A Clockwork Victim

by Quinn Langston

  Chapter Five

  Josephine ducked into the side door and down the corridor of the main chapel. There were a few parishioners—kneeling, praying, petitioning—dotted throughout the pews. Fools. At this late hour they could only be furtive stained sinners. She sneered at their hopefulness for this life. It was in death, this limbo of afterlife that there was power, yes, any hope at all.

  Josephine pulled her cap down farther and passed the rows of ancient hand-carved pews. Coming to the side alcove, she nipped across the black and white checked marble floor. She had been in the church so many times as a woman in the natural world that it was only fitting that the supernatural welcome and protect her now. One night soon after her change, as Marcus and she lay together, arms and legs entwined after a blissful moment of sincere lovemaking, Marcus had explained to her.

  He had picked up the book he had been reading to her over the weeks, The Hunchback of Notre Dame. She loved him to read to her, as she had never learned much further than her letters and to write her name.

  “Just like in the story. They may think you a monster, but you must always remember, my love, that you can walk on hallowed ground. Sometimes it is even much safer for you, as many believe the old wives’ tales that a vampire will burst into flames if even near any holy place, never mind within a church’s very walls.” He chuckled at the naivety and superstition of humans. “Never forget.” He kissed the tip of her nose and tossed the book to the floor.

  Oddly enough, she sometimes wandered in the small church to keep warm and somewhat out of sight. She had long before her change discovered the place she was escaping to tonight…the place she would hide and rest and not be found. A white marble sarcophagus almost filled the niche in the side wall. A worn effigy of a knight lay at rest on the lid, his hands crossed atop his sword. She had many times sat beside this nobleman in this hidden corner of the church.

  His tomb was low to the floor, rising only about a foot off the dusty black and white tiles. In life, she had run her hands across his smooth, cold visage and pretended that he protected her, imagining she was his child and he would allow no harm to come to her. If someone were to pass she would kneel, head bent in prayer as if she were a family member.

  At vampiric pace, no human eyes could see her dash to her hiding place. Instantly out of the shadows she was at the tomb wishing, once again, she knew his name. N-E-L-S. She could only read a few of the letters before she pushed the marble sarcophagus lid to the side and slipped under the sculpted, recumbent effigy. She had no idea who the man was that lay beneath her in the crypt. She was grateful in her way for the peaceful nobleman who was giving her sanctuary and would protect her for a change rather than harming her.

  The long stone box she currently called her home was perfect for a hiding place. She resettled the sarcophagus lid, holding the weight elevated on her fingertips. Such a quick and silent motion would not be heard by anyone.

  Josephine had pushed the few remaining bones and burial rags to the side to make her nest. As she settled her body against the cold marble slab, she noticed clearly how there was no physical pain in this new existence, so far as she had experienced. In her past life at Payne’s, she would have been aching and bruised for days to come. Some days she was hardly able to stand, ribs healing from repeated whippings. Often there was a bone or two broken. Tonight she was refreshed, rejuvenated, vital.

  To her knowledge, there was only emotional anguish as a vampire, and plenty of that to spare. That had not gone away when Marcus gave her the gift of a powerful new advantage over the human monsters. Yet, the opportunity to punish those for their part in her torture, that was a joyful prospect indeed. That would go a long way to washing away her misery. The only thing that was gentle and kind in her life was her time with Marcus. She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes and mind to the world. Safe for the moment. Josephine immediately fell into the velvet darkness and thought of the first time he had come to her door. It was a cherished memory she recalled each night to send her to sleep, like a child fondling a loved piece of silk.

  “I am Doctor Marcus Dwyer.” He removed his fine leather gloves and laid them in his top hat on the dresser. “What is your name?” His voice was tender. Not demanding or cold like her other patrons at the brothel. He raked his fingers through his dark mop of curls. He was taller than most men and handsome. “Please, do not be alarmed. I have no intentions of hurting you. I know what this house has a reputation for, but I am not interested in your company in that way. For now, may we sit and talk?”

  Josephine nodded, yet still apprehensive of his request. Many of them started out kind and when they saw you had let your guard down, that was when they would move in to strike or to show you they were in charge.

  “Please sit down.” He gestured to a small settee near a heavily draped window. She sat and he joined her. “What is your name?”

  “Josephine.”

  “Is that your real name?”

  “Yes, sir.” She kept her gaze focused on her hands folded in her lap. She had trained herself to give a very neutral stance at first with clients, until she knew what they wanted. She would always show submission and follow their lead in the sessions. This was the only way to survive at the House of Pleasure. Really, to survive at all. She could be out on the street at any whim of Madame Payne.

  “Let me see your eyes.” He touched her chin and tilted her head up to look at her. “Such lovely long eyelashes surrounding the most brilliant of sapphire blue eyes. I have not seen such beautiful jewels since I was in India.” He smiled what felt like a genuine, warm smile at her. “Your eyes could put the stars and the gems themselves to shame.” Josephine felt awkward with the compliment.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I would like to ask you to please call me Marcus. Do you think you would like to call me by my Christian name?”

  “It would be my privilege to call you as you please…Marcus.” The name felt only slightly stiff on her tongue. “Marcus.” She felt his kindness in offering her his name. Perhaps he would be different from all the rest.

  “Splendid!” He sat straight and gave her a wide, beautiful, white smile. “My hope is that we may become friends.” He continued. “Will you tell me, do you like to play cards?” He gestured at a deck of playing cards on the table nearby.

  He appeared to be treating her as if she were a lady of his class. He seemed to be actually courting her. At the very least he treated her with respect, and she was relaxing into trusting him. “Yes. I do like to play. It is not often that I have a partner in card games.”

  “Please join me at the table.” Marcus moved to the table and held a chair out for Josephine to be seated. No one had ever held a chair for her. Josephine stepped toward the chair, accepted the gesture and took a seat. She settled herself in the small mahogany carved chair. Marcus sat across from her and picked up the deck of cards.

  “Have you heard of a game called Ruff and Honors?”

  Josephine shook her head no.

  “It’s akin to Whist. Very common in all respectable drawing rooms.” Marcus shuffled the cards and began to deal. “I shall teach you, Miss Josephine. We shall have great fun together.”

  How she did so love Marcus and how he promised her peace and love, but when she felt the power she had, revenge took over in her heart and she could not control herself. Revenge replaced love.

  The blood of the clockmaker was still on her lips. His taste was still in her mouth. She swallowed hard and ran her tongue around her teeth and gums, allowing the metallic taste to soothe her as she fell into a fitful sleep. Even in her slumber she could not escape her reasons why she was on such a purposeful hunting spree. One by one, until the last.

  “Josephine!” Madame Payne rapped hard on the bedroom door. “Lord Dashwood is here for you.” She turned back to him, gave him a coy smile and murmured, “So sorry for the inconvenience, my lord.” She tur
ned back and called through the keyhole. “Josephine!”

  Josephine padded cautiously toward the voice. She took a deep breath, turned the brass knob and opened the door. She hung her head, gaze focused at his feet. He had on patent leather shoes with white canvas spats. Two buttons peeked out from the hem of the fine wool trousers of his evening wear. Josephine knew there were six buttons that continued up his leg. This was not his first visit to her room.

  It appeared he came straight from a ball or some fancy do. He must have danced with the finest of women tonight. Was the perfect gentleman to them. They all hoped to marry him for his money and status. They would surely never take him for beauty. Now he was here. Here to take out his impotence and lack of arousal on her.

  “Where are your manners, girl? Why are you making Lord Dashwood wait?” Madame Payne grabbed her chin and forced her to look up. She leaned in close, feigned to kiss her on the cheek and whispered into her ear. “You be a good girl for his lordship, Josephine, and maybe I will reward you with some of your privileges again. You’ve been very naughty lately. Do as you’re told or you will be back on the streets.” She pulled away with a toothy yellow grin and turned to Dashwood. “She’s all yours, my lordship. Do as you please.”

  “As always.” Dashwood stepped through the bedroom entrance and closed the door harshly in the old crone’s face. No need to engage the lock as no one would care if there were screams. No one would come. They both knew this. He set a large leather bag on the trunk at the foot of her bed with his back to her. “Undress.”

  Dashwood opened the bag and rummaged about. “Oh so many treats, so many treats.” He twirled with a flourish to face her and held out something she had not seen before. “Let us start with these.” He held up what looked like a small pair of iron handcuffs, too small to go about her wrists. He whirled them on his forefinger and caught them in his palm.

  She knew it was only a matter of time before his tastes evolved and he would need more of her pain for his pleasure. Every session had become increasingly intense, essential for him to have more control over her and to see maximum terror in her eyes. Tonight she sensed he would outdo himself once again, in the most imaginative, dreadful ways.

  His mustache was overgrown and bushy. Josephine could see the tobacco-stained, unkempt facial hairs quiver with each breath as he inhaled through his mouth. He was already panting, much too excited, much too early. This did not bode well for her. Josephine slipped the fine silk dressing gown off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She stood facing him naked as the flowered silk pooled at her ankles. She shivered, not from cold.

  Dashwood leered at her, licked his lips and suddenly lurched forward. He grabbed both her wrists with one big paw of a hand and held her hands together. Manipulating the metal, he forced one of her thumbs through each hole of the iron gadget. He clamped the binding hard and tight on her thumbs to secure them together. Josephine tried desperately to be brave and not whimper.

  But it was her whimpers he craved.

  Not able to steel herself from the trepidation of the pain she anticipated, she let out an anguished moan and began to sob. She knew her fear fed his craving for her suffering even more. Still she could not stop. Maybe. Just maybe it would satiate him early and he mightn’t take things too far. Her mind raced between hoping he would finish quickly and the knowledge of reality.

  “No!” Josephine screamed and attempted to pull away. She had seen others lose the use of their hands with similar types of mechanisms. Sometimes their thumbs were completely pulled off. She bucked and jerked, but his size alone overpowered her.

  “Silence! Such futile efforts. And I went to the trouble of having these made especially for you. Fine jewelry.” Dashwood growled and gripped her wrists tighter with one hand. “Struggle all you like. I love it all the more when you do.” With a sharp yank on the restraint cuffs, he goaded her to fight him.

  He spun her around to face the right corner of the bed and hooked the thumb cuffs over a waiting metal hook installed at the top of the bedpost for his previous purposes. She felt her thumbs near dislocation and blinding pain rack the joints of her hands. Her mind raced as she hung, naked, unprotected in any way from his imagination. Josephine knew this night was going to be worse than anything he had done before. A shudder waved through her body. She began to tremble as terrifying images built and ran riot through her mind.

  Dashwood pulled out a red leather corset from the bag. Slapping it into his open palm, he taunted Josephine with the sound of leather hitting flesh. Josephine’s toes barely touched the ground as she tried to balance between excruciating pain of her thumbs to standing on tip toes.

  “Bend over.” Dashwood grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back like a rag doll. Smack! He whipped her soundly with the hour-glass-shaped leather. Smack! Smack! The spiral steel stays and fasteners bit into her flesh with added sting. He whipped her naked bottom and tender thighs with such enthusiasm and fury, she knew she would never be able to hide the bruises. If she survived. Josephine grit her teeth and cried out with every blow. She prayed his eagerness and ecstasy would bring him quickly to climax as he suddenly stopped the whipping. She could see him in the mirror behind her as he stepped back and trembled. Is it over? Could I be that lucky?

  “That was just to loosen things up a little. Lovely. A lovely glow to the skin.” He stroked the welted flesh. “Beautiful.” With renewed verve, Dashwood quickly cinched the corset about her waist and ribcage, and tight-laced her. “Breath out. Let me hear it.” Josephine forced her breath out. Dashwood yanked the laces as tight as they would go on her exhale. She could only snatch shallow breaths from the top portion of her lungs. “You’ll never be a fine lady with a fourteen-inch waist. But, we can try.” Dashwood’s hot breath wormed into her ear like a centipede and took hold of her mind. “Tiny, tiny, tiny.”

  He turned and pulled another implement of torture from his bag. It was small and gold, no longer than her forefinger. A cigar cutter? No! He was normally degrading but he had never cut her. Josephine tugged against the restraints, twisted and strained in vain for release.

  Dashwood gave a chuckle, then sharply stopped his laughter. He held the cigar cutter up in front of her face and clicked it a few times, making sure she saw the sharp blade moving in and out of the mechanism. “Oh? Would you like to see this a bit more closely?” He pulled a fresh cigar from his coat jacket and cleanly snipped the end off. “Beautiful. Only the finest of blades, very special. Makes for a clean cut.” He regarded the ends, stuck the rolled tobacco in his mouth and clenched it between his teeth.

  Dashwood struck a match and lit the cigar. He took several puffs, one deep drag and blew a long stream of smoke in Josephine’s face. He held the cigar cutter up to his own eye and looked through it at her. “Any thoughts what else I might use this for?” He clicked the cutter several more times near her eyes. “Hmm?”

  Josephine squeezed her lids tight before he laid the circular opening of the cutter to her eye and pressed hard against the socket. The convex curve of her eye bulged through the opening. She could feel the blade slit her eyelid at the corner ever so slightly. “Please, sir, no.” She whimpered, trying to stay as still as possible.

  “No? You mean you would rather see what I will do to you? Very well then. I will snip off only the eye lids.” He pulled the bladed aperture slightly back and snipped off her eyelashes. Still puffing on his cigar, he spoke through clamped teeth.

  “Ahh!” She wailed. He hadn’t cut her. How long could this session take before he finally killed her? Josephine always feared it would come to that at last.

  “Oops. Missed. Shall I try again? Don’t move, now.” Dashwood’s voice was eerily calm. The more she panicked the more serene he became. Her fear fed his need for control. It was a battle of wills and she would always lose.

  “Please. Please, no. I will do whatever you wish to please you, but not my eyes,” Josephine beg
ged, trembling. She felt the sting of blood mingle with her tears.

  “On second thought, I do enjoy watching the terror build in your eyes; it would be a shame to cut them out and deprive myself of the pleasure. So, never mind. What else could we snip tonight? Thank you for your thoughtfulness.” He spoke to her as if he were politely thanking her for tea. He placed his cigar in a nearby ashtray and allowed it to smolder.

  Touching her under the chin, he dragged the metal guillotine cutter down to one breast and settled the opening around her erect nipple. Josephine gasped and stood stone still. “Shall we start…here?” He held the cold metal against the pink areola of her skin. “Shall we gather rosebuds from your garden?”

  Josephine closed her eyes for a moment to brace for the pain. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “What’s this? Tears for me? Let’s get rid of those tears.” Dashwood opened his froglike mouth wide and licked her cheek with a wide, flat, wet tongue. He licked across her mouth, up one cheek and then the other. She could smell his fetid breath mingled with stale alcohol and the reek of tobacco. Her stomach rolled and she tasted bile rise from the back of her throat. “There. All gone.”

  He took another puff on his cigar and settled it again in the crystal ashtray. “Perhaps I have something that will make you enjoy yourself more this evening. I have had something specially made for you by one of the finest clockmakers in all of London. You should be so pleased. Women do enjoy gifts.” Dashwood started to sound giddy again as he returned to his bag. He retrieved what looked like an exo-skeletal breathing apparatus made of leather with corrugated flexible copper tubing.

  Josephine could not take all the details in at once. She did not own one, nor did she have the coffers for even a very simple mask to protect her from the ravages of the city’s contaminated, smoke-filled air. This was not a gift of kindness. Her mind found a surge of adrenaline and began to panic anew.