by Cross, Amy
When I finally dare turn to Jack, I see that he's already looking down at the trembling whore.
“How did you not know there was somebody in the yard already?” I hiss.
“I did know,” he replies calmly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I spotted him,” he continues, “and I ascertained that he was beyond paralytic.”
“And you did not think to mention this to me?”
“I did not want to worry you, Sir. The man was clearly not going to wake up, and I calculated that he would be good insurance in case a police officer happened to come around. As, indeed, turned out to be the case.”
“Insurance?” I stammer, convinced that his cavalier attitude almost got us caught. “Are you out of your mind?”
“The officer would have sensed that something was up,” he replies. “Had he not found the drunk man, he might have wandered a little further this way. All things considered, I judged the presence of the man to be a useful accident.” He hesitates for a moment. “I hoped he would not be needed,” he adds finally, “but it is always best to have several back-up plans.”
“This situation is utterly ridiculous,” I mutter, reaching up to the side of my neck and finding that my pulse is racing. “You must tell me these things in future.”
“I'm sorry, Doctor Grazier,” he says, sounding suitably chastened. “I think I just allowed myself to focus too much on watching your work. I shall be more careful from now on.”
“Mind that you are,” I mutter angrily. “If I am to rely on you, I need you to uphold your end of the bargain. Now keep the whore quiet while I finish what I'm doing.”
He puts his other hand over her mouth, to add pressure to the first, and I return to my work in the chest cavity. Taking hold of the kidney again, I give it a firm twist, loosening it a little, and then I reach a scalpel around to the underside and start cutting through the fibrous, knotted cord that holds the organ in place. Once the cord has been severed, dark blood comes flooding out into the now-empty, moonlit space, and I place the kidney in a cloth bag that I then tie shut.
Once the kidney has been secured, I turn and reach down toward the whore's still-beating heart.
“Do you mean to cut it out while she's still alive?” Jack asks, his voice filled with a sense of awe.
The woman's muffled cries become ever more frantic.
“If my theory holds any weight at all,” I reply, carefully positioning the scalpel beneath the superior vena cava, “the tissue will last much longer this way, before serious deterioration begins to take place. This, I believe, might well be the key ingredient in the whole enterprise.”
The whore continues to twitch and groan.
Slowly, I start cutting through the thick trunk at the side of her heart. She begins to spasm furiously, and I hear the heels of her shoes kicking frantically against the pavement. Blood gushes from her heart, but her death throes finally begin to fade as I slice more of the trunk away. Finally she is reduced to just a few jerks, as I make a few more incisions and finally raise the heart from her chest. I tilt the organ slightly, allowing more blood to run out and splatter against the ground.
It is done.
A moment later I hear a gurgled groaning sound, and I turn to see that Jack has moved his hands from her mouth.
“Wait a little longer next time,” I tell him, as the woman's dying gurgle fades to nothing. “I would prefer not to hear such coarse noises. They are entirely mechanical, of course. They are caused by air escaping the body. Still, they are unpleasant.”
“Of course, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir.”
I place the heart carefully in a bag of ice that I brought from the house. The ice has already begun to melt, of course, but I am confident that it will last long enough for us to complete our business here and make our way back through the streets. Time is of the essence, and I quickly wipe the scalpel before looking back down at the dead woman.
“Is that it, Sir?” Jack asks. “Are we done?”
“The brain stem, man!” I reply, realizing that for the first time I shall cut into a woman's head. “I still need to take the brain stem out! Now turn her over!”
Chapter Two
Maddie
Today
“A doctor? Seriously? Come on, Maddie, there's no way you can be a doctor!”
“I can!” I reply, as I take another sip of juice. “Anyone can be a doctor if they study hard enough. I get good grades.”
“But you have to go to university for a really long time,” Natalie replies. “Your family can't afford that.”
“I can get a loan.”
“And then you'll have to pay it back for the rest of your life.”
“I'll work hard so I can afford to.”
“That's not how it is,” she continues, and now her voice has taken on a slight nagging tone. “No-one else in your family is a doctor. It's crazy to think you can be one.”
“I still want to do it,” I tell her, as Mrs. Parsons walks past our table in the school's dining hall. Setting my juice box aside, I start unwrapping the sandwich Mum made for me. It'll probably be cheese again, but that's alright. I know Mum always has to save money near the end of the month. “I want to help people get better when they're sick.”
“My uncle Mark's a doctor,” Natalie replies. “Apparently he's always at work and he's always tired. He didn't even have time to my cousin's birthday last month. That, and he and my aunt are always fighting. Mum says they're basically going to get divorced one day because of all the work he has to do.”
“I don't mind working hard,” I point out. “When I choose my GCSE options, I'm going to do all the subjects I have to do if I want to be a doctor.”
Looking down at my sandwich, I see that I was right. It's just cheese and margarine.
“Doctors are really good people,” I continue. “They actually make a difference. If you're a doctor, you get to help people all day and make them feel better.”
“Yeah, Maddie,” Natalie says suddenly, “fine, but I mean... Look at you.”
I glance at her.
“What about me?” I ask.
She scrunches her nose a little, as if something smells bad.
“It's too late for you to do anything like being a doctor,” she says after a moment. “It's way too late. You have to realize that, right? Or are you really deluded? Do you not realize where you are?”
“I haven't even chosen my GCSE options.”
“But people like you can't be doctors,” she continues. “You really stink, Maddie, and you look... I mean, you look awful and if you wanted to be a doctor, you'd have to be still in school. You'd have to be healthy and not, like, rotting away in some alley filled with trash and garbage and poo.”
“What do you mean?”
I wait for her to explain, but there's something unsettling about the look in her eyes. She looks older somehow, and as if she's really sad. In fact, that sense of sadness seems to be getting stronger with each passing second, and finally I see a tear roll down her cheek, with more already welling in her eyes.
“Natalie, what are you talking about?” I ask, trying not to sound too worried. “Why can't I be a doctor?”
“Because it's too late,” she says calmly, almost flatly. “Why don't you realize that?”
“Because it's not too late,” I tell her, although I'm starting to feel a pain in my belly. The pain seems somehow familiar, too, even though I can't quite remember where it came from.
Reaching down, I pull up the edge of my school blouse and see the bare skin next to my tummy button. I run a fingertip against the skin, and I immediately feel a flash of pain. I don't see anything wrong, but now I'm starting to feel really sick.
“It's too late for you,” Natalie says after a moment.
I look at her and see that her tears have all dried up. If anything, she looks strangely emotionless now.
“You screwed up,” she continues. “You know you did, Maddie. You just have to remember.”
I open my mouth to ask what she means, but suddenly I realize that I feel really sweaty. Reaching up, I touch the side of my face, running my fingers through trails and beads of sweat until I reach my cheek. At the same time, the world seems to be swaying around me slightly, as if the entire dinner hall is spinning. I turn and look around, but – even though I can see everyone else in the dining hall – it takes me a moment to realize what's wrong.
My eyes are shut.
Even though I'm sitting here in the dinner hall, staring at Natalie, I can feel that my eyes are shut.
And something's crawling across my face.
***
Gasping loudly, I sit up halfway, only for the pain in my gut to push me down again. I bang my head against a brick wall as I slump back, letting out a cry of pain, and then I try again to sit up. This time, managing to avoid the absolute worst of the pain, I'm able to prop myself against the wall. I can barely breathe, and it takes a few seconds to really force some air into my lungs. Then, finally, I manage to look around.
I'm in an alley.
I'm in some kind of alley, under a gray sky, and I can hear voices and vehicles not too far away.
Reaching down, I pull the edge of my t-shirt up, and I find that the fabric is already caked in some of the sticky pus that's oozing from my badly-stitched wound. I wince as soon as I see the swollen red edges of skin that have already started to strain against the black wire, and I realize after a moment that I can feel a constant throbbing pain in my gut. Even as I stare at the wound, another bead of milky pus dribbles out between some of the stitches, running down to the waistband of my jeans.
I must have passed out.
I remember being on the street, and I remember coming into this alley so I could get myself together, but then I must have collapsed. I don't know how long I've been here, but when I sit up a little straighter I find that my body is a little stiff. I guess I must have been unconscious for a while. I touch my face and feel beads of sweat, and it's pretty clear that I'm suffering from some kind of infection. There's a fly crawling across my forehead, but it takes a moment before my instincts kick in and I even remember to swat it away. I know I should go and get medical help, but at the same time I also know I don't have that option.
They'd call my parents.
I'm still too young, so they'd get my parents to come to me, and that's not something I can allow.
Looking down at the swollen wound again, I try to tell myself that it's not as bad as it looks. I mean, sure, the skin is purplish red and there's a lot of pus, but I guess maybe that's just a sign of my body dealing with the infection. I'm not exactly an expert on these things, although I'm just about able to convince myself that there's a bright side. If the wound's still bad this time tomorrow, I might have to think about going to a hospital and trying to use a fake name, but right now I reckon I can afford to wait a little longer.
Not here, though.
If I stay in this alley, I'll just end up passing out again. Plus, it's not exactly clean. Another fly lands on my face and I swat it away, but I can hear more of them buzzing nearby. There are some foul-smelling bins a little further off, and a couple of dozen slugs are stuck to the sides. The whole place reeks, and I'll probably end up with a second infection to go along with the first.
I have to get out of here.
I brace for the inevitable pain, and then I haul myself up onto my feet. The pain hits, and it's worse than I expected, but I manage to steady myself against the wall.
So far, so good.
This is pathetic, but it's time for stage two.
After taking a deep breath, I start limping forward, although I find that I'm a lot more uncertain on my feet. My knees feel like they might buckle, but I force myself to keep going, while adjusting my backpack so that it sits more evenly against my shoulders. I manage to reach the other end of the alley, but then I stop again and take another deep breath.
I can't walk to Stratford, not like this.
Reaching into my pocket, I fumble for some coins. I still have the money I got from selling the earrings, and aside from the notes I also have just enough small change to buy a train ticket. I don't want to waste money on public transport, but walking to Stratford would take hours and hours, and I'd get tired even if I was in the best of health. Right now, I'm pretty sure that I'd collapse after just a couple of streets.
I'll take the train, and I'll recoup the money by not eating tonight.
Looking toward the next corner, I see the familiar sign for a tube station. Sure, I know I'll get plenty of funny looks, but hopefully I can make it all the way to Stratford without anyone actually trying to help me. The biggest danger is that someone will call the police and try to get me dragged away to one of those centers where they're keeping homeless people at the moment, but I figure I just have to take that risk. Finally, setting out along the street, I start shuffling toward the station.
More than anything, I have to find Alex.
Chapter Three
Doctor Charles Grazier
Monday October 1st, 1888
“We must hurry!” I mutter under my breath, starting to feel frustrated by our slow progress through the city's dark streets. “If the ice melts, the heart will start to deteriorate.”
“Not long now,” Jack replies, remaining a few paces ahead of me. “We're nearly at your house.”
“I don't recognize this street at all!” I tell him. “You've got us lost, haven't you?”
“Not at all. This is a slightly longer route, but it bypasses the busier parts of the borough. I was worried we might run into another police officer on his rounds. He might wonder what we're doing out so late, especially given that you're carrying that dripping bag.”
“The bag is not dripping!”
“It is, Sir. With all due respect, there are drops of water falling from the bottom. Indeed, there have been for some time now.”
I hold the bag up to check, and sure enough it seems that the ice is melting a little faster than I had feared. We should be back at my house by now, and I should be preparing to get to work, yet here we are instead roaming the streets of the city in seemingly random fashion, darting from shadow to shadow. Jack continues to insist that he knows where we are, but I am starting to fear that he has led us astray. Perhaps his confidence in his own abilities is somewhat misplaced.
“This way!” he hisses, taking a sudden left turn along a dark alley. “Come on!”
“I cannot possibly go along here!” I tell him, stopping at the entrance and sniffing the air. “The smell alone is horrific.”
“This alley comes out just a few doors from your home,” he replies, stopping ahead of me. All I can make out his his silhouette, but after a moment he waves at me. “Sir, you must believe me! This alley comes out three doors from your house.”
“I have never seen such an alley before.”
“I assure you, it's real.”
“This alley is foul!” I continue, exasperated by his refusal to acknowledge that we are lost. “Such an alley could not possibly be found within a mile of Cathmore Road. I'll have you know that my house is in a very well-regarded part of the city, and we simply do not have alleys of such a low standard. All our alleys are properly tended.”
“I promise you,” he says, with a hint of a sigh, “that this is the best route. It isn't a long alley, Doctor Grazier. Now please, we're wasting valuable time.”
“There must be some other way. How do you know this path is not filled with thieves and murderers?”
“I have a good sense of these things,” he replies. “Trust me, Sir, this is the way.”
I want to turn around and find some other route, but in truth I have no idea where I am. I could spend hours wandering the darkened streets, struggling to locate a road that I know, and the heart would surely be badly damaged by the time I got to my door. I hesitate for a moment, still hoping that I might think of some other route, but finally I start picking my way along the alley, and sure
enough Jack sets off ahead of me.
The stench here is atrocious. So much so, I fear I might catch something. I am a gentleman – a doctor, no less – and it is utterly absurd for me to be in such a rundown part of the city. I venture into the heart of Whitechapel on specific business, late at night, but otherwise I keep to the smarter streets. Even now, I am starting to think that I shall likely have to burn these shoes once I am home, since they are surely accumulating far too much grime and dirt in this narrow little place.
“Not far now,” Jack says, and I hear him kicking boxes out of the way. At least, that is what it sounds like, but in truth this dark alley feels like a whole other world. I honestly find it difficult to believe that such a foul place could be anywhere close to my home, or even within a mile of the highly respectable street in which I live.
“I cannot take much more of this!” I splutter, as I hear flies buzzing in the darkness. I even feel a few briefly hitting my face. “You're putting the entire operation into jeopardy. Do you hear me? I trusted you and now you are leading me through the seediest streets imaginable! Why, if I didn't know better, I'd fear that this was all some elaborate practical joke, and that you intend to -”
Suddenly I spot light at the end of the alley, and I see that Jack has already emerged onto the next street. Despite my extreme skepticism, I realize as I get closer that I recognize the buildings opposite, and I am genuinely shocked to step into a patch of moonlight and find that somehow I am indeed safely back on Cathmore Road. I look around, convinced that this has to be a mistake, yet it is clear that Jack has somehow led me through a labyrinth of side-streets and alleyways, and that somehow he has returned me safely to my home.