by Amy Cross
Six
1896
Turning the key in the lock, I push the door open and step into my building. I pause for a moment, listening out for any sign that I'm being followed. While I'm quite certain that D'Oyly and his associates have got their eyes on me, I've not detected any sign that they're on my trail. I've been in this business for many years, and I always felt that it would be impossible for anyone to follow me without giving away some subtle sign. Perhaps I've over-estimated my abilities, or under-estimated theirs, but either way I'm starting to feel confident about this plan. The other option is that perhaps for some reason they might have given up their pursuit of me, but that simply isn't possible. They're around somewhere, hiding in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment. The only thing I know for sure is this: they want me dead.
I walk through to the kitchen, pausing for a moment to check my appearance in the mirror while once again listening out for some kind of clue. Perhaps I'm overly paranoid, but I feel almost as if I can sense some kind of danger nearby. I'm quite sure that one of them, probably D'Oyly or Harrison Blake, is close to me, and all I have to do is make sure that I'm not jumped by him. If I can face him directly, I'm confident I can defend myself. Still, I'm not sure that these people play by the rules, and I fear that my opponent might be carrying a gun. I've never been able to respect someone who uses a gun, since they are able to attack from a distance. I want a fair fight, but if my opponent tonight is a coward, I still have a good chance. I just have to keep listening for the sound of a pistol being cocked. Fortunately, I also have a secret weapon of my own...
"In here!" a voice calls out suddenly.
I freeze, shocked that an intruder should identify himself so willingly. I recognized the voice immediately: Vincent D'Oyly is in my home, but I have to be careful. He clearly doesn't mind letting me know that he's here, which means he feels supremely confident. It's entirely possible that he has brought company; perhaps he aims to engage me in conversation, in order to distract me while Harrison Blake slips up behind me and cuts my throat. Taking a deep breath, I cautiously walk through to the front room, where I find D'Oyly sitting in the darkness by the window.
"I'm sorry," I say, "you must think I'm a terrible host. If I'm absolutely honest, I don't even remember inviting you into my home".
"There's no need to apologize," he replies. "I helped myself to a glass of wine from your cabinet, Mr. Pope". He pauses to take a sip. "Interesting choice. You must have a very tolerant palate".
Glancing back into the hallway, I listen out for any sign that someone else is nearby. It's hard to believe that a weedy little thing like D'Oyly would come alone, especially since I have something of a reputation around London. Then again, perhaps the little wretch has some tricks up his sleeve. I've learned over the years to never under-estimate anyone. Even a wiry-looking piece of shit can have some dangers.
"Relax," D'Oyly continues. "We're quite alone, Mr. Pope. I didn't feel the need to bring any back-up".
"Forgive me if I don't believe you," I reply.
"Please," he replies, "stop apologizing for things. I completely understand your reluctance to let your guard down". He stares at me for a moment, clearly studying me. "I felt it was time that we met, Mr. Pope. It seems we have been circling one another for quite some time, and the problem with such situations is that it can be very easy for mis-understandings to develop".
I wander over to the window and take a look out at the deserted street. It's late at night, and the only people who are out and about at a time like this are the ones who are up to no good.
"You're quite right to be cautious," D'Oyly continues. "After all, the recent death of your associate Mr. Blake must surely have caused you some concern. Unfortunately, he had become a serious liability, and we had no choice but to end his life. I hope a man of your experience will be able to understand the need for secrecy".
Turning to him, I try to work out why he's here. It seems highly unlikely that he's here for a simple confession, which means he must feel he can talk freely to me because there's no danger that I'll get a chance to use my information. In other words, he's confident that I won't get out of this room alive, which means either that he's planning to kill me, or he's got one of his associates waiting nearby.
"I have been asked to tell you that Lady Red is very impressed by your abilities," he continues after a moment. "She has noted the way you uncovered certain details about our activities, and she believes you are by far the most capable private investigator she has ever encountered. You certainly put the amateurism of Inspector Matthews to shame, Mr. Pope. In fact, we have subsequently done some digging into your own abilities, and you have proven to be a very resilient fellow. It seems half of London's criminal underworld would like to get ahold of you, and yet you elude them all. You must be a man of very particular skills".
"I get by," I reply, still trying to assess the situation.
He laughs. "How easy you make it sound! Why, in this day and age, it is so hard for a man to live a truly private life. There are always those around who wish to poke into one's business. I sometimes feel that it is impossible to keep anything hidden". He stares at me. "Some things need to remain hidden, Mr. Pope. If they come out into the cold light of day, they will wither and die. When something is worth preserving, one must go to extraordinary lengths to ensure that it is not destroyed. I hope you understand".
"I do," I reply, starting to feel as if D'Oyly's aim with this conversation is to slowly build a rationale for sticking a knife between my ribs.
"As I'm sure you'll appreciate," he continues, "our usual policy is to simply kill those who cause us problems. You've undoubtedly gained some understanding of how we operate. You're probably wondering, therefore, why we haven't yet moved against you. No doubt, you expect me to make an attempt on your life right here, tonight, in this very room. Well, Mr. Pope, the good news is that there might be a way out for you after all. Would you be interested in learning how you can escape a certain death?"
"By breaking your skull open?" I ask, smiling.
He laughs. "That would certainly be one option," he says, "if you were capable of such a thing. No, Mr. Pope, we must be more realistic. I'm sure you know that I would never have come here if there was even the slightest chance you could hurt me. What I'm offering you, in fact, is an altogether more permanent way out of your difficult situation. Lady Red has asked me to test the waters, so to speak, and determine if you might be interested in joining our payroll".
I pause for a moment. Of all the things I was expecting him to say, this was definitely not one of them. It's a trap. It has to be. The only explanation is that they want me to let my guard down for a moment so they can get to me, which means one of two things: either they're wary of me and they're not certain they can just cut me down the same way they killed Matthews; or they think they can gain something from me.
"What about a drink?" he says. "I see you have a rather fine taste in spirits".
Shrugging, I walk over to the little bar cabinet in the corner of the room. "What do you want? Whiskey?" I grab a bottle and turn to him. "It's all I have".
"I'm sure it will be most acceptable," he replies.
After pouring a couple of glasses, I put the bottle back and set his whiskey in front of him. "You know something, Mr. D'Oyly... Or do you prefer to be called Mr. Blue?"
"Mr. D'Oyly is fine," he says, picking up his whiskey but not yet taking a sip.
"I'm starting to think you were telling the truth when you said you came alone," I tell him. "Believe me, if someone comes within ten feet of me, I know about it. Where's your associate Mr. White? I thought he usually did the dirty jobs?"
"Not at all," he replies. "It rather depends upon the qualities of Mr. Blue. The previous Mr. Blue was by all accounts a somewhat cautious man, whereas I have an appetite for adventure".
I smile. "Is that why you came here and poisoned my whiskey?" Seeing a flicker of recognition in his eyes, I set my glass back do
wn. "You know, Mr. D'Oyly, some might consider that to be a very un-gentlemanly thing to do. Frankly, I think it reflects rather badly on you. It makes you seem weak and scared".
"On the contrary," he says, "I think it shows that I am a man of mercy. I wanted to spare you a painful death, so I was willing to let you just slip into sleep. Consider the gesture to be a sign of my esteem for your abilities, Mr. Pope. Whereas killing Inspector Matthews was a rather easy and boring process, I am finding you to be far more interesting". He gets up from the chair and takes a step toward me. "Still, if you refuse to go quietly, I suppose we shall have to do this in a more unpleasant manner".
"You seem very confident," I say.
He says nothing. He just smiles, taking another step toward me.
"No knife?" I ask.
"I find knifes to be ungainly," he says. "Knives and guns are the work of cowards. A real gentleman uses nothing more than his bare hands, whether he is attacking or defending".
"Very honorable," I say. "There's not a lot of honor about in the world these days".
"Quite".
"But if I'm going to die," I reply, "then perhaps at least you'll do me the favor of answering one question before the curtain comes down. It's something that's been puzzling me for a while, and I'm afraid I would hate to bow out before I know the truth".
"By all means," he says, taking another step toward me. I back away a little, but there's not much room.
"I was just wondering about the girls who are killed," I continue. "My understanding is that they're sexually initiated, so to speak, by Mr. Blue, and then the successful ones are passed on to Mr. White while the unsuccessful ones have their throats cut. That's correct, isn't it?"
"More or less," he says. "The game is very flexible, so the minutiae of the rules change with the times. But you are essentially correct".
I nod. "So here's my question. Why kill them? Why not just let them go? I don't see why they have to die, unless you go out of your way to tell them about the game? Surely a more discreet approach could be found? One that doesn't involve dumping so many bodies in the river?"
He smiles. "But then wouldn't things become a little boring? Besides, we don't want a gaggle of silly young women running around, complaining about their treatment at our hands". He stares at me for a moment. "Now that I've answered your question, Mr. Pope, I feel that it's time to get on with the business at hand".
"Absolutely," I say, "although -" Suddenly I lunge at him, with the intention of knocking him to the ground. To my surprise, he proves to be much sturdier that I had imagined, and he remains entirely upright while throwing me against the wall. I crash down to the floor, stunned by the force I just experienced. Looking over at the desk in the corner, I realize my best chance now is to get to the gun I keep hidden in a panel at the back, but as I try to get to my feet, I feel D'Oyly grab my collar and haul me back toward him.
"I'll make this quick," he says, turning and slamming my head against the side of the drinks cabinet before shoving me to the floor. For a moment, I feel like I'm about to pass out, but I quickly gather my wits and roll out of the way just as D'Oyly brings his boot smashing down toward my head. He misses me by barely an inch or two, but I'm able to grab a small statue from a nearby table and swing it at his head. I clip the side of his cheek and he steps back, giving me time to reach the desk and reach around to the back. I manage to get the panel open but, as I grab the gun, D'Oyly pulls me back and slams my head against the wall. I drop to the ground, barely able to see, and I feel him drag my body across the room. Although I struggle to get back up onto my feet, a sharp pain shoots through my left leg as D'Oyly stamps down on the bone, snapping it just above the knee. I cry out in pain, but D'Oyly has already started to roll me over so he can look down into my face.
"You put up a good fight," he says, a little out of breath and looking rather disheveled, with a gash on his cheek from where I managed to strike him with the statue. "Not good enough, though," he adds, raising his boot above my face.
Realizing I'm out of time, I decide to try one last, desperate move. As he slams his foot down, I move my head out of the way and use the moment of uncertainty to knock his other leg from under him. He falls forward, banging his face against the window, and I haul myself up, ignoring the searing pain in my leg as I grab the back of his head and slam it into the glass. Thankfully, the glass shatters, giving me the chance to pull D'Oyly's head back a little and then force his neck down onto the jagged shards. He splutters and struggles, but I slice his neck along the shards. Blood erupts from the wound, squirting against the wall and flowing down to the floor. He continues to fight back, but I keep slice his neck until I feel that I've got through to the bone, at which point I push down one final time, and his body falls still.
Stepping back, I see that a veritable sea of blood has flowed out of his body. I turn to walk away, but my leg gives out and I drop to the floor. The pain is immense, but I drag myself toward the door. D'Oyly's clearly dead, but I have no doubt that his friend will be along shortly if they don't hear from him. Fighting the agony, and still feeling a little dazed, I manage to crawl to the hallway and through to the kitchen. Eventually I make it out into the alley that runs behind my home. I roll onto my back and stare up at the stars, and I realize I have nowhere to go. I can't go for medical treatment, and I can't go to the police; whatever I do, they'll find me. I have no friends and no family in the world. All I have is pain. I try to get up, but the agony in my leg overpowers me. As I drop down to the dark, dirty ground, I look up at the night sky and scream in frustration.
Seven
Today
"There," I say as I finish dabbing at the wound on Mark's back. "All done". I put the lid back onto the bottle of anti-bacterial solution. At least the wound is clean, even if it still looks red raw and sore. I can't help but notice that he has several scars all over his back; I guess I'm not the first person who has been allowed to use the whip on his body.
"It'll heal soon," he says, turning to me with a curious look in his eyes. It's almost as if he sees me differently, as if I managed to surprise him. Is that possible? After all this time of feeling Mark was completely in control of our budding relationship, have I finally managed to do something that genuinely shocked him? Have I surprised him by proving that I'm willing to do this kind of thing?
"Are you okay?" I ask.
He nods. "Why wouldn't I be?" I can tell, though, that something's bothering him.
"I'm glad you came," I say.
He smiles awkwardly, and it occurs to me that maybe he's embarrassed. After all, he told me repeatedly that he finds it hard to cum, so maybe he doesn't usually ejaculate when he's with a woman. I decide not to broach the subject, figuring that it's probably not something he's comfortable discussing. Still, I can't deny that I feel a slight thrill at the thought that maybe I pushed Mark outside his comfort zone, just as he pushed me out of mine.
"I have something for you," he says, leaning over and pulling open the draw of his bedside table. He takes out a length of fabric. "Turn around".
I smile, not sure what he wants. "What for?"
"Just do it," he says, with a deadly serious look on his face.
Figuring I might as well see what he's got planned, I turn my back to him. Seconds later, he reaches around and places the fabric over my eyes, before tying it up behind my head.
"A blindfold?" I say, shocked. "Seriously?"
Instead of replying, Mark pushes me back down onto the bed. I take a deep breath. Having assumed that we were kind of done after Mark came, I'm surprised to find that he seems to want to continue. With my eyes wide open, I stare into the darkness of the blindfold and listen as Mark moves around the room. I have no idea what he's planning next, but I figure there's nothing that can be more over the top that the whip. I was kind of worried he was going to get out a leather gimp costume, or maybe some hooks or knives. Compared to that kind of thing, a little light messing around with a blindfold is nothing.
"So what's this about?" I ask.
Silence.
"Okay," I say under my breath, as I hear the bedroom door open; moments later, I realize Mark has left the room. I figure the only thing to do right now is to wait, but after a few more minutes I start to wonder if he's ever coming back. Sighing, I sit up on the bed and listen for any sign that he might be nearby.
"Don't get up," Mark says suddenly, and I realize he'd already come back without me hearing. Maybe I'm imagining things, but there's suddenly something kind of different about his tone of voice. It's as if something fundamental has changed in his heart.
"Sorry," I say, lying flat on my back again. I listen to Mark's footsteps as he moves past the bed, and finally I feel his hands on my feet. He slowly parts my legs, and I take a deep breath as I feel him climbing onto the bed. Soon he's right next to me, running his hand over my naked body, cupping my right breast and gently twisting the nipple. A pulse of excitement runs through my body and I take a deep breath, determined to stay calm. I force a smile as his hand moves down to my waist, and it feels as if he's examining every inch of my body. Even though Mark and I have spent the past few hours making love, I feel more exposed than ever before. I can't help but imagine Mark's eyes staring at my nakedness; I imagine him staring at my breasts, and then looking down at my crotch. I don't know what he's waiting for; maybe he's not waiting for anything, and he just wants to look at me. For the first time in my life, a man sees me as a sexual person.
