The Curiosity Killers

by K W Taylor

  “Let’s make sure I’m right first, okay?”

  “How do you propose that, Benoy?”

  “Send one of us back there, just to investigate.”

  Ben held up a hand for Vere to stay quiet. “Investigate. That’s all. Stick to the shadows, stay out of Claudio’s sight.”

  “But he’s met us all by now at one time or another,” Vere pointed out. “Or knows us all by reputation.”

  “Reputation, yes. Sight, no.” Ben fussed with his necktie. It felt like it was strangling him. “I may be the funding around here, but that’s all. I’ve been stuck in my books for decades, not exactly living the life of a bachelor benefactor at social functions.”

  Vere stared at Ben. “Son, are you saying you want to go?” His expression softened, and he laughed. “Oh, good heavens, I…no, no, Benoy, that isn’t your strong suit.” He patted Ben’s arm. “Stick to the research. We can figure out a way to disguise Mister Cob and get him sent off, if you think this is really important.”

  Cob chatted with Kris and Violet in the foyer, regaling them with stories he now remembered from his adventures. Kris was unimpressed, Ben could tell, for more reasons than that she’d heard these stories before. But Violet…Violet lived adventures of her own in her daily life. This would all be far more impressive to her than his research, however vital to their cause. He thought of her gentle smile and her courage in the face of all she’d learned in the past few days. He wanted to save the future for her. He wanted her by his side during the fight. His side, not Cob’s.

  I could die, though. Something could go wrong, and I could die in the past and none of them would even know. I spent my whole life protected from danger, reading about other people’s lives and never living my own…

  “It’s me,” Ben said, his voice low and gravelly. “It has to be me. I’m doing it, Eddy.” He sounded older to himself, brusque and practical, like his father. He stood up. “I’m going to get supplies and wardrobe. Meet me in the lab.”

  “Wait, now?” Vere rose. “Benoy, you have to tell the others, see if anyone else has an idea here. This is rash, what you’re doing.”

  Ben shook his head. “I’ve spent over three decades never doing anything rash. Maybe it’s time I did.”

  “I don’t like this one bit.” Vere wasn’t meeting Ben’s eyes now. “There are complications that…well, I’m not pleased about.”

  Ben frowned. “Complications?”

  Laughter floated from the foyer. Ben took a few steps out of the parlor to get a better view of the group congregated there. Cob looked every inch the silent film hero, all wavy hair and bright white teeth. Beside him, Violet was tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear.

  Ben turned back to Vere. “What do you mean complications?”

  “It isn’t Miss Lessep,” Vere said.

  “Cob?”

  “It could be nothing.”

  Ben sat back down. “But it could be something.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “So the clean bill of health?” Ben asked.

  Vere shook his head. “I think once we’ve solved this current conundrum, we should indeed shut down as we’ve discussed. Temporarily, until I can work out studying side effects.”

  “But Alison and Wil, all our other clients,” Ben said. “We haven’t had any trouble before.”

  Vere’s gaze slid away from Ben. “Mister Cob’s got more stamps in his passport than the average traveler,” Vere said. “And it could be simply his constitution.” He placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I give you a bit of a tough time, son, but I…” Vere’s voice trailed off. There was a hint of a shimmer in his eyes.

  “I know,” Ben said. “Thank you.”

  “So you’ll rethink this?”

  “No,” Ben replied. “If I’ve been endangering my clients all along, I can’t let any of them go anymore.” He rose. “No, this is my trip to take.”

  Saturday, September 21, 1935, Cleveland, Ohio, USA

  The sensation of falling over a century into the past was eerily like a roller coaster ride. One moment Ben was sitting on Vere’s table in the lab and the next he was falling, his stomach seeming to leave his body like the lurch of the first drop of a coaster. But this ride did more than just plummet his body down a drop—it also plunged him into darkness, a darkness so total it made Ben worry he’d died. The only thing keeping him grounded was pain, a nebulous, numb, fleeting ache. It was over quickly; Ben soon felt his body slam back to something resembling normalcy before he dropped into a crumpled, rag doll heap.

  He blinked and regarded his surroundings. Boarded-up windows in a brick warehouse, rusty railroad tracks, and shallow, mud-gray water running under a short bridge. It was neither warm nor freezing but a chilly in-between. The shrubbery surrounding the tracks was lush and full, but it held the cold, depressed look of greenery after a rain. Ben looked up at a late-afternoon sky full of dark clouds. The ground beneath his knees and palms was wet. He suspected the rain was leaving rather than arriving, but that made the weather no less miserable.

  He scrambled to his feet and pulled his tweed sport coat closer around his chest. It was too big—purchased, most likely, for Cob, who was more muscular around the shoulders—and the whole suit taken together gave Ben the rumpled look of a teenager borrowing his father’s clothes for a job interview.

  As he looked across the water at the opposite side of the stream bank, Ben spotted a collection of dirty white rags clinging to the side of a bush.

  No, not rags.

  He flashed back to the history books he’d been reading just before leaving, the sepia-toned photographs showing crime scenes and blanket-covered corpses.

  That bush is familiar. Those aren’t rags.

  Oh, God.

  Ben looked around, trying to spot a simple way across the stream. The railroad trestle had no pedestrian ladder. The stream ran as far as the eye could see in both directions. With a heavy sigh, he rolled up the legs of his trousers and splashed across. Midway, he sank deeper into unpleasant muck to his waist. He felt a biting cold all the way to his bones and hastened his journey across, now desperate to be free of the dirty water.

  Once on the other side of the bank, Ben hoisted himself up on the muddy grass and crawled free of the stream. The bush was farther away than it appeared on the other side, and he jogged the few yards toward it, leaving deep footprints in the muck.

  After just a few moments, he was certain—this was indeed no pile of rags. It was a body, death-pale and twisted into a grotesque position that would be impossible to contort someone into without breaking bones. One leg was coiled around the bush’s trunk, while the other was sticking straight out. The arms were folded in on each other as if the body were embracing itself, yet the position of the thumbs was backward, further convincing Ben of the work the killer did to the victim’s bones. There were gashes along the front of the torso—male, which was indeed different from Claudio’s work as Jack the Ripper—and a gaping maw where the head and neck should’ve been. The sight got Ben’s stomach roiling again—the empty, dark-reddened cavity where once everything that made the man have a sense of his identity existed—face, brain, all of it just gone with the whisk of an axe or cleaver. A bright spot of white poked through amidst the bloody meat. At the realization that it was a vertebra, Ben turned from the mangled corpse, bent double, and vomited onto the grass. As the contents of the day’s meals left his body, Ben coughed, sweat dripping from his brows. When it seemed he was done, he still stayed hunched over, his eyes shut, and listened to a faint humming coursing through the brush.

  Flies. Flies finding that thing that used to be a person. Jesus. Pull yourself together, man. You’re here to find the killer.

  He straightened up and looked around. The body lay undiscovered. Though Vere’s calculations should have placed him here the day the first victim was found, it could still be off by a few hours or even a few days. Ben was a mess; he needed to find out what time and day it was and wait.


  The killer always returns to the scene of the crime. Claudio might come back when the cops do.

  He spotted a guardrail a few feet up and to the left, and Ben headed for it, hoping a road led to a hotel. As he climbed the slope to the road, Ben thought he saw a dark bundle of clothing out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned toward it, it shimmered and disappeared.

  Phantom corpses?

  He shook his head and continued climbing.

  Suddenly the air in front of Ben warped and swirled, as if the sky were turning to liquid. It darkened and a wind howled from within a growing oval opening.

  “Ben!”

  A hand reached out and yanked Ben into darkness.

  Ben yelped but his voice was quickly torn away by the void, and in another instant he was crashing back down to a hard surface, his limbs sore and his head pounding.

  Tuesday, August 31, 2100, Avon, Vermont, NBE

  “What the hell, man?”

  Cob couldn’t answer, not just yet. His whole body roared, blood pounding loudly and painfully everywhere, rushing, waves crashing, hurtling him against rocks and washing him up on a shore where the sand burned and the sun burned and everything burned, skin and eyes and hair and mouth, all boiling away and leaving bleached bones behind, an empty skull grinning up into nothing.

  “Stop, no,” Cob whimpered. He pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes and willed the rushing to cease so he could talk.

  “What the hell?” Ben demanded again. He yanked Cob to his feet. “I’d barely gotten there. I didn’t even find him yet.”

  “No, but he was going…uh, I don’t know, I can’t think.”

  Something cold and hard pressed against Cob’s cheek. “Here, careful, take this.” It was Vere, wrapping Cob’s fingers around a smooth, wide cylinder. Footsteps shuffled against the floor near where Cob sat. He downed the glass of water. Above him, Ben and Vere hovered, but they both remained blurry, indistinct. The smaller of the two blurs—Ben—waved his arms and gestured.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We had to go back,” Cob said, voice hoarse. “The book, your book…it changed. There was a newspaper—” A fit of coughing cut off his words. Vere sank back down next to him again and pounded him on the back.

  “Steady yourself, Mister Cob, I’ll tell him,” Vere said. “Son, the research you were doing on that case, it started changing as soon as we sent you back there.” A rustle of paper. “There, look at that.”

  Ben gasped. “What the—oh, my God! Wait!”

  Cob looked up and could finally see men instead of blurs. He reached up to the table and dragged himself to his feet. “What happened?”

  “The clipping disappeared,” Vere said. “I knew it would, not long after you brought him back. Benoy, apparently Claudio made you his next victim the very day after the police found the first body. You would have been Joe Doe Two if I hadn’t sent Mister Cob back to rescue you.”

  Now that Cob’s vision was clear, he could see the unmistakable clenching of Ben’s jaw. “Thank you,” the other man managed, his tone anything but grateful.

  Cob frowned. “Buddy, I think I saved your life. What’s with the attitude? I’m kind of a mess here, and it’s all for you.” He coughed again and drank more water.

  Ben didn’t address Cob, but instead glared at Vere. “Why couldn’t you have come?”

  “I have to stay here and provide retrieval.”

  “Kris? Violet?”

  “Shit, Ben, this guy tends to prey mostly on women. Are you serious?” Cob asked. “No, I had to go.”

  Ben sighed. “But I know, man. I know you shouldn’t be doing this anymore.”

  Cob looked at the doctor. “Seriously? You told him?”

  Vere shrugged and nodded. “I had to, Mister Cob. But then, as you said, we couldn’t risk sending one of the ladies back for him. If you’re already unwell—”

  “What’s one more trip, huh?” Cob laughed. “Look, fine, whatever. I’m feeling better. It’s okay. Let’s just risk me again. Hell, let me off this bastard. I’m expendable. I’ll be a suicide bomber or some shit. Sound good to you two?”

  “No, not at all,” Vere said.

  “What about you, huh?” Cob asked Ben. “You’d miss my money, but you wouldn’t miss me, would you? Why is that?”

  “Let’s not,” Ben replied.

  “No, I think we should.” Cob put down his water glass and strode toward Ben. “You would’ve been less annoyed if someone else rescued you. Admit it.”

  “Fine. I admit it.”

  “So why is that?” Cob asked. “And don’t tell me you’re concerned about my health. Yeah, maybe you are in that generic we-don’t-love-seeing-other-human-beings-die kind of way. But really, Jonson, why the hell is it such a big bloody deal if it was me who rescued you instead of, say…” Oh. Oh, that’s why, Cob realized, midsentence. He let his voice trail off. “Never mind,” he said. He gave a vague gesture and hopped up onto the examination table. “Forget it. I’m sorry. It’s been a tough century, and I’m exhausted.” He stretched out on the table but still caught the confused look Ben and Vere exchanged.

  “You rest, Mister Cob,” Vere said. “I’ll bring Benoy up to speed on the new plan.”

  “The new plan?” Ben asked. “What was wrong with investigating and then maybe bringing him back from Cleveland?”

  “What’s wrong is that it’s gotten worse, all of it,” Vere explained.

  Cob closed his eyes and heard the other two men’s footsteps on the metal stairs. He dreamed of putting flowers between the dark shiny locks of Elizabeth’s hair.

  ~

  “Damn, boss, what happened to you?” Kris stood and held out a hand. “Gimme that coat, and get your shoes off the rug.”

  Ben looked down at his mud-streaked clothes. “In all the excitement…” he murmured. He tugged off his jacket and handed it to Kris. “I should probably clean up.”

  “But you’re okay,” Violet said. She rose from her seat beside the one Kris vacated. “I mean, we figured, when we heard voices—”

  “This article just appeared?” Ben asked.

  Kris snapped her fingers at him. “Shoes. God, you’re a mess. We’re gonna have to shampoo the whole rug now.”

  “I was apparently almost murdered,” Ben said. “I think the rug can wait.” He tugged his shoes free and handed them to her with brisk motions.

  Kris backed up a step and dropped the coat and shoes, held up her hands, and stalked out to the kitchen.

  “You didn’t have to be so harsh with her,” Violet said. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”

  “You heard an argument.” Ben wanted to sit, but knew he needed to change first.

  “Cob had to get you back,” Violet said. “I don’t know why there was anything to fight about.” She frowned. “I didn’t think you were the fighting type.”

  “This isn’t a normal situation,” Ben said. “Look, I should…” He pointed at the stairs leading to the second floor. “We can pick this up once I’m not such a wreck, okay?”

  Violet nodded. “We were all worried, you know. Nobody was going to leave you back there to get killed.”

  “I know.” Ben crossed the room. As he passed by the sofa, Violet stood and stalled his arm with her hand.

  “Do you?” Violet asked. “Seriously, do you know that the moment that article materialized, the moment your book changed…” Violet looked away and stared out the front window. Her bottom lip quivered, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “It was terrifying, Ben. Truly.” She turned back to him. “I would have gone, you know. They didn’t think it was a good idea.”

  Would you have gone for him, too? Or just me?

  He tried to speak, tried to thank her, to reassure her, but no words came.

  Cob emerged from the lab and leaned on the staircase railing.

  “God, you both look awful.” Violet was suddenly all laughter and lightheartedness. She went to Cob and held out a hand to him. “You oka
y?”

  Ben drifted to the other staircase, but Cob’s voice stopped him. “Did she tell you what we decided?”

  “No.” Ben returned, trying to keep his footprints on top of each other to avoid causing more mess than necessary. “What was decided? What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t get a chance,” Violet said.

  Cob batted her away. “I got this, it’s cool.” He hoisted himself up the last few steps and let out a groan. “I’m okay, just hungry.”

  “Is that really all it is?” Violet asked.

  No, but that doesn’t matter now. “What was decided?” Ben repeated.

  Cob and Violet exchanged a look. “They…instead of capturing Florence, they just want to…eliminate him.”

  “Who is they?”

  “Everybody,” Cob replied. “Doc was making phone calls, getting opinions on Florence. You know all the bullshit he’s put the whole continent through for decades, even before he started time traveling.”

  “He was going to kidnap me, Ben,” Violet added. “Let’s not forget that. I should’ve lived and died centuries ago, but I didn’t, all because it would’ve been too dangerous for him to…to use me as some kind of sick poster child for racial purity.” She shuddered. “God, when I think of that, I just feel sick.”

  Days ago, he authorized Alison and Wilbur to find Wheaton and, if necessary, murder him. Claudio Florence was a public figure, in a way, but he was also a killer and a psychopath. Ben leaned against the back of his desk chair and rested his forehead on his hands.

  “We have time,” Cob pointed out. “We got a whole machine that ensures we have time. But I don’t think Doc’s gonna let anybody do this thing if you don’t give it the go ahead.”

  “What’s the immediate threat?” Ben asked.

  Violet gasped. “Ben, we had one,” she said. “You were dead back there. Probably given just a little bit of time, your whole life could have been unmade.”