The boy’s eyes grew twice in size.
“What? Did you not think someone my age still had the urge?” Merle began to unbutton her shirt. “I can’t let Mrs. Dupuys have all the fun.” With her pants still on, Merle mounted the boy. “Don’t be afraid. You’re going to enjoy what we’re going to do in a few minutes.”
There was a thump out in the hallway.
Alarmed, Merle sat up. What was that? She sighed. “It’s probably my brother getting impatient. Don’t let him get to you.”
Yet all of a sudden she felt an odd feeling crawl up her spine. Slowly, she dismounted the boy and buttoned up her shirt while carefully approaching the door.
A second later, three loud, harrowing screams filled the entire hallway.
“Brother?” Merle gripped her knife with a viselike grip. “Brother! What’s happening?”
No response.
She took another step.
SMASH! The back of Mendel’s head came crashing through the solid wooden door. Blood dripped down his cheeks. Merle flew back a couple of feet, full of shock. The door slowly opened inwards, letting out an unnerving screech.
Displayed in front of Merle was her brother’s twitching body, hanging from the door as his head was smashed through. Both of his shins and elbows were broken, the white bones poking out of his tattered, bloodstained clothes. He moaned in pain.
“What happened?! Who did this to you, Brother?”
In walked Silas.
At first, all she could see of him were his eyes, but soon she recognized who he was. “You! How did you manage to escape?”
“Does it really matter now?”
“Why are you here?”
“I came to collect.”
“Collect? For whom?”
“For the people of this city, but more specifically, for the girls of the Valentine Circle.”
“How noble.”
“There’s nothing noble about what I’m going to do to you.”
“You’re going to pay for what you did to my brother,” Merle replied, raising her knife at Silas.
“I’m not the one who’s paying today.”
With that, Merle charged Silas with her knife. He stepped to the side and gracefully spun around, sweeping her leg and forcing Merle to fall flat on her back, smacking her head on the ground. She cried out in pain while Silas kicked the knife out of her hand.
After a moment she stood up, at once charging at him again, this time at full speed. Not wanting to defend against her charge, Silas crouched down just as she neared him and then grabbed her by the waist. Using her momentum, he spun her around a couple of times to break her charge.
As he did this, he experienced his actions in slow motion, and right at that moment, the voice of Silas’s former master, Masayoshi, entered his thoughts.
“Shi, out of all the skills that you’ve learned, Koppo is the most delicate. It is like a dance with your opponent’s body. When employing Koppo, remember that your focus is on inflicting pain right through the bone and not worrying about the joints. Koppo attacks the very bone structure of the body. Only with this in mind can you be fully prepared to break your opponent into a hundred pieces.”
Taking his master’s advice, Silas pushed Merle back a few feet by punching her chest, and, in three swift movements, delivered bone-crushing blows to her ribs, collarbone, and jaw.
Stunned by what just happened, Merle stood quietly for a moment, bewildered by what Silas had done to her body. Grabbing her jaw, she spit most of her teeth out onto the floor. Now filled with hatred and blinded by passion, she charged at him one last time.
Silas, standing calmly and in complete control, grabbed her arm, spun her around, and then, using her flow of movement, threw her out the bedroom window. Instantly, she crashed through the glass, dropping a couple of floors down towards the ground.
Silas’s heart rate remained normal, his breathing contained.
The rest of the officers came barging in.
“What happened here?” Officer Graham said. “What did you do to her?”
“She pulled a knife on me,” Silas replied as he poked his head out the window. “Don’t worry; it’s only a couple of stories down. I think the porch broke the fall. She’ll live.” He turned to the officers. “Sergeant Graham, call for a doctor and have him take a look at the poor boy on the bed. Once he’s cleaned up, take him where he needs to go. After that, the doctor is free to attend to these two pieces of elitist shit. Once he’s done, take the two and lock them inside the darkest cell we have available downtown. Make sure to misplace the key for a few months. Understood?”
“Yes, Inspector.”
“Good. Have Mr. and Mrs. Dupuys incarcerated for the time being; I’ll interrogate them in a few days. Seal off the house. No one comes in.”
“Got it.”
Silas took one last look at the room before walking out.
***
After receiving the delightful news of his personal triumph, Mr. Decamps reached out to all of the members of the Valentine Society in order to spontaneously invite them to a lavish victory dinner. And when Mr. Decamps sent out an invite, few people turned him down. This time, everybody responded with an emphatic yes to the impromptu celebration.
The moon swept across the silver nighttime sky. A few stars had come out, cutting through the winter clouds. Mr. Decamps’s mansion was immaculately prepared and lavishly decorated for the event. Outside of his home, all of his neighbors’ carriages were parked along the curb and nearby driveways.
Inside the mansion, the wine was abundant and the white ties were in full display. Rich gowns of decadence adorned all the ladies, while glimmering black shoes and the finest watches accompanied the men. The parlor music was loud and vibrant, with many individual orchestras playing in a number of smoke-filled parlors. The laughing was overly boisterous, and the whispering deviously enchanting.
A bell rang in all of the various rooms, and a handful of footmen announced Mr. Decamps’s call to sit down. “The man of the house would like all the men to join him in the rear dining hall. Ladies of the Society, Mr. Decamps sends his apologies. I understand that this is breaking from tradition, as the ladies always dine with the men, but Mr. Decamps specifically requested to have a meeting with the men at the table. You will not be without your husbands for long and will be ushered in at a later time.”
Right away, all of the men broke away from their lovely wives and proceeded to head down a long and lavish hallway leading to the rear dining hall. Stepping inside, they were greeted by a large and exquisitely decorated dining table filled to the brim with an abundance of meats, cheeses, fruits, grains, and desserts; it was a buffet fit for a king and his nobles.
Mr. Decamps walked in. “Please sit down.”
As the men took their seats, the footmen and butler proceeded to serve them their dinner wine.
After they had all been seated and served, Mr. Decamps tapped the side of his wine glass with his knife. “Could I have your attention, please?” he said.
But before they obliged him, the men of the Valentine Society unexpectedly stood up in applause.
Mr. Decamps, acting modestly embarrassed, waved the applause away with his hand. “Please, please, enough of that.”
The men ceased with their applause and sat down.
“As all of you are aware, we’re here to celebrate our recent success. It seems that the circle is now complete. We are no longer in danger of tainting the very blood of our beloved society. The threat has been dealt with in great secrecy and privacy. Once the news of what we’ve done spreads throughout all the other inner circles, no one will ever dare again to go against the Valentine Society. The six girls...” Mr. Decamps quickly corrected himself. “The six members of the Valentine Circle have been neutralized, and the pseudo circle disbanded. And there will never be one like it again, for we are the true Valentine Circle, us sitting around this table, the crème de la crème.”
Most of the men around the table sm
iled as he talked, but there were some that were secretly consumed by a feeling of shame and guilt, but they surely didn’t make it look obvious.
The butler brought Mr. Decamps a note.
“Thank you, Folsworth.” Mr. Decamps took the note and opened it, reading the letter out loud to his fellow men. “It’s from the countess. She sends her congratulatory praises.”
“Do we still have to answer to her?” one of the men asked.
“Don’t worry, Clover. She’ll die off one day, but the society will always survive. Plus, with us men around this table, full of vigor and virility, we’ll keep that old woman’s orders at bay.”
“Hear, hear,” Clover said, raising his glass.
They all returned the toast.
“For now,” Mr. Decamps continued, “let us enjoy this feast. When we’re done, we’ll have our wives come and eat the rest.”
All the men around the table burst out in uncontrollable laughter.
“But please don’t tell them I said that,” Mr. Decamps said. “Let’s keep it hush-hush.” He raised his glass. “A toast?” To the true Valentine Circle.”
“To the Valentine Circle,” they all repeated, raising their glasses high with pride.
The bell rang. A footman came in with the main entree for the evening: a roasted pig. All the men cheered as they tapped on the wooden table.
“Oh, yes, that is quite nice,” Mr. Decamps said, his eyes glowing.
One of the men blurted out, “Who gets the head?”
“Yes, do tell me,” Mr. Decamps asked. “Who gets the head?”
“How about Jameson down in the corner?” one of the men said. “He can give it to his wife, you know, to send her a little message.” Everyone laughed at his remark.
“Normally, I would be crossed by your words,” Mr. Jameson replied, “but I have to say, when you’re right, you’re right. I can’t argue with the truth.” He burst out in laughter.
“All right, all right, everyone,” Mr. Decamps interjected. “Let’s all settle down and dine on this fine feast. Let’s begin, shall we?”
“We need more wine,” Clover remarked.
“Yes, yes, more wine,” Jameson added.
“Of course,” Mr. Decamps said, ringing the bell. But the footman failed to heed his call. He rang the bell again. “Where is this damn servant?”
No response.
“I’ve had dogs that were trained better,” Clover said.
“This is what I’ve been telling everyone,” Mr. Decamps replied, “but they all failed to listen.”
At last someone came up behind Mr. Decamps and offered some wine.
“It’s about time,” Mr. Decamps said without giving the footman the courtesy of looking him in the eyes. “Do me a favor. When you’re done pouring everyone their wine, go to the servants’ quarters, take off your uniform, and go home. You’re dismissed from my service indefinitely.”
“Yes, sir. My apologies, sir.”
“Oh, save your apologies for your wife or whoever you share your bed with.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Oh, one last thing before you leave. Cut this pig’s head off and serve it to that jolly old man sitting near the end. It’s a present for his wife, so make sure you wrap it up in a pretty bow.” He began snickering to himself, and his fellow men joined along.
“Right away, sir.”
Then, quite unexpectedly, a thick, curved blade forcefully slammed on the table, skewering the pig’s head straight through the middle.
Caught off guard, Mr. Decamps jumped back in his chair and turned to the man standing beside him. With only a few seconds to decipher who the man was, Mr. Decamps reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small .22-caliber pistol in order to shoot the man who had defiantly invaded his home.
Yet before he could pull the trigger, Silas, who was the one that had infiltrated his home and replaced Mr. Decamps’s personal footman, took his other kama blade and thrust it down Mr. Decamps’s right shoulder, puncturing his lung while at the same time breaking a few of his ribs.
Mr. Decamps squealed like a pig being slaughtered.
Silas retrieved his blade from Mr. Decamps’s shoulder and used his two kamas to behead the roasted pig. He then took the pig’s head and placed it neatly on Mr. Decamps’s own head.
“Don’t move,” Silas said. “If it falls, you die.”
Mr. Decamps did his best to balance the pig’s head on top of his own while trying to control his pain.
Silas stepped back. “You know, it’s quite becoming.”
The rest of the men around the table sat in shock, barely able to speak a word.
“What?” Silas asked with a sly grin. “No more laughing?”
Out of the blue, the group of seven officers came in, along with a few more rookies they had retrieved from the department.
“Arrest them all,” Silas demanded, wiping the blood off his kama blades before putting them back inside his long, leather overcoat. “Take these men to the nearest pig pen you can find. Throw them in with the rest of the pork for the night. They should get along quite well. Come morning time, transfer them to one of the precinct cells. Understood?”
“Yes, Inspector.”
“And notify the doctor about Mr. Decamps. He’s losing blood. That means time is of the essence, so make sure you tell the doctor not to hurry.” He smiled. “It’s not like it’s urgent.”
“Um…right away, sir.”
“Seal the doors to the house and interrogate EVERYONE. I give you license to violate their privacy, and make sure you have a jolly good time doing it.”
“Yes, of course. At once, Inspector.”
Silas’s officers moved in on the men sitting down on the table, forcefully patting them down and cuffing them where they stood. Silas grinned as he watched the scene play out in front of him. He caught a glance of an officer staring at the food. “Are you hungry?”
“Oh, no, of course not. Well…”
“You are, aren’t you?”
The officer lowered his head. “Yes.”
“Then by all means, drink and be merry.” Silas made his way to the door. “Finish up here,” he said to Officer Graham. “I’ll need a complete report in the morning.”
“Where are you going?”
Silas stopped and stared into Graham’s eyes. “I’m going to go kill a man.”
Graham’s gulp was audible to nearly everyone in the room as he watched Silas disappear into the hallway.
*
THE DARKNESS OF THE NIGHT SLOWLY CREPT its way across Massachusetts General, and the staff of twenty nurses in the east wing had dwindled down to only three. A guard sat outside Belloc’s room, on the brink of dozing off, snapping his head up and down every time a nurse would walk by.
Inside the room, Posy slept in a cot stationed across from Belloc, who sat up on his own bed, going over some of the reports Posy had written just hours earlier. At last, the weariness of his eyes began to subdue him, and without warning, he dropped his papers and reading glasses, dipping his chin into his chest. His eyes closed, and he drifted off into a deep slumber.
Posy’s eyes snapped open. Sitting up, she carefully scanned the room. I thought he’d never go to sleep.
Quickly, she launched herself off the bed and reached for a bag hanging on a wall next to her. Keeping her movements quiet, she pulled out her clothes and put them on. Messing with her shoulder, she found it mildly uncomfortable, but not at all hindering. Should do fine.
After getting dressed, she grabbed another bag Dalton had brought for her. Inside were her Manstopper and Little Lass. Perfect.
She put them on, both strapped to her waist, and approached Belloc. She bent over him, kissing his forehead lightly. Then she turned away and easily escaped out the room, passing the sleeping guard without any problems. Keeping to the shadows, she evaded the three nurses on duty, and once she reached the end of the hall, disappeared into the darkened stairwell which led down to the back entrance.
In a matter of seconds she was gone.
About five minutes had passed inside the hospital’s massive east wing when the door near the far hall opened up with a loud and disturbing rasp. In came a tall gentleman, dressed in a three-piece suit, a fur overcoat, and a dark, stylish fedora hat. He was extremely thin, on the border of being emaciated, with bug eyes and large, overgrown teeth. Slowly, he made his way up to the nurses’ desk.
“Can I help you, sir?” the nurse said. “You’re not supposed to be here. Visiting hours have been over for quite some time.”
The man stared at her without saying a word.
“Sir?”
In a flash, he whipped out his hand and used a small knife to cut the nurse’s throat. Caught by surprise, the nurse sat paralyzed while all her blood gushed out of her body. A moment later, her head slumped over, lifeless.
In a high-pitched voice, the man spoke, “I’m sorry. What was that you said? Visiting hours are in fact still open? Why, that’s great! Where do I sign in? Over here? Oh, may I borrow something to write with?” He reached over and grabbed a pen from the nurse’s dead body. “Thank you.”
He signed his name.
Mr. Factory Liberty Hotel
With heavy footsteps, he walked down the hall, on his way towards Belloc’s room. Once he reached the door, he took out another knife—this one longer and thinner—and quickly stabbed it into the top of the sleeping guard’s head. It only took the officer a couple of seconds to die. He slumped over, falling to the floor. Mr. Factory Liberty Hotel then took out a pair of gloves and put them on. He straightened his coat and fixed his tie right before carefully heading inside.
In the meantime, Posy had just made it out into the parking lot. She stood in the coldness of the night as she searched for a carriage she could commandeer.
Silas is going to need my help.
She spotted one near the hospital’s large stable and approached it with caution, careful not to spook the horses. But before reaching it, a thought crossed her mind. What am I doing?
The Valentine Circle Page 36