by Amy Cross
Suddenly a shot rings out and the front of Laverty's face explodes, showering me with blood and bone as he lurches forward and grabs hold of my shoulder. I push him away and watch in horror as his dead body drops to the ground.
It takes only a fraction of a second before my instincts kick in and I run, hurrying through the shocked crowd in a desperate attempt to evade the killer's line of sight. I race all the way to St. Paul's, at which point I find myself in the middle of a huge crowd. Although the blood on my shirt and face clearly alarms several of those around me, I push through the crowd as I desperately try to work out where I might be safe. It's hard to believe that someone could track me through a crowd so dense and chaotic, but I learned long ago to never under-estimate an enemy. Besides, I still can't work out who would want to kill both Harrison Blake and Mr. Laverty, but whoever they are, they clearly have my name on their hit-list.
Every time I hear a noise nearby, I turn and expect to feel a bullet hit my face. The killer could be anywhere and, if he strikes, I'll likely have just a fraction of a second between the metal entering my brain and the moment when my life ends. This is it. This is what it feels like to be hunted. I've never been in this position before. I've always been the hunter, never the prey.
After running for what seems like forever, I suddenly emerge next to Blackfriars Bridge. Racing across the Thames, I head down into Southwark. This is a part of London with which I'm not as familiar as I'd prefer, so I quickly get onto a bus and make my way to Southfields, finally ending up on Augustus Road. My mind is racing as I try to work out what I should do next; it's clear that my enemy, whoever he might be, is a man of great ability, and I certainly wouldn't put it past him to track me down at any of my usual haunts. With virtually no money in my pockets, and no friends upon whom I can rely, I feel - for the first time in my life - utterly lost and alone. It's as if I must start again, and I have no energy for such an endeavor.
Finally, I decide that I must take a risk. I head to the King's Arms, figuring that I can perhaps engage some assistance from some old contacts. If the unseen assassin has tracked me down to this of all places, he is welcome to my soul and I will have no choice but to accept his bullet gracefully.
"There was someone in here looking for you," says Darius Wolff as soon as I've entered the building and fought my way to the bar. "A woman".
"A woman?" I reply. "Here?" There are plenty of woman whose paths I've crossed over the years, of course, and I suppose it's not impossible that one of them would have chosen to track me down. Still, I don't have time for such trivialities right now. "I need money," I tell Wolff. "I need it fast, and I need it without any strings attached".
"Don't look at me," he replies with a sneer. "Do I strike you as the kind of man who hands out charitable donations to every streak of piss that walks through my door?"
"You know what I have to offer," I insist. "I have connections -"
"You're always trying to trade on your connections," he says with a laugh. "The way I hear it, Pope, your connections are getting old and out of date. Maybe ten years ago I'd have been tempted, but you're not the smooth operator you were back in the day. Face it, your time is over. London's moved on and you're just a relic of a bygone age". He pauses for a moment, before handing me a pint of beer. "If you don't mind the question, whose blood and brain matter is smeared all over your face?"
"No-one you know," I reply, wiping away as much of Laverty's remains as possible.
"I've never seen you in such a bad way," Wolff continues. "It's quite fun." He pauses for a moment, as if he's trying to decide what to do. "Take the corner booth. I know someone who might be able to help you".
With no option but to trust him, I turn and force my way through the crowd until I reach the booth in the far corner. Despite the fact that the pub is packed to the rafters, this booth, as always, is unoccupied. The regulars know that this particular booth is reserved for those who are engaged in 'official' business, so no-one dares sit here uninvited. Taking a seat, I sip from the pint of beer and realize that I've got nowhere left to run. Finally, at what might very well be the end of my life, I've had to take refuge in the King's Arms. Of all the ways I ever thought might life might end, this was not one of them: sitting in the most miserable pub in London, with no friends and no money, while an unknown assassin hunts me through the streets.
"You need money," says a female voice, suddenly sliding onto the opposite seat. She has a shawl covering her face, and she glances back across the bar as if she's nervous of being followed.
"Depends who's offering," I reply, poised to run in case this woman turns out to be dangerous.
"Oh, my darling," she says, dropping the shawl to reveal her identity. "Who do you think?"
I open my mouth to reply, but not a word comes out. Instead, I sit in stunned silence, staring in wonder as Henrietta - my Henrietta, alive and unharmed - smiles back at me.
Elly
Today
Gasping for air, I feel a crushing weight pushing deeper and deeper onto my chest. Pain courses through my body, sending shockwaves into my left shoulder and arm. I try to roll onto my side, but there's a sudden jolt and finally the car-boot is opened. I'm hauled out and dumped roughly, naked on the cold street. Seconds later, I hear the wheels of a car driving away at speed, and I'm left sprawled and alone until, finally, I can't breathe any longer and everything goes black.
Book Five:
All That You Are
Elly
Today
"Do you understand what I just told you, Elly?" the doctor asks, standing by my hospital bed. "You had a coronary artery spasm, which is a type of heart attack. Do you remember anything from last night?"
Shaking my head, I try to work out what's really going on. There's no way I can possibly have had a heart attack. I mean, I'm young, I'm fairly fit, and although my father died of a heart attack, my family medical history is generally pretty good. Still, I can't argue with the fact that I'm currently sitting in a hospital room, with various wires attached to my body, and the last thing I remember is being at Mr. White's apartment and feeling an agonizing pain in my chest. I want to dismiss this whole thing as some kind of sick joke, as just a part of the game, but as I stare at the doctor, I can see that the concern on his face is genuine.
"There are a lot of potential precipitating factors," the doctor continues. "It's important that we isolate anything that could have caused this episode, because obviously we need to make sure that we minimize the chances that you'll ever have something like this happen again. I'm sure I don't need to point out that heart attacks are very rare for someone of your age. To be blunt, this shouldn't have happened to you".
"I'm fine," I mutter, sitting up in the hospital bed. "I feel totally fine".
He stares at me for a moment. "Do you know the most difficult thing for someone of your age, when faced with this kind of health problem?" He waits for me to reply. "The hardest thing is to accept what happened to you. You're probably thinking that there's been a mistake, that heart attacks don't happen to girls like you, not at your age".
"I feel pretty good," I continue. "I feel healthy".
"You're on medication," the doctor replies. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're doped up to your eyeballs, more or less. All things considered, you're doing remarkably well. I'll probably let you home in a day or two. But I'm very concerned about the fact that I can't explain what caused the heart attack. Is there anything -"
"Stress," I say suddenly, interrupting him. "I mean, is stress a possible cause? If it was really extreme stress, putting the body through things that shouldn't ever happen". I pause, thinking back to some of the things Mr. White did to me last night. I remember hearing my heartbeat at times, and I felt that I was being pushed way beyond my tolerances. Still, is it possible that he pushed me so far, I ended up having a heart attack? "Physical stress," I continue. "Could that cause it?"
"It could," he replies. "What kind of stress are we talking about?"<
br />
"Exertion".
"What kind of exertion?"
I try to think of a convincing excuse. After all, I can't exactly tell him about the game. "I was exercising," I say eventually. "I'd taken up some new exercise, and I think I was going at it way too fast. I was really pushing myself, emotionally and physically. I was trying to break a personal record. Could that have caused the heart attack?"
"In the absence of other factors, I'd say almost certainly," the doctor replies. "Prior to this... exercise... would you say you were a physically active person?"
"Not at all".
"So you suddenly took up a very aggressive exercise routine, without any guidance or support?"
I nod.
He stares at me, and I can tell he's skeptical.
"It's true!" I stammer. "I wanted to get fit, so I started reading about all this stuff online, and then I guess I tried too much too soon and..." My voice trails off as I realize that my story isn't sounding too convincing. "I was definitely sweating," I add, "and I didn't do a proper warm-up. I guess I did it all wrong. I just jumped right into the whole thing".
"That's not very wise, Elly..."
"Yeah, it was a mistake," I reply, "but did it cause the heart attack?"
"Almost certainly".
I pause, trying to come to terms with the idea that my sessions with Mr. White ended up pushing me so far that I almost died. Somewhere along the way, I lost track of how many orgasms I had last night, and I didn't even start counting all the moments of pain. I was out of breath most of the time, and although we had a couple of short breaks, I feel as if I should have been more attuned to the needs of my body. Then again, I just never believed this could happen to me.
"How did I get here?" I ask, suddenly realizing that my memory is completely blank after the initial pain I felt last night. I remember collapsing in Mr. White's apartment, and then there's nothing until I woke up here in the hospital bed a few hours ago.
"You were dropped off by a friend," the doctor replies. "I believe his name is Mark Douglas?"
"Mark," I mutter, realizing that Mr. White must have called him when he realized I was sick. Given the nature of the game, I guess I should be glad that they bothered to help me at all. I don't know how a heart attack fits in with things, but I suppose it probably marks me out as being a little weak. In fact, I can't help wondering whether I might have failed. If I can't physically endure Mr. White's punishment, maybe they'll decide that I can't stay in the game? "I need to speak to him," I continue. "Is he here?"
"Mr. Douglas? No, he just dropped you off and left".
I take a deep breath. For some reason, I feel like someone just kicked me in the gut. I mean, my relationship with Mark has long been a source of confusion, but I thought that he at least cared about me; given that I had a heart attack, I'd have thought he might stick around and wait to see how I'm doing. Then again, if I've failed the game, maybe he's already cut me loose? With a heavy sensation in my gut, I realize that I might never see Mark again.
"He did ask to be kept informed of your progress," the doctor continues. "I think he's planning to come and visit you soon".
"Huh," I reply.
"He also promised to cover any medical bills you might run up. This is a private hospital, so obviously there are certain fees attached to your treatment".
"A private hospital?" I ask, surprised that Mark brought me here.
"We have specialists here," he continues. "I don't mean to scare you unnecessarily, but it's my honest opinion that you might well have died if you'd been taken somewhere else".
I nod, still finding this whole situation to be totally insane.
"For now," he adds, "I'm afraid you need lots of rest. You're very lucky to be alive, Ms. Bradshaw, and you need to learn how to take better care of yourself. You're not going to be allowed out of bed today, but tomorrow we can start getting you up and about, and then we can think about when to let you go home. Still, I want you to be under no illusions. This heart attack is a life-changing matter. You're going to have to rethink everything you do, from diet and exercise to the amount you drink, the way you spend your spare time..." He pauses. "You can't brush this off. You nearly died, and if it happens again, you might not be so lucky".
I watch as he turns and heads to the door.
"But I'm okay now, right?" I continue. "My heart's okay. I didn't do any permanent damage, did I?"
"You've had a heart attack," he replies wearily, glancing back at me. "I'm not going to mince words. You clearly have a predisposition to this kind of incident, and I'd characterize you as being in a high-risk group. Whatever else happens, you need to recognize the seriousness of this situation. A heart attack isn't a joke. This is a medical condition you're going to have to live with for the rest of your life".
"But I'll be fine," I say. "Won't I?"
"You'll get over it," he says, "but we'll talk later about how you need to adjust your lifestyle. Unless you want to risk another heart attack, and another, and another, you're going to have to make some changes. Whatever brought this on, whether it was extreme exercise or something else, you can't risk doing it again. To put yourself in that zone again would be suicidal".
Once he's left the room, I'm left staring into space. I still can't bring myself to fully accept that I've had an actual, real heart attack. It's the kind of thing that's supposed to happen to old people, not reasonably healthy girls in their early twenties. I mean, I know Mr. White pushed my body beyond its comfort zone, but I didn't think he'd taken me to the point that my body just gave up. I thought I was more than strong enough to handle anything he threw at me, but I guess I was wrong. Sitting alone in the hospital bed, I suddenly feel as if I've passed through to another phase of my life, and my time with Mark feels like it happened a million years ago.
Jonathan Pope
1901
"We don't have much time," Henrietta says as we stand in one of the pub's upstairs rooms. "The game is in flux right now. With Mr. White dead and the pair of us on the move, the game lacks its players. This won't last, of course. Soon enough, its recovery will be complete, so we have to strike fast -"
"What are you talking about?" I ask, still finding it hard to believe that she's still alive. "With Mr. White dead, surely the game is over? After all, we're the only players left, so there's simply no way for it to continue". Stepping closer, I put my hands on the sides of her arms and try to force a smile. "We've done it, my darling. We've escape. The game is over".
She shakes her head.
"How can it not be?" I continue. "There are only three players, and we're all accounted for!"
"You don't understand. The game is more than just..." She pauses, as if she's worried about saying too much. "You don't know the full nature of the game. It's not just about the three of us. There are certain safeguards in place, certain systems that are designed to ensure that the game survives. The trap is open right now, but soon it will snap shut, and our necks are still in the way. There's a way out, my darling, but we have to act swiftly". Reaching down, she places a hand on her belly. "We have a child on the way, Jonathan. Whatever happens to us, we have to acknowledge our own guilt, but the child must be given a chance. We need to find a place to hide it away so that the game can never reach it".
"You speak as if the game is alive," I reply.
"It is!"
"Of course it's not -"
"It lives and breathes!" she insists, with fear in her eyes. "Are you such a fool, my darling, that you would insist upon things that are convenient, rather than accepting the facts? If the game were over, do you not think I'd be the first to celebrate? Even now, out there in the darkness, it's regathering its strength. It's vindictive, too. It knows what we've done, and it'll go to extreme lengths in order to punish us. The game doesn't like to be betrayed. If we don't act fast, it'll be too late".
"So what can we do?" I reply. "If the game is truly alive -"
"If we try to run, it will catch up to us eventually
," she says. "Worse than that, it will find our child. The only solution is to destroy it, and the only way to destroy it is to go right to its heart".
Staring at her, I try to work out whether she has truly lost her mind. Given everything that has happened lately, I feel as if I'm no longer in any position to determine what is real and what is a lie. It certainly seems as if Henrietta believes everything she's saying, but at the same time I can't shake the feeling that perhaps this is all just another part of the game.
"I thought you were dead," I say eventually. "I saw your body. I saw the blood".
"You saw a body," she replies. "Don't you understand, my darling? I had to get away. Mr. White was closing in, and I knew that he meant to kill me. I had no choice but to fake my death".
"And your husband?"
She pauses. "I'm afraid that Benjamin was too close to Mr. White. Although he was not part of the game, my husband could not be trusted. I was so scared, Jonathan. I thought for sure that Benjamin and Harrison Blake were in league together. I still believe that I would have been betrayed, and..." Her voice trails off, and there's a look of madness in her eyes. I have never seen Henrietta in such a state; she has always seemed so calm and controlled, as if she knows what to do, but this time it's as if she's genuinely terrified. Looking at her now, I can finally believe that she would be capable of any act, especially if she felt that our child was in danger.
"You killed him," I say after a moment. "Your own husband?"
"I had no choice". There are tears in her eyes now, and it's clear that she has been beset by great anguish. "I killed the maid, too. Had I not done so, I would be dead by now, as would you, as would our child. Perhaps you think that I'm a terrible monster, my darling, but I did what was necessary. Please don't hate me for being practical. I killed them quickly and with as little pain as possible, and now we must work to ensure that my efforts weren't in vain". Grabbing my hand, she forces me to feel her belly, and for the first time I realize that I can detect a slight swelling. "Think of our child," she continues. "Think of this poor, innocent creature who knows nothing of the game, and nothing of the madness of the world. Now imagine what would happen if the game got hold of the child. Imagine the cruelty".
