by Lucas Thorn
“I want to let you down, William. I really do. It’s not right to see you all trussed up like that. I’m on your side, really I am. But Professor Van Helsing was quite clear.”
“That’s because he’s listening to that fucking Harker!”
“Hush, William, please.” He looked back up the stairs. Saw nothing. Pitched his voice lower. “Look. There’s nothing I can do right now. But I’ll put a word in when they get back. Maybe get the old man alone, eh? Have a quick chat with him and sort this business out.”
“And what if she comes here now? What then? You leave me here chained like a dog so she can have me like this? Why not serve me up on a fucking plate while you’re at it? Fling me over the fence with a pretty bow around my fucking neck!”
“She’s not getting inside, William. She can’t. You know that.”
“I know nothing of the sort.” He glared fiercely. His nose started bleeding again. His tongue flicked out. Took a taste and spat it out. “Look at me. Look what they did. Is this how we treat each other now?”
Larkin looked away. “They needed to know what she knew of our plans, William.”
“And I told them! Nothing! Nothing because there was nothing I fucking told her! I never even got close to her, Larkin. Shit. Look at me. Look what they did. All because of that fucking Harker.”
“I’m sorry, William. I really am.”
“Sorry?” Sloper suddenly sneered and relaxed in his chains. “Not half as sorry as you’re going to be, mate.”
“What-?”
There was a slight scuffle behind him. He turned. Fast. Revolver coming up in a brutal arc.
Finger tightened on the trigger but didn’t pull as he saw Polly’s shocked face.
“Polly! What are you doing down here?” He reached for her and she stepped in close, her stunned gaze on the chained man behind him. Eyes wide in shock. “Polly, come on. It’s not what you think. I can explain. Upstairs we go, eh?”
“Polly?” The look on her face was genuinely confused. Her voice sounded different. Like it was no longer her own. Deeper. A predatory rasp which sent a shiver of fear down the back of his neck. “Do I look like Polly? I’m not Polly. Polly’s weak. Do look weak to you?”
She pounced.
He hadn’t seen the knife. A knife she’d taken from the kitchen. She stabbed deep into his shoulder, forcing his nerveless fingers to drop the revolver. Let loose a scream as she twisted and wrenched the blade.
She snarled. Snarl of a savage beast. Ignoring his other hand which grabbed a fistful of hair and tried to swing her off.
Her bunched fist was hard about the handle and she jerked it loose to stab him again in the throat.
The long blade pierced the arm he brought up to cover his face.
And then plunged with a splash into his chest.
He felt warmth filling his punctured lung. Air became a treasure to be snatched. Bubbles of blood foamed into his mouth and across his lips. He gulped desperate. Everything blurring. Taste of iron and salt.
Stunned by the speed and energy of her attack.
Driven to the ground by the sheer power of it.
And she stayed on top of him as he collapsed. Thighs pinning his waist underneath her thrashing body. Still shocked. Unable to recover.
Her fingers raked at the hole in his chest. Tearing at skin. Peeling it back in flaps. Digging into him. Deeper and deeper. Ripping chunks of bloodsoaked meat loose with bare hands.
Chunks she shovelled into her mouth on a torrent of giggles and wet chewed growls. Gnawing on stringy flesh. Sometimes swallowing whole like a raptor.
She was gorging, he realised, on him.
And there was nothing he could do but bat at her with limp arms through the fires of agony until he released his grip on life with Sloper’s chortled words ringing in his ears.
“Told you,” Sloper cooed. “Didn’t I tell you, Larkin? Told you you’d be sorry!”
Adele looked up at Sloper. Eyes round and joyful.
She lifted a hand and waved at him.
“Hello, William. Mistress Lucy sent me to rescue you.”
“Hello, Adele. I missed you, love.”
She threw herself from the corpse, tossing aside a slab of sodden flesh and wrapped both arms around the other man’s neck. “Oh, I missed you, too. Look at you, though. You’re hurt! What did they do to you? I’ll kill them. You hear me? I’ll kill them all. Where are they? I looked all through the house, but no one was here. I’d hoped Harker would be. We could have cut him up together. I’d eat his heart, and you could have his liver. You can cook it first, if you want.”
“I’m fine, lass. Really. And we’ve got to move fast now.”
“You don’t look fine.” She wiped her mouth and trailed her bloody fingers down his bare chest. “Well. Actually, maybe you do.”
“Unchain me first,” he groaned as her hands reached his belt.
“What for?” She began to tug it loose, ferocious grin playing across her blood-wet face. “I mean, where’s the fun in that?”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Inspector Abberline strode through the hospital, cane tapping impatiently.
He didn’t really have time for this.
Whitechapel was being torn apart. Flares of violent carnage were increasingly common. To the point where Jack the Ripper was almost forgotten.
Almost.
He put a hand to his aching hip as he turned into a corridor and was forced to step aside for two orderlies wheeling a stretcher. One gave him a nod, which he returned without emotion.
Coming to one of the rooms, a nurse waited for him out front. She trotted up and put on the face only nurses can wear. Stern. Strict. But concerned.
“You can see him, but he’s had quite the beating, Inspector. Please don’t get him too upset.”
“I’ll try.” He shot one of the rooms an irritated look as a young man let out a piercing wail.
“That’s young Frederick Hill,” she said softly. As though he should know the name. When he said nothing, she lowered her voice further; “Your lot found him in an alley trying to pull his brains out through his skull. He was using a shovel to do it. We had to strap him down. He keeps finding sharp things and trying to do it again.”
Abberline winced. “One for the lunatic house?”
“Yes, Inspector. Another one. Too many of them these days.” She paused. Then blurted; “Strangest thing, though. Most of them see things. You know. Visions. Hallucinations. And they hear a voice.”
“They’re crazy,” he said, eager to get past. “Isn’t that the sort of thing which makes them like that?”
“Yes. It is. But the thing is, Inspector, they all have the same story. They see the same thing. Hear the same things. It’s the lights, they say. They have lights inside their heads. That’s what young Frederick’s trying to get out of his head. He thinks if he can pull them out, the voice will stop talking to him. And he’s not the only one who’s come in here like that. To be honest, it’s beginning to worry some of us. Maybe there’s something else happening in Whitechapel? Something more sinister?”
He looked at her. Noted the tightness around her eyes.
Wanted to dismiss her fears as fanciful but his gut was already tying a connection to the bursts of rioting and incredible violence. He forced himself to slow down. Think a little more about what she was saying.
“Do you really think there’s something to this, Nurse?”
“Yes, I do. Even the doctors are beginning to talk. It’s very strange. I mean, isn’t it too much of a coincidence? It’s not right. I used to work in a sanitorium, Inspector. I’ve seen a good number of people with disturbed minds. I know the difference between madness and, well, whatever this is.” She shook her head. “Perhaps it’s something in the air. Or the water.”
“I’ll have one of my constables come around, then. Get him to jot down everything you know. No matter how silly it sounds, give him everything.”
“Thank you.”
Ins
ide the room, he found the man half asleep. Wrapped in white sheets and pale blue blanket. Arms limp at his sides, hands already stiff inside plaster. Staring through heavy lids at the white ceiling. In a chair beside him, hands folded in her lap and a morose look on her face, the woman didn’t immediately look up.
Her eyes were red from crying. Face blotched. Marked with sorrow.
When she did, a series of expressions worked themselves together.
Guilt was the one he recognised first.
Fear.
Here was someone who’d done something she shouldn’t have. And knew it. But was now ready to confess.
He didn’t quite sigh as he spoke her name; “Miss Havelock.”
“Oh, Inspector,” she wailed, putting her face in her hands. “It’s all my fault. Everything is my fault. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“Come now,” he said. Studied the young man as he spoke. His face was bloated with thick purple bruises. One eye almost swollen completely shut. Down his neck was a lattice of more bruises ranging from black to red in colour. According to the quick report his constable had given him, bruises covered the man’s body from head to toe. And there were cuts across his back from where he’d been flogged with leather straps. Skin of his wrists, now bandaged, shredded by his struggle to free himself from chains. A few broken ribs and fingers. Half a toe sliced clean off. All in all, he was a pitiful wreck. With a shake of his head, the Inspector sighed; “Tell me what happened. From the beginning.”
“It weren’t her fault,” the man croaked through swollen lips. “Mine. Wasn’t clever enough. Got caught.”
“Got caught?” He scanned the man again. There was a roughness to him. Wiry muscle. The kind a man gets from doing things he shouldn’t. “Doing what?”
“Not like that,” the man said. Tried to shake his head. Couldn’t. Instead let out a groan of pain.
Adele’s hand shot out and she took the other man’s arm. “Please, William,” she said. “I’ll tell him. Don’t try to talk.”
William nodded as best he could. His head relaxed a little in the pillow.
“His name is William?” Abberline pulled out a small notebook and stubby pencil. “Last name?”
“Sloper,” she said. “He’s a, well, he’s a detective like you, Inspector.”
“Detective?” He glanced at the young man in surprise. “You mean, the private sort?”
“Yes. I hired him.”
“For what purpose?”
“My father.” A few more tears squeezed loose and she shook her head to send them off her cheeks. “Oh, God. What’s happening, Inspector? This can’t be happening. It just can’t.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Miss Havelock. What exactly happened to your father?”
“He was kidnapped. He went out, and he didn’t come back. I wasn’t worried at first. He sometimes stays with friends. But then I got a letter the next morning, and it said that if I wanted to see him alive then I should do as they say.”
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes.” She reached into a small bag and pulled out a folded paper. Held it out for him to take. “Here. This is it.”
“Who delivered it to you?”
“A boy. I don’t know who he was. He said he’d been paid to hand it to me, and then ran away before I could say anything. I was so surprised I’m afraid I didn’t look at him very closely. I couldn’t say I’d ever recognise him again.”
Abberline unfolded the letter carefully.
Sucked a breath hard. He recognised the distinctive spidery writing from a mountain of papers taken from Whitby. Papers he’d agonised over for hours at a time. “It says you were to await further instructions. Did you get them? Were they written down?”
“Yes, Inspector. And I have them here.” She handed him the rest. “They told me not to go to the police, you understand. I didn’t know what to do. But I knew William quite well. We’re good friends, you see. I had to tell someone. I was so afraid. I knew it should be him. I just knew he’d know how to deal with it. He said to follow the instructions and he’d try and find who’d kidnapped him.”
“Oh? How was he to do that?”
“Well, at first he tried to follow the boy who delivered the letters. Then, as you can see in the third one, they told me to contact Lucy. Lucy’s an old friend of mine. They told me to make her acquaintance again. I didn’t understand why, and they didn’t tell me.”
“Did you tell Lucy about the letters?”
Adele looked down at her hands and shook her head. “No, Inspector. I wanted to. But, my father… They said they’d do dreadful things to him if I told her. And what if one of the men in the house was working for them? Did you see them? Blasko is very frightening sometimes. And Kipper? No. I couldn’t dare risk it. They did say they would know if I told her. I couldn’t be sure.”
He shuffled through the letters. Skimming the instructions. “What happened next?”
“Well, Lucy was in quite a state when I first arrived. I think she was happy to have someone to talk to. Someone she thought she could trust. And she told me all about Whitby. And the evil things those men had done. Well, I knew it had to be them who’d kidnapped my father. I told William, and he agreed. He said I should talk to her about it some more. Ask her what they looked like. So, I did. I told her I was afraid I might see one in the street and not be able to report them to the police. Do you think she’ll ever forgive me, Inspector? For not telling her, I mean?”
“I can’t say,” he said. “But I should think so. It’s not like you were helping them.”
“Oh, no. I didn’t help them at all. I did what William said and delayed my reply. And then he found them.”
“Harker,” William choked out. Swollen mouth forcing each word through a wave of agony. “Saw Harker. Coming out of a brothel.”
“And you followed him,” Abberline said. Not a question.
William gave a half-nod.
“You should have come to me at that stage,” he said.
“We didn’t know if my father was still alive, Inspector.” Adele gripped William’s arm tightly and he endured the pain to move his plastered hand over hers. “William wanted to be sure, first. So, he waited until after dark and tried to sneak inside.”
“Stupid,” Abberline exhaled. “Bold, but stupid.”
“They caught him. And they did this to him.”
He didn’t want to ask. But had to. “And what of your father?”
“Dead,” William said as Adele burst into tears again and dropped her head down beside the man’s shoulder. Face buried in the pillow. William’s eyes looked to the dresser. “Notebook, Inspector. Top drawer. Address on last page.”
“Is it … bad?”
William’s eyes told him everything as they flicked to Adele and back. “Address in notebook. See yourself.”
“And you saw who did it? Which one was responsible, I mean?”
“No. He was dead already.”
Pain in the man’s voice made Abberline uncomfortable. Hospitals always made him uncomfortable to begin with.
Pain even more so.
“And who did this to you?”
“They took turns. Enjoyed it. Two old men. A German. Called Van Helsing. Other called John. Think he’s the doctor. Knew how to keep me alive. And awake. Nasty men. Another did my back. Harker. Laughed at me, he did. They’re not human, Inspector. Not at all.”
“Harker.” Abberline tossed everything in his head as he opened the drawer and took the little notebook. Spotted with blood. William’s blood. “We’ll go to the address, Mister Sloper. I’ll also have someone in to have a chat with you later. Get it all written down.”
“Wait,” William grunted as the Inspector made to leave. “More.”
“What?”
Adele looked up. Eyes red and veiled with tears. “It’s Lucy’s father, Inspector. That’s why we asked you here. There’s nothing you can do for mine. I know that. But they left William alone. That’s how
he got free. They left him all alone and chained him to a wall. He nearly broke both arms trying to get loose.”
“Broke wrist,” William confirmed. Bloodstained spit foamed at the corner of his mouth as he spoke as quickly as he could; “Listen. They said when they got back, they’d do me in. Like the others, they said. Like Adele’s poor father. Just wait, they said. Wait until they get back.”
“Back?” Abberline’s heart began to race. “Back from where?”
“Lucy’s father. Knew Adele’d never go along with what they wanted. They want him. To use him. To get to her. You have to go. Before too late!” William’s last word came out in a gasp and he fell back.
“Please, Inspector,” Adele wept. “You have to help Lucy.”
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t need to.
Turned and rushed down the hall. Straight past the nurse who tried to speak to him. Thrust through a small group trying to get inside the hospital. Out to the cab where he spat instructions to a constable and demanded the driver to hurry.
As the horses whirled into the street on a clatter of wheels, Adele lifted her head.
Looked William in the eyes.
And smiled.
He smiled back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Well,” Harker said, standing in the shadows. Looking at the house. There were two constables going up towards the door and a cab drawing up. “Looks like they’ve found Sloper, then.”
