The Lady Screams

by Cross, Amy

  Again I wait.

  Again, he does not obey.

  “She will not scream,” I say firmly. “Of that I am certain.”

  I can tell that Jack is still not convinced. He remains silent, however, and finally he sighs before starting to gently move his hands away.

  Immediately, Catherine's mouth opens and she lets out a shrill, ear-piercing scream. I instinctively take a step back and put my hands over my ears, and Jack quickly places his hands back over her mouth, quieting her again.

  “As I warned you,” he says, sounding a little breathless now, “there has been no change.”

  “That is quite impossible,” I reply, although my mind is racing as I try to determine exactly what I have done wrong. “Try again.”

  “Sir -”

  “AGAIN!” I shout.

  He moves his hands away, and again Catherine screams. This time, however, I reach out and force Jack to keep his hands down, and I wait for Catherine's agonized cry to end. As the seconds tick past, I feel more certain than ever that at any moment she will come to her senses, although finally I have to admit that – if anything – the scream seems to be getting louder. Still, I wait for as long as I dare, until I feel as if the scream is at risk of shattering my mind.

  I let go of Jack's hands, and he immediately places them back across Catherine's mouth, forcing her to fall silent again.

  “What have you done to her?” I ask, turning to him.

  “Me, Sir?”

  “I have not made a mistake,” I continue, trying to stay calm, “so the only explanation is that you have done something while I was upstairs.”

  “I have not, I swear.”

  “You simply stood and held her mouth shut?”

  “I promise.”

  “And you were not tempted to take matters into your own hands again? You do, after all, have a history of meddling.”

  “I assure you, Doctor Grazier,” he replies, “I did what I was told, and nothing more or less. I have learned from the mistakes I made in the past. I cannot claim to know what is wrong with your wife, but I am absolutely sure that it is not of my doing.”

  I wish dearly to blame this oaf, but in truth I cannot. Somehow, deep down, I know that he is not responsible for Catherine's continued scream.

  “I do not understand,” I mutter, unable to shake a sense of panic. “Why would my wife make such a horrific sound?”

  “Are you sure that it is your wife, Sir?” Jack asks.

  I turn to him again. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I am sorry,” he continues, “I do not mean to trouble you, but I have been down here with her for several hours now while you have mostly been upstairs in the rest of the house. And in all that time, Doctor Grazier, I have seen not one thing, not one aspect, of this woman that makes her seem even remotely...”

  His voice trails off.

  “Remotely what?” I ask after a moment. “Spit it out, man.”

  “I do not want to say. I do not wish to offend either of you.”

  “Tell me what is on your feeble little mind!”

  “She does not seem human, Sir,” he adds, and then he flinches slightly, as if he expected me to hit him. “I am sorry.”

  “Human?” I reply. “Of course she is human. She is my wife. She is merely struggling to deal with the horror of everything she has endured, but the real Catherine is in there somewhere. I can see it in her eyes.”

  “But -”

  “Look at her, man!”

  “Sir, I -”

  “Look at her!”

  He does as he is told, but I can still see the fear in his eyes. If he has never earned the love of a good woman, perhaps he does not understand how one can see another person's true character in their expression. Jack is, after all, little better than a worm.

  “It is her,” I continue. “Of that, I am certain.”

  And yet as I say those words, I look at her eyes and see nothing that I recognize. Indeed, I might be wrong but I believe her eyes have gained a yellowish tint over the course of the day, and this is a disturbing development to which I must attend before too long.

  Stepping closer to her, I look down at the gap in her chest, and I see the pale, still heart that I sewed into place just a few hours earlier. At the time, I believed that through sheer force of will Catherine would be able to make this heart start pumping, but now I realize that I was overly optimistic. Indeed, it is becoming ever clear to me that it is the heart that is preventing Catherine's true mind from emerging, in which case I have only one option.

  Slowly, my mind turns to the drawing I made in my notebook earlier. At the time, the drawing seems fantastical, and in truth I was merely sketching out an idea that I knew to be too wild. Now, however, I am starting to think that the drawing has some value, and that it represents a technique that I could attempt to utilize. Perhaps desperation is driving me onward, forcing me to consider ideas that I would previously have discarded, but I cannot deny that my mind is racing and that I think perhaps I have a fresh option. And as I think of that drawing, and of the notes that I added at its side, I realize that there is no reason why it should not work, provided I work carefully.

  I shall, of course, have to take the most terrible risk.

  “I must go out for a short while,” I whisper, feeling a tremendous sense of dread in my chest. “I must go for a short walk.”

  I turn to Jack. In truth, I need him to come with me, yet I cannot countenance any other method of keeping Catherine's mouth shut.

  “It is the middle of the day,” I continue, “but I must go out.”

  “Why, Sir?” he asks.

  “You know why.”

  “I had suspected.” He pauses. “I should come with you, Sir. I must.”

  “Out of the question.”

  “What is it that you need? Another heart?”

  “More than that,” I reply, filled with fear at the thought of what I must do. “I know what I need, and I suppose I know where I shall get it.”

  “Then let me go and acquire the items.”

  “No, it must be me. I must be there to select the specimen.”

  “What if I -”

  “I cannot trust your judgment!” I snap. “I must go!”

  “In broad daylight, Sir? The risk is far too great.”

  “I have an idea.”

  I hesitate, before taking a step back. I feel sick to my stomach, yet I must not delay. I fear that while she screams, Catherine might be suffering some form of degeneration in her mind, and there is a chance that this could be permanently damaging her brain. If I do not act fast, I might never be able to bring her back.

  “Sir,” Jack continues after a moment, “I must protest. I do not know how long it has been since this scream began. It feels like decades, yet I believe in truth that it must only be nine or ten hours. Still, that is too long, and I cannot stand here like this indefinitely.”

  “Of course you can,” I tell him. “It is your job.”

  “But -”

  “Or do you intend to resign your position as my assistant?”

  “No, of course not, I merely -”

  He hesitates for a moment, and I believe I even see tears in his eyes.

  “I shall remain, of course,” he says finally. “Forgive me, Doctor Grazier. I suffered a moment of weakness, but it is over now.”

  “You are forgiven this once,” I reply, turning and heading toward the door. “Mind that it does not happen again.”

  “Take care when you are out,” he adds. “When you find your victim and kill her, it would be best to -”

  “Did I say that I was going to kill anyone?” I ask, stopping and looking back at him.

  Seeing the added fear in his eyes, I feel a heavier weight of dread in my chest.

  “That is not my plan,” I continue. “Not the entirety of the plan, at least. If only things were so simple. What I am going to do, Jack, is the one thing that I swore would never be possible. And yet somehow, I am going to
make it work.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Maddie

  Today

  Suddenly opening my eyes, I sit up straight and find that I've been fast asleep at the desk downstairs.

  For a moment, startled and feeling a little nauseous, I look around the gloomy room and try to remember how I got here. I was down in the basement, and then...

  The notebooks are laid out in front of me.

  I guess I must have come back up at some point, and then I must have fallen asleep. I've barely slept for days, so it's not exactly surprising that I'm exhausted, but it is a little odd that I don't remember coming back upstairs. I sit completely still for a moment, trying to think back to what must have happened, but nothing comes. Still, when I check my wound I find that it's neither swollen nor painful, so I suppose the fever isn't coming back. Maybe my body is fighting it off, or maybe – just maybe – I've been supremely, ridiculously lucky.

  “Stay focused,” I say out loud, to make myself feel a little stronger, and then I get to my feet.

  If I stay here at this desk, I'll just end up falling asleep again. There'll be plenty of time to look at the notebooks later, while I continue to wait for Alex, and right now I think I need to keep moving so that I don't nod off. Fortunately, there's one part of the house that I haven't even begun to explore yet.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Doctor Charles Grazier

  Tuesday October 2nd, 1888

  She is but a simple washer girl, sitting at the back of her owner's establishment and tending to some shirts in a bucket. From my vantage point here at the opening to the alley, I perceive her to be no older than twenty-one or twenty-two, with long dark hair and a rather plump build.

  Plump but healthy.

  In every other regard, she looks utterly ordinary. Indeed, it is difficult to imagine anybody caring much for such a creature, or even noticing if she were to disappear. I am quite certain that such girls exist all over London, living out their miserable, meaningless lives and eventually dying without having left any impact upon the world at all. They take up resources and give back nothing of value, in which case it might even be said that I am doing society a favor by getting rid of some of their number. The girl might not be a whore, but in all other respects she is the same as the previous donors.

  I am in the alley that Jack showed me the other night, the one that runs close to my own home. The one that I had not even noticed until it was pointed out to me. Now, in the midday light, the alley appears very narrow, which I suppose will grant me some added protection from prying eyes. I have been watching the girl for fully half an hour now, and it seems that she is being left entirely alone by the establishment's other workers. Indeed, she looks rather lonely as she works on the shirt, and I cannot help but think that only a very simple girl could sit like this for so long, washing the same shirt with such great care for such a long time.

  Perhaps she is daydreaming. Or, more likely, she is simple in the head.

  Looking down at my gloves, I take a moment to adjust their fit. Then, noticing that my bandaged wrists are showing a little, I pull my sleeves straight, and then I realize that I am delaying the inevitable.

  I must do this.

  Catherine is waiting.

  There is a risk to my plan, that much is certain. It is not, however, the first risk I have ever taken. Indeed, I still recall the first night I went out seeking body parts. I ventured into Whitechapel half a dozen times, stalking the filthy streets but returning home empty-handed on each occasion. It was only on the seventh or eighth night, once Catherine's condition had deteriorated further, that I summoned the courage to go through with the killing. I took a risk then, and every time I went out hunting, just as I shall take a risk today.

  I only pray that today's risk will be among the last.

  I take a deep breath, and then I start walking along the alley. As I do so, I glance at nearby windows, checking to make sure that nobody is watching me. Finally I get closer to the girl and I slow, looking down at her hands as she works on the shirt. A moment later she glances at me and smiles a simple, plain smile. It's the kind of smile that these foolish working women often flash, but it at least allows me to see that my initial assessment was correct. This girl is definitely on the plump side, which means that she is absolutely perfect for my work. In this instance, her slightly above-average size should mean that she has a little extra strength.

  “You seem rather lonely out here,” I say to the girl, stopping next to her. I need to seem casual, so that I can get close enough to strike. “Is it your job to simply sit and wash shirts like this?”

  “It is, Sir,” she replies meekly, and I think I even spot a hint of a blush in her cheeks. “I'm sorry, Sir.”

  “Sorry?” I ask. “For what?”

  “I don't quite know, actually,” she says, and now she is most certainly blushing. “I'm sorry.”

  “Do you often apologize for no reason?” I ask.

  “Did you want something, Sir?” she replies. “Mrs. Martin doesn't usually take laundry after seven in the morning, not unless the gentleman would be willing to wait until tomorrow for its return.”

  “Laundry?” I ask, shocked to learn the nature of this business. “Do you mean to tell me that there is a common laundry in Cathmore Road?”

  “Newly opened, Sir,” she says, and now – ironically – she does not apologize. “If you wanted some shirts cleaned, Sir, I think -”

  “I have an arrangement with another service,” I reply, interrupting her. “I simply did not realize that such a business would have the resources to settle in a well-to-do street. The whole situation is rather baffling. One would expect to find a laundry in some of the coarser parts of the area, but certainly not here.”

  “I wouldn't know about that,” she says, and still she seems to be blushing slightly. “I was just glad of the job.”

  I glance over my shoulder, just to make sure that there is nobody else here with us, and then I turn back to see that the girl is getting on with her work. Her hands look rough and scarred, and I suppose she has been working for most of her life.

  Reaching into my pocket, I take out the cloth that I earlier dipped in a homemade solution. I hesitate for a moment, wondering whether I should perhaps engage the girl in some more conversation, so as to put her at ease. Finally, realizing that she seems barely to even remember that I am here, I tell myself that I should simply get on with the task at hand, no matter how uneasy it might make me feel.

  I am not a bad man.

  Stepping up behind the girl, I still hesitate for a moment, trying to judge the perfect moment.

  She looks up at me, and it is clear that she feels a little awkward. She does not ask what I want, however, and she quickly looks back down at the wet shirt in her hands. I imagine she understands now that it is not her place to speak until she is spoken to. It is good, I suppose, that she has come to this realization, even if it is now unfortunately too late in her life for her to put this new understanding to practice.

  “There will be pain,” I say suddenly.

  She begins to turn to me.

  Without a second though, I grab the back of her head and pull her toward me. Then, before she can cry out, I press the cloth against her mouth and wait for her struggles to fade.

  “Your life will be given up so that a better woman can live,” I whisper into the girl's ear as she continues to fight back. “Does that not fill you with joy?”

  As I anticipated, it takes only a couple of seconds before I feel her fall limp against me. Now all that remains is to carry her – covered by a sheet, of course – back to the house, via the gardens of the neighboring properties.

  Then I shall be able to give Catherine the blood that she so desperately requires.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Maddie

  Today

  Peering out through the broken window, I watch the garden carefully. I've been up here for several minutes, daring myself to go out but not quit
e summoning the courage. I haven't seen any sight of anybody out there, but at the same time I can't help thinking about the person who banged on the door earlier.

  I can't risk getting spotted.

  “Come on, you can do this,” I whisper, trying to remind myself that nobody can see into the garden. Not unless they're really making an effort, at least. There are high walls on every side and, anyway, why would anyone be watching this house. It's probably stood completely empty for years, to the point that no-one really thinks about the place much.

  Finally, after a few more minutes, I haul myself up and climb through the window, and then I drop down in the long grass outside. I wait again, staying low, listening in case there's any sign of life nearby. If I hear so much as a cough or a mutter, I'll climb back through the window and I won't risk coming out again during daylight hours.

  For now, however, I don't hear anyone at all. Frankly, it's as if the rest of the world is far away, even though I'm slap-bang in the heart of London.

  Slowly, I get to my feet. I'll wait a few more minutes, just in case I hear anyone, and then I'll dare to leave the shadows at the rear of the house. After all, I can't be too careful. And if I end up getting chased away from this place, I'll be completely lost. Like it or not, I need this house right now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Doctor Charles Grazier

  Tuesday October 2nd, 1888

  So far, everything is going perfectly. Indeed, I have not hit so much as a single hurdle.

  As soon as I step through the back door, I let out a gasp and set the unconscious girl down on a bench in the kitchen. I had intended to carry her straight down to the basement, but in truth my arms are aching and I feel I must take a rest. In fact, I suppose that carrying her any further would be absolutely exhausting.

  “Jack!” I call out, realizing that the brute should be the one to do all the heavy lifting. “Get up here and assist me!”