Harold flicked on through the section with the interviews at
the hospital as it would not tell him anything he didn’t already know. That is something you have to love about the guard force, some drunkard pointed his finger at him lying in the road unconscious, and instantly Harold was the criminal.
On the evening of 19th during transit to Paddington guard station, suspect Spinks along with, as witnesses confirmed, an accomplice as yet unknown, escaped from custody. The attack upon the guard transit was both brutal and fatal. Early reports from the mortuary confirm that the three officers were killed in a bestial way with bite marks being a primary cause of death
The report went on to describe the bloody way in which the officers died mentioning how the attacker had somehow drained a large amount of their blood. It gave him no clues as to where William might be, but at least Harold knew they were looking for him too. Taking a deep breath to settle his rapidly twisting stomach, Harold continued reading:
On Dumon 22nd, Harold Spinks remains at large
Harold was beginning to think the files would not give him any clues and reading the last extract from Dumon morning confirmed his suspicions. It told little more than the papers did about the killings of the prostitutes, containing little detail on how they died. It only served to confirm the images his mind had already conjured. There was no mention of anything happening since Dumon but Harold was sure there would have been more victims. At that moment, his only choice was to wait for William to strike again and hope he could track him down from there. Harold was still not sure if he could kill William. Harold had already decided at that point that he must be some kind of vampire, but he was real, not just a story written to scare people. Harold wondered if he should take heed from the stories and have to use a stake on William, carry garlic or wear a Brilanka cross. Harold hoped that he was human enough to die by some means, at least. He was a normal father and husband not so long ago, after all. Harold shook the confusion from his head, snuffed the last candle and made for the door.
It was dark outside and the snow had already settled to around an inch thick. The walk back to Muriel’s would not be a pleasant one but at least it should be an uninterrupted one.
Chapter 21: Winter Wonderland Leaving the documents stolen from the guard, along with the articles Harold had gathered from several newspapers, at his father’s store he arrived back at Muriel’s house late Mindmon night. Harold had already decided they would just have to wait for William to make the first move and had not enjoyed telling Muriel of his lack of success at finding anything new in the guard reports. She seemed to relax a little as if she had been hoping they wouldn’t find anything. She hugged Harold again overjoyed that he had not been caught, and any doubt Harold had that Muriel was starting to feel for him too, faded. Harold still did not know if it was love or friendship though, so he had to wait. Even the solid stone floor with just a blanket to warm him could not stop him reminiscing of the closeness they shared. The night provided a well-needed break after the fatigue of the previous day and Harold fell into the limbo of sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. However, he did not sleep well. Visions of William and his victims rolled over his slumbering mind and dragged him back to the waking world several times during the night. When morning finally came, the sight of settled snow filled him with some joy, as Harold knew the guard would calm their search while the weather was this bad. They would not want to leave the warmth of the taverns and that meant Harold could actually relax a little.
He was disturbed from his window-gazing by Muriel as she walked down the stairs behind him. She still wore that same summer dress and Harold then realised it must be the only clothing she possessed. Harold made a promise to himself that he would sort her out with some new garments once this was all over. It was not uncommon for the poorest to make do with rags and hand-me-downs but the weather in Neeska was far too bitter to get by with just one summer dress.
“Good morning. What you looking at?” She asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with a yawn. Her hair all entangled made her look like she’d been pulled through a hedge backwards but Harold couldn’t help but find it cute.
“ The snow’s settled.” Harold said. “I was thinking of going for a walk.” He added and Muriel’s eyes lit up and a childish glow ran across her young face that Harold had not seen before.
“I love the snow, can I come with you?” She asked playfully. Harold liked the thought that it was because he was with her that she was able to enjoy the turn in the weather rather than having to work the streets in its blistering cold. She had only had to service one man since he had met her. Even before his feelings for her had flourished Harold had wanted to keep her from prostitution and he’d done it. So why not enjoy a little time with her and have some playful fun in the gift of winter.
“Of course you can. We should be safe while the weather is like this, and we have to wait for William to make the news again, anyway. Do you have something a bit warmer to wear?” Harold asked not wanting her to freeze the moment they opened the door. The question seemed to pull hard on an emotion strong within Muriel and her happy expression flickered, just for a second, but Harold was beginning to notice the little cracks in her reserve.
“ I’ll be fine in this.” She answered refusing to admit that it was her only frock. It was another thing that had seemed out of place for a working girl. Most would not have cared in the slightest about admitting something like that and again it made him wonder what her story was. Harold was sure she was no ordinary streetwalker. There was definitely more to Muriel than even his longing eyes could see.
“ You want to borrow my coat? I have a spare in my case.” Harold did not give her time to answer before he was reaching into his case pulling it free. Harold passed it to her and she put it on. He chuckled. She looked funny, her long red hair floating down over the collar of his jacket and the jacket itself almost reaching to her knees. Its width was almost twice that of her own and she pulled the belt tight, causing the tanned material to bulge.
“ Thanks.” She said struggling to get the wooden button through an eyehole with the sleeves trailing down over her hands.
“You look good.” Harold jested pulling his own coat from the stand and fastening it up to the neck. Together they made their way out into the perfect winter wonderland.
The streets outside amazed him. They actually looked clean. A pure white blanket hid the filth and kept the beggars within the shop doorways. It made a pleasant change not to have them pestering them for spare change. Children playing in the snow replaced the normal streets that always seemed to be filled with sin of some kind. A snowman smiled at them from the centre of the road. It had stones for its eyes and one of the children’s scarves around its neck. Muriel walked close to him and they wandered aimlessly around. They passed the giggles of happiness and for a moment Harold felt human again – not quite so washed out. The pigeons roosted up on the windows of the buildings and every now and again they would send down another flurry of loose snow. As they turned a corner, some children had upturned a cart onto its side and were using it as a fort for their snowball fight. A stray ball skimmed his shoulder and Muriel began giggling next to Harold. He bent down grabbing a clump of the white powder and tossed it back lightly at the kids, who scurried for cover behind their fortress. Meanwhile, Muriel had wandered away from him and scooped up a ball herself. She threw it and hit him in the chest. They joined in the game. Harold cannot remember how long they played but, by the end, his hands were frozen and he found himself coated in snow, Muriel was a good shot. The pale sun had grown high in the sky and Harold guessed it to be just after midday. It saddened him to know that within a few hours the streets would be bare again, but Harold had enjoyed himself enough. His time playing with Muriel will be something he would never forget. They laughed and joked all the way back to her home. She slipped her hand into his and ran her thumb against the inside of his palm. It was magic.
“Harold, isn’t it?” A
voice enquired, breaking the spell. Taking his hand from Muriel’s, Harold turned, relieved to find it was just Janet, his mother’s friend.
“Yes, Janet what can I do for you?” Harold thought she would be mad about him sending her son home, and readied himself for a sharp rebuke. Many a time as a child Janet had dragged him home by his ears to get a good hiding off his mother. Instead, she seemed to want the latest of the gossip and started to interrogate him.
“I saw the guard at your parents earlier today, what’s happening?” She asked bluntly as her eyes took in Muriel. It would be more gossip for her to spread around the church group next Dumon.
“I don’t know.” Harold answered truthfully, knowing that he would have to sneak back and check on his parents. It was a shame to cut short a perfect day, but Harold had to make sure they were alright. He had managed to fool himself for a few hours that things could be better than they were but the dream had to end and he had to go to them.
Chapter 22: Death and Love Excusing himself from Janet’s company as swiftly as he could, Harold made his way to his father’s house alone. His mind fighting hard to try and ignore the foreboding he felt. The beauty of the streets had melted into a black sludge that washed through the gutters turning his mood worse. As Harold approached the house he noticed the door was open and the doctor’s horse-drawn cart sat outside. The fear for his family over powered his caution and not caring if the guard were there or not, Harold quickened his step and forced his way past the crowd. The ground floor was empty and Harold made his way up the stairs, taking them two at a time. By the time that Harold reached the top step, he could already hear his mother weeping. His heart sank and his eyes begun to burn, but Harold fought the tears off. He already knew what he was about to face.
Harold entered his parent’s room for the first time in his life without knocking. As soon as he stepped inside, his mother fell into his arms squeezing him so tightly that Harold found it hard to breathe. Looking over her shaking shoulder Harold could see the lifeless body of his father lying on the bed. The doctor turned and gave him a half-hearted saddened smile while pulling a sheet over his father’s emotionless face. Harold knew he meant well and was trying to tell him that he understood the pain, but it brought him no solace. His father was the last pin that held the family together.
Inside Harold wanted to wail, he wanted to fall to his knees and sob until it brought him back, until the creator himself heard his anguish and gave back that which he took but for his mother’s sake, Harold did not. Instead he held her silently, the two of them unmoving in a trance as the industrious throng of people swarmed around the room. Harold had to hold his mother forcefully within his arms as they took his father’s body away. She wanted to go with him. To hell with it, Harold wanted to go with him, to whatever lay in the realms outside this world, but he knew he could not and neither could she, and so, ignoring her screams as she struggled to free herself from his arms, Harold held her tightly. Once the front door clicked shut, her struggle ended and she sagged in his arms softly sobbing once more. Harold and his mother sat alone in the lounge for most of the evening, both of them glazed and distant. Harold had always relied on his father’s strength and now he was alone. He did not know how he would cope. He remembered all the times with his father, those good and bad, his mind flickering through memories like pages of a falling book. The silence was choking but Harold could not think of any words to comfort his mother. For forty years, this man had been part of her life and now he was gone. The lump returned to his throat and Harold had to bite down hard to stop his eyes filling. In the end his steadfastness abandoned him and Harold too cried.
“Mother what happened?” Harold called out to the ghost of a woman sitting close to him. There was no reply, no change to her porcelain face. Her tears had dried on her cheeks and she stared lifelessly at the wall. Harold knew she had turned off and was not in that body any more. “Janet said that the guard were here earlier. What happened?” Harold continued. He had to know who was to blame or if it was just the flu that took him.
“ Don’t worry about it dear.” His mother said. She did not look at him as she spoke but instead her eyes stayed fixated on the wall as if trying to look through it.
“Mother, what happened?” Harold repeated. He did not like forcing her but he could not let it be until he knew.
“Someone tried to rob us, but your father saw them off.” She said before letting her head drop to face the floor.
“Who - What did they look like?” Harold asked, worried it could have been William or the O’Brien’s.
“I don’t know it happened so fast.” She said faintly, as her memory replayed the horrid events that had happened. “I was upstairs, they tied me up but I heard them downstairs. I heard it all.”
“What did they sound like?” Harold asked, hating himself as he did. He could tell his mother didn’t want to relive the events but the anger inside him made Harold want to find the people responsible. His mother gave him a puzzled look, but she was too tired and too sad to care why he wanted to know. She removed her stare from the blood stain on the wall for just a second before she answered.
“They were Drow. Your father took the fire poker to them and they ran off.” Harold knew her heart must have broken. His anger peaked as the image of the two bastards from the hospital came to him, but he knew he had to keep calm for his mother’s sake.
“You’re not safe here, Mother, you should leave.” Harold said. She nodded and Harold could tell she did not want to be alone and wanted him to stay with her but Harold could not. He could not give up on William. If he did, even more people would suffer and it would not be long before the guard or the O’Brien gang got to them again.
“Why don’t you go stay with Aunt Elizabeth?” Harold asked, knowing his mother had not seen her sister since her wedding day. They had always been close before that, but both married shortly after each other and had been busy raising their families.
“Oh no, dear, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to impose on them.” She said and Harold saw the frozen mask fall from her as a small flicker of herself returned. He could still see the redness to her eyes and she looked exhausted but it was his mother again, at least for the moment. Harold did not reply, his look said enough and his mother knew that she had no real choice. It was Aunt Elizabeth or the summerhouse alone, and at least Aunt Elizabeth lived in Neeskmouth so his mother would be close for the funeral.
Chapter 23: Dealing with Grief Harold left his mother at around 3 in morning of the 24th. She had finally fallen asleep in his father’s chair and Harold could not handle the horror of sitting and watching her any longer. His emotions were ready to break free and Harold had to go before she saw that. He walked through the streets alone and in the dark. He knew that it was William’s most active time, but Harold did not have the determination to try to find him. He couldn’t face going back to Muriel’s either. No matter how much Harold wanted to hold her, tell her his woes and have her make them better, it wasn’t right.
He wandered aimlessly down the familiar cobbles replaying memories of time spent with his father. Good times like when they fished at the cottage. He had switched the rods so Harold caught the fish he had baited and he thought Harold had not noticed. He had often done little things like that and Harold was never stupid enough not to notice, but he played along to make him feel better. The image flicked onto the next. They were climbing the trees outside in the orchard. Harold must have been young at the time, as his father had a good head of hair. Harold had been stuck close to the top of a tree after reaching for a juicy red apple. His father sat at its base telling him how easy it would be to climb down. When he realised Harold was too scared to move, he climbed up to carry him down, but before he even got half way he fell from the tree crashing into the ground. Oh, how he’d cursed. For a second the sadness subdued and through tear sodden eyes, Harold smiled at the image of his father sitting on his backside looking up at him, it was not as easy as he had thought.
Harold had not planned his path but he found himself outside the shop – his shop now, Harold guessed. He unlocked the door and made his way inside, swiftly locking the door behind him. Alone in the darkness, Harold was sure, just for a moment, that he got a whiff of his father’s tobacco in the air, but the smell faded fast and Harold put it down to imagination. He had to focus his sorrow. He could not let it consume him, not yet. There would be time for tears later, but now was not it. Harold reached for a bolt of thick cotton and made his way out to the back. Muriel needed a new dress and Harold knew that would give him the focus that he needed. Harold laboured through the night, pouring every part of himself into his work and by daybreak Harold had completed the dress. It was perfect, the best piece of work he had ever done. Harold had dyed it brown, an almost shiny copper coloured brown that glinted in the candlelight like sequins. It layered over itself in three tiers from waist to ankle. Flowers of pure white grew up it, each connecting to the fold above. There was no slit for cleavage, instead a thicker layer enclosed up to the neck where lace netting ran around and then down. The sleeves would hang to her wrist and flare out like trumpets. This gown was fit for royalty and would have fetched a fortune for the store but, instead, Harold would give it freely to Muriel. He managed a smile as he folded the dress up and readied himself to go and collect her.
Harold had decided during the night that they would leave her house and stay at his parent’s home. Harold hoped she would be willing, and that way if O’Brien’s boys returned Harold would be waiting for them. He would not back down this time. The sickness may have been the thing that finally took his father from him, but the O’Brien bastards had been the ones to cause it, and they would pay.
A Tailor's Son (Valadfar) Page 15