by J. R. Martin
Dark Side of Tomorrow
By J.R. Martin
Texas Twister Publishing ©2016
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter One
Too many miles. Too many years. Too many tears. What else was one to do, but die?
Living life was too hard now that Eve was gone. It was too much to wake every morning and realize she would never again lie next to him. Never again, would he know the joy of her kisses, her sweet words of love, the feel of her breath on his skin, the cute way she smiled at him.
Evil, with its shroud of black, overtook them one night when an idiot, full of hate and misguided direction, took Eve’s life and tore out Ivan’s soul in a fit of trepidation.
That fateful night, Ivan so wished the villain would have just turned the gun on himself. After all, that would have ended his escapade of death, and rid the world of one more wing of wickedness.
Better still, Ivan wished he had shot him, but instead, the madman took an angel’s life and left in his wake, a period of spiraling bleak, gut wrenching, nothingness. The nothingness that Ivan awoke to every morning. The last thing he felt every night, when the evasiveness of sleep clothed itself in darkness, and became entangled in too many memories; or presented itself as a nightmare and left Ivan gasping for breath when he woke.
****
Ivan strolled down the barren shaded path in the park. For some reason, he wondered, how would one come this way if it were raining, for surely the grass barren earth would be slick and soggy and the mud would cling to one’s shoes with the tightness of a rope. Such a stupid thought, Ivan mused to himself. He would never take this path if it was raining and what difference did it make anyway? He could make neither rhyme nor reason out of anything, since Eve’s death.
Most days, he reported to work at Broadway, SW1, otherwise known as Scotland Yard, in London, England. Though of late, his heart hadn’t been in his work. How could it, when it lay buried in the dirt of the cemetery, at West Minister Abby?
Eve rested next to her parents in the old historical grounds of the beautiful gothic cathedral. It was true, to be buried here one had to have distinguished and honored forefathers. The average London bloat could never find rest in this elevated plane of nobles. But, his Eve rested there, as well she should. She was as grand and gracious as any noble person ever born in this ancient city of London. And her grandfather had been a Lord; Lord Staffishare, of Wales, well known in all the social circles of London’s society.
Those in charge of such things, told Ivan he would have to have her cremated to be buried in the crowded and ancient cemetery. But, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t stand the thought of his beautiful and vivacious Eve being set afire and burned up. No, he couldn’t. He insisted she be buried as her mother and father had been. Finally, he won and she was laid to rest beside her parents and her grandparents.
And now, they all lay silently waiting for the day of resurrection. Ivan thought. How I wish I was lying there next to Eve, dead to the world and dead to the pain living brings.
It was Eve’s mother from whom the blue blood descended. Eve often laughed and said when her Mum married her father, half of London gasped. But, Eve’s mother could have cared less, for she loved Eve’s father, although he was, “but a commoner”, as her own parents reminded her more than once.
“He’s a commoner to the people, but a king to me,” Eve’s mother would laugh.
All Eve had wanted in a husband was someone she could love and someone that would love her in return; as much as her parents had loved one another.
“God granted me that,” Eve would say. “That’s all anyone could ever ask for. He gave me that in you, Ivan.”
All these thoughts raced through his mind as he cut through the park and came out on the sidewalk in front of the shiny glass windows of Scotland Yard. Looking right, then left, he jay-walked the busy street as cars honked their objection, as he blatantly ignored the light and crosswalk.
He pulled his coat collar up around his neck as the fog brought with it this misty morning, a feeling of chill. He glanced up at the graying skies and guessed it would be raining by noon. He didn’t care. The weather was the least of his concerns. He just desired to get back to work and perhaps escape Eve’s memory for one fleeting moment. He knew it would always come back with the force of a battering ram. It wasn’t that he wanted to forget Eve, but his remembrance of her often interfered with his ability to think about the case that was at hand. And that made him a poor detective.
So, every day for the past week, he had tried to get up and go to work and hold his recollections at bay until he was home. He found the task almost impossible to achieve. No matter what he was doing, at the strangest times, he would think of Edgar Allen Poe’s poem and he could hear the words, ‘Nevermore’ as if they were being screamed through a police horn. He knew this was not a healthy mental attitude and if his Commander found out he would require him to go to a psychiatrist, and Ivan did not want to do that.
So, he hid his heart so no one could see. He walked into headquarters and greeted his fellow-officers with a smile and a handshake while asking, “What’s going on today, in the world of criminals?”
The answer was always the same, “Just more evil than you can imagine.”
To which, Ivan always replied, “I doubt that. I truly do.”
If you only knew how much imagination about evilness I deal with every day, you would know that nothing can happen to me anymore that’s worse than what I have already experienced firsthand, or have dreamed about in my nightmares. Then, he silently and quickly poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the same desk he had occupied for the last five years. He shuffled through the papers and prepared for the day.
Chapter Two
“Tell me, Watson, what’s the latest on the serial killer that appears to be running wild in the White Chapel Hill district?”
“Well, Sherlock,” his friend and brother detective, Walt Graham joked back, “As did Jack the Ripper, he is gathering women off the streets of London. He’s murdering them and after he’s mutilated them, he dumps them in trash bins.”
“All with no clues, correct?”
“That is correct. All with no clues.” Detective Graham answered, blowing out a breath and running his fingers through his hair.
“Okay, today, I want to go to the White Chapel District, and question all psychiatrists that work in that area. And I want to go the hospital for the criminally insane and talk with Garth Simmons. “
“I’ll get the list of doctors there. But, why do you want to talk to Simmons? You already know he’s a lunatic.” Graham asked, furrowing his brow.
“Because, sometimes lunatics have information that could lead to a suspect.” Detective Ivan Bennett answered.
****
The two detectives walked into Dr. Dennis
Williams’ office, laid their cards on his reception desk and took a seat to wait their turn to talk with the doctor. They had thumbed through at least two magazines, when the receptionist announced they could see Dr. Williams.
Rising, both men walked into Dr. Williams’ office with an air that all detectives seem to have. The doctor rose from his desk, offered his hand to welcome the duo and asked them to be seated. “What can I do to help Scotland Yard this busy day?”
“We know you’re busy, so we won’t take much of your time Doctor. Have any of your patients recently stopped coming to their appointments or exhibited behavior that would lead you to believe that something might not be, quite right?” Ivan asked.
“All my patients are disturbed or they wouldn’t be coming to see me, detective. But, I can’t think of any one individual that stands out enough to cause me to think something is wrong,” The doctor replied.
“Do you ever visit the hospital for the criminally insane to treat patients?” Graham asked.
“On occasion.”
“Is Garth Simmons one of your patients?” Ivan asked quickly.
“No, he’s not, I don’t think. Wasn’t he the man that killed his parents?”
“Yes. You’ve heard of him then?” Ivan asked.
“Yes, I have heard of him, as has half of London.”
Rising, the two detectives started for the door, expressing their thanks for the doctor’s time and help in answering their questions.
“Oh, of course, anytime I can be of assistance.”
“You will let us know if anyone you encounter, might cause concern?” Ivan asked.
“Oh, of course, of course.” The doctor replied.
Once they reached the sidewalk, detective Graham asked, “Do you believe him, Ivan?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Ivan replied, “Time will tell us if he lied or not, that’s all I care about.”
****
The two detectives spent the morning questioning doctors and urging them to call if they encountered anything remotely suspicious about their patients; anything that would indicate that the patients had knowledge of something criminal going on in the White Chapel District. All the doctors pledged their support and assured the detectives they would call at the first inkling that one of their patients could somehow be involved with the murders.
Finally, they arrived at the Institute for the Criminally Insane. The building itself looked as depressing as the patients it housed. Ivan hated coming to this place. His job had required him to come here many times over the tenure of his law enforcement career. But, it always depressed him when he walked through the front doors of the hospital. It always gave him a feeling of sadness, evilness, mindless emotion.
The stark white of the walls and corridors, as well as the white lab coats the attendees wore, gave evidence to the bleakness of the hospital. Ivan didn’t even try to understand what kind of fortitude it took to work in such an environment.
He and Walt Graham walked to the nurse’s station, showed their credentials and asked to speak to the administrator. To which, the charge nurse replied, “Have a seat; I will see if Mr. Harrison can see you.”
Ivan looked at his watch and realized they had only been there five minutes when a stout, spectacled man approached them with an extending hand, while introducing himself as Garret Harrison, the hospital’s administrator.
Mr. Harrison graciously led them to his fashionable office, while offering them a seat and a cup of freshly brewed tea.
It was already mid-afternoon and Ivan rejoiced at the taste of the refreshing cup of tea. He was already tired and the hardest part of the day’s intel was yet to happen. Setting his cup of tea down on the nearby table, he turned his attention back to the administrator.
“Mr. Harrison, you have a patient here by the name of Garth Simmons. Do you know his background?”
Harrison immediately answered, “Oh, yes, indeed I do. He’s an evil one for sure.”
“Do you know if he’s had any recent visitors?” Walt Graham asked.
“I don’t think so. At least not in the last six months. Hold one minute and I’ll look it up.” The administrator walked around his desk and sat down in front of his computer. With a few clicks, he had the information he searched for in front of him.
“It appears that his sister, Grace Simmons, came to visit last June. He’s had no visitors since.”
“His visits are always supervised, correct?” Ivan asked.
“Oh, yes, indeed. All visits are supervised here.” Harrison answered. “We can never let our patients go without supervision, regardless of how well they seem to be doing.”
“Do the guards grant privacy? By that, I mean, do they listen to the conversations or are the patients allowed to talk freely to their visitors?” Ivan asked.
“It depends on how well the patient has been doing. If we sense something going on in their mind that might cause harm to fellow patients, to themselves, or to anyone, we will monitor their visits. If not, they get a meager amount of privacy.” The administrator said.
“How has Garth Simmons been doing as of late?” Ivan inquired.
“He has been extremely happy. He laughs and jokes with the staff and offers no resistance to his meds or his exercise programs. In all, I’d say he’s doing quite well,” The administrator smiled.
“Unfortunately, that’s not how I see it.” Ivan responded gruffly. “Usually, if he’s jovial, that means he has participated in some kind of terror. He’s wicked to the core. No amount of medication or doctoring will ever cure him. He sold his soul to the devil and the devil is the one who guides him. I would never trust him. Never.”
“You think there’s no hope then, to ever have him rehabilitated?” The administrator asked, looking over the top of his glasses.
“Never. Not even in ten thousand years.” Ivan answered.
“Then what makes you think he will help you gain insight to the criminal world on the outside? If he is so wicked, he will never help you find a criminal.” The doctor reasoned.
“That’s true; if he’s aware he’s helping. I’ve known him since I first encountered his handiwork and I am the one who helped put him here. Against my wishes, they chose to put him in this insane asylum. I would have preferred he receive the death penalty, but obviously, that wasn’t an option. I won’t rest easy until he’s dead. I’ve never met or seen anyone as evil as he is.” Ivan said.
“What makes you think that he will even see you?” The administrator asked, appearing genuinely perplexed.
“Oh, he will see me. He likes to play games with me. He likes to torment and toy with me, to make me think he’s capable of utilizing outside help in committing crimes.” Ivan answered.
“If you know he lies, then what good is your talking to him?”
“Because, sometimes he tells the truth.”
****
The two detectives sat down at a table in the visitors’ room and awaited the arrival of Garth Simmons. When the doors swung open, two guards escorted a clean shaven, cheerful man inside. The moment he saw Ivan, he immediately began to smile. When he reached the table, he said, “Oh, Detective Bennett, how nice of you to come visit me.”
“Have a seat Simmons.”
Once he was seated, the two guards made sure the irons around his wrists were secured to a metal ring on the table. In this hospital for the insane, the prisoners they knew to be dangerous, were never allowed to be free of their shackles. Once he was settled in, he again turned to Ivan and asked, “How may I help you, detective?”
“You can help me by telling me who might have a part in the murders in White Chapel District.” Ivan said quite candidly.
“Well, surely you know that was Jack the Ripper, Mr. Detective.” Simmons teased.
“You know what I’m asking. I just thought you might know of someone with the MO of Jack the Ripper.” Ivan said, looking Simmons straight in the eye.
Smiling broadly, Simmons said, “What makes you think I would rat
them out, especially to you?”
“Because you are a blow hard that has to brag about his handiwork and you would think this copycat is to be admired.” Ivan answered.
Laughing out loud, Simmons responded, “Come, come detective, surely you don’t think I could be a part of anything locked up here, in this looney den.”
“No. Not you. But you might know who is responsible for this thing.”
“This thing, detective? This thing, as you call it, is to be admired. Let’s see, it’s been going on now for, what, six months? And you still have not a clue as to the identity of the murderer. Surely, you should be able to catch this ‘copycat’ as you put it.” Simmons said as his lips curved up in a grotesque smile.
“How’s your sister, Simmons? I notice she’s the only one that ever visits you.” Ivan said knowing that would rub Simmons the wrong way.
“How my sister is, is none of your business.” Simmons said with obvious anger rising.
“Oh, come on Simmons, someone as popular as you, should have more than one visitor.” Ivan said, purposely angering Simmons.
“You shut your mouth, detective! Don’t mention my sister again!” Simmons said trying desperately to control himself.
Raising his hand, Ivan motioned for the guards to come and get Simmons.
“We’re though here, for now Simmons. But, I will be back.” Ivan said, dismissing the criminal as though he were a nothing. This only further irritated the man and he glared with hate filled eyes at Ivan.
The guards unlocked the wrist shackles from the ring on the table and took a very angry prisoner back to his padded cell. The visit with the detective had exposed Simmons’ feelings, in a way the criminal always tried to hide. But, Ivan had found out what he wanted to know.
When they exited the hospital, Walt looked at Ivan and said, “Well, if you got anything out of that conversation, I sure missed it.”
“I got exactly what I had expected. He’s involved. He knows who the killer is. Now, I’ve got to try and find a way to get him to expose his accomplice. That’s going to be hard to do.” Ivan said.