by Amy Cross
"That is enough for me," she says, resting her head on my shoulder. "A promise. A dream". She smiles. "A hope".
"If you -" I start to say, but at that moment I hear a noise downstairs. There is someone in my house, and I am quite certain that it is too soon for Martin to have returned from his journey to see Inspector Matthews. The only logical conclusion must be that Mr. White has arrived, in which case I imagine he is loitering in my study, waiting for me to go downstairs so that he can come up and cut Elizabeth's throat. There is a part of me that wants to find some way of smuggling her out, so that perhaps she can live and I will be the one who dies; but there is another part of me, a more logical part, that knows I must let her die so that perhaps the game itself will be ended forever. I just need to ensure that Inspector Matthews catches Mr. White and Lady Red in the act of getting rid of the body, and hopefully Elizabeth's death will not be in vain.
"What are you thinking about?" Elizabeth asks, her breath soft and warm on my skin. "Sometimes, dear Edward, I look into your eyes and see such turmoil. I know I am only a woman, but I rather hope that you feel you can confide in me, even if I do not entirely understand your needs".
I stare at the ceiling, imagining Mr. White waiting for me downstairs, a hunting knife already in his hand. This has happened dozens of times before, of course, but tonight I am filled with doubt. Is this really the best way for me to bring the game to a conclusion? Would it not be better to merely keep playing, and hope that I can win? Taking a deep breath, I find my mind filled with so many different strategies, it must be impossible to make a decision. Finally, however, I remind myself of all the girls whose lives will be saved if I am just strong enough tonight.
"You must wait here for a moment," I say, getting up from the bed. I walk over to the mirror and quickly get dressed, very much aware that Elizabeth is watching my every move.
"Are you going downstairs?" she asks.
"Just briefly," I say, careful not to look back over at her. "I must attend to some things".
"Might I come with you?" she continues. "It can be a little boring waiting up here all the time".
"No," I say. "You will only be alone for a moment". I walk to the door, and finally I glance back at her. She sits so expectantly and so happily on my bed, naked and a little flushed. I wish dearly that I could find some way to save her from the terrible fate that awaits her, and I cannot help but look at her neck and imagine Mr. White's blade slicing through her neck.
"What is wrong, Edward?" she asks. "You look so -"
"Nothing," I say. "Wait here". With that, I turn and leave the room, hurrying downstairs and finding Mr. White sitting at my desk, examining his large, jagged-edged knife. As soon as he sees me, he gets to his feet and walks straight over to the stairs. I want to tell him to be quick, and to show Elizabeth a little mercy, but I feel that I can do nothing that might arouse his suspicion. Instead, I walk over to my liquor cabinet and quickly pour myself a glass of whiskey, as I hear Mr. White's footsteps reach the top of the stairs. As I take a sip from my glass, I hear him open my bedroom door, and I brace myself for the sound of Elizabeth's screams.
Five
Today
Two hours after leaving London, I find myself staring out the window and watching as the world flashes past. We're on a motorway, and the conversation in the van has fallen dead. Rob's asleep next to me, and to be honest I'm really not feeling the whole rock n'roll lifestyle thing right now. The van is freezing cold, and I'm starting to get seriously hungry. I guess I bought into the romantic ideal of going on some kind of huge road trip, but I forgot that there'd be a load of interminable, boring bits in between the fun. Still, once we get to Exeter, I'm pretty sure things will pick up. The band will have to get set up, and I'll just sit around helping out. I wish I had a little more money, but hopefully the band's budget will stretch to a few drinks. The most important thing is that I get totally, blind drunk tonight and then, by the time I wake up tomorrow, my Dad's funeral will already have happened.
"You okay there, Elly?" one of the other guys asks. I don't even know his name.
"Yeah," I reply. "Thanks. You?"
"Yeah," he says. "Sorry, you just looked thoughtful. I wondered if something was wrong".
"No," I say. "Nothing. I was just thinking about stuff". To be honest, I was starting to wonder whether I should just go straight back to Bristol once I've been in Exeter. At least that way, I'd avoid having to see my mother again. She's going to be angry about me missing the funeral, and that's one confrontation I really don't need right now. I just want to keep all those messy emotions bottled up where they belong. Is that too much to ask for?
"Rob told us about your Dad," the guy continues. "That sucks".
"Yeah," I reply. Damn it, why did Rob blab out my private life? Now I'm going to spend the whole trip feeling like people are feeling sorry for me.
"So are you really not going to the funeral?" the guy asks.
"Really not".
"That's so crazy," he says. "I wish I'd had the guts to skip out when my sister died".
I stare at him for a moment. "Your sister died?"
"A couple of years ago," he says. "I totally didn't want to go to the funeral, but I didn't have the guts to just fuck off and forget about it".
I shrug. "It's not about guts," I say after a moment. "I just figured..."
"It's cool," he says. "You don't have to explain. If you didn't get on with your Dad, that's not your fault".
"I did get on with him," I say. "It's just..." The truth is, it's my mother who's the problem. I really don't think I can handle being around her at the funeral. She's so highly-strung and tense all the time, I feel like I'll end up with my hands around her throat.
"It's still pretty crazy," the guy says. There's an awkward pause, before he turns and looks back down at the book he's reading.
I take a deep breath. He's right: it is crazy. Then again, I doubt I'll end up regretting it. I mean, maybe when I'm a hundred years old, I'll look back and think it'd be nice if I'd gone to my own Dad's funeral, but I don't think it's going to be a lifelong, world-altering thing. I'm far more likely to look back and be glad I went to Exeter with the band. I can't help thinking about how pleased my Dad would be if he could see me now; he'd be egging me on, telling me that I'm living my life properly. He was a quiet guy, but he had a rebellious spirit and a good heart. He thought the most important thing was that people enjoyed themselves and really got out into the world.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing. Digging it out of my pocket, I see that my mother is trying to call me again. I stare at the screen, watching as her name keeps flashing. There's a part of me that wants to just answer and tell her what I'm doing, but I don't see why that's necessary. I've already sent her a text message explaining that I'll be out for most of the day. Later, I'm planning to send her another message, saying I'm stuck in Exeter and that I won't make it back to London in time for the funeral. Maybe that's the coward's way out, but I figure I just want to avoid a direct confrontation.
"Turn that thing off," Rob mumbles as he shifts a little in his seat.
As the phone stops ringing, I pause for a moment. He's right; I should turn it off, but there's some part of me that's determined to keep it on. It's almost as if I feel like it's a lifeline to the real world. Shoving it back into my pocket, I figure it'll be okay to keep it on for now. It's not like my mother's going to keep calling constantly, at least not until the evening, and by then I should be too drunk to care.
A few minutes later, however, I hear the phone ringing again. Quickly pulling it out, I'm about to reject the call when I see that it's not my mother this time. It's Mark. I pause, trying to work out what to do, but eventually I hit the button and answer.
"Hey," I say as the van continues to bump along the motorway.
On the other end of the line, Mark says something I don't quite catch. I can tell it's his voice, but there's not much signal and I can't make out any
words.
"I can't hear you properly," I say. "I don't have enough signal".
He speaks again, but it's still garbled. I try to work out what he's saying, but it's useless.
"I don't know if you can hear me," I continue, "but I can't hear you. I'm in a..." I pause for a moment. "I'm in a van. I'm on the road. Maybe if you try later, I'll be able to hear you. Is that okay?"
He says something, but I have no idea what.
"I'm going to put the phone down," I say. "Sorry, I really can't hear you". I wait, and the call cuts off. Sighing, I put the phone back in my pocket and look out the window. What the hell was Mark calling me for? I wasn't expecting to ever hear from him again, not after the awkward little moment the other night at the train station, when he kissed me and then couldn't wait to get rid of me. Turning and looking over at Rob, I start to wonder what the hell I'm doing here. Did I make a huge mistake?
Six
1895
"Are you going to help me or not?" Mr. White asks as he rolls Elizabeth's naked body onto the floor. I stare down with horror at her pale corpse, and at the jagged wound in her neck. Her dead eyes stare up at the ceiling, and I feel an overwhelming sense of horror at what has happened. Still, I remind myself of the most important thing: she is the last. Her death will mean no other girls have to die in this manner. I just wish I could get her screams out of my head.
"Yes," I say, putting my empty whiskey glass down on the desk. "What would you like me to do?"
"Hold her feet while I put her in the bag," Mr. White replies. "What the hell's wrong with you? I thought you'd done this plenty of times".
"Yes," I reply, reaching down and taking hold of Elizabeth's feet. Already, her body is ice-cold and a little stiff.
"You're acting rather strangely tonight," Mr. White continues as he starts slipping Elizabeth's corpse head-first into the large bag he brought for the occasion. "Perhaps I should not be so open with you, but I feel I should warn you. Lady Red is starting to worry about your state of mind, Edward. She thinks something's wrong. I told her she was imagining it, but right now I think perhaps she's onto something".
"I am fine, really," I say as I let go of Elizabeth's feet and they slip into the bag. I watch as Mr. White ties the top, and finally the body is ready to be moved. "It's just that I had high hopes for this girl," I continue. "She seemed so strong, and then she rather fell apart at the end".
"She put up quite a struggle," Mr. White replies, holding up his hand so that I can see a small wound below the thumb. "She bit me. Such an un-ladylike thing to do. She really struggled". He pauses for a moment, and then he takes his knife from the desk. "Listen to this noise," he says, as he cuts a corner of the bag; the blade makes a ragged tearing sound. "You hear that?" he continues. "Her skin made more or less the same sound when I was slitting her throat. Would you -"
"We should get going," I say firmly, glancing at the clock. If Martin delivered his message successfully, Inspector Matthews should be getting ready to head to the Thames soon. Assuming that my plan goes well, the aim is to ensure that he witnesses the moment when Lady Red and Mr. White dispose of Elizabeth's body.
"What's the rush?" Mr. White says. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink first?"
"Don't you think we should get the job done?" I ask, determined to get going.
"I'm just talking about one drink," he replies, "not an all-night party. Come on, man. Pour me a small whiskey. After everything I've done tonight, I think I deserve a drink".
Realizing that it's pointless trying to argue with him, I go to the liquor cabinet and quickly pour him a glass of whiskey.
"So was she good in bed?" he asks as he comes over to join me. "I must admit, she had a damn good body".
"She was..." I pause as I hand him the glass, and I try to decide how to describe her. "She was..." My voice trails off. "She was better than us," I say eventually. "She was good. If I might be so bold, I would venture to say that she did not deserve this fate". I stare at the bag on the floor. "She was an intelligent girl," I continue, "and she had real passion in her heart. I cannot help but think that maybe she should have been spared, but there is no room for mercy in the game. Those who are not destined to keep playing, must instead pay the ultimate price".
"Good whiskey," Mr. White says, finishing his drink quickly. "One more for the road?"
Sighing, I pour him another shot. "I must say," I continue, "that the former Mr. White never drank before disposing of a girl. In fact, I don't think I ever saw him drink alcohol on more than a couple of occasions. I was under the impression that Lady Red disapproves of such things while we are working".
"Lady Red says a lot of things," he replies with a shrug. "I don't know about you, Edward, but sometimes I think she's more trouble than she's worth".
"How so?" I ask.
He pauses for a moment. "Don't you ever think that the game could be more enjoyable if we changed the rules a little? I mean, I know that it's not our place to understand the whole thing, but I can't help wondering if maybe the game needs to be brought up to date a little. Why the hell should a couple of decent men, such as ourselves, take orders from some haughty bitch? Sometimes I think -" He smiles. "Never mind".
"What do you think?" I ask, keen to know what he's thinking.
"Sometimes I think we'd be better off without her," he continues. "Damn it, you mustn't tell her I said that. I know it's against the rules to even question Lady Red's authority, but I feel like she ties us up in knots. I just wish I could get a look at that book she keeps hidden away. I want to know what's really going on, and why we really play this game". He turns to me. "Don't you ever feel like that, Edward? Don't you ever feel like maybe the terms of the game need to change?"
I stare at the bag containing Elizabeth's body, and I realize that Mr. White and I are perhaps more alike than I had previously realized. It occurs to me that maybe I could find another way to end the game; maybe I could even turn Mr. White against Lady Red, and use him to get rid of her. Still, now that Elizabeth is dead, I feel that I have chosen my path. Besides, it would be too easy for Lady Red to die at Mr. White's hands; rather, I want to see her swing from the gallows for what she has done, with Mr. White right next to her. The game has gone on for far too long.
"Forget I said anything," Mr. White continues, finishing his whiskey. "For God's sake, don't breathe a word of any of this to Lady Red, okay? I was just thinking out loud". He takes a deep breath. "You know what? I think we should get on with the task at hand and start getting rid of this girl's body".
"Elizabeth," I say suddenly.
"I beg your pardon?"
I turn to him. "Her name was Elizabeth. I just thought you should know".
"I already knew," he replies. "I just didn't particularly feel like calling her by her name". He sniffs. "Although, come to think of it, I seem to recall that maybe I used her name while I was holding her down on the bed and getting ready to cut her throat. Damn it, she put up such a fight. I could really see it in her eyes that she didn't want to die. She was absolutely terrified, especially when she saw the blade. Did you hear her screaming?"
"Briefly," I say, shuddering at the memory.
"I kept my hand over her mouth," he continues, walking over to the body. "She's a light girl, but it'll still be easier with two of us to carry her. My carriage is waiting outside, so we'll just take her straight to the river. Lady Red said she'd be waiting, though I should warn you that she didn't sound too happy about the whole thing. Between you and me, I don't think she really wants to be out on such a cold night".
"I'm sorry to have inconvenienced her," I say, helping Mr. White to pick up Elizabeth's body. We carefully carry the bag through to the hallway, at which point I find that Martin has returned home. He glances at the bag, but he understands what is happening and I am quite certain he can be trusted to remain quiet.
"I had a successful trip," Martin says as we carry the bag past him. "If there is nothing else, Sir, I shall retire for the nig
ht".
"Very good, Martin," I say, my heart buoyed by the idea that he has delivered the message to Inspector Matthews. As long as Matthews is a man of his word, my plan is going perfectly. After all this time, it is looking increasingly possible that the game will be over within the next hour, in which case I shall feel that all my actions will have been justified. The game has been played for over a century, and if I do not intervene tonight, it will probably last as long again. I must make sure that I remain focused on the fact that everything I do in the next hour will be designed to ensure that the game is stopped. I can only hope that Inspector Matthews is, at this very moment, getting ready to come and witness the dark events that will transpire at the edge of the river as we dispose of Elizabeth's body.
Seven
Today
"I'm just gonna make a phone call," I say as Rob and I climb out of the van. We're at a motorway service station somewhere near Salisbury, which means we're about halfway to Exeter, and I figure I might as well try to call Mark and see what he wanted.
"Cool," Rob says. "By the way, have you got any money? I really want a bottle of water or something".
"Actually," I reply, "I'm a little broke. Sorry".
"Just a couple of pounds would do it," he continues.
"Sorry," I say.
"No problem," he replies, following the other guys inside while I decide to stay out in the car park. As I pull my phone out of my pocket, I start to wonder what we're going to eat and drink for the next twenty-four hours. I guess the band are going to get paid when we get to Exeter, but I'm starving and it doesn't look like there's much chance of any food showing up. I think I've got about twenty pounds on my card, but I really don't want to spent that on food for the others, so I guess I have to be a little sneaky.
