by T. A. Uner
As she slept in his arms, he thought about how they had met at Oxford. He, the brash young Englishman from a working-class origins studying to becoming the first physician in his family, and she, the privileged daughter of a wealthy Spanish industrialist who had come to England to study English.
He thought about his future and wondered what it held. Mercedes had told him that she wanted him to come back to Spain for a few months and meet the rest of her family. He had agreed on condition that she convince her overbearing father not to interfere with their plans to live in London. He kissed his future wife on the forehead and put on a silk robe before heading to his living room. He lit a pipe and stared out the window overlooking George Street where the New Theater stood, a relatively new building, it had been built over a year ago to replace the first theater, funded by Oxford University’s Dramatic Society.
He turned his thoughts back to the present. It was mid-November, 1887, summer would be here before he knew it. Soon he would be married to the most beautiful woman he had ever met. He was already a doctor, and on his way to having a rewarding life.
So why did he feel restless?
{3}
Chief Inspector Donald Sutherland Swanson was experienced law enforcement official with a sandy mustache languishing beneath matching straight hair that. A former teacher, he had decided that that career offered little in terms of advancement and had joined the Metropolitan Police force in 1868 and had risen quickly within the ranks. Inspector Robert Mansfield stood in his presence and eyed the grisly documents of the new case file that had been handed to him.
“Chief Inspector,” Robert began before closing the file and taking a seat before his superior, “am I to believe that this murder victim’s blood was completely drained from his body?”
Swanson nodded solemnly and took the file. “A sanitation worker stumbled across the victim’s body the other day. The coroner said he’d never seen anything like it.”
Robert brought the image of the fang marks into prospective and racked his brain for answers: he too had never seen a wound of this nature. “Could it of been a wild animal of some sort?” Robert asked.
Swanson shook his head resolutely. “Not unless you know of any animal that can completely drain a human body of blood. No Robert, we are dealing with a very demented killer here.”
“It would take time, and a great deal of effort to siphon that much blood; and the killer would risk being detected.” He glanced over the coroner’s notes stating the approximate time of death. “The time of death coincides around the same time of the Trafalgar Square Riots.”
Swanson nodded. “I’m putting you on the case, Robert, you’re the best man I’ve got and I want your expertise on this.”
Robert had a feeling it would come to this. “But what about the Hammersmith Case I’m on now, I’m just about to close it.”
The Chief Inspector shook his head. “Bridgestone can take over for you on that.” Robert didn’t like leaving loose ends, especially to a rival officer like Bridgestone, who neither had his experience, or talent when dealing with sensitive cases. “I can tell you’re not happy with this assignment, Inspector Mansfield, but it’s very important we make headway on this case, and fast. The victim was a close friend of the Lord Mayor’s, and he wants frequent updates on this one.”
Robert tried his best to appear satisfied with his new assignment. “I’ll get right on it, sir.”He stood up and Swanson, satisfied with his response, returned to his paperwork.
• • •
The sanitation worker Robert interview reeked of alcohol and cabbage. “And you state here in the official police report that you personally stumbled upon the corpse of the victim, Sir William Denison, a prominent Banker from Uxbridge?”
The sanitation worker, a middle-aged man named Peter Hughes, had a ruddy complexion combined with a pair rheumy eyes, nodded respectfully. “Yes, Inspector, like I said to the Bobby who took my statement: it was about four o’clock in the afternoon.”
Robert nodded. It coincided with the notes in the police file he had read earlier in Swanson’s office. He looked up at the sky, a dull grey, typical of London this time of year and sighed. He needed a vacation. A pigeon landed a few feet from him, bobbing its grey head as it walked and cooing. He envied the bird, it got to choose where it went and lived by its own rules.
Robert politely dismissed Hughes, who nodded subserviently and resumed his duties. Robert pulled out a magnifying glass and searched for any clues the forensic photographer might’ve missed (highly unlikely, but worth a look anyway). He found a small swath of cloth, unlike anything he’d seen before and he felt its fibers. It was soft, like silk, despite the fact it could be a useless coincidence, he deposited the strange cloth into his pocket. Then he headed back to Scotland Yard to show it to someone who may be able to help.
• • •
Dr. Rowan Majors was a tall, well-built Welshman with broad shoulders. He looked more like a boxer than a scientist. Educated at the Sorbonne he stood out as an expert in the relatively new field of Forensic Science. He was also a good friend of Robert. When Majors took a look at the torn cloth piece through his microscope he whistled excitedly. “Well I can confirm one thing, Robert, it’s definitely, not silk. If you don’t mind me asking: where did you find it?”
Robert rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day already, and he could tell already this was going to be a exhausting case. “At the scene of the crime, Majors.” Despite being friends Robert always addressed Rowan by his last name. There wasn’t any particular reason, but it had stuck. “I really cannot get into it now, mate. Swanson would have my hide.”
“Well, I’ve never seen anything of this sort,” Majors said. He extracted a small sample of the foreign cloth before handing the rest of the clue back to Robert who palmed it and placed it back into his jacket pocket. “Its fibers are quite advanced really. Here, let me show you.” Majors led Robert into a dark room. In the corner was a strange-looking light. Majors placed his cloth sample under the light.
“This is a new technology, Robert. It’s called a halogen light. Much more advanced than any incandescent light technology available today.” Majors handed Robert a pair of protective goggles.
“Why are you giving me these?” Robert asked.
Majors smiled. “A precautionary measure.” He flipped a switch and the experimental Halogen bulb lit up like a flare.
“Impressive,” Robert said. He had never seen anything like it.
“Yes, now let’s see what happens when I shine it on this piece of cloth you brought for me to examine.” Majors donned a pair of goggles and focused the halogen bulb’s light directly onto the cloth sample before increasing its luminosity. Robert’s eyes widened as the cloth reflected the light off of its surface.
“How can it do that?”
Majors dimmed the light and removed his goggles. “When I find out you’ll be the first to know, Inspector.”
{4}
Jack couldn’t help but laugh at the fortune teller.
“Well of course she’s going to meet a mysterious man,” he told the old woman, who was doubling as the pub’s barkeep, “It’s me.”
The other patrons around Jack and Mercedes laughed so hard; one man nearly gagged on his pint. “All in a night’s work, my loves,” the old woman said,her name was Molly and she was quite popular with all of the customers at the Sword & Lion, the pub he frequented in Piccadilly Circus. Mercedes had been hesitant at first, but she had warmed to the place since Molly the barkeep always made everyone feel welcome.
“Where is Robert?” Jack looked at his new pocket watch. It glimmered under the pub’s smoky lights.
“He’ll be along shortly,” Mercedes said reassuringly before planting a warm kiss on his cheek. Her breath smelled of mint, he always wondered how she kept it smelling so fresh, even when she drank alcohol.
A few drunk patrons in the corner began singing a cheery tune. The warmth of the song did little to calm Jack, who alw
ays worried about his older brother: perhaps it was because of Robert’s dangerous line of work.
“Maybe the Vampire woman got him,” said a portly man sitting next to him.He had a square nose and wore a drab brown suit. The shadow from the brim of his derby concealed his eyes.
Molly looked at the man and hissed like a balloon. “Now Seamus, don’t you be spewing that rubbish again. Everyone knows it’s all a bunch of shit.”
Seamus shook his head and removed his derby, revealing a bald head dotted with freckles and two sharp eyes positioned under bushy brows that made the man resemble a fox. “It’s true, and anyone who doubts me can read about that dead banker from Uxbridge in The London Bugle.”
“Don’t listen to him, Jack,” Molly said as she polished a tankard. “He’s one of those folks who reads those new tabloid papers that everyone is now into. If you ask me, it’s all just a passing fad, really.”
“Ignore me at your own peril, young doctor,” Seamus said. Molly snorted her disdain and turned to greet a new patron that had stepped up to the bar.
“I’d like to hear more,” Jack said. He figured he’d kill some time while he and Mercedes waited for Robert to arrive. Seamus nodded and hopped over to the next stool to get closer to Jack and Mercedes.
“A wise choice,” he said in a thick Irish accent, extending his hand. “Seamus McCoy, Private Investigator.” Jack shook his hand. Despite being a diminutive fellow, Seamus had a strong grip, and the skin on his fingers were coarse.
Jack introduced himself and Mercedes, who smiled politely at the private investigator before returning to her drink.
“Without violating any confidentiality agreements,” Seamus said sheepishly, “I can tell you that one of my past clients hired me to investigate a strange occurrence up in St. Albans, Hertfordshire; one of his accountants had disappeared, naturally he cared about all his employees, so he hired me to find him.” Seamus paused to take a sip of his drink while Jack waited patiently for the Irishman to continue the story. “It was near the railway station.”
“What was near the railway station?” Jack felt his shirt collar stiffen, while his pulse quickened.
“The employee’s body; it was drained of blood.”
“That’s preposterous!” Mercedes said. Jack placed an arm on her sleeve and motioned for her to calm down, apparently the alcohol had lowered her inhibitions.
“It’s true, lass…Vampires are out and about in the country. For what reason only God knows.”
“Amazing how I’ve never heard of anything of this sort before,” Jack said.
Seamus coughed into his fist. “And risk a nationwide panic? I think not, Doctor. No, these bloodsucking monsters are here for a reason.”
Jack did not know why, but he believed Seamus. The serious look on the Irishman’s face was all he needed to be convinced. Besides, he did not look like the type that lied. Call it a hunch. “Well it’s been good talking to you and your lady friend, doctor, be safe.” He downed the rest of his beer before placing a few shillings next to his empty beer glass. He tipped his hat to Jack and Mercedes and sauntered off.
“You didn’t believe any of that foolery? Did you beloved?” Mercedes asked. “He’s obviously drunk, a liar — and a bad one at that.”
As Seamus left though the pub’s doorway, Robert appeared. “There he is,”Jack said standing to greet his brother. Mercedes kissed Robert on the cheek and Molly brought over a bottle of Irish whiskey.
“Sorry I’m late Jack; new case I’m working on.” Jack asked for a table so they could be more comfortable. After they were seated Jack watched his older brother drink his whiskey in silence.
“Is everything alright, Robert?” Mercedes asked, placing her hand on his arm. Robert not being one to shun female attention, especially from his future sister-in-law squeezed her hand appreciatively.
“Thanks for asking, my dear; it has been a long day.”
Jack ordered some lamb and potatoes for his brother. “Some food will do you good, Doctor’s orders, mate.” Robert smiled curtly. Very unconventional behavior, Jack thought. Even for one as professional as Robert. “Can you talk about it?” One of the waitresses brought a steaming plate of food and Robert tucked in.
“It is a strange one at that.”
“You should’ve been here a few minutes ago,” Mercedes chimed in. She had ordered another drink and Jack hoped his distinguished fiancé would not become too inhibited as the night wore on. “There was the strangest man sitting next to us. Tell him, Jack!” She playfully prodded jack with her fingers. He squeezed her hand in reciprocation, as if to warn her of becoming too excited.
“It’s true,” Jack began, “strange bloke he was, an Irishman.”
“I’m sure our neighbors to the north find us English a bit odd as well, brother,” Robert replied coyly.
“No this is something about Vampire creatures, Robert. Apparently this Irishman found one if its victims — the corpse was completely drained of blood.”
At the mention of Vampires, Robert stopped eating and grunted.
“What’s wrong brother?”
Robert wiped his mouth with a napkin and took a deep pull of his lager. “There might be some truth to what that Irishman told you.”
“Explain.” Jack leaned in closer. I wish you would tell me what is bothering you, brother.
Robert lowered his voice and leaned in towards Jack. It didn’t make sense, all this secrecy, not like anyone was listening, and if they could the noise from the pub would easily drown out their words. “I can’t get into details, but I’m currently on a case that shares eerie similarities with what you’ve just told me.”
There was a loud crash. Both Jack and Robert turned around. One of the bar patrons, an obese man wearing a tight vest over his large belly had fallen over a table, or what was left of it.
“Tell me more,” Jack said.
Robert looked around to make sure no one was listening. “The only thing I can say is…be careful.”
Two
“This time you’ve gone too far, Vampiress!”
Her Section chief, a Vampire called Ambrogio, was fuming. Hardly surprising. The man was as volatile as an explosive device. It amazed her how fast he had risen up within The Sect Hierarchy. He stood up from his leather chair and began pacing in front of an elaborate bookcase. “Do you know the man you killed was a close personal friend of the Lord Mayor of London?” At the door two Hollow Men stood at attention. They watched her with their indifferent expressions. Beneath their sunglasses she could see the whirlpools that made up their eyes. If you could call them eyes.
“I don’t make it a priority to learn the names of my victims. Really, Chief Master, to me there isn’t much difference between these inferior humans. They’re all look like food to me. I just had a snack that’s all.”
Ambrogio walked up to her and stopped less than an inch from her face. She could smell his hair tonic. She felt like shooting an arrow through his chest. Then she repressed the urge. Probably not a good idea with two Hollow Men in the room. “That has always been your problem, Vampiress, you don’t make anything a priority! Your reckless behavior could’ve cost us this mission. If your father wasn’t good friends with the Viceroy I’d sack you myself.”
She knew that he meant it. But then where would he find a suitable replacement to fill her position? Few possessed her skills and experience, and despite her father’s lucrative connections, she felt it was unfair for Ambrogio to imply she wasn’t qualified for this mission.
“But you won’t,” she snapped. “We both know how important this mission is.”
He shooed her words away as if they were gnats and reseated himself. “You know of the insurrection on Blood? The Master Conductor was caught trying to liberate the canisters’ contents.”
“Yes, I read the report.”
The Chief nodded, then, eyed his tablet. “Good. I want you to go to the rail station and interview the new Conductor, Lok. I want to make sure that he understan
ds his role. If not I cannot have another rebellion when we are so close to victory in this reality.”
“But I’ve already interviewed Lok. He checks out. No suspected connections to the Grand Militia.” You pompous arse.
“Then interview him again — dismissed!”
She returned to her personal quarters downstairs and threw herself into her chair. Outside the sunlight passed through her window but the shield generator in the basement protected all the Vampires with the sunlight filtering field. No harm could come to them. The Hollow Men were safe regardless; nothing could kill them, except silver.
She opened her closet and checked the supplies before taking out her quiver filled with her arrows. She chose one arrow, with a silver-tipped head, and started inscribing Ambrogio’s name on it.
{2}
August 31st, 1888 Buck’s Row, London, 3:50 a.m.
Dr. Rees Ralph Llewellyn looked at the body of the dead woman lying on the sidewalk and pronounced her dead. “I’ll have to run a full autopsy of course,” he told the two Police Constables who had summoned him to the murder scene, PCs Neal and Thain.
Thain started taking down notes on a pad while Neal went to fetch an ambulance to haul the body down to the coroner’s office.When Robert saw the autopsy pictures of the dead prostitute, one Mary Ann Nichols, he couldn’t help but recall the case he had worked on last November. Swanson had gotten on him back then when he had worked on the case, the lack of evidence was frustrating, and despite making headway the case was ruled inconclusive, and thus declared unsolvable.
It was a giant slap in the face for Robert Mansfield, the impressive Inspector, who had solved many high-profile cases in the past.
Now, here he was, almost a year later. Working on a similar crime. This time the victim was a woman, and a prostitute at that.