Beyond the Blue Light

by V. Anh Perigaea

  The officers turned and disbursed in a hurry, grateful to remove themselves from Blackall’s presence while still breathing.

  CHAPTER 14

  Through the Cracks

  There were likely dozens of Blackall’s bedraggled lot scouring London for them right now. And they surely knew it better than any - it’s dark corners and alleyways, it’s shopkeepers and smithies. She wondered, in a daunted mood, how they would ever make it to Orenn House without being seen. It was difficult to imagine, for she didn’t know London well; or at all, really. They’d no carriage to travel fast and hidden, nor money to hire one. They probably wouldn’t be allowed inside one in their current state of dress anyway. They looked like filthy guttersnipes. She thought to light the black candle. But there were no fires anywhere in sight. Just stark, muddy, stinking streets and smoke.

  Despite all this, Joe didn’t hesitate. He had hold of her wrist again and was pulling her down an alleyway. They tread carefully, ever watchful of what lay ahead and behind. The alley was narrow and the walls made of cold stone. The buildings were close together, blocking out the sun. There were few people passing through the alleys with them, for the most part, they were entirely alone. But occasionally a form would slink by before they could be seen. This made her nervous, but Joe seemed non-plussed by these appearances, continuing on without a flinch. They were in an area that would’ve been quite forbidden to her before, if she’d ever been taken on an outing. It struck her as ironic, and somewhat comical, that she now traipsed through it unchaperoned, in a strange dress and with a strange boy on her arm. The thought turned the side of her mouth upwards into a wry smirk.

  But her amusement was quickly stifled by the potent stink of the alley. This particular stretch boasted a stench worse than she’d known existed. She could hardly countenance it. It smelt of garbage, sewage and rot mixed together and aged to a forceful fetor. It seemed to increase with each step they took in the boggy ground.

  They continued on as the sun sank lower. Sweat cooled on her skin and dress. The smell of vittles cooked over unseen fires awoke her hunger, and reminded her just how homesick she was for a warm hearth and a soft bed. She was growing weary, her energy waning as she dragged behind the boy.

  “Do you know where we are?” She asked Joe impatiently.

  He didn’t answer, only walked on without a word. Something about him seemed changed. Distant. And it sparked worry in her. Perhaps he’d saved her from one captor only intending to pass her on to another. Perhaps he was leading her to another prison cell right now. Was he really to be trusted, or did he mean to betray her? Should she break free of him? She considered it, trying to think straight as he wrenched her along. But it was difficult with every instinct in her crying out for relief. She was tired, hungry, thirsty, cold and frightened all at once. Her mind was a jumble, and her fatigued body wasn’t helping her one bit.

  Joe yanked her suddenly into a quicker pace and down another alley, jolting her mind even further away from focus. They turned again and again, until the alley opened up onto a wide avenue. The sun was nearly down now. And before them, across the wide avenue, lay a great park. Lush greenery billowed above a high gate. Joe scanned the area, checking cautiously in each direction before he led her out onto the street, pulling her through hordes of people. There were all sorts out walking. Gentlemen and ladies on an evening stroll, workers heading home after an arduous day’s work. Joe kept his face down, making eye contact with none. And luckily, those they passed seemed content to dismiss them just the same. They sidled past horse-drawn carriages, barely making it around giant, clopping hooves.

  Once they reached the other side of the street, they shuffled around boxes and other rubbish piled on the sidewalk. The stone gate loomed before them. Joe pulled her through small cracks between crates, and into a gap where another stone wall ran parallel to the main, creating a passage in between. Ivy covered most of it, which swished and shuffled in the wind. She found the stone beneath with her hand.

  The passage led to the side of the main gate, where a shorter iron gate stood perpendicular to the main. Joe put his hand down for her to step up, and once she had, he shot her upwards without warning. She squealed in surprise. But despite the jolting beginning, she cleared the small gate easily enough; her hands scraping its dry, dusty bars. Joe followed close behind. Once on the ground, he grabbed her wrist again and pulled her through a lush, green landscape; their feet treading over flattened dirt paths as they passed picturesque greenery. Her eyes feasted on what little she could see as day faded into night. A wonderful scent filled the air - the wet, fresh smell of rain lately fallen. She breathed deeply as the air swirled around in audible gushes.

  But before long, the light faded and the park became black as midnight, without streetlamp or window to shine on their path. Before, the breeze had sounded whimsical and romantic; but the dark transformed it into a haunting gust of witch’s breath blowing up her back. Dark bushes seemed full of predators. She thought again to light her black candle. But still, there were no fires or matches to be had.

  Joe had been completely silent for some time. His hand felt stiff and clammy against hers, and she’d grown quite nervous of him now, wondering just how much she could trust the mysterious boy.

  “Joe,” she whispered to him in the dark. “Joe?”

  “Aye.” His voice sounded from somewhere in the darkness ahead of her.

  She paused, not sure what to ask.

  “Where are we?”

  No answer came, which only made her more desperate to hear his voice again. She was feeling quite spooked, so she tried a different question.

  “What was your home like?”

  His hand tightened slightly, as if she’d surprised him. It took him a moment to answer, and when he did, his voice sounded far away.

  “We lived in a cottage,” he said, “My parents and I. On the edge of a moor.”

  “And... did you like it there?”

  “Aye.”

  His voice remained flat and impossible to read. She hoped she hadn’t been rude or insensitive with her questions. But this was the first time she’d had the chance to speak to another orphan.

  “Do you miss them?”

  He said nothing, but she sensed a wistfulness in the dark in front of her.

  “My parents are dead as well,” she continued, hoping to clear the air with candidness. “The staff at my uncle’s house said it was sickness. But I don’t know which one. I never knew them.”

  He clasped her hand tighter, but said nothing. The small token cheered her, and melted her suspicions away. But suddenly, he halted and grasped her shoulder. They stood frozen for a moment or two. She couldn’t see him, only sense his alarm.

  “J-”

  But before she could speak, she felt his warm hand clasp over her mouth. Then his face pressed against her ear, where he whispered very lightly.

  “Quiet,” he said. “Something’s behind us.”

  Her eyes grew wide in the dark as she listened. Wind blew through unseen branches and leaves. Movement seemed risky. But she still wondered why Joe didn’t pull her off to hide, or at least run. Reaching up to his shoulder, she felt it trembling, and a stifled whimpering sound scratched in the dark. He was crying.

  “What is going on?” she asked in a panicked whisper. “Why don’t we run?”

  Joe’s shoulders shook as he sobbed silently.

  “Can’t you feel it?”

  She turned her head round and round, trying to see what he meant.

  “Feel what?” she asked. “Who?”

  Joe grunted as if in agony. In a resigned voice, he whispered in her ear.

  “It,” he whispered weakly. “The creature.”

  His tone terrified her.

  “Come,” She whispered in a panic, pulling at his hand. “Let’s go!”

  A fire burned under her, and Joe’s hand felt like a clammy tether to a doomed planet. Suddenly, a loud crack rent the air. It was a strange noise, like nothin
g she’d ever heard before. It sounded like it had come from about 15 yards away, off to the left. Joe shuddered beneath her grasp. She panicked, wondering what could be so terrible to produce this affect on him. Another crack, louder this time, sounded close by. It was accompanied by a quick flash of greenish light. The air around her became dry and electric.

  “No,” Joe groaned.

  He was incapacitated with fear. So she took charge, pulling him into a run. They fumbled blindly in the dark, feet beating on dry dirt with a constant, tingling thwap, thwap, thwap; so hard it made them itch. She hoped desperately that she wouldn’t collide with a tree or bush as Joe lagged behind like a heavy rag doll. He seemed unwilling to try. She sensed a solidity to his thoughts, a heaviness. She could feel it - he’d given up.

  Another crack rent the air, startling her greatly; and she tripped over her own feet and fell, tumbling downward in the dark. Joe followed her downward, falling on top of her in a dusty, painful pile. Some way off, she heard the sounds of a scuffle. More strange cracks riddled the air, small explosions. It sounded like men were fighting. Not a large group, just a few. There was grunting and the thud of impacting blows. Other strange sounds could be heard, ones she couldn’t place; but that for some reason sent chills into her soul. Climbing out from under Joe’s clumsy limbs, she perceived his profile faintly as he stared back in the direction of the noises.

  “Come on!” She growled, her heart pounding.

  She wasn’t willing to give up. She pulled him off the ground, but he was frozen in awe; his limbs static as he watched dim bursts of tinted light.

  “Come!”

  Her voice was cut off by his hand covering her mouth.

  “Don’t be so stupid,” He mumbled, his hand trembling against her. “No one escapes It.”

  Her chest heaved with panic and exhaustion, each breath burning. She had to get away. She pushed his hand from her mouth angrily.

  “WHO,” she whispered desperately. “No one escapes who?”

  “I never thought it would come so soon,” he muttered weakly.

  He sounded hypnotized, as if speaking from a far away place. She grew weary of his avoidance. Frustrated, hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she pulled uselessly on his arm. His body was an anchor to destruction.

  “Who,” she whimpered.

  She felt Joe’s attention turn to her in the dark.

  “Did he not mention what could find you after you left his protection? It’s the Valak.”

  CHAPTER 15

  A Journey Marked in Aching Muscles

  “Please,” she moaned, “Please come with me, Please!”

  But he was unwilling to try. He sat motionless, lax and dazed with resolve; the tinted lights bursting colors across his face. Her sanity wore thin as she watched him. She couldn’t be cruel, but she had to wake him from this strange, passive trance. She couldn’t stay here and welcome destruction. She must escape. Every limb was screaming for it. Kneeling down in front of him, she drew her hand back and slapped him as hard as she could.

  “Get up!” She screamed.

  But he remained slumped, transfixed with despair. She didn’t understand how a boy, so capable and determined only moments ago, could wither into this hopeless, pathetic creature so suddenly.

  “Go,” he said, lifting his head weakly. “You must go. Run.”

  She was shocked by his words. She couldn’t leave him here. She had to help. She had to do what she could.

  “GO!” he yelled so violently that it frightened her.

  At the same time, another loud crack rent the air. It spooked her and she stumbled into a run, feeling surprised and disappointed in herself as it happened. Her treacherous feet pounded furiously as her treacherous heart beating with a panic that spurred her ever onward. Terror sprang up anew over and over again, goading her desperate scramble, barring her from turning back. Fearful dark surrounded her, filling her mind with it’s uncertainty, it’s unseen predators.

  She ran and ran and ran, her heart aching with guilt over having left Joe. Many times she stopped, meaning to turn back. But the terror was pumping through her limbs now, and each time it repulsed her from it’s object, making it impossible to turn back. She could hear the fight behind her, grown men screaming in genuine fear. If they had little chance, how could she have any?

  Soon, she saw lights. It guided her zig-zagged path around overgrown bushes, trees and ferns. She’d finally reached the other side of the park. An iron gate let in light, drawing her like a moth. A great wall rose up on either side of it. She tumbled desperately forward, careless of any hazards along the way. As she drew nearer, she heard faint screams coming from behind - desperate, terrified screams. She realized with shame that the sounds couldn’t cause her to take courage and turn back in compassion. They only increased her fervor to escape.

  She rounded the corner that allowed her passage over the gate, to the smaller gate on the side. She climbed over and followed the passage, scrambling desperately until it opened onto the street. But the street beyond was so frightening that she froze. Dark and barren, only a spattering of lights and a few drunken stragglers skulked by. It was filthy with shadows.

  Then she remembered the man who stalked the streets. The monstrous specter depicted in the papers as the Ripper. Cook said he chopped girls up until there was barely enough left of them to recognize. She slid back into the darkness of the passage between the walls and covered herself with the falling ivy curtains. She couldn’t fool herself that she was safe, but the panic in her heart demanded retreat for a moment. She must think. Strategize. And try to breathe.

  She hid there for several moments, feeling her breath slow and her heartbeat calm; listening to the sounds of the night and straggling voices passing by, letting their commonplace tones calm her. She watched them through the ivy, the lights outside glowing strangely through the leaves. No signs appeared of the struggle within the park, or of Blackall and his men. Nor (she swallowed hard) her friend Joe. She cringed to think of him, a burning mound of shame welling up in her chest.

  When her panic had abated, she decided to try her luck again. Stepping out from behind the ivy, she made her way into the street. It seemed unlikely she’d be able to hail a cab, looking like she did. So she decided to ask directions to Orenn House from the first person she could find, hoping for a kind soul who didn’t wish to kidnap her, sell her into slavery or some other horror. She’d been through enough already.

  CHAPTER 16

  Violet Eyes

  The loud clack of horseshoes against stone awoke her. It was early morning. The light was still dim, obscured by a thick fog, illuminating carriages and pedestrians in a mysterious, hazy way as they passed by. Annabelle was overwhelmingly relieved that day had arrived, though she’d awoken damp beneath a bush. For, the dawn surely brought with it an unavoidable sense of hope and security. She watched her uncle’s street sleepily. All appeared normal. Yet the commonplace traffic looked different from her current prospect. Quite changed, in fact, from when she’d observed them from the comfort of Orenn’s foggy morning windows. She crouched at their feet now, rather than observing them from on high. Her uncle’s friends and neighbors would certainly think her a beggar, and revile her. Taking inventory of her person, she felt an acute sense of shame and isolation. She’d never looked so ragged, nor felt so miserable in all her life.

  Surveying the street up and down, she couldn’t see any strange characters; so she raised herself up from the ground into a crouching position. Her back and neck protested sharply, their muscles stiff after the cold night. Orenn House’s front gate was close, about thirty yards away. With the fog as her ally, it seemed wise to make a run for it.

  She waited for a break in the flow of pedestrians, telling herself it was out of caution, not embarrassment at her appearance. She climbed out from under the bush, and a shock of cold, moist air hit her. It was surprising how much shelter her hiding place had provided. She was still quite stiff and cold, and her back so pained
that she found it hard to stand up straight. Looking all about her, she limped forward lamely. As carriages rolled by, she tried to ignore the conspicuous feeling of being scrutinized by their passengers; as well as by passing pedestrians. She’d heard her uncle speak of his hatred for beggars, and assumed his neighbors felt the same. Keeping her chin low, she continued forward. Desperation for a nice warm fire and hot food spurred her on. She imagined the feeling of a warm, thick blanket resting softly about her face, climbing up over her neck and back; instead of the biting cold that made her cringe and shiver, constantly pulling her down into misery.

  It wasn’t without some sense of self-deprecation that she looked up and saw a man standing just before her, his grisly face locked onto hers. She knew instantly, instinctually, that he was one of Blackall’s men. He’d been watching her pathetic gait as she hobbled up the sidewalk oblivious to his observations.

  Her heart sunk as she saw him, and she scolded herself. Her lofty vision of warmth, comfort and safety dissolved into the cold fog, leaving only remnants of an aching frustration. Several others were surrounding her, moving in slowly on all sides. Any hope of escape dwindled as she saw their hard faces moving in; their scars, filthiness and hungry eyes eating away at her hopes of relief. She looked up at the house longingly, wondering if she’d ever see it again, it’s lights the beacon of a faraway paradise. The men surrounding her saw this and looked as well.

  Just then, a fine carriage fumbled to a halt right next to her, it’s wooden wheels rolling slightly backwards on the damp cobblestones. It was a familiar carriage. It took a moment for her panicked mind to catch on. But she realized, in a surreal haze, that her uncle’s stern face had just popped out of it, and was barking angry directions at her.