Order of Dust

by Nicholas J. Evans

  “One day, my sweet Aldrich. But for now, the children beckon for their story. Let us give them one,” she said and their lips met briefly before they headed up the stairs.

  Aldrich was lost in every move she made, every moment of the day. Her dark hair bobbed gracefully with each of her dainty steps, and outlined the smooth features of her face. With her pale pink lips, button nose and wide almond brown eyes, she was utterly stunning. Most would give her a glance and recognize this, but not put her above others. Yet in his mind she had not aged in a decade and was as perfect as the porcelain dolls that rested near their daughter’s bed. Her steps were soft up the stairs compared to his own, her fingers lightly rubbed the railing compared to his grasping. He would admire her as his counterpoint, his devil's advocate.

  “Are my little shrubs ready to take root?” Aldrich said as he entered his children’s room. Two small beds lay a few feet away from one another and the room was cluttered with dolls, and wooden and stuffed toys. In the beds were two children, only a year or so apart. One was a dark-haired boy, the other a slightly lighter haired girl. They lit up smiling as Aldrich entered the room.

  “Story time!” exclaimed the boy tucked beneath a thick, patchwork blanket. The young girl near him giggled and nodded along.

  “Alright, alright, here is one my mother used to tell me. Now, normally I would say this is a tale a little too mature for such young ears, but I do believe my two brave warriors can handle it,” Aldrich said as the children glowed in excitement and his wife sat beside him, arm around his lower back, her head resting on his shoulder.

  Aldrich went on to tell a much less detailed account of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. He spoke of the mad doctor and his assistant who raised the dead body up towards the sky that crackled with flashes of lightning. The children grew giddy as he told them of the lightning striking the monster, raising it to life, and of the excitement of Doctor Frankenstein and his dear friend Igor. He lumbered and stomped around the room, reenacting the movements and groans of the monster just as his own mother had done for him, causing his own children to chuckle softly. They grew sad at the part where the townspeople set fire to his home and blamed him for the death of the doctor. Finally, before he could finish the story, both children were fast asleep and the parents headed back downstairs. Aldrich to his seat, and his love to a whistling kettle in the kitchen.

  “The paper nods toward our section of London receiving that new electric system. Can you imagine it, Aldrich? No gas lamps, no candles, just glowing light.” She entered the living room with two steaming cups of tea.

  “I suppose the whole world will just be known as America soon enough, love,” he said sarcastically. “Beth, I would not dream of you having your hopes raised just for them to be crushed. London is in no place right now for these new systems.”

  “Well dear, I would dream of it. Sounds just… lovely,” Beth said with a rounded smirk as she sipped her tea and cuddled against Aldrich.

  The two shared conversation and tea by the aura given off by the gaslight in their home. They laughed, quipped at each other lovingly, shared the occasional kiss, and finally a sleepy Beth began to make her way to their bedroom. As she walked up the stairs, she gave Aldrich a final look, and said how much she loved him, before wandering to bed. No matter how often she said it, whether daily or hourly, it warmed him just the same. Soon he would wander down the stairs to the cellar and continue his work, but first he would want to finish his smoke from earlier.

  The streets were still damp and the gaslight lamps still glowing, but there was no wind. The clopping of footsteps rang and echoed through the streets, but Aldrich thought little of it. He took long pulls from his pipe, blowing out smoke as a dragon would with flames. The steps grew louder and much more rushed, but he still remained unconcerned. It was just as he entered his home that a man sprung from behind him and pressed something sharp against his back.

  “Money,” said the deranged voice. “All ya valuables now, give it here.”

  Aldrich turned around, hands raised and eyes focused. The man was a little feebler than he expected with fuzzy mutton chops, unkempt straggled hair, and teeth like a horse. His bushy brows were furrowed and beady eyes pointed up toward Aldrich. A thick, damp and dark cape rested on his shoulders covering his cheap clothing. He pondered if it was opium, absinthe, or both that drove this man the way he was. Aldrich leaned towards both.

  “Well, my good man, I can tell you that my possessions have little value,” Aldrich started. “Now I would be happy to gift you my golden egg although frankly it’s work is poor as of late.” He produced a small golden pocket watch and unclipped it from his side. “I also have a golden trim pen in my breast pocket.” He handed both items over to the odd man. “Now, I must be going inside.”

  As he turned the man pressed the blade to his back once again, “Said the money too,” he snarled.

  Aldrich turned back, angrier and more serious this time. “Look you bespawler, cumberground fool,” Aldrich grunted. “My possessions are enough to score you a good piss to drink at the pub, and a fine poppy clump for you to puff. But I must inform you that my coin is for my family and, much unlike a sprawling barn hog such as yourself, I worked for this money. Good night to you, sir.”

  “Aye, love,” said the disheveled man who became more and more unnerving, “thinks ya got it wrong, ya do. See here? I’m the Ripper, I am.”

  A chuckle broke out from Aldrich as he gleaned down at the man. He was far too intelligent for a charade such as this, and he knew that Jack the Ripper would not come after a man at this time of night for money. Jack went after the working woman of late-night London, and he did not rob them in the process. Aldrich grew tired of these games, and deep down he did really want to assist this man which is why he handed over his items so willingly. But he refused to argue with him anymore.

  “Alright, Jack. Allow me to just fetch the wallet from my pocket at my rear.” Aldrich moved his hand behind him slowly, but unknown to his assailant it was not into his back pocket but rather to the pistol he kept on him if he ever did run into the real Jack. His hand wrapped the wooden handle tightly, finger slid over the trigger. In one fast movement he moved his arm as a whip and flung the weapon out, its barrel pointed down toward the man at the bottom of his step.

  “Ya fuckin’ mad?” yelled the man with vigor. “I’m the RIPPER, wanker.” He pushed the knife forward with a little force, its tip slicing through the cover of his jacket and leaving a small incision on his stomach.

  With that, Aldrich now had motive and he pulled the trigger. The circular bullet sprung from the weapon and popped through the unknown man’s skull. Before Aldrich's eyes he witnessed the light dissipate from the stranger’s eyes and his body grow limp, falling to the stone below. The street lamp shone over his body like a spotlight, with his limp corpse sprawled like it was performing in the local theater. He looked down at what he had done, and for a moment he almost laughed thinking of what a world it would be if he truly had killed the Ripper. In a moment of clarity, he bent down and picked up the knife from the lifeless wretch beneath him and placed it into his pocket, knowing that any half-decent thief would clean out this body entirely long before the sun rose.

  Aldrich turned to walk inside when he suddenly felt something odd, as if his body were growing numb. First his fingers began to feel like he had put them in a jar full of cold needles, then his feet, now all of his limbs and he struggled to stand. Soon his entire body was numb.

  As if robotic in nature his hands moved without his command, his toes wiggled in his shoes. He could hear his own mouth laugh creepily but he was not in control. Screams came to mind, but nothing came from his mouth. He watched as the hand gripped the door, opened it, and closed it behind him. Aldrich stood in his own home, but the body acted as if it had never been here before. First business it attended to was to raid the pantry, gobbling down a loaf of homemade bread, gulping a near full bottle of wine followed by a warm beer for good measur
e. That was when his wife called from upstairs.

  “Are you ok, my dear?”

  Aldrich screamed inside but his body did something else.

  “Oi, love. Comin’ up now!” And it moved up towards her.

  Beth was taken back momentarily, for the voice of her husband was not that of the lower-class sort of Whitechapel. But, her husband was quite the storyteller after all.

  As the body entered the dark room the moonlight struck the bed to show the beautiful Beth laying on her back waiting for Aldrich. It was dark where Aldrich was, where he really was. Deep within himself with little understanding of what was happening, he watched his body move without his control and watched from eyes that were no longer his. He did not understand, he did not know who was doing this, but all that he did know was that he was undressing and that his clothes were falling to the floor of his bedroom. His wife smiled at him and removed her night gown revealing her pearlescent curved body. Aldrich fought his body to stop its movements but it was useless as the hand raised up, caressed her shoulder and down her bare back before pulling her close and tasting her lips.

  That night, Aldrich watched himself make love to the woman he adored. Only, it was not him. He knew it was someone else, and he even had the suspicion, due to timing, that it may be trickery from the man outside. In his own mind he wept, tears ran the course of his cheeks and dripped into the darkness. He lacked real existence yet his body was very real. He felt every push, he heard every groan, he even could feel her nails running the length of his back.

  “Time to lay your head and rest, Aldrich,” said Beth sweetly after their love making had ended. The body that was Aldrich, yet was not Aldrich, wandered toward the window and looked at its own reflection. It smiled the most horrific smile Aldrich had ever witnessed. It knew he was watching from inside.

  “Aldrich, is it? Fine name for a pompous, fat bloke like ya self,” he said to the windows reflection.

  “What?” asked Beth, very confused.

  “Said I ain’t the Ripper, you did. Well turns out ya right about that one. But, tonight, well, think I’ll try it out.” He was smug in his delivery, and Aldrich would have felt his heart stop and blood run cold if he could feel anything of his own at all. His body moved, he felt his back stretch as it bent over, and his fingers wrap around the knife in his coat pocket, taking it out slowly.

  Internally, he screamed. He shouted, and writhed, and fought with all of his fury and frustration. The more he screamed, the more he was overtaken by the pure silence that exuded from his mouth.

  Aldrich shuttered as he watched the knife plunge into Beth’s chest over and over. He witnessed the glowing red pour from her wounds and paint her pale skin. It dripped over her breasts, down her torso. Before she could scream it was already done. She laid still, cold, and so red. A laugh rang out in the night, echoed through the walls of the home.

  “Beth... no...” Aldrich said weeping. “P-please... Please not the kids...” he cried.

  That famous smile crawled over his own face again. “Oi, Aldy, what kind of man ya thinks I am?” his mouth said. “Got a fuck, killed the whore. Works done here, don’t need the kids.”

  Aldrich watched the blade approach his own throat, even felt the warmth of her blood against the skin of his neck.

  “Looks to me like we’re leavin’ together, Aldy.” The knife blade flashed before him. He could feel himself choking, gasping for breath, and watched the blood fall over the floor below. Aldrich regained control of his body for one moment, he could feel all of his senses taking hold again just as they were fading away into nothingness. He closed his eyes, and heard the small, gentle thuds of footsteps before opening them again, just a bit, only to see his children standing in the doorway, tears in their eyes, as everything faded to blackness.

  As it had happened with Jackson, Aldrich found himself in a glowing white light with two odd beings surrounding him. They spoke of duty, of revenge. Helping society by purging evil that possessed others. Yet he did not care for their words and did not trust what he called their sugary poison tongues. He informed them that he would never see his revenge, the killer was himself and the thing that possessed him was long gone. Usra spoke of his children, how they are now with Beth’s parents, and to that Aldrich only replied with, “Good.” He knew he could not see them after what happened, and they would be well cared for outside of London on the farm with their grandparents. Aldrich asked them for one thing only: passage through the North-Lane and into the arms of Beth once more so he could apologize and explain everything that happened. Usra left the decision to Azazel and disappeared.

  “Must have some thick guts up in ya to turn down an offer from us, love,” said Azazel in a dialect not unlike Aldrich's.

  “Just send me to her. I wish to converse no longer,” he said back.

  “We don’t offer the role often, the position of Order of Dust is one we hold most dearly,” Azazel said, walking in circles around him. “To deny it is of the greatest offense.”

  Aldrich remained stern, focused, and broken. He held no emotional ties. “Demon, release me from this limbo and send me to my love. ’Tis my only wish.”

  “How about you do just a single case for me as the Order? One fast case, then you will be on a voyage across the stars to intertwine with your sweet Beth.” Azazel smiled the same way as Aldrich’s reflection had in the window. “It’ll be hard to find her out there without me.”

  Aldrich awoke in a body that was not his own. As he moved, he could feel that it was not his joints, his skin, or his muscles. He didn’t know his surroundings; tall buildings stretched for what seemed like miles and tore across the puffy clouds. He walked out onto the street from the front door of the house that was not his, and could not understand the world he was in. Automobiles, electricity, and tobacco that was rolled and filtered. His body, this body, was sore as he moved more out into the unfamiliar world. He wandered up to someone walking past him.

  “What... what year is it? Where am I?” he asked confused.

  “Nice accent,” the girl said back in an accent completely unlike his own, “guess you are stationed out here then?”

  He did not understand what she meant, or where the accent was from. “Stationed?”

  “Um... yea... You are British right? Allied forces? Welcome to New York!” and she walked off down the concrete road.

  In front of the house that was apparently his was a newspaper, wrapped in twine. He quickly unraveled it and scoured the typed pages. Pages full of information on a massive war where America and Britain were allies, and he realized why the young lady was so quick to question his accent and ask if he was stationed here. He learned quickly from this that despite his new body, his accent and thoughts remained. As he continued his search, there were more war topics, more pictures, but still no date. He flipped through quickly, over and over, and then finally closed it and stared at the image on the front page of the American flag, and just at the top under the title there was a date.

  * * *

  1915…

  * * *

  It had been nearly thirty years. Three decades away from his children, and from his Beth. He did not know if it was rage, sorrow, or panic that fueled him, but he stepped inside of the house that he inherited and paced back and forth. He had to get in contact with them, the higher beings he met in the vast open space of Paragon. He thought of them, and with closed eyes said the name of the angelic Usra, but was met with no answer. He tried again, this time louder and with more intent and yet he remained in silence and stillness. He pictured the lanky man in his head, the tight suit, the blond hair and the big smile. Yet, his name slipped him. He sat on the couch, rested his head in his hands, and sulked for what may have been hours, or may have been days.

  When he finally rose,

  he stumbled through the odd home and eventually came across a dusty bathroom with a large mirror. At first, he could not believe what he saw. A scruffy man, only a little older than he was at the time of his
death yet much burlier and mildly unkempt, looked back at him. His clothing was heavy and brown which also explained the mix up with the young lady. Still, he knew he had come back here for a reason but had no idea what it was. A name flashed in his head like a dying light bulb.

  “Azazel?”

  An explosion of smoke marked his arrival. This was the first time he had seen his entrance which startled him. The grinning lunatic stood there in the bathroom with him, so close he could feel the chill, like that of a buried corpse, radiate from his skin. Azazel leaned in close, taking a deep look into his eyes before returning to his original position.

  “Aldrich, yes? Is that you in there?” Azazel asked with a touch of sarcasm.

  “What? How the hell do you not know, you bloody Devil! I believe it was you who sent me here, in this body and at this time,” Aldrich said, annoyed.

  “Been many years, good Aldrich. Lots of people similar to you come and go in my line of work, and where, or when, they arrive is not up to me.” The smile grew even larger, bending cheekbones and curling skin.

  “Is this man experiencing the same horror I did when I sat as but a passenger in a cold vessel?” he asked even as he would rather not know.

  A brief chuckle came from Azazel, “Of course not! I can’t simply force a possession on to another! No, that would be barbaric, and I have not toiled with barbarians in many a year,” he said. “No, Sergeant Jason had experienced much suffering during his time on the fields. Friends, men who trusted him, all brutally taken from him right before his eyes due to the horrors of this war. I broke our sacred barrier and came to him in his time of need, offered him something better if I could just take his body and free his soul which is what I believe you all call it right now.”