Someone, with a much heavier footfall than Dora’s, was following her. Katie could just make out the outline of a cape as it flapped like a dark sail around the silhouette of the person below who was . . . stalking her?
With the wind buffeting her body, Katie felt shaky and unsteady, but she pushed steadily forward.
The footsteps behind her started again.
If the person in the cape was a strong climber he’d be on her level in just a few minutes. Katie squinted over the railing into the gloom below. The figure beneath showed the upsurge of a tall man clothed all in black, like an undertaker. The gleam of his brass-headed cane rose up as if lifted to strike. Then the cane swung up and down like a baton leader’s in a marching band.
“You there! You up there. Halt. Halt, I say!”
It was Reverend Pinker’s voice. Katie could almost see his gulping Adam’s apple. And for a brief moment, relief flooded her. But she quickly regained her senses. Some warning mechanism made her hasten forward toward the firefly lantern light.
Then the sound of a thud . . . someone falling beneath her in the gloom. A startled cry floating upward.
A vision of Dora sprawled on the catwalk below flashed into Katie’s mind. Had she left Dora alone and utterly exposed to danger? Was Reverend Pinker Jack the Ripper? The image of Pinker sliding a knife across Dora’s exposed throat made Katie stumble. She gripped the flannel handrail just in time. Righting herself, she bolted toward the lantern light that danced and flickered like a beacon of hope at the end of the construction platform that jutted out above the water. With her boots crackling and crunching on the grooved surface of the catwalk, Katie raced headlong toward the light of the lantern.
Chapter Fifty-four
Tin Soldiers and Tea say the Bells of Chelsea
As she got closer, the light pooled downward, guiding her steps along the catwalk toward a platform with a sheer drop-off.
This far out over the water, Katie could feel the change in the wind. No longer buffered by steel risers or a shoreline below, it blew straight up, whipping Katie’s skirts and making a tangled mess of her hair. Strands of curls that had been piled atop her head whipped against her face, stinging her cheeks and eyes.
With each step she took, the wind gained momentum, whirling around the precipice at the end of the construction pier as if around a giant cliff-edge. Blinking and squinting, Katie slowly pressed forward. The lantern ahead was just dim enough to turn dark shapes into flickering illusions. The closer she got, the more the firefly glimmer danced, distorting the distance to the edge of the platform.
And what was all that movement up ahead?
The blustery wind seemed to loom with newfound ferocity, only to lash down on her, impeding her progress. Katie braced each time she sensed it whirling upward for the inevitable crashing down, like the ocean waves that used to frighten her as a child.
Pausing to catch her breath, Katie glanced over her shoulder, squinting into the gloom, fearful that she would see Reverent Pinker closing in.
She saw nothing, nor did she hear the clatter of his footsteps.
She gave a shudder of relief and continued headlong into the wind toward the light . . . but if the sound of Pinker’s heavy footfalls had sent a shiver up her spine, the noises up ahead made her breath catch painfully in her throat.
Katie could hear fists hammering, blow for blow. The landing of punches coming one after the other. Silhouetted by the dancing firefly flames, Katie saw two figures exchanging vicious blows.
Hunching her shoulders into the wind, she inched closer toward the end of the platform.
More dancing light.
On either side of the drop-off, set down upon upended barrels, were fish-oil bowls with floating wicks. The light dancing off the wicks combined with the lantern’s to make the end of the walkway look like a dimly lit, narrow stage—dull, flickering footlights for the death scene in Macbeth.
Katie shook herself. Lightheaded, she had a sense of déjà vu. She’d been on this very pier before, looking out toward the cliff-edge drop to the crashing waves below.
“This isn’t real,” Katie told herself, scrunching her eyes so tightly she felt the wince of pain from the heartbeat pulse thrumming behind her lids. I’m dreaming. This is all a dream. I’m in my own bed in the twenty-first century. I’m dreaming bad things are happening. This is all a spoof in my mind’s eye because I watched a Pirates of the Caribbean movie last week. My brain’s playing tricks on me.
Katie began to laugh. She threw back her head in the whipping wind, and in an overloud, raucous voice, she howled with laughter like a crazy person. Perhaps she was a lunatic locked up in some insane asylum—where each jab of the needle, each stab of electric shock treatment, sent currents of laughter rippling from her mouth. That’s it! Katie thought. I’m on some kind of hallucinogenic drug.
The effect of her outburst brought the two fighters ahead of her to a halt.
“God’s eyeballs! What are you doing here, Katie?” Collin sputtered, fists clenched and held high on either side of his nose. “Go back! Go back!” he cried, and for a moment, with only the fish-oil lamps lighting his face, he looked as crumpled and withered as an old man. With nostrils flaring, he called out again, “Turn back, Katie!”
Major Brown, recovering from the split-second shock of seeing Katie, let fly a fierce left hook that landed against Collin’s chin.
Behind them, Katie could see Toby lying unconscious on the ground near one of the barrels, blood oozing from a deep gash at his temple. Katie’s first instinct was to run to him—he could be dead or dying and not just unconscious—but instead she stood frozen, watching in horror as Major Brown let loose a vicious punch that connected with Collin’s cheek, splitting it open.
Collin roared with rage, but instead of conceding or stepping back, he flew at Major Brown. In a burst of fury, Collin began pummeling angry blow after angry blow, landing a cracking right-handed fist to Major Brown’s nose, drawing a gush of blood, like red rain.
With a chill that shuddered up her spine, Katie realized that this was no gentleman’s fisticuffs with rules of conduct. Collin was swinging punches in a mad rage, left and right. The vehement wrath emanating from both men was as palpable as the crashing waves below. And it was clear from the look on their faces that they meant to kill each other.
Murder was in the air.
With the frenzied howl of a wolf braying at the moon, Collin lunged and swung out at Major Brown with such force that when his fist missed the mark, his entire body collided with Brown’s, knocking him to the ground.
In one fluid movement, Major Brown reached into the calf of his boot and drew out a dagger. Collin kicked at it, and it clattered to the ground. With a heaving grunt, Major Brown attempted to haul himself up, but not before Collin snatched the blade and held it aloft. As Brown staggered and rose to his full height, Collin took aim.
The only thing that saved Major Brown from being stabbed in the throat was his instinctive sidestepping to the left, so that the knife ripped through the collar of his military jacket. The lantern’s gleam flashed on the blade as Collin lifted the dagger once again. But Major Brown had reared up like a bear. In sheer height and bulk, he had the advantage. Just as Collin lunged, Brown kicked him ferociously in the groin.
And it was over.
In a fit of heaving agony, Collin dropped to his knees, clutching his midsection. Then he fell sideways to the ground in a fetal position.
Except for the wind, all was quiet. Deathly quiet. The only thing competing with the whoosh of the blustery air was the sputtering, choking sound of Collin mewling in pain, like a baby animal caught in a steel trap.
Katie blinked at Toby lying unconscious on the ground next to one of the barrels and then at Collin softly weeping and doubled over, near the end of the platform. Katie’s feet felt like lead. She couldn’t move. If she stayed still long enough maybe Major Brown wouldn’t notice, giving her enough time to formulate a plan. But what plan? All thre
e of them — Toby, Collin, and Katie—were up here alone and at the mercy of Jack the Ripper.
It was then that Major Brown, slowly and with great deliberation, reached for the dagger and moved haltingly toward Katie. For a brief, terrifying moment, Katie could see her own slashed and eviscerated body being hoisted over the edge of the pier and dropped into the rushing, dark waves below.
But when Major Brown took another step in her direction, Collin surprised her. He made a diverting, howling noise, drawing Brown’s attention. With great gasping effort and a strange semblance of dignity, Collin staggered to his feet and stared calmly, almost happily, at Major Brown. But the voice that choked off Katie’s cries of protest was anything but calm. “Stay out of this, Katie!” he screamed. “Major Fathead’s quarrel is with me, not you.”
Major Brown clamped his eyes on Collin, and before he could even clench his fists, Collin charged at him with his own fists at the ready.
Watching what transpired next made Katie feel as if her head would explode. She gasped, struggled for breath, and felt a searing, aching, physical pain in the pit of her stomach as if Major Brown had landed a blow to her own stomach, instead of Collin’s.
Paralyzed with fear, Katie was certain that Collin would keep fighting until Major Brown finished him off.
I have to do something! But what?
Frantically, Katie looked around. She was powerless against Major Brown’s brute strength, his anger, his flying fists . . . and the knife that would surely slice her open.
She reached into her pocket and felt the jagged edge of Mrs. Tray’s rock. She yanked it out of her pocket, then watched in horror as Major Brown cocked his fist back like a pistol hammer and put all his strength into a right cross to Collin’s chin. Had it landed, it would have broken Collin’s jaw, so powerful was the arc of the swing. But Collin’s head, like Jell-O on a stick, wobbled and bobbed as his legs swayed and staggered beneath him, and the punch didn’t land on his chin. It landed with a sickening crunch in the soft flesh just under his left ear. Collin, his brain dazed, his limbs loose and floppy, reeled backward like a rag doll and fell into a heap at the very edge of the wooden pier.
Major Brown moved menacingly toward him.
By rights Collin should have been paralyzed . . . or dead. But instead, he began thrashing about, trying once again to rise up. Any minute now he’d pitch himself over the edge by accident—or design, in order to thwart Major Brown’s coup de grace.
There were no ropes or guard rails cordoning off the sheer drop at the end of the pier. The only thing standing between Collin and the precipice was an upturned wheelbarrow—beyond which Katie could see the vast, dark abyss of the Thames and could just make out the masts of schooners bobbing in the distance.
Stay still, Collin! Stay still! Katie silently prayed as, hunched over and clutching his stomach, Collin wobbled unsteadily to his feet and began to lurch this way and that.
With Major Brown’s back toward her, Katie inched closer. She could see the sheer drop at the end of the pier, and it gave her vertigo just thinking about plunging over the side—which Collin would surely do if he didn’t hold still. One wrong step . . .
Tall and menacing, Major Brown loomed in front of Katie like a gladiator as he slowly moved in for the kill.
Collin, swaying on his feet, his face and neck smeared with blood so bright and glistening it made the red of his hair look mud-brown, stared at Major Brown with fatalistic determination.
No! Katie silently screamed. She could see it in Collin’s eyes. He meant to go after Major Brown again. It would be his last act on earth.
The slippery boards beneath her feet began to shake, the handrail to tremble. Katie realized with a jolt that it wasn’t the pier that was shaking, but her whole body shuddering convulsively.
Do something! Do something! Do something! her mind screamed.
Clutching the jagged rock tightly in one hand, Katie scooped up the lantern from its pole with the other and swung it wide. The firefly flame jumped and jiggled, making both Collin and Major Brown pause for a split second. It was all the time she needed. She swung the lantern so the beam of light settled full into Major Brown’s bloodshot eyes. She gave one last quick glance at Collin, sluggish blood oozing from his cheekbone.
Then Katie did the unthinkable. She closed her eyes.
Unthinkable by her father’s standards, who had taught Katie to throw a baseball—and throw it hard.
“Never close your eyes, Katie! It’s fatal!” Her father’s words ricocheted in her head.
It had taken an entire summer to rid Katie of the habit of screwing up her eyes after taking aim. But that was exactly what she did now. She wound her arm back, took aim . . . and squeezed her eyes shut, letting the rock sail through the air.
The stone made thudding contact at the same instant that Katie willed her eyes to flick open—in time to see the rock smash dead center into Major Brown’s forehead. Stunned and reeling, Major Brown blinked like a dazed Goliath and began batting his hand in front of his eyes. Collin saw his opportunity and flung himself straight at Brown. The force of it sent them both tumbling over the upturned wheelbarrow.
Collin rolled to the side and kicked out.
Major Brown tried to scramble up just as a foghorn blared in the distance. Collin kicked out again, smashing his boot into the man’s kneecap. Major Brown buckled and fell to the ground.
The dagger was in Collin’s hand.
Grabbing a fistful of Major Brown’s hair, Collin yanked the man’s head back. He was about to draw the blade across Brown’s exposed throat when a thin, clear voice called out from the darkness behind.
“Don’t do it, Collin.”
It was Toby’s voice.
“But he deserves it!” Collin screamed at the heavens.
“Don’t,” Toby repeated, limping toward them.
Collin hesitated. He let go of the knife. As the blade clattered to the ground, Collin’s mouth split into a defiant, triumphant grimace, and he shoved Major Brown with all his might.
The taller, bulky man flailed, grabbing at air, but was off balance. Behind him loomed the yawning chasm of the pier’s drop-off into the Thames—a sharp plunge, straight down, like the nosedive of a roller coaster. There was no tension wire or safety rail, nothing to grasp. Just wet, slimy wooden boards, sheared off at the end.
Collin gave another heaving thrust as if pushing a giant boulder over a cliff, and Major Brown toppled off the edge, a pinwheel of arms and legs. A scream of rage, not fear, echoed eerily back up at them until Major Brown’s body hit the surface of the water far below with a thudding splash.
Katie’s lantern caught Collin’s white face, turned sideways. “May he rot in hell,” Collin said hoarsely. He sank down to his knees and began to cry, slowly at first and then with deep, shuddering gasps. Across the horizon, grey-white clouds hung against the moon, which was dipping slowly into the water’s edge on the opposite bank of the river.
Dawn breaking.
Katie hastened to Collin’s side. Hard sobs wracked his body.Whether from happiness, pent-up fear, or gratitude that the man who would have killed him was sinking into the watery depths below, Katie didn’t know.
All she knew was that Collin was alive. Toby was alive. And so was she. We’re safe now.
Katie knelt down shakily and threw her arms around Collin. “I thought you were going to die. I thought Major Brown was going to kill you.”
“Have a care, old girl!” Collin sputtered through his tears. “I wasn’t . . . about to . . . let that blighter kill me. I showed him a thing or two!”
Katie bit back a smile. She wasn’t going to tell Collin that it was Mrs. Tray’s rock that had turned the tide. Instead, she hugged Collin harder. Close to his torn and bloodied ear, Katie whispered softly, “It’s going to be all right, Collin. Everything’s going to be all right now, I promise.”
A moment later, she held his shoulders at arm’s length and looked directly into his eyes. “We did it,
Collin! Molly Potter, Dora Fowler, and Lady Beatrix are all safe now. Just think about it. We stopped the most infamous serial killer in history! We stopped Jack the Ripper.”
But of course, they hadn’t.
Chapter Fifty-five
Puppeteers Make Fun say the Bells of Newington
Kneeling next to Collin, just inches from where the pitted boards gave onto the crashing waves below, Katie stared at the floating wick in the fish-oil bowl. Smoke rising from its tiny flame flickered like a question mark reminding Katie of the incense sticks Courtney used to light back home in Boston. I miss my sister! It’s time to go home!
“It’s not over,” came Toby’s expressionless voice from behind her.
Katie dragged her eyes from the hypnotic dancing flame with its pungent, rancid-oil smell, and swiveling her head around, peered into the shadows. “What do you mean, it’s not over?”
“Jack the Ripper isn’t dead,” Toby shot back.
Katie felt cold rising inside her that had nothing to do with the moaning wind. She could see Toby across the way, supporting his weight against the handrail that ran the length of the pier up and down on either side. His left arm was dangling by his side at a crooked, awkward angle. It’s broken, Katie thought with a shudder.
Toby’s good arm was resting on a tangle of nautical rope coiled around a metal strut jutting out from the railing. With his dark hair plastered across the deep gash in his forehead, and his eyes shooting daggers at her, Toby looked more menacing than Major Brown had just moments before.
“But, Toby! Major Brown went over the side. No one could have survived that!” Katie blinked at him. He must have a concussion. “I guarantee you,” she said more gently. “Major Brown can’t hurt anyone ever again—”
“He’s . . . right . . . Katie,” came Collin’s rasping voice so close to her ear she felt the prickle of his breath like a tickling feather against her neck.
Ripped, a Jack the Ripper Time-Travel Thriller Page 40