Sins of the Father

by JG Faherty

  The bandage I’d so carefully wrapped less than two days before now bore a series of yellow and brownish stains.

  A spoiled cheese and sour ale smell rose up hot and strong, overpowering everything else. An odor no healthy flesh would ever produce. Red streaks snaked out from under the bandage and down her arm, a map of the disease’s path as it spread through her body.

  As alarming as the sight of her was, that suppurating wound on her arm frightened me more than anything.

  “Damn it to hell.” Despite the efforts of the doctor and myself, some sort of germ had taken hold in her wound. I wondered if Ben had been lax in caring for it in my absence, but I quickly brushed that thought aside. Knowing Ben, I doubted any lack of vigilance on his part. Between him and Callie, they’d have done everything they could for Flora.

  They’d simply not been up to the task.

  “How bad is it?” Ben asked.

  I shook my head and knelt down. I began to unwrap the bandage. Flora moaned but her eyes remained closed. With each section I unwound, the stench of festering decay intensified.

  Ben grabbed my shoulder and forced me to look up at him. “Will she be all right?”

  “I don’t know.” Left unsaid was the very real possibility she could die. I think he saw it in my eyes. His lips tightened and he released his hold on me. I returned to my grisly work.

  The wound was badly swollen, the edges so puffy and bruised I could hardly make out the stitches holding it closed. Oily yellow fluids leaked out from between the crusted lips, dripping with poison and decay. Bright red lines ran up and down her arm from nearly shoulder to wrist, as if scarlet paint filled her veins.

  “Oh, my.”

  Callie’s exclamation didn’t come close to capturing how I felt. Flora’s injury was even worse than I’d feared, and definitely not something I was prepared to deal with. Medicine had come far since the black days of the plague, but even modern antiseptics didn’t always prove effective against the myriad of organisms that lurked in the air and soil. Once an infection reached the blood, it became a race against time to prevent the spread of disease throughout the body.

  Staring at her injured arm, I feared we might already be losing that race. Still, despite misgivings that I’d not be of much help at this point, I needed to do something. Left untreated, the infection would continue its advance and we faced the very real possibility she could lose her arm.

  Or worse.

  “We need to clean this. Now. Doctor.” I raised my voice to be heard above the general din. “We need a doctor here.”

  “I’ll get someone.”

  “Tell him to bring carbolic acid and more laudanum.”

  Callie nodded and hurried off, no doubt relieved to get away from the oozing rot taking over Flora’s arm. I tossed the filthy bandage to the floor. The man in the next cot moaned and coughed, adding to the unhealthy vapors surrounding us. Ben cleared his throat but when I glanced at him he had his gaze firmly fixed on his feet, avoiding my eyes. He had questions for me, no doubt. Just as I had things to tell him. Yet there seemed to be a wall between us. The wrong moment, with our minds on Flora? Or had something changed in our friendship?

  Perhaps both.

  Maybe it really was time to move on, not just physically but in regards to who I kept in my life.

  Before I could further contemplate that line of thought, Callie returned with an elderly woman whose once-white smock now resembled a butcher’s apron, painted in blood and body fluids.

  I stood up. “Where’s the doctor?”

  The nurse shook her head, which only came to my shoulder, and pushed me out of the way with a gnarled hand.

  “Not coming anytime soon, you can bet your life on that. A few hours, if you’re lucky. And it don’t look to me like you’ve got the money to hurry one. Now, you want my help or not?”

  “We have what you asked for.” Callie held up a brown bottle with a faded label. In her other hand she clutched a vial of laudanum and a roll of bandages.

  A quick glance down the corridor showed no physicians in sight. With no other recourse, I nodded.

  “Smart man.” The nurse wore an assortment of pins on the lapel of her dress, including one similar to the Miskatonic signet Callie wore. I wondered if she’d attended school there, or assisted at the medical college, as some nurses did. She pointed at Flora’s arm. “Lift it up for me.”

  I followed her instructions. Flora groaned and one leg twitched.

  “Hold it tight. She’s likely to wake up. You, girl, be ready with the laudanum.”

  The nurse placed her hands around the wound and squeezed. Flora’s eyes shot open and she let out an agonized scream. Her body shook and she tried to pull her arm away.

  “Hold her now!”

  Ben threw himself across her legs, pinning her to the bed. I gripped her tighter, by the wrist and biceps. Her muscles went rigid beneath my hands. The nurse palpated the wound further, pressing her fingers hard on either side. Flora screamed again.

  Another squeeze, and then a gush of vile effluvia burst out. Foul-smelling pus sprayed our hands and clothes.

  “Ah, that’s it. Come now, you must have more for me,” the nurse said through clenched teeth. More yellowish exudate erupted, showering my arms and face. Bitter, salty droplets caught me in mid-gasp. I gagged and spat, scraping my tongue along my teeth to rid my mouth of the poisonous ooze.

  Flora’s body arched up off the bed, as if caught in a grand mal seizure, and then went limp. Her eyes closed and her mouth hung open.

  I looked at the arm I held. The flow of infected fluids had slowed to a trickle. The nurse pressed the edges of the wound once more. When nothing else oozed out, she let go with a satisfied sigh.

  “There. That should help.” She wiped her arm across her face. “Nasty shite, eh?”

  Moving with quick, precise motions, she administered a few drops of laudanum to Flora’s tongue and then washed the wound with carbolic acid before wrapping it in reasonably clean bandages.

  “Change it every six hours.” She handed me the bottle and the rest of the cloths.

  “Can we take her out of here?” I motioned at the sick and dying people around us. If she wasn’t well enough to travel, what would I do?

  “Aye, sure you can. If you want her to die.” The nurse glared at me through age-faded eyes that still sparkled with intelligence and more than a little contempt for anyone who might doubt her knowledge of medicine. “She needs to stay in bed and rest. Use the laudanum to keep her asleep. The girlie here can change her bedclothes, can’t you, girlie?” She favored Callie with a narrow-eyed look and received a nod in return, which seemed to placate her.

  “How long?” If it was just a day, I’d force myself to remain patient. Use the time to pack my things and Flora’s. Arrange the sale of my house through a solicitor. Even two: that would still give us twelve hours to—

  “That depends. Was she a strong girl before this happened?”

  “The strongest,” I said. The nurse glanced at Callie, who nodded.

  “Then, a week, I’d venture. Maybe a dog’s hair less.”

  Ben said something in response but I didn’t hear it. My ears were filled with the echo of her words.

  A week? No! Not with hell coming to Innsmouth three nights hence. Hiding provided no answer. My father had already shown he could locate me with ease. Besides, where could one hide if the whole town was under siege? And I had no intention of departing Innsmouth and leaving Flora behind.

  Only one course of action remained.

  I would have to stop my father.

  Fear gripped me in a cold fist and squeezed me until I thought my heart might stop and my innards burst out. Even contemplating another encounter with the demon in that cavern was something I’d never wished to do. Let alone launch an attack against it. A fool’s mission, to be sure. One
I might not survive, even if I convinced Flannery of the thing’s existence and led a small army into the beast’s lair.

  Unless….

  The beginnings of an idea took root. Born of desperation, possible only through a combination of luck and timing. But if it succeeded, I could rid Innsmouth of my father, the demon, and the dead things bearing their sinful offspring.

  A spark of hope sprang to life within my terror-frozen heart. Twice I’d made a vow to be the hero Flora needed, only to see bravery crushed by circumstance and the greater power of my foe.

  Now, however, my father’s intelligence and supernatural allies might just give me the advantage I needed. He’d like as not be occupied the next forty-eight hours with amassing his troops and finalizing his plan of action. There’d be little time to spare worrying about me. Why should he? He already believed me no consequence. He might have one of his walking corpses watching me, but I could take care not to be seen or followed. To Silas, I – like all humans – was nothing more than a fly, a pest to be swatted if it got in the way.

  Perhaps I could turn that arrogance, which he’d always possessed but now seemed magnified a hundredfold, into my best weapon against him. I would do the one thing he’d least expect.

  Bring the war to him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Instead of heading directly to the police station, I returned to my house. I had nothing to offer Flannery except a wild tale, some bruises, and a letter that could have been written by anyone. Yes, he’d seen one of the monsters firsthand, and he knew about the book, but that did not guarantee he’d be ready to believe an army of demons was amassing beneath the city, led by my supposedly dead father.

  I needed actual proof.

  I’d also need a way to lead him to my father’s lair. My recollection of my path through Old Innsmouth was hazy at best, and thanks to my father drugging me, I had no idea of the cavern’s actual location.

  Leaving Flora’s side was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. Only after I received assurances from Ben and Callie that they’d remain with her night and day did I depart. When Ben demanded to know where I was going, I gave him a vague story about working with the police to find the Fish Street Strangler.

  “Henry, wait.” Callie stopped me by the doors to the hospital. “We must speak.”

  “Not now,” I said. I had too much to do and very little time. I couldn’t waste any of it talking.

  “This is important,” she insisted. “There are things I must tell you. Urgent things.”

  “When I return, I swear.” I exited the hospital before she could object further. I presumed her intentions had less to do with wishing me luck and more to do with expressing her feelings, which I had no interest in pursuing. My refusal was perhaps a bit brusque, judging from her aggrieved expression, but I felt no guilt. My heart belonged to Flora and had no room for anyone else.

  Entering my house, I noticed two things right away. The stagnant sea smell of demon beast still hung in the air, reminiscent of too many fish dinners cooked with the windows closed, and someone had been by while I was out. A note, in a plain white envelope, sat on the floor beneath the mail slot.

  My heart jumped at the sight of the paper square. As I’d already retrieved the previous day’s mail, this had to be recent. Had my father returned with new threats? I stared at it for several seconds before working up the nerve to bend down and pick it up.

  It was with some relief that I opened it and found only a short letter from Flannery, stating he’d come by to speak with me.

  Then I read the rest.

  That damned book of yours has been stolen again and Professor Gardiner murdered at his desk. As soon as you read this, come to the station straight away. I want you to look at the body.

  Gardiner dead. I should have assumed such a dire occurrence when my father mentioned having the book in his possession again. Just like before, he’d used murder to get what he wanted. How many others had died while I lay unconscious?

  How many more would die tonight, and the morrow?

  I checked my watch. It was already close to eight o’clock. If Flannery wasn’t still at the station, someone there could retrieve him quick enough.

  After changing my jacket for a warmer coat, I gathered everything I’d need to plead my case – the letter from my father, the drawings I’d made of the parasitical creatures in the corpses – along with a magnifying glass and a small surgical kit. Then I pocketed my gun and spare bullets and set out for the police station, praying I could make the sergeant believe me.

  The cold night air added to the chills running through me, brought on by the knowledge that I’d be risking life and soul going up against the devil lurking below our town. But I couldn’t back down again.

  Not when so many innocent lives hung in the balance.

  Flannery sat behind his desk, half-hidden by a cloud of cigar smoke thicker than the fog blanketing the streets. When he saw me, he stood and grabbed his jacket from a nearby coatrack.

  “Don’t bother making yourself comfortable. We’ve got a body to visit.”

  “Where is it?” I asked, following him down a short hall to a back entrance. Outside, a patrol wagon sat waiting.

  “Anderson!” Flannery’s shout made me jump. A tow-headed young man – hardly more than a boy, really – peeked around from the other side of the cart.

  “Right here, sir.”

  “Ice shop. Double-time it, or you’ll be sleeping with your nag tonight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The driver took Flannery at his word and no sooner had we taken our seats than he had us speeding out into the street with a crack of his crop. The cab jerked and jolted with each turn, forcing me to hang on with both hands to avoid being tossed into Flannery’s lap. The jarring ride made conversation impossible, and I had to wait until we reached the warehouse, some eight blocks from the station, before I could ask the question that had been weighing on me since I’d read Flannery’s note.

  “What happened to Professor Gardiner?”

  “That’s what I brought you here to determine.” Flannery glared at me. Not his usual menacing scowl, more a furrowing of the brow and a slight narrowing of the eyes. I couldn’t tell if it meant his hatred of me was lessening or if he was just too preoccupied to bother.

  He turned away and unlocked the icehouse door, and I had a moment to wonder how he’d react when I told him everything I’d learned. Then a blast of winter air rushed past me, leaving my flesh chilled and my teeth chattering. I paused to turn my collar up and entered behind Flannery, who was already lighting a lantern.

  The inside of the icehouse was almost as familiar to me as my own workplace. On more than one occasion it doubled as a storage area for the dead, when the late summer heat got to be too much for the small ice chambers in the morgue. We would set up examination areas at the back and perform whatever tasks we needed to during the evenings after business hours. With the one morgue still closed after the fire and the other too small to handle any extra bodies, the icehouse was the logical choice as a temporary replacement.

  The cold intensified the deeper we moved into the building. Gigantic blocks, each the size of a hansom cab and stacked five high, formed faintly luminescent corridors filled with twisting vaporous spirits where arctic air mingled with warm, moist drafts from outside. Flannery’s lantern did little to cast away the dark and I had the distinctly unpleasant sensation of being back in the abandoned warehouse where I’d so recently followed my father.

  “He’s over here.” Flannery turned between two rows. The flickering glow created arcane figures in the opaque blocks as he passed between them. At the end of the row a shroud-covered form lay atop a wooden bench. Two lanterns rested next to the body, which Flannery lit while I pulled the sheet down.

  The mottled bruising around Professor Gardiner’s neck jumped out at me even before Fla
nnery finished his task. Rows of circular contusions ran from one side to the other. I didn’t bother to turn his head; no doubt the welts continued all the way around.

  I took one of the lanterns and placed it next to the professor’s neck. A few seconds of close scrutiny easily confirmed the presence of pinprick wounds within each discoloration.

  “He was murdered in the same way as the others,” I said, stepping away from the body. Seeing Gardiner lying there, stiff and pale, was too much of a reminder that I stood a good chance of ending up in the same state if I didn’t put an end to my father’s hellish plot.

  “By one of those…creatures.” Flannery spit out the word as if he hated saying it. Given his conservative nature, he most likely did.

  Creatures. The word triggered another thought. Had Silas infected the professor like the others? Was one of those hideous, tentacled beasts even now growing inside him?

  It had taken the other bodies two nights to rise up; I took that to be due to the things inside them needing time to mature. Which meant Professor Gardiner could still be handled safely.

  “Yes.” I’d explain exactly what kind of creature after we did what needed to be done next. “We must burn the body. Right away.”

  I expected Flannery to argue. Instead, he cursed softly and nodded, his expression almost contemplative rather than the typical controlled rage I’d grown accustomed to.

  “I’ve got some men outside. They’ll take care of it. That is, unless you fancy doing the job yourself.”

  “No.” I turned down the wick in my lamp and drew the cloth back over Gardiner’s face. What I fancied was an end to all the death surrounding me. The irony of that didn’t escape me and I let out a bitter laugh. Oh, to have back the days when the dead people I saw couldn’t rise up again to torment me.

  “These are bad times,” Flannery said as we exited the building. He sounded as if he wanted to strike up a conversation – another first for him – but casual talk was the last thing on my mind. I climbed into the back of the wagon and took a deep breath. No sense putting off the inevitable.