The Final Act (The House of Jack the Ripper Book 8)

by Amy Cross

  I start to sit up, struggling slightly in the mud.

  “You didn't let him kill you,” the voice whispers from nearby. “That's good. You're a fighter, and when the time comes, you will fight one more time.”

  “I'm not a fighter,” I reply, still struggling to get my breath back. “I swear, I'm just -”

  And then I see him.

  A skull-faced figure is sitting just a few feet away, watching me from the darkness. It's the same figure I remember seeing here years ago when I was with Alex. I blink several times, half convinced that he'll disappear, but he simply continues to stare at me.

  “I think his name was Edward,” he says after a moment. “Yes, he was one of the Edwards. The second, or maybe the third. No, the second. He'd just escaped from a castle in Gloucestershire and he was passing through London on his way to the continent. I recommended Italy or Sicily, somewhere like that. He was quite scared of me at first, but I talked him around. This must have been five or six hundred years ago now, or -”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, still a little breathless.

  “Oh,” he replies, “are you still here?”

  “I'm losing my mind,” I stammer, sniffing back more tears. “I have to be.”

  “You will be called to the place where you must fight,” he explains, “and then you will fight. Trust me, I know everything about this land, from the dawn of time to the end of all creation. I have seen it already, and you have seen glimpses of it too. You have seen the ghosts of the victims, because they know to turn their faces toward you. She has been fighting her way back to the world for a long time.”

  “Who are you talking about?” I ask.

  “She must not be allowed to persist,” he adds, and now his voice sounds a little fainter. “She has the mind of a child, but she has been worn mad by her years trying to break back through. She is not the first and she is not the last, but the dead must never be allowed to return in this manner, for they can wreak terrible vengeance. She will not stop once she has your body. She will inflict great evil upon this world if she is allowed to survive, but she can be stopped. The thing inside you is part of you, by blood. And remember, blood is the strongest bond of all.”

  “I don't know what you mean,” I gasp. “I don't know what I'm supposed to do.”

  I wait, but suddenly I realize that the face has vanished into the shadows.

  “Where are you?” I shout, stumbling to my feet and wading back the way I just came, looking for some sign of the skull. “I need to know what you want! I need to know what you think I'm supposed to do!”

  I hear another faint whisper, but the words are carried away by the wind.

  “Come back!” I yell. “I need to know what you want me to do!”

  “... course back then, Caer Troia was rather smaller than it is today, and giants...”

  And then his voice is gone again.

  I keep shouting for several more minutes, but I don't see him again, nor do I hear his voice. That doesn't stop me trying for almost an hour, before I realize that he's not coming back.

  Finally I make my way up to the side of the street, where I stop for a moment with thick mud dripping from my clothes. I'm shivering and terrified, and I know I must look like a complete lunatic. Fortunately there's no-one around right now, although there's no way I'll be able to get home like this without attracting a lot of strange looks. I do have to get home, though, because right now I feel as if I'm on the verge of developing pneumonia.

  Turning, I'm about to start walking when I spot a figure standing on the other side of the road. She's wearing an old-fashioned dress, the front of which has been torn open to reveal a bloodied wound. She's simply staring at me, shimmering slightly in the night air, and she instantly reminds me not only of the ghost of Delilah Culpepper, but also of the figure I saw standing outside a tube train many years ago. She must be another of the victims, and her dead eyes are fixed on me.

  “I can't help you,” I stammer, trying to stay calm. “I don't know what to do. I'm no-one, I just... I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do!”

  With that, I turn and hurry along the street. I glance over my shoulder and find to my relief that the girl isn't following me, so I speed up as I reach the bridge. Home is several miles away, but I have no choice. I have to run.

  Chapter Twelve

  Maddie

  By the time I get home several hours later, my soaked clothes are starting to dry against my skin. I walked the streets for so long, ignoring the strange looks from passersby. A few people even asked if I was okay, and I murmured that I was fine. I don't blame them for wondering, since I'm caked in mud and I must stink. It wasn't the stares of the living that bothered me, though.

  It was the stares of the dead.

  I saw a new girl every few streets. They'd just stand and watch me as I passed, each bearing a wound on their chest or belly. Some even had their throats slashed. I tried to avoid them, but after a while I just came to accept that they were there. At least they didn't follow me, although for some reason they seemed to be staring at me and me alone. If they were the victims of Jack the Ripper, and maybe of his copycats too, then apparently something about me really caught their attention. Maybe they know that I've been to the house.

  Maybe they know that something's wrong with me.

  Making my way up the steps, I fumble in my pockets for my keys, which miraculously have survived everything that happened tonight. My hands are covered in half-dried mud, so I struggle for a moment to find the right key. As I do so, I realize that I have a responsibility to keep people safe from the thing that's inside me. My hands are trembling now, not just from the cold but also because I know the figure under the bridge was wrong.

  I'm not a fighter.

  If I even try to fight, I'll be putting people in danger just to save my own skin.

  Which means, my only option is to make sure this all ends tonight. I don't have to understand what's happening inside me. All I have to do is make sure that nobody else gets hurt, which means -

  Suddenly something grabs me from behind. Startled, I'm yanked back into another doorway and some kind of wet cloth is placed firmly against my mouth. I try to pull away, but I can already feel myself getting weaker. My knees buckle, but somebody grabs my waist and holds me up, and a moment later I hear a voice whispering into my ear – barely rising above the sound of the rain – as I sink into unconsciousness.

  “It's okay, Maddie,” Matt's voice says calmly. “I've got you. And I'm going to help you before you have a chance to hurt anyone else.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Maddie

  Rocked awake by the gentle motion of a car, I open my eyes and find that I'm the back seat. Staring up at the rain-dashed window, I see lights flashing past and I realize that I'm being driven somewhere.

  I try to get up, but my body feels incredibly heavy, as if iron bars have been inserted into all my bones. I try again, failing even to lift my head from the seat, and then I let out a gasp of pain as I slump back down. A moment later the car seems to slow and turn, and then I feel the rumble of acceleration. I know that something's wrong, but at the same time I feel so groggy, I can barely even keep my eyes open.

  “What are you doing?” I try to whisper, but my lips don't even move. “Where are you taking me?”

  I need to get out of here, but already my eyes are slipping shut. Lost again in darkness, I try to come up with some kind of plan, but my mind is already sinking deeper and deeper down until I can barely even remember my own name. I think the car just bumped again, although I can't be sure. My thoughts are un-threading and falling apart, and my mind is coming undone. It hurts to think, so I simply let myself fall back into the void of nothingness.

  And memories.

  ***

  “What did you do, Maddie?” Mum asks, coming through to the kitchen and stopping to watch me for a moment. “Did you knock that vase over?”

  I turn to her. I'm already panicking, becau
se I know she'll never believe the truth. My only hope was that maybe she wouldn't notice, but she's got that white-hot stare of anger that I know all too well.

  “Why didn't you tell me?” she says, coming up behind me and placing her hands on my shoulders. “Maddie, I wouldn't have been angry. Everyone has accidents, we can't control those. But when we do something wrong, we should always own up. Haven't I taught you that?”

  I look down at my drawing.

  “Haven't I taught you that, Maddie?” she asks again.

  “Yes, Mummy,” I whisper.

  I wait. I know she's going to do something, but I don't know what. I also know that there's no point trying to stop her. She's having one of her bad days again, the days when she just sits around the house in her dressing gown and watches me. She's been smoking, but at least she hasn't had anything to drink yet. Then again, at least when she's drunk she ends up passing out. I hate alcohol, but I like the way it makes Mummy unconscious.

  “That's a nice drawing,” she says suddenly, reaching past me and then almost – but not quite – picking up the piece of paper. “For a seven-year-old, anyway. When you're young, people make concessions for you. They don't do that when you're older, Maddie. When you're older, they only want to drag you down. You've got to be prepared for that.”

  I don't reply. I don't even know what to say.

  Slowly, Mummy moves her hand away from the piece of paper, and then she takes hold of the fingers on my right hand. I immediately know what she's going to do, and I can feel tears in my eyes, but I know I can't stop her. I'll never be able to stop her. It's my fault, though. I shouldn't have knocked the vase over.

  “This is a nice finger,” she purrs, taking hold of my littlest finger and starting to bend it back. “Maybe it's a naughty finger, though. Maybe it's the finger you use when you're pushing vases over.”

  “Mummy, I -”

  Suddenly she pulls the finger back hard, and I can't help but cry out. The pain is intense, but I'm too scared to fight back. She won't snap my finger, I know that, not unless she does it by accident. I just have to wait until she gets distracted and leaves me alone, even though tears are in my eyes now and I feel as if my finger's going to break at any moment.

  ***

  “What?” I murmur, as I feel somebody grab hold of my legs. “What are you doing?”

  I try to open my eyes, but I don't quite have the strength. I'm not even sure that I actually said those words just now; I think maybe my lips moved slightly, but I'm not quite awake. I'm floating halfway, and I can just about feel somebody sliding me across the car's back seat. Finally my legs flop out and my feet bump against the pavement.

  The car must have stopped.

  “Wait,” I whisper, although again I'm not certain the word even gets out. “Let me go. Please don't hurt me.”

  The person grabs me by the shoulders and starts lifting me up, and I'm powerless to resist as I feel myself being hauled out of the car. I think I almost slip out of the person's arms, but he or she manages to keep hold of me and a moment later I hear the sound of the car door being slammed shut.

  Then I'm carried somewhere, and although I try to open my eyes, I simply slip once again into unconsciousness.

  ***

  “You've got to stop this!” Dad shouts downstairs. “Do you want me to take her away from you? Is that what you want? Because I swear, if you hurt her again, I won't have a choice!”

  They've been arguing for hours now, ever since Dad came home and saw that I was limping. Sitting here on the end of my bed, I can't really hear Mum's voice very well, but I can hear Dad loud and clear. He keeps saying all the right things, about how he's going to take me away if Mum keeps hurting me, but the problem is that I know by now that he'll never actually go through with any of his promises.

  I remember when I was six or seven years old and he'd talk about taking me away. I used to be scared back then, I didn't want to go. I wanted Mum to get better. I remember sitting with her once, on the grass next to a river. I was happy then, and she'd seemed happy too. I've been telling myself that one day she'll get better and we can be like that again, but finally I've lost my last scrap of hope.

  Now I want more than anything to get out of here, to get away from Mum. There's something wrong with her, something seriously wrong in her head, and she's never going to change. Dad's never going to change, either. He has no trouble admitting that Mum's got a problem, but he'll never actually do anything. He loves her too much.

  If I want to get out of here, I'm going to have to do it myself.

  My backpack is on the floor in front of me. It's empty for now, but the truth is that for the past few days I've been making mental lists of what I'd need to take if I ran away. I feel bad even admitting that, although I guess I can't deny the truth, not now. I'm seventeen years old and I honestly don't think I can take another year in this house. I love Mum and Dad, but I'm terrified that Mum's going to make me become more like her. If I run away from home, I can go to London and sort myself out. Once I turn eighteen, I'll be able to stand on my own two feet. I was going to wait until then, but now I think waiting might kill me. And I'm not even being melodramatic.

  “It's a miracle nobody's ever noticed the bruises,” Dad says downstairs, as I get to my feet. “What's wrong with you? Why do you keep hurting her?”

  Picking up the backpack, I take it over to the dresser and then set it down again, before opening the drawer and starting to take out all my pairs of socks. I figure socks will be important while I'm finding somewhere to live. I'll need good shoes, too. And clothes. I want to take my books, but they'd be too heavy. I'm sure I'll be able to find a place to wash my things, though, and I can't afford to load myself down with too much stuff. I mean, I know a lot of homeless people get into a mess, but I figure those are the ones who get addicted to drugs and alcohol.

  I won't touch any of that stuff. I'll keep on my toes. I'll do better than other people.

  It only takes a few minutes for me to fill the backpack, and then I take a step back. I guess I thought this would be a bigger job, but I'm already done and I guess there's nothing holding me back. Mum and Dad are still arguing downstairs, as I head over to my desk and take out the spare wallet I've been using to store cash. I didn't even admit to myself what I was doing, but I've been squirreling away every penny I can find, building up a little stash that I can use once I'm away from here. My fingers are trembling, and I can't quite believe that I'm actually going to do this, but...

  I take a deep breath.

  I don't want to be like Dad, constantly promising to fix things but never following through. And I can't be around Mum, not when she's so unstable.

  So really, there's only one solution. Stuffing the money into my pocket, I haul my backpack onto my shoulder and then I turn to face the bedroom door. I'm terrified, and it would be so easy to just stay here, but I know what I have to do. Mum and Dad are in the front room, so they won't even notice when I go down into the kitchen and slip out into the back garden.

  And then I'll never come back.

  And somehow – I don't know how yet – but somehow I'll be okay out there on the streets. I know I will. I have to be. I can look after myself.

  ***

  Opening my eyes, I realize that my mind has cleared. I blink a couple of times, half expecting to feel myself suddenly get pulled back down into unconsciousness, but I actually feel a little more normal. I'm flat on my back somewhere, and I can just about make out a stone ceiling above in the darkness. I don't know where I am, but I do know that I have to get out of here, so I sit up.

  Or rather, I try to sit up, before I find that thick ropes are holding me down.

  Startled, I look around, and I spot several stone pillars nearby. I immediately know where I am, and with a rush of panic I reach down with my hands and feel the familiar grooves cut into the slab. I'm back in the basement at Cathmore Road, five years after I managed to escape.

  “No,” I stammer, with tears in
my eyes, “please, this has to be a -”

  “I'm sorry, Maddie,” a voice says suddenly.

  Letting out a gasp of shock, I turn and see Matt standing nearby.

  “I'm really, truly sorry,” he continues, taking a step toward me, “but honestly, you must have known this was going to happen.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Maddie

  “Let me out of here!” I shout, still struggling desperately to break free from the ropes. “You can't do this! You have to let me out of here right now!”

  “Maddie -”

  “I escaped!” I yell. “You can't bring me back here! I escaped!”

  “No, you didn't.”

  “Of course I did!”

  “You got out of here,” he continues. “Five years ago, we both got out of here.” He pauses for a moment, and I can see the sadness in his eyes now. “But you didn't escape, Maddie. Not really. You know that, don't you? Deep down, you know the only reason you got out of here was because that thing wanted you to get out. It needed you to get out, it needed you to leave because it needed to hitch a ride with you. That was its plan all along, going as far back as the days of Doctor Charles Grazier and his twisted work.”

  “Why are you talking about all of that?” I ask, as I try twisting my body to loosen the ropes. “It's in the past! It's over!”

  “Tell that to Abbie Lewes,” he replies.

  “You don't know what you're talking about!” I snap.

  “Or to Laura Muldaur.”