I could feel the steel claw slide across my body and hot breath against my ear. The claws dug into my tunic, grabbing me again and throwing me back towards the bed, my back cracking against the wooden framework. His strength was unreal, tossing me around as if I were a marionette.
My body was still stiff, part from fear, part from the beating. I knew too well that I was to spend the remainder of my night under His torturous grasp. There was no way to escape, even when trying to crawl away He merely laughed and pinned me down to the ground with His steel boot.
"And now I wonder, could you betray me?" He roared with pleasure, knowing full well He will not get an answer. "Would you ever shoot the devil in the back? And more importantly, what would you do if you missed?"
He flipped me over with His boot and delivered a vicious kick to my ribs. My whole body was engulfed by searing pain. My vision blurred as I could feel my whole world turn on its side, blow after blow everything turned darker and darker. My vision faded in and out. I saw images of the boot thrust against me. I saw the window open again. I saw His silhouette painted against the night's sky and I could hear the final words He spoke before my entire world turned to black.
"Now that you know the things that I am capable of, I hope you should know better than to betray me."
Chapter XI
I woke up on the cold, hard floor of my bedroom, having no idea how I had gotten there. The events of the previous night were a swirling haze in my mind. Warm, honey-golden sunlight poured in through the bedroom window. I blinked once, twice, trying to orientate myself. Everything hurt. My throat burned raw, my muscles ached with sheer exhaustion and the headache throbbing at my temples felt like someone had drilled into my skull. What had happened through the night? I could remember snapshots, flashing images that made no sense without context, but nothing more.
I rolled around on the floor faintly for several minutes trying to clear my head. My vision returned to me slowly, a mass of blurred colours slowly coagulating to show the disturbed state of my room; ornaments strewn about and the curtains reaching towards me like some celestial being due to the breeze blowing in from my open window.
I managed to stand, slowly at first, barely managing to rise to my knees and eventually to my feet. I stood there swaying for some time before managing to look down at myself. My arm was drenched in blood and, upon rolling back the sleeve, I could see a long gash along my upper arm. The wound itself was barely visible, instead most a matted mix of fresh and congealed blood.
How did you hurt your arm?
The visions of the previous night slowly returned to me, although my passing out remained a haze. A blur of horrific images begun to play back in my mind.
How? How?
And then it all came back to me. As I remembered each bludgeon and hit, each split and tear of skin, the pain of my wounds flared up in hurtful memory. As each cut gave me their story, I found that blood and bruises painted my torso too, although nothing in scale to the wound on my arm. I spent the morning splashing water into my face, staring long and hard into the weathered face of the man in the mirror and dressing myself to look like a human being once again, as opposed to some sort of battered corpse. It was not long after my rising, but I found little strength to face the weight of the world. I curled up in the corner of the living room for what felt like days, but surely had only been hours. I let the world rush by outside as I sat within ignoring it. Thoughts clouded my mind, but they were incoherent. There were plenty of what’s and whys, but little else to string them together. My mind was a stuttering mess. The only thing that dragged me from the darkness of my mind was a knocking at the front door. The rapid thudding of the door knocker reached inside my skull and vibrated. I paused for a moment, shaken and worried. Violent thoughts of the horrible figure returning to my door plagued my mind. Was it Him? Had He returned to finish me off?
Of course not, this was irrational thinking, for He would have done it last night if He needed to. To do it now in the light of day - on the very street itself - I knew it was preposterous. Despite these sensible thoughts I still found myself glued to the spot for several minutes, listening to the mismatched thudding that never let up. Clack clackclack clack. After not long I managed to calm myself down enough to wander far enough to answer it, if only to get rid of the infernal noise.
As soon as I unlatched the door and propped it open, James brushed past me into the hallway.
"Eric, have you heard?" He thrust a copy of today's The Times at me when he realised that I had not. "Rufus was found murdered last night."
"W...what?" was all I managed to choke out with a stammer as I took the paper in my hand and unravelled it.
"He was killed at his home," James explained. "Slashed open, another one of those murders. Neighbours heard screaming, but by the time they knocked on the door he was already dead."
I murmured to myself in doubt, barely able to believe it. "I... do not believe... Why?"
James solemnly shook his head. He obviously knew little of the circumstances, and it was as much of a shock to him as I. Still, as was natural with a man of James' position, the investigator could not help but raise its head. "I know you have probably not seen him lately, but was Rufus doing well? Did he have any business problems? Have you heard anything of him?"
"No, nothing. I mean, we were not exactly close," I whispered, thinking over the past few months. Was James testing me? Did he have his suspicions? Of course not, even if James were to think ill of me, I would not imagine he would stand before me in such a manner.
"If you can think of something, please, let me know as soon as possible," he said in a reassuring way, the type of way that almost confirmed to me that he was going to look into Rufus' death until he had an answer. But possibly that would be a good thing, if James were to find and capture Him then there would be no more needless deaths. Perhaps James could be the way out of this thing, to freedom.
"I will. I want to help you as much as I can, but right now I am of no use to you."
"Do not worry about that. Thank you, I know this is a terrible shock. It was also a great pain to me, even if I were not close to the man, his death is untimely. I would not like to disturb you anymore. I am sorry to be the bearer of such bad news in these recent days, but we have to act quickly to find everything we can to preserve these cases." James looked down at the newspaper in my hand. "This man has to be stopped."
"Of course. I am sorry I could not be of assistance. You can call on me whenever you need help. Just ask."
"Thank you again, Eric." That warm smile spread over his face once more as he placed his hand on the door to open it. "That means a lot to me."
Had James simply turned the door handle and left, then that would have been that. Perhaps things may have even turned out differently, although even I doubt that. No, something unexpected and unwanted happened. Whilst James did turn the door handle, he did not immediately exit. When he opened the door it swung open to reveal an animated Francis who, from behind the angle of the door could only see myself. He marched towards me the moment our eyes locked.
"Eric, I need to tell you something ..." He stopped as he entered. James' and Francis' eyes locked. The certainty from Francis' expression turned to shock. "James! Why are...? I did not know you were here."
"I am visiting Eric to inform him of Rufus' death. I wanted to know if he has been in contact with Rufus for a while," James responded slowly, observing Francis' every expression as he spoke. "Have you seen him recently?"
"I am afraid not. Not for a few months, at least."
"Well, if you hear anything about Rufus in the next few days, please, contact me." James gave me a parting glance before vanishing through the open doorway into the street, immediately losing himself in an ocean of passers by. I closed the door the moment he left.
"What are you thinking inviting him here?!" Francis scowled in hushed tones. "If he learns what we are doing..."
"He will not find out. How could he? He simply visited me as a frien
d; I cannot just shut him out. And besides, if James can find who is behind this then maybe we can put a stop to this."
"If James starts looking into this, it will not be long before he links it back to our group."
"Do you believe He killed Rufus because he opposed the meetings?"
"Yes. It is as I said, he must have been perceived as a liability."
A dark realisation clouded my mind, although I had inkling prior to this, Rufus' death had confirmed it. "You understand what this means, do you not? He knows us. He knows what we are up to, what we are thinking. He somehow found out about Rufus' condition. He is closer to us than we think. If I had realised this was going to happen, then I would have never come back in the first place."
"The whole thing is a shambles; we should not have started in the first place. It is out of hand."
"Try telling that to the men in those meetings.Perhaps we should speak to James? Perhaps he would be able to help.”
“Out of the question. James is a close friend, but as a man of the law I would not expect him to overlook our own actions in the matter. I warn you Eric; to include him would be to admit yourself. Do not do such a thing.”
I nodded. “Very well. But in that case we find ourselves stuck once more with no way out.”
Francis grimaced, knowing only far too well that the situation was too far gone to be reasoned out of. "We shall bide our time until we can find a way to stop this madness."
We both agreed, although I am sure that the notion that we were effectively agreeing to do nothing was not lost on Francis either. He turned to leave, but before he did so pointed out at me and I realised he was pointing at my arm, which I had done a poor job of concealing before answering the door. "What the devil have you done to yourself?"
How did you hurt your arm?
I said, "Nothing. An accident was all. Do not be concerned, there are bigger things for us to be worried about than such a cut."
Francis nodded in agreement, "Yes, that we do." He made his exit, although I feel he did not realise that such a wound was a concern. He no longer simply resided beyond the edges of our beliefs, but was now actively taking a part in our business and killing those who stood in His way.
I spent the remainder of the week working as a hollow shell of a man, attempting to sway my mind from dwelling on the events that had transpired. But, in the end, all I could think of was that we had been the cause for Rufus' death. I spent my nights alone, cowering and avoiding any socialisation. I ignored any knocking at my door and frequently made excuses to avoid the workplace. I sealed myself in my home and tried to sleep the days away. By the time it was due for the next meeting, I felt ill. Although I did not wish to go, I knew I had no choice. I dressed myself and made my way towards the club. I felt my heart grow heavier with every involuntary step. I was the last to the meeting, although by no means late.
"I see everyone is here," Lucius lied as he started the next infernal meeting. "Unfortunately, we gather to grave news tonight."
"I hope they have not caught Him," Palmer wheezed, his eyes wide at the realisation that his investment may be short lived.
"Think about something other than your bloodlust for once!" Francis bellowed as Harry quickly leapt from his chair to make sure the door was closed properly. "They found Rufus dead."
"D-Dead?" Harry nearly fainted as he returned to his chair. "But how?"
"Torn apart." Lucius unravelled the paper reporting the incident and passed it around for all to see. "The police believe that he was clawed to death."
"His newest victim," Francis emphasised.
The room sat in silence as Palmer eyed the article with keen interest, reading aloud.
THE TIMES, MONDAY, DECEMBER 13, 1837
BUSINESSMAN RUFUS NICHOLS was found dead at his London home last night, another victim of the recent terror stalking London, Steel Jack.
It is said that the killer slipped into Mr Nichols home in the early hours, viciously attacking him with knives said to be like claws. His screaming awoke neighbours who immediately came knocking, but by the time the police arrived and forced their way into the property, He was nowhere to be seen.
Palmer finished reading the article and passed the newspaper on. He paused for a second, lips pursed, before speaking. "It could not be helped."
"Could not be helped?" Francis spluttered with incredulity. "What is wrong with you?"
"It was necessary of Him to commit this action, to show us all what awaits if we wish to pull out of this group."
Lucius nodded in agreement. "Yes, unfortunately Rufus proved to be a danger to us all. Everyone should have the message now; keep it in mind at all times." With that, Lucius pulled the deck of cards from his coat pocket and began to deal. "It is possible that in light of this news you may have missed another article, so I will reiterate: Thomas Harrison was found murdered a few days ago at his home, too. Black Lane has been bought up for a tidy sum, which you will all find in your bank accounts."
"Let us play some Killing Hand!" Palmer said, grabbing at the cards.
"Killing Hand?" Francis asked.
"Yes, it seems a much more fitting name than Old Maid, given the circumstances."
"The only name to befit this activity is murder! Do you honestly see this as just a game? Your actions are having consequences that are ruining families, yet your response to it each week is simply to drink and cheer."
"To drink and cheer is all that some of us have," Harry mulled.
"Hear, hear!" Palmer chuckled, downing his drink. "Perhaps to you, Francis, it looks like a mere game, but I can assure you that I am taking my actions seriously."
"Then may you reap what you deserve," Francis scorned. "For you deserve no less than your victims."
"Now now, Francis, be careful what you wish for. How would you feel if such a thing came true as a light of your words? Come, let us begin." Lucius picked up his hand and the rest of the room followed his example, with the exception of Francis who merely slouched into his seat.
We played cards, many of us half-heartedly. The rounds took much longer than usual. Many of us remained transfixed in our own thoughts and did not realise that it was our turn until Lucius barked reminders at us. The game seemed to go on for an eternity and it came as a great relief when it ended, albeit with Lucius as the victor.
"You are all letting your game down it seems," he mocked as he placed his final pair down on the table.
"Bravo, Lucius," Palmer clapped. "Who will you choose?"
"I am going to go for Jasper Thatcher. I am afraid that he holds no profitable gain from his death, but he holds such political clout that it would be worthwhile to get him out of the way."
The men began to look towards the doorway in the understanding that the meeting had adjourned, but Lucius continued. "We do have another issue. It seems the law have taken further measures in an attempt to apprehend our killer. If you have not noticed they now patrol the streets at night in greater numbers as a direct result, it is said, of these reports of ‘Steel Jack’."
Palmer chuckled. "Not much good it will do them when the man can run like the wind."
"I did not know the police would get involved," Harry whimpered.
"How did you not know?" Francis scolded in an irritated outburst. "You have been committing murder!"
"I just did not think they would be able to link them. I do not want to continue on if they are going to find us out."
Lucius spoke, "Those who lose their nerve will be killed. Anyone who leaves this meeting will be killed by our killer because they know too much. This is made clear. This is exactly what happened to Rufus. If you step out of line..." Lucius cast a glare at Francis, "...you will suffer the same fate."
Harry glanced over at Lucius with fearful eyes. "Do you not think it would be best for Him to let us know his identity? It will be simpler if we can ask Him questions and get answers from him directly."
Lucius shook his head. "No, he has concealed his identity for his own reas
ons. By committing his business this way he remains impartial to this group. Besides, if our killer was known, what would prevent that information from being used against us?" Once again Lucius glared at Francis, who scowled back. "It would prove problematic for all concerned."
"And His words will have more power over the others," Palmer added. "Everyone will inevitably be thinking what would happen if someone disagrees with Him."
"That is working under the assumption that the killer sits with us. But yes, that is true. It is better off the way it is now where we can all speak equally. He does not want to reveal his identity to anyone, not even us."
Francis leant back in his chair, eyes squinted. "What if he gets caught?"
"The man is an assassin, evading the law appears to be what he does. I doubt we have anything to worry about, gentlemen."
Yet, despite the complacency of some of the men within that room, worry was what seemed to cloud our minds. The wonder of who and why pestered our minds and, following my brief encounter the previous night, I wondered just how much danger we were in personally. We were subject to those meetings as slaves, with no choice in the matter. Make no mistake, just because the outcome of those meetings fit in with Lucius and Palmer's objectives did not mean that they were not as much a slave as Francis, Harry and I. Just because they willingly joined in did not mean they actually had a choice in the matter. The knife was held to their throats and if they ever decided to pull away then, as Rufus found out, the blade would only dig deeper until obedience or silence.
"Back to my point... the police are aware of our killer. They have been for some time, I suspect, but it appears that they now bring action against him. In the next week they are holding a public meeting next week to address the murders. I recommend we all go just to be aware of how much of our business is visible to the public eye, although I suspect none of it. If nothing, I hope we are amused by hearing just how far off the mark they really are."
Harry said, "They are finally paying attention."
The Killing Hand Page 11
