The Broken Trilogy

by Amy Cross

  I stare at him.

  "Come on," he continues, walking toward me. "Ask my name."

  I shake my head.

  "I know you want to," he says. "Even if you think you know it already, I know you need confirmation. You need to know that it's happened."

  I take a deep breath. "What's your name?" I ask.

  "My real name is Luke," he continues, "but you can call me Mr. Blue. It's a new name. I was given it today. Apparently the old Mr. Blue has been moved aside." Placing a hand on my shoulder, he stares at me for a few seconds. "The good news, however, is that I'm going to pick up where the old Mr. Blue left off." He leans closer, his eyes focused on my lips. "Right where he left off."

  "Go to hell," I whisper, before slamming my knee as hard as possible directly into his crotch. As he drops to the floor, I turn and run, slipping away from his clumsy attempt to grab me; I race along the corridor and, figuring that the elevator won't come fast enough, I make my way through the fire escape door that leads into an access stairwell. I stop for a moment, trying to work out where the hell I'm going to go, but finally I realize that I just need to keep going. I run down the stairs as fast as possible, focusing purely on the fact that I have to get away from this place as fast as possible.

  When I reach ground level, I make my way out through the back of the hotel and finally I reach the street. It's dark and there aren't many people around, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched. The game is everywhere, and I half expect to be grabbed at any moment. Filled with a sense of panic, I turn and run along the street, determined to get as far away from the Castleton as possible. I have nowhere to go, but I need to keep running.

  Jonathan Pope

  1901

  "The child sleeps," says Darius Wolff as he stares down at Thomas. "So innocent and calm, and yet filled with the promise of such absolute horror. Are all children like this?"

  "I wouldn't know," I reply, unable to comprehend the enormity of the child's innocence. "I have never held a child, nor have I thought about their lives. Still, he is clearly free of all the sins that men accumulate over the years, and he must be kept safe from blemishes. I must find a way to hide him away from the world until the dangers have passed by."

  "You'll be lucky," Wolff says with a laugh. "There are rumors going around about you, Mr. Pope. It's said that you've been dabbling in things that should have been left well alone. You know how these things develop over time. A man commits a single sin, and soon he's being denounced as the Devil incarnate. There's a lot of idle chatter, and plenty of people are willing to lend their tongues to the process of bringing down your character. Even here, there are those who would rather see you hang than accept the possibility that you might walk free."

  "They're right," I say darkly. "Of late, I have been responsible for..." Pausing, I realize that there is no way I can put the horrors into words. "I'll be taking the child far from here," I continue eventually, preferring to focus on more concrete plans. "Thomas and I will be leaving the country, and we will never return. Hopefully I can start a new life far away, and I can only hope that my past sins will be left behind at the border. Thomas will grow up without any knowledge of the pain and misery that surrounded his birth, and when he inevitably asks about his mother, I shall simply tell him that she was a good woman."

  "And was she?" Wolff asks.

  I nod. The truth is, every time I think of Henrietta, I'm overcome by an urge to scream. I have no doubt that she was a victim of the game in the truest sense; she was drawn in and offered the chance to participate, and over time the game became a part of her personality. She struggled greatly, and it's certainly the case that she made some bad decisions, but she tried to change the game's course. She wasn't helped by the fact that men such as Harrison Blake and Vincent D'Oyly were drawn into her world, and I'm quite certain that they encouraged her to explore the more violent and hateful aspects of the game; Henrietta herself was a wise and kind woman whose only mistake, in the end, was to fall in love. If she had never met me, she would still be alive today, and the game would still be running, but Thomas would not have been brought into the world. It is surely impossible to separate all these effects from one another.

  "I heard a lot of stories about the woman," Wolff continues. "Some say she was fomenting revolution, that she gave grand-standing speeches designed to whip men up into a fury of political anger. She had some funny ideas, from what I've heard, about wealth and property, and about the way power should be carved out in this land. She even supported the abolition of the monarchy. I've heard from one man who heard her speak that she made jokes about placing the king's head on a pole outside the Tower of London." He pauses. "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this, Pope, but there are suggestions in some quarters that the government might have wanted to get her out of the way."

  "The government had nothing to do with what happened," I reply. "This was all about love."

  "You loved her, did you?"

  "With all my heart." I pause for a moment, as I realize that Henrietta's death means I shall never experience true love again. Not for a woman, anyway. There is still love in my heart, though, when it comes to my son, but this is a very different and very new type of love. I must protect him, and nurture him, and see that he grows into a man far stronger and far more worthy than his father. Thomas Pope must soar to the heights of mankind, even if this means that I, Jonathan Pope, must be forgotten in the mud.

  "When do you leave?" Wolff asks.

  "There's no point delaying," I tell him.

  "Will you take one last beer?" He pauses. "On the house, so to speak."

  "I never thought I'd see the day when Darius Wolff gives away even a free drop."

  "Maybe I'm getting sentimental in my old age," he replies. "Either way, don't go spreading news of this to anyone, or half of London's gonna be at my bar, begging for a complimentary pint."

  "Half of London wouldn't dare set foot inside this place," I point out.

  "Wrap the child up warm," he says, looking down at Thomas. "It's a cold night."

  Once he's gone down to the main part of the pub, I set about getting Thomas ready for the journey. He's a quiet child, and despite the horrors of his entry into the world, he cries very little; he looks at me often, however, and I can't help but wonder if he intuits some measure of his mother's pain. It is a terrible feeling, to look into the eyes of a newborn child and wonder if perhaps he has already been damaged by the world, but I feel confident that I can give him a good life. I will dedicate my every waking moment to ensuring that he receives whatever he requires, and I'm certain that he'll make me proud. The only thing I wish, for myself, is that my son will never know the depths of my own abject misery, and that he will never learn the truth about my ways. For my sake, and for his, the past should stay hidden.

  Heading down to the bar, I find that there's no sign of Darius Wolff, which must mean that he's fetching a new barrel. Setting Thomas carefully on a nearby table, I prepare him for the night air. Given the parlous nature of our finances, we must walk to the train station, which is several miles away. The journey is not going to be particularly pleasant, but the late night shadows will hopefully provide us some cover. From the station, we will journey south to Dover, and from there we will take a ferry across to France or Belgium, after which I plan to catch another train and head south. Where we will stop, I cannot say, but I aim to get us far away from England. Within a couple of days, we will hopefully be out of reach of this country, and far from the last vestiges of the game.

  "Wolff!" I call out, hoping to hurry him along. "I shan't have time for a drink with you! I must get moving!"

  Silence.

  "Wolff!"

  I wait for a reply. Nothing.

  "Where -" I start to say, before a sensation of concern starts to crawl through my body. Even though the game is over, I can't help but wonder if its influence could still reach out to us, like the hand of a ghost rising up from a grave. Lady Red, my dear Henrietta, is
dead; the foul Mr. White is also gone; and as for Mr. Blue, I am right here, but I have abandoned that name. There is no-one left to keep these wretched traditions going, and yet I can't shake the feeling that the game might have some other form of life, some way of continuing even though its players have all passed away. Perhaps I'm paranoid and a little edgy, but if so, these feelings will likely remain with me forever. Until the day I die, I shall always fear that somehow the game has been miraculously reconstituted, and that its players are out for revenge.

  "I must go now!" I call out to Wolff. "If anyone comes asking for me, tell them I have gone to Scotland. Send them on a wild goose chase for a few days!"

  Silence.

  And then footsteps.

  Someone is walking up from the cellar beneath the bar. I feel a sense of relief as I realize that my first estimation was correct: Wolff has merely been down to fetch a new barrel. Slowly, however, he comes into view beyond the doorway behind the bar, and I can immediately see that not only is he empty-handed, but he's walking with a strange, staggering gait. Finally, as he comes out of the shadows, I see to my horror that the left side of his face is almost entirely missing, having seemingly been hacked away. His jawbone has been shattered, with a long piece hanging by threads of skin, and one of his eyeballs has been dislodged from its broken socket; still, that damaged eye is twitching, focused on me as if somewhere in the depths of the man's destroyed head, Wolff's mind is still functioning.

  Grabbing Thomas, I turn and run toward the door, only to stop in my tracks as I see that a figure is standing in the shadows. He steps forward, and although I'm struck initially by the man's confident smile, I quickly realize that he's wearing a familiar white suit. I can't bring myself to believe that such a thing is even possible, but it looks for all the world as if the game has acquired new players.

  "This one was hard to kill," says a voice nearby, and I turn to see Darius Wolff being finished off by a blue-suited man holding an ax. He has the same kind of violent smile that I remember seeing in men such as Vincent D'Oyly.

  "Never mind," says the white-suited man. "I'm sure Mr. Pope will be equally difficult, albeit in a very different way. After all, many men have tried to bring him down, and he has left their corpses in his wake." He pauses. "Isn't that right, Mr. Pope?"

  Still clutching Thomas, I turn and run through to the rear of the building. Before I can get far, I find John the Pig slouching out of one of the rooms, looking for all the world as if he's just woken from a deep slumber.

  "What's wrong with you?" he asks, rubbing his eyes.

  "Delay them!" I hiss, before heading through the door that leads into the yard at the back of the pub. Before I can get to the gate, however, I see that there's a figure walking toward me, and when she steps into the moonlight I see that she's wearing a red cloak. It's as if I'm staring at a monstrous apparition, a grotesque parody of the woman I once loved, albeit a parody of great beauty. A new Lady Red has risen from the ashes of the game.

  "You won't get past," she says with a smile that seems to be filled with knowledge of all the pain and misery that has gone before. "All the exits have been sealed. Besides, what weapon do you have? A baby?"

  I turn to go back inside, but at the last moment I stop as John the Pig's lifeless body is thrown through the doorway, landing at my feet. Seconds later, the two men stroll casually out to join us in the yard.

  "Mr. Blue has proven very adept at killing," says the first man.

  "Mr. White was a great influence," the second man replies.

  "I'm glad you were able to get some practice," says the red-cloaked woman. "I'm sure you'll have plenty more in the days to come. But first, we need to deal with Mr. Pope. Seize the child, and make sure that the man cannot run. It's time to end his participation in the game."

  Elly

  Today

  The house looks quiet. Dark, inconspicuous, and undisturbed. As I stand on the other side of the road, I look for any sign that something has changed, or that someone might have been here. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I'm worried that somehow the game might have reached my mother's house. Finally, figuring that I've got nowhere else to go, I hurry across the road and up to the front door.

  Once I'm inside, I breathe a sigh of relief. I can't stay here forever, but at least I can take a few hours to get my head straight. I make my way through to the kitchen, where I immediately find a note from my mother, informing me that she's gone away on holiday with her new boyfriend. My heart sinks as I realize that I'm alone, but then it occurs to me that maybe this is a good thing. After all, the last thing I need is for my mother to be dragged into this whole mess. I can't imagine how she'd react if she knew about the game, and about everything that's been happening lately, so I need to resolve things on my own.

  I take a deep breath and stand in silence for a moment.

  The most tempting idea is just to run. I could pack a bag and get the hell out of here. Sure, the game seems to have eyes and ears everywhere, but it's not as if they can track me across the entire country. I could go somewhere new, change my name, and start a new life. The problem with that approach, though, is that I'd lose Mark. I'm already terrified to think about what might be happening to him, and I don't trust the game to look after him at all. I've long suspected that the game is more dangerous than Mark admits, and now I feel as if a huge trap is slowly starting to close around me.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and decide that there's only one option. I have to call the police. Even if Mark gets into trouble, he'll be able to explain that he was forced to do everything, so I know he'll be okay in the end. If I don't -

  "You're not planning to do anything stupid, are you?" asks a female voice nearby.

  Turning, I see that there's a figure sitting in the shadows, over by the kitchen table. I open my mouth to shout for help, but after a moment I realize that there's no point. No-one would hear me, and it's clear that the trap is much further advanced than I'd realized. I can't see the woman's face, but I can see the red cloak that covers her head and body, and I know who she is. I've been expecting to see her for a while.

  "Who are you thinking of calling?" the woman continues. "Not the police, I hope. You can't imagine how disappointed I'd be if you made such a foolish choice. You've already made so many mistakes, Elly, but you seem to muddle through eventually. Please, don't throw away all that accidental good work by doing something irredeemably foolish at the very last moment. After all, your track record is hardly unblemished."

  "What do you want?" I ask, my heart racing as I try to decide what to do next. Wouldn't a normal person turn and run? Once again, I can't help but notice that I over-think every decision.

  "I think it's time we had another little chat," she says. "So much has happened since that first day when we bumped into one another. I enjoyed our little discussion, although I must admit, certain aspects of the situation were a little duplicitous. I do wish I'd been able to be more honest with you, but at least we've come to an understanding now, have we not? Even if you're not fully aware of your development, you've gained a greater understanding of how the game works. You might not want to admit it, but deep down, you know what must come next."

  "Where's Mark?" I ask.

  "Mark has been taken home," she replies. "Didn't Luke tell you that already?" She pauses. "I'm so disappointed by Mark's decisions. He was a very good player, but the game just seemed to get away from him. If you'd known him for longer, you'd understand why I'm so sad. There was a rather bad run of people in the role of Mr. Blue, and finally Mark seemed to be a real knight in shining armor. He turned out to be one of the most disappointing players of all time, although there have been worse. I don't suppose you've ever heard of Jonathan Pope, have you?"

  "Can't say that I have," I reply, glancing over at the kitchen counter and seeing my mother's set of knives.

  "Jonathan Pope was Mr. Blue many years ago," she continues. "About a century ago, to be precise. He and his Lady Red becam
e... Well, let's just say that they made some very bad decisions, and they brought the game to a very unusual place. By the time they were dealt with, they'd done something very, very stupid, and it took quite some time for the game to adapt to these changes. It did adapt, though, and in a way I suppose the whole thing was ultimately strengthened. There are certainly some aspects of the modern game that were directly influenced by the mess that took place all those years ago. If the game had never been able to evolve, it would have withered and died."

  "Why are you telling me this?" I ask.

  "I thought you might be interested. I thought it might help if you understood how the game adapts and grows, how it evolves to meet any challenge that presents itself."

  I pause for a moment. "When you talk about it like that," I say slowly, "you make it sound as if it's alive."

  "Do I?" She gets up from the chair and walks across the room, finally stepping into the light. It's strange, but when I first met her, Alice seemed to be one of those women who have so much life and energy, but each time I've seen her since, she's seemed a little more gaunt. Now, standing just a few feet from me, she looks ill, as if she's being drained of all her vitality. "I hope you're not thinking of using those knives," she says, with a sad tone to her voice. "Such violence is very unbecoming. Necessary sometimes, but unbecoming, especially of a lady."

  "Is Mark..." I pause as I realize that I'm scared to ask the question.

  "Is he dead?" she replies. "I don't know. Maybe. He was shot, you know. I'm afraid you'll have to blame Mr. White for that decision. He can be rather impetuous sometimes, much like his predecessors. The game brings out the best and the worst in us all, and ultimately we learn a great deal about ourselves." She pauses. "What have you learned about yourself, Elly?"

  "I've learned that I don't like playing," I reply. "I want to see Mark."