I, however, remained routed to the spot, unable to move, transfixed at the fresh grave before me. I felt drawn towards it, as if the hole in the ground had been meant for me instead; perhaps it was. I felt as if a part of me now lay buried under the dirt, never to be revived.

  A biting breeze cut through the trees, whistling and taking away the silence. I felt alone. For the first time ever, I felt truly alone.

  The sun shone down over the graves of the cemetery, almost mockingly to those who would never rise to see it again. I continued to stand by the grave, staring in disbelief. Was my friend, once full of life and hope, really buried under there? Still and rotting? My mind could not comprehend it. I wanted to cry, to be sorry, but no part of me actually believed that James was gone.

  I barely noticed Francis walk up behind me. He did not say anything at first, simply lingering as I had my moment. Francis had not cried during the funeral; but his face had gradually contorted in an expression of anger. The situation we were in, the absurd horror of it all, it felt like he was the only friend I now had in that cold, dark world.

  It was a good long while before he managed to break the silence between us both with a dry, hoarse confession. "I am leaving."

  I turned to him, but found myself unable to make eye contact, the situation beyond my capabilities. I instead stared at his feet, watching as they sunk into a sea of dying leaves. "L-leaving?"

  "North. Europe. Wherever. I just need to get out of here before I end up the same way." Francis' glaze flickered over the fresh dirt of James' grave, barely able to comprehend the situation.

  Although I understood his reasoning, I could not help but feel disappointed. "And what of everything that has gone on here?"

  He grimaced. "I will forget about it and endeavour never to let these times cross my mind again. You too should leave - and never return. Things will only get worse here otherwise."

  I stalled, having no answer. My brain was unable to think beyond the loss of my great friend right now, although the horror of it all was beginning to claw its way to the forefront of my mind again.

  When I next tried to speak I thought that I would sound confident and committed, but the shaking mortality in my voice was no doubt apparent to the both of us. "I do not know what I will do, but I will stay. I feel like I should do something."

  Francis' eyes widened, whether out of disbelief or understanding I was unsure. "I see little more you can do, Eric. It would do you no good to remain here. What do you hope to achieve? If you remain here then only death awaits, both for you and those around you."

  I stared at him. I considered telling him that my Father had met with the same fate; that they all did, eventually. I did not want to tell him that nobody had ever escaped. I hoped that he would be the first. The exception.

  But still, he was giving up. I wanted to argue. Is that what he would really have me do, after such an ordeal? But, Francis was right. The forces of which I struggled with seemed beyond any physical retribution. There was no true way to kill or destroy this monster, for its evil seemed to exist as a concept. The very thing we had struggled with all along kept changing form and I wondered when it would end. Perhaps even to attempt revenge was venturing to destroy myself - a route I wished not to take. My encounter with Him still burned fresh, for he simply toyed with my mind. Every dark corner of the world was filled with His evil. I wanted to leave, I so very did, but before I could I would need to find a way to end Him, else I would live in fear for all eternity. And even if I did successfully flee, as I hoped Francis would, he would proceed to burn my life as he had done others. I had to think of Lilly.

  "Get your things and leave Francis," I said, my mind made up on the matter. "Do not worry about me."

  Francis nodded, a grave understanding sinking in. "Then this is it. It is an unwise decision you commit to, and I shall not remain to see it through." He said nothing more on the matter and walked towards me, I thought for an embrace, but instead he bypassed me to pay his respects to James' grave. He turned, knowing that it could be the last time that we would see one another, and walked away without warmth nor hope.

  "I hope that I may see you again, friend," I called out, but he did not respond. Instead he walked away without hesitation. He paused only once: he crouched down beside a small grave, running his fingers over the headstone for a respectful minute, and then

  left. That was the last time I ever saw Francis.

  I looked down at James' grave, feeling like a hollow man. I would pay my respects in the horror I would endure to fix this, to put everything right, and I promised myself to make things as best I could.

  The arrangement had been made that, following the funeral, those who remained a part of this nightmare were to return to Lucius' house. His maid made us feel most welcoming, for she was in the belief that those who now sat in his living room were his friends in life. She plied us with drink and we toasted him, though we did not know why. Funerals are a strange thing; you do what you feel you are meant to do, but not what is actually a reflection of how you feel. It is almost as if the entire thing is a play within itself, and in turn a mockery of the dead in question. The men around me were indifferent to his death; and I wished not to toast him, only to break down and cry.

  Lucius was the first to break the conversation from the admiring his decor to something more impending. "Well, as seen as we are all here... I guess this is as good a time as any to begin the next meeting."

  I said, "Now? Of all times? Have some decency."

  "I will have none, for none will be shown towards us. We have this meeting now for there are matters to be discussed that cannot wait. Where is Francis, Eric?”

  “Francis has fled in the understanding that I think we all have come to: we will all be killed. He suggested me to me, as I suggest to you now, that those of you who feel that they can leave London and everything behind. Vanish into the shadows if you must, but leave no trace, nor make no attempt to return. Death only awaits you. I feel that the attack on my house was meant to kill me. I feel as though my attacker is aware of my survival, and it will be only a matter of time until he discovers my new locale. The rest of you will follow.”


  The room was silent for a while until Harry spoke. “And you will do the same, Eric? You will flee?”

  Would I do the same? Of course not. I did not truly believe escape was possible, especially without some form of closure. It was not just that which spurred me on though, I could lie to the others, but never myself. The entire worth of The Hudson Group sat in that bank under our names. All I had to do was get to it and my life would be made. So would I be lying if I said that I would leave? Even if it was, admittedly, later and much richer than implied? "I will leave London when the time is right," I said, in the firm belief that it were no lie. "And, for the sakes of your own lives, I suggest you all leave sooner."

  Palmer spat, "Tosh!" And with that he marched out of the room with no break in his step.

  I turned to Harry and Lucius. "It is imperative you must leave. Do you understand?"

  Harry said, "But where will I go? How will I live? London is my life. My family, my friends, my work..."

  "Your death, too. Would you sit here and die for such a thing? Leave, Harry. For the sake of your future."

  “The group has been dismantled,” Lucius said. “The killer no longer works in our favour. I believe it will be a mere matter of time until he finds us alone, for I have no doubt he has been watching us for some time. You could keep in the company of friends, but then he will be forced to strike out. There is no sanctity here, Harry. Listen to Eric.”

  He stared at us for the longest time, he face forever growing older as he did so. Eventually he nodded, as if nodding himself out of a daydream, and placed his glass down, draped his coat over his shoulders and made his way towards to exit. As he did so he placed his hand upon my shoulder, but did not manage to speak the words that swirled in his mind. He left in silence.

  And that was that. Palmer had made his decision to stay in London, for his own infernal reasons. Harry had not spoken a word, but I knew he intended to leave, and that was enough for me. My work, as far as protecting those around me, was done. Well - nearly done. There was one other: Lilly. As long as I remained at her house she remained endangered, and I knew I must disappear. As far as I knew the murderer presumed me dead, but if he ever found me alive then the first thing he would do would be to come to Lilly's. I knew that I must leave: under the comfort of night, I decided.

  I went to leave, but found I could not. The door handle would not turn in my hand, my wrist would not twist by my own admission. There was still more to be said tonight. I turned to face the parlour, where Lucius sat with his back to me, facing the fire.

  “Words will not fix anything now, Eric,” he called out, sensing that I had stalled. “Words are just that; words.”

  I walked over to him. “On the contrary, words are all we have has since the beginning and it has somehow still left a path of death behind us.”

  Lucius placed his glass on the table. “So what exactly is it you want? I cannot pardon your actions, nor can I forgive you.”

  “You have given up? Join me in trying to end this damned thing, Lucius. It is the only way we can get out of this now.”

  Lucius did not respond, as if expecting this plea. Was he entertaining the thought? I could not tell from his reaction. He simply pulled a fresh cigar from the table closest to him, lit it on a nearby candle and began to smoke. “Eric...”

  “You are the one with the drive, the one who wants everything. Palmer is too bone idle, Harry too fearful. But you, you would fight, would you not?”

  Lucius let out a tired and long sigh, but I did not let him cut me off. I had sat and listened to him talk for months now whilst men died. It was my turn to talk now and his turn to listen.

  I continued, “I know you fear Him. I know you have seen Him do things, and you believe there is no escape from it. Perhaps, but why not try? To sit and accept death, it seems so unlike you.”

  Lucius eyed me silently, almost as if he found my outburst charming.

  “Well, what say you? I am right, am I not?”

  Smoke trailed into the air as Lucius pulled the cigar from his mouth. “And if you were, Eric, would it change a damn thing? At what point do you think it ends? There are Jacks all around us, Eric. Somebody waiting to stick the knife in at every corner. I am sick of the killing, of the fighting. Perhaps this Jack is the end of this particular strand, or perhaps there are more Jacks beyond him. How do we know it is only he who conspires against us? We have seen little of Him, and He remained shrouded by darkness. Even if you did defeat Him, it would only be a matter of time before somebody else picked up His work.”

  The deflection was unexpected. I had expected Lucius to make some excuse, or even admit me right. This was worse, he was gone entirely. And he was right. Was all this effort for naught? Whether it was Lucius or I, or anybody else; this mess would keep going on. Were we too deep in now to escape? How many watchful eyes were upon us, waiting for our blood? We had known Him as Jack, but perhaps Jack had been They all along. And Jack, or the Jacks of the world, were going to hunt us down regardless of our actions.

  Lucius continued, “Do you not see, Eric? It does not matter who brought this Jack to the group any more. All that matters is that He is here, and we opened the door for Him. We are not entirely ourselves anymore; this will weigh down on our minds for all eternity. I feel old, Eric, and I wish not to have that. Not to live in fear of every waking moment should it all repeat itself. So what would you have be do? We could fight Him, sure, but He is a trained assassin it appears, and I wish not to go that route. Perhaps you would have me ask Him nicely to stop doing was He is doing? Perhaps you would think it unwise, but…”

  Lucius’ hand slipped down beside the chair, and he tapped a case that stood beside the seat. “This is the only language in which He would listen to.”

  “You think He is coming for you? Now?”

  “I have no doubt that once you leave me, I will be alone and He will seize it as His time to strike.”

  “Why you, though? You made the arrangement, you headed the meetings. You are the least likely to oppose Him.”

  Lucius laughed. “Why me? I guess I just have that kind of a personality. I suppose there had been times where you wish it was my name mentioned in those meetings - I would not blame you. The arrangement I had was made with Arthur Shaw, who I doubt would have kept his promise. This Jack fellow turned out to be far more of a liability than any of us could have imagined. You can sit and dwell on it as much as you like. You can trace it back to the start, but it will not stop anything. You must think of your next actions now. He will come for the rest of you immediately after. Be prepared when he does, Eric.”

  Lucius' unwillingness to acknowledge hope, simply drinking himself into a state, made it obvious he was resigned to his fate, possibly showing remorse for his actions. I could not quite tell. Somehow, to me, it all made sense, although I did not like it.

  I stared once again at the case beside his chair, swallowing hard and realising that the man I was looking at was already dead. “Do you think that He will reason with you?”

  “No,” he growled, stubbing his cigar into the fine coffee table. “But I will be damned if I do not at least try. I have no power in me to fight Him any other way. I thought that He might come for me tonight, but everything seems so quiet, so perhaps not. Still, tonight will be another night without sleep. I know he will come sometime.” Lucius patted the case again. “I just want to be prepared when he does.”

  There was nothing further to be said to Lucius. He had resigned, and the man before me was mere form of my old acquaintance. I wanted to wish him luck, to tell him to be safe, but no part of me was willing to disrespect his intelligence. Instead, I left in silence. I gave my thanks to Lucius’ maid on the way out and made my way straight to Lilly’s, trying to distance myself from that infernal place as much as I could, fleeing before Jack was near enough to catch sight of me. My mind would be on it all night, wondering if Lucius was still breathing or not. I felt that, by midnight, he would not.

  I did
not return to Lilly's home in a rush. I idled through streets and alleys, occasionally stopping to rest. My chest was tight and my head pounding; it felt as if I had aged considerably in the weeks previous. Every so often the pain in my chest grew so bad that I would have to stop, to lean against a wall and wait until I felt as if my insides unknotted again. Partway down the road, they would tighten once more. The stress of everything was getting to me. Slowly, it was shutting me down.

  I made it back to Lilly's some hour later, wandering wearily inside. I felt as if I had endured a year without sleep.

  As I pushed the door open, Lilly came running from within to see me in. I must have been a sight, for Lilly's expression dropped when she saw me. 'Eric, you are so pale!'

  'Tired,' I mumbled without excuse.

  'Then get some rest. You need it after the past few days.'

  But rest was of no interest to me. I could not sleep knowing that I would wake up in a world in which Lucius was dead. What part of me would happily sleep knowing that he were to be murdered as I slumbered? “I will do so far in a bit,” I said, and made my way to the living home, attempting to grasp to something that I could call my own safe home. Even then, at that moment, I was staring at it with eyes that knew my time with that place was coming to an end. I had to leave before Jack found me here and endangered everyone under this roof.

  “How was the funeral?” Lilly asked, misreading my expression.

  “Big; lots of people.”

  She went through to the kitchen and brought me some tea, insisting I needed to warm myself up. She smiled, but it was a brief one. “I cannot imagine how it must feel.”

  “I need to leave,” I cut in. There was no right time to say it, so I did not wait for one. “I cannot remain here, for it is not safe for either of us.”

  There was a moments silence as Lilly perched on the edge of the sofa and cocked her head slightly as she watched me, as if waiting for a punch line. When one did not come, she eventually spoke. “You are being serious?”