A Beast Well Tamed (The House of Jack the Ripper Book 5)
Page 10
“The police?”
“When they come to take Thomas away.” She turns to me. “Oh, but where is he? Did you take him to one of the other rooms?”
“Of course.”
“Might I see him?”
“I think that would be unwise.”
“But I must!”
She gets to her feet, but I quickly put pressure on her shoulder and force her back down onto the chair.
“He would not want you to see him as he is presently,” I tell her. The urge to blink is relentless, but I believe I have finally mastered my eyelids. They might sing to me of their desire to close, they might make my eyes feel as if heavy scratches are criss-crossing the surface, but I shall not yield.
Not until my work is done.
“Night after night,” Delilah says after a moment, “I imagined what it would be like if Thomas left my life. I do not mean that I wanted him dead, merely that I wished so very much to live without his presence. These thoughts did not crystallize in my mind until that day with Jack, but as soon as he touched my leg I was filled with some kind of passion that I have never felt before, and I -”
“Speak of this no more,” I say, interrupting her. “It does none of us any good.”
Looking past her, I see that the afternoon sky is beginning to darken. If I want this nightmare to be over by daybreak tomorrow, I do not have much time.
“Look out there,” I continue, pointing toward the window. “Does the natural world not fill you with wonder? Are you not moved to tears by the colors of the clouds, or by the sunlight that even now catches against the glass?”
“It all seems to hopeless,” she replies, still not turning to look.
“Then try,” I say, gently touching her chin and tilting her head until she is facing the window. “Just try for a moment. Try to feel some sense of calm in your soul. Feast upon the sight of nature's miracles.”
She tries to turn back to me, but I hold her chin until I feel her relax a little, and then I let go. She looks toward the window, while I reach into my pocket and quickly take out the cloth and small bottle that I retrieved from my desk earlier.
Still my eyelids sing of their desire to close. I fancy I almost hear their voices.
While Delilah is facing away from me, I tip some liquid from the bottle, soaking the cloth. Then I set the bottle aside, before hesitating for a moment. I have done far worse things, of course, and I have committed deeds that required a greater degree of bravery. Never, however, to somebody I already knew. Delilah Culpepper might not be the most vital woman in the world, but I find it hard to believe that I have arrived at this dreadful moment.
Suddenly she starts turning to me.
Panicking, I immediately place the cloth over her face.
She starts struggling, but I hold her tight and keep the cloth pressed against her nose and mouth. I can hear her desperately trying to breathe, and I know that with each gasp she's drawing more and more of the mixture into her body. Already I can feel her struggle starting to subside, and finally she slumps back against me. I keep the cloth in place for a few more seconds, just to be absolutely certain that its job is done, and then I move it aside as I gently let Delilah's unconscious body settle against the reclining chair. She is so light, and possessed of such a delicate frame, that the burden is scarcely much greater than when one moves an injured bird.
“You have new life within you,” I tell her, moving some stray strands of hair from across her face. “I need that life for someone else. For someone important.”
For someone I would see now, if I dared close my eyes.
Suddenly filled with the sense that I am about to blink, I turn and stagger to my desk. I know that if my eyes close for even a fraction of a second, I shall see Catherine coming at me on the beach, and I cannot allow that to happen. After all, each time she seems to come a little closer, and I cannot shake a superstitious fear that when she gets to me I might be overtaken by some terrible consequence. The idea is absurd, but it has taken root in my mind and I am not certain that I can refrain from blinking, at least not for long enough to complete the task at hand.
Clearly, there is only one logical course of action available to me.
I open the desk drawer and search frantically until I find my silver letter-opener and then, without even stopping to plan the procedure, I reach up and start slicing through the lid on my left eye. If the cursed things are gone, then blinking will be impossible.
“There!” I gasp, pulling the eyelid away and letting it fall onto the desk, where it lands amid drips of blood. The pain is intense, yet it is a type of pain that I notice without truly feeling. Perhaps the righteousness of my cause is enough to offset any meager discomfort. “Traitor!” I stammer, still staring at the eyelid. “Betrayer! You shall not fool me!”
And then I start working on the other eyelid, slicing as fast as I can manage until it too comes away in my bloodied fingers.
Chapter Nineteen
Maddie
Today
“Charles Grazier's wife disappeared,” I tell Nick as I set the photo on the desk next to him. “I was talking to Jerry, the guy next door, and he told me what he'd managed to find out so far. Catherine Grazier just vanished right around the time of his death.”
“He probably murdered her,” he replies.
“But they look like they were really in love,” I point out, still staring at the photo.
“Get real, Maddie. I'm sure everything was sweetness and roses for a while, but if the bitch found out that her husband was Jack the Ripper, do you seriously think shit wouldn't go down? He probably had to kill her, to stop her blabbing to everyone. If you want to get all romantic about it, he probably shed a tear or two at the time, but he did what had to be done. To be honest, I kind of respect a guy who doesn't beat around the bush.”
“It still doesn't feel right,” I reply, before glancing across the study toward the open door. “How much longer is Alex going to be?”
“Don't worry about her,” he replies, “she can take care of herself. She's checking out the other rooms in case there's anything we missed. To be honest, she was bugging me earlier. I get that she's excited, but it's a bit soon to be fantasizing about gold-plated Ferraris and all that jazz.”
“I think I might go and help her.”
“No.” He grabs my arm for a moment, before letting go slowly. “Stay here with me. It's cool working like this. Like, no offense to Alex, but she's not always the sharpest tool in the belt. You're different, Maddie. I feel like it's really good to have your help.”
Looking at the old notebooks, I reach down and start flicking through the pages. I really, really want to get out of here, but I guess maybe I should help Nick a little. After a moment I come to a section in one of the notebooks where the handwriting is completely different.
“It's almost like two people,” I mutter. “It's like we're missing someone.”
“He probably went totally Jekyll and Hyde,” Nick replies. “Hey, that's an idea! Maybe Jekyll and Hyde were based on this guy!”
“I think Jekyll and Hyde came out before Jack the Ripper.”
“No, I'm pretty sure you're wrong. I think it was after.”
“Whatever.” I flick through some more pages, seeing a huge amount of scribbled notes, some of which includes the symbols that I found on the step in the hallway. “It really does seem like someone else wrote this section. Do you think it's possible that Doctor Grazier had an accomplice?”
“No chance. Jack the Ripper would have worked alone.”
“But -”
“Think about it, Maddie. The guy was a total loner, he was basically a serial-killing version of Batman in nineteenth century England. Don't go come up with crazy ideas that he had his own Robin, though. His handwriting just changed, that's all. He probably went totally mad at the end.”
“He committed suicide,” I reply. “He jumped out of one of the upstairs windows and landed on the spiked railings out front.”
“We're still missing something,” I point out. “His motivation still doesn't make sense.”
“But you agree that we're right, don't you?”
I want to tell him that we need to be cautious, but at the same time I can't deny that there's some very convincing evidence right here on the desk. Sure, I'm still having to make a few leaps and assumptions, but I can see the bare outline of a compelling argument, and I definitely wouldn't bet money on Nick being wrong.
“We really need to tell someone about this,” I say finally. “There are experts out there, people who've studied this their whole lives. We need to get them involved so that they can go through all this stuff and figure out the truth.”
“And we'll totally do that,” he replies, before reaching out and touching my wrist again, “but only after we've worked out how to safeguard our investment.”
“Investment?”
“Our time. Our good work here.” He pauses, staring at me in silence as if he's lost in thought. “There's going to be a huge amount of money in this, Maddie,” he adds after a moment. “Book rights, film rights, talk-show appearances, and a million other things. Hell, you deserve your share, 'cause you're the reason we ended up here, and you're contributing right now to it all. And without being immodest, I deserve my share 'cause I'm the one who really put all the pieces together. But Alex?”
He glances toward the door, as if he's worried about us being overheard, and then he turns back to me.
“She hasn't really done anything,” he adds, noticeably lowering his voice to barely more than a whisper. “Instead of splitting the whole thing three ways, we could just cut her out and walk off with more for the two of us. Honestly, I reckon that's the only fair way to go about it.”
Shocked, I realize that he's serious. And then, slowly, he moves his hand down over my wrist and starts slipping his fingers between mine.
“We make a good team, Maddie,” he continues. “I've always liked you, you know. Alex tries to hide you away from people. She wants a little puppy dog who follows her around, but I know you're better than that. When this all blows up and we're getting attention for our discovery, I really want to experience that with you. Not with Alex, though. She's totally immature and crazy. Sometimes she even makes me do bad things.”
“Like what?” I ask, trying to pull my hand away but quickly finding that he's persistent.
“She gets into my head,” he explains earnestly. “I'm a good guy, Maddie, I swear. I'm not perfect, but I'm not the asshole I've been lately. But whenever I'm with Alex, she finds a way to bring out my worst side. All the stuff before at that Simon guy's house... I'd never have done any of that if Alex hadn't been goading me on. She was out there, you know, smashing things up in one of those masks. I need to get away from her, I need a better influence.” He pauses again, staring deep into my eyes. “I think you'd be a good influence, Maddie. I think you could really help me. And I'd help you, in return. We'd make a pretty good team.”
I want to slip my hand away from his, but I'm actually starting to feel bad for him. And then, suddenly, he pulls his hand free.
“Forget it,” he mutters. “I shouldn't blame Alex. It's not like she's got mind-control powers. I should stand up to her more.”
“It can be hard,” I tell him.
“Do you ever think about ditching her?” he asks.
I open my mouth to tell him that I don't, but then I realize that he's right. I have thought about leaving Alex behind, although it never occurred to me that someone could guess that. Especially someone like Nick.
“We're all in this together,” I point out finally, trying to be non-committal. “Alex is part of it too.”
I wait for a reply, but he puts his head in his hands and sighs. Figuring that maybe I should just leave him alone for a while, I'm about to turn and leave the room when suddenly I realize that he's sniffing a lot, and then I spot a few tears falling onto the desk. Finally, not really knowing what else to do, I place a hand on his shoulder.
“It's okay,” I continue. “Hey, don't get upset. Everything's going to be fine.”
Sniffing again, he turns to me with tear-filled eyes.
“You're a good person, Maddie,” he says with a faint, sad smile. “I wish I could be more like you.”
“I'm no saint,” I tell him.
“I bet you've never done anything truly bad. Not like me.”
I hesitate for a moment, as more tears run down his cheeks.
“I stole some stuff from here,” I tell him finally, and in a strange way it actually feels good to get the truth out. “Just some jewelry from upstairs, but I still did it, so I guess I'm a thief now. I feel bad about it all the time, and I wish I could take it back, but at the same time I really needed the money. So I guess I'm not as perfect as you thought, huh? I've got my rough edges, just like everyone else.”
“On the contrary,” he replies with a smile, “you've actually just impressed me a little bit more.”
He pauses, before getting to his feet. And then, before I have a chance to react, he leans closer and kisses me. I know I should pull away, but somehow I let the kiss linger for a few seconds before finally turning my face. He tries to kiss me again, and this time I step back.
“I'd like to do that some more,” he tells me.
“I should go and find Alex,” I reply, not even managing to look him in the eye as I turn and head out of the room. I mumble something about checking to see that Alex is okay, but I'm pretty sure that I'm already blushing like crazy.
“Come back down soon, yeah?” Nick calls after me. “I like you, Maddie. I think we've got big things ahead of us. Mega things!”
As I head up the stairs, I can't help thinking that I'm a complete idiot. I mean, how stupid can I get? I should never have let that happen, and now I can't even think straight. I'm in such a loop, I somehow manage to knock the bowl of cat food at the top of the stairs, spilling the meat everywhere. As I crouch down to scoop it back up, I feel as if I'm burning with embarrassment. I'm not good around other people, I make dumb decisions, and I'm better off alone.
And then, hearing a sniffing sound nearby, I turn and look into one of the bedrooms, and suddenly I freeze as I see Alex kneeling on the floor with blood dripping from her hands.
Chapter Twenty
Doctor Charles Grazier
Tuesday October 2nd, 1888
Carefully pulling the basement door open just a little, I peer down the steps and feel an immediate shudder as I spot Thomas Culpepper's remains on the concrete floor at the bottom.
Or at least, part of his remains.
In truth, all I can really make out so far is what looks like a human spine that has been torn out from beneath the fabric of his clothes. There's meat glistening on the bone, but not much, and it is almost as if Culpepper's corpse has been stripped by some kind of wild animal. His legs are at impossible angles to one another, and as my eyes adjust to the darkness I am able to see a thick, smeared trail of blood leading away from the stairs and deeper into the basement. It is as if Catherine – or rather, the thing in Catherine's body – was driven insane by the prospect of fresh meat. Thomas Culpepper has been almost entirely consumed.
Good.
That is what I had hoped.
That, at least, gives me a chance.
With a fire-poker in each hand, I start making my way down the steps. I know which of them creak, of course, so I am able to remain very quiet as I get closer to the bottom. Now that I can see Culpepper's remains properly, I realize that his body seems to have been torn and chewed through ragged gaps in the fabric of his suit. His spine, meanwhile, pokes out above the rest of the mess. After a moment, spotting the remains of a forearm, I pick the tattered limb up by one end and grimace as soon as I see the torn muscle that still just about clings to the bone.
My Catherine
would never do anything like this.
This is the final proof, if proof were needed, that there is not one scintilla of Catherine in that creature. She must be elsewhere, waiting for me to bring her back to the world.
I want nothing more than to turn around and retreat up the stairs, but I know I must keep going into the main part of the basement. I have to gain access to my tools, and to the operating table, and this mean that I must find a way to clear the creature out of the way. I should have sent Jack down to do this, but alas I did not realize this before he left, and I cannot possibly wait until he comes back.
Fortunately I have come up with an idea, and the tattered corpse of Thomas Culpepper suggests that my plan has a good chance of working. Besides, I am poised to turn and run if I feel that I am in danger, and I am confident that I could easily reach the top of the steps before the creature could ever get to me.
Nevertheless, as I edge away from the steps and raise the gas lantern so that I can see the basement properly, I feel an utterly terrible sense of fear tightening in my chest. Tears, meanwhile, are streaming down my face as I stare into the darkness. If I still had my eyelids, I would surely have blinked by now. Instead, I merely have tracks of blood that run down the sides of my face, while my untempered eyes themselves feel filled with the most horrific scratches of dust and other particles.
And then I see her.
Catherine is in the far corner, naked and covered in blood, curled tight as she chews on some part of the corpse that she dragged away. The lantern shakes in my hand, causing the shadows to swing wildly, and Catherine quickly turns and hisses at me. As she does so, I see blood all over her chin, and I realize that it is Thomas Culpepper's head that rests in her hands. Or what is left of his head, at least. For I can see that his skull has been almost entirely picked clean.
Catherine hisses again, but I do not let this deter me.
“Look what I have done,” I stammer, hoping that somehow she might be able to understand. “Look at my eyes. I can sew the lids back on when I am done, but until then, I deserve to suffer as much as you. This is my way of showing you just how much you mean to me. How much I love you.”