Lay Down Your Hand

by Cherie Mitchell

  “You seem to know a lot about serial killers.” This was tricky territory for him. Here he was encouraging a conversation about the same kind of sick individual who had killed Annie. He certainly didn’t care about any difficulties that the monster might’ve suffered – everyone had challenges to face yet not everyone was driven to take the hate in their heart out on innocent women. In fact, he hoped the man had lived an appallingly awful and miserable life and would continue to do so.

  She smiled faintly. “I do know a lot about them, and that’s the reason why the corporation selected me as an agent. We all specialise in different fields.”

  “Can you tell me anything about the corporation?” He thought it was worth asking. Amy was certainly more open and communicative than Ramona, more willing to give detailed replies to his numerous questions.

  She waved a playful finger at him. “Now you really are pushing your luck.”

  “If you don’t ask, you don’t get,” he retorted just as playfully. He was enjoying their banter. For a man who’d spent his single life before he met Annie flattering and wooing women for his own salacious benefit, it made a nice change to be able to count two such modern, intelligent, and sassy women as Ramona and Amy as his friends. Perhaps there was something in their assertion that gender equality had its place in the world, although he wouldn’t go as far as to admit that just yet. He needed more proof before he could put his hand on his heart and agree, and such proof might be hard to find.

  Amy, who seemed to miss nothing, had picked up the faint note of innuendo in his tone. “You were used to getting your own way back in your time, weren’t you?”

  He boldly met her gaze. “Whatever do you mean?”

  She tipped her head back and laughed, giving him ample time to admire the pretty curve of her throat. “You can’t fool me. You know what I’m talking about. I’m willing to bet that until Annie Jones captured your heart, you stole far too many to be able to count.”

  He twinkled his eyes at her, allowing his gaze to speak for itself. “A gentlemen doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  “So if you adore women so much, why are you such a chauvinist?”

  He couldn’t immediately determine the meaning of the word. The era decoder hummed lightly against his wrist until the translation came through. The belief or prejudice that women are inferior to men. He stumbled over his own explanation. “I would not describe myself so harshly. I don’t think women are inferior but I know without a doubt that they are the weaker sex. It has always been that way.” Elliot now produced his ace. He’d been waiting for this moment ever since he eavesdropped on the conversation between Amy and Shaun at the wine bar. “Besides, you too have a certain level of prejudice. Didn’t I hear you call a man stupid to his face after knowing him for a matter of twenty minutes or less?”

  Amy’s already rosy colouring heightened, highlighting the faint sprinkle of freckles across her nose. “Touché. I deserved that. However, I’m willing to admit that I said that whereas you seem determined to argue with me over every little point I make.” She produced her own ace. “You have to remember that I’ve read your personnel file and I know more about your habits, thoughts, and activities than you could ever imagine.”

  Elliot cleared his throat. He cringed to think of her poring over his file, whatever that dubious tome might contain. It was probably in his best interests to change the subject before he heard something he’d prefer not to know. “Let’s get back to Louise. You haven’t told me why she seems familiar enough to the Knave that he’s stepped outside his usual criteria in choosing victims.”

  “She reminds him of his foster mother, a woman who showed him a certain amount of kindness in a childhood mostly devoid of love and affection.”

  Ah, so it seemed a monster was capable of emotion – or was he? He knew Amy’s response would tell him all he needed to know. “In that case, in the current version of the future, the one where the Knave isn’t stopped and Louise isn’t escorted to safety, does she lose her life at his hands?”

  Amy’s face was grim beneath the sheltering shade of her sunhat. “She will lose her life unless we prevent it. She will say something during their meeting that will force his hand. I don’t know what it is, but apparently it’s enough to anger him and make him decide that she must die. You might have the opportunity to overhear it while you’re trailing them. Naturally, regardless of whether you overhear that conversation or not, your mission is to ensure that Louise gets home safely and that the Knave doesn’t go ahead with his murderous plan. Aside from the obvious, there’s been an immense effort made on the part of the corporation to ensure the future contains a physically fit and well Louise. Every person in this world is connected to an untold number of events and a domino effect occurs if someone is removed or reinstated. This operation is incredibly delicate and it has taken years of planning. The manpower involved in the project is enormous.”

  Manpower. Had she noticed her wording? Elliot silently added another point to his own argument for a natural imbalance of the sexes. “You can rely on me to keep her safe. Thank you, I appreciate your insight.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” She gracefully pushed herself to her feet and flipped out her skirt from where it lay creased against the smooth skin at the back of her thighs. Elliot made the most of the delightful view before he stood up himself.

  She stooped to pick up the discarded wrappings from their lunch. “Are you ready to go? I wouldn’t mind grabbing a coffee before we head home. All that talking has made me thirsty. You’ll receive an email later today with Louise’s photograph and the details of where the meeting will take place. I have no doubt that everything will go smoothly.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Elliot spent the next day alone, driving without a destination in mind and relishing the unsurpassed freedom of four wheels. He thought a lot about what Amy had said about the equality issue but try as he might, he couldn’t reconcile himself completely to the idea that women could make independent choices and decisions without the superior assistance of men. It was against the natural order of things, unless a woman happened to be born of royal blood. Another important fact, and he wished he’d had the presence of mind to mention this to Amy yesterday, was that Queen Victoria’s most trusted senior advisors were all men! How could Amy explain her way out of that one?

  He’d formed his own opinion of the mysterious corporation too. The anonymous members of that group were obviously men and despite the fact that Ramona, and to a lesser extent Amy, held responsible positions within the lower echelons, they must work in the employment of males and under the guidance of males. Manpower. Satisfied that he’d answered all of his own questions, he found a burger restaurant to sit and eat lunch his lunch at leisure as he watched the curiosities of the modern world go by.

  Later that evening, he showered and changed, dressing appropriately for another night of drizzly rain. The sunshine and blue skies of yesterday hadn’t lasted but that was London for you. If there was one thing a man could rely on, it was that a man couldn’t rely on the weather. He dressed in his smart trousers and a pale blue shirt, adding his beloved overcoat as he left the apartment. Louise and the Knave were meeting at another wine bar, a different venue from last time, and he wanted to be there early just in case he suffered another disastrous hiccup as in the previous assignment – not that it could ever happen again. He checked his era decoder again before he walked out onto the street, making sure it was fastened securely and unlikely to slip off regardless of how many rogue rubbish bins he encountered.

  The tube station was located several blocks from the wine bar and he left there to hurry through the rain, keeping close to the shelter of the tall buildings crowded against the side of the footpath. He was back in his old stomping ground tonight, walking the streets of Whitechapel, and some of the sights that loomed up in the lamp lit shadows were eerily familiar. His destination was the St. Katharine Docks, although from what he’d seen so far, this part of the
city was very different from the one he remembered. The squalor had gone and in its place was an enticingly seductive scene of bright lights, fun, and laughter. Instead of horses and donkeys there were cars, taxis, buses, and motorbikes and instead of stinking piles of horse manure lying thick on the streets the asphalt was clean and bare. The endless, choking smoke of innumerable brick kilns and domestic fires was gone and now there was simply the ever present fug of diesel fumes, although the drizzle had dampened the smell from untold vehicle exhausts into a flat, oily wetness tonight.

  The rain was heavier now and Elliot quickened his step, flipping up his collar to keep the back of his neck dry. He was used to being miserably wet but it was surprisingly easy to grow used to new comforts. His friend Robert had a vest made of Welsh flannel, a high quality fabric designed to draw the sweat and dampness away from the body and keep a person as warm as a freshly baked crumpet. He smiled to himself as he thought of his friend now. Robert used to boast that his family once had an estate complete with servants, a forge, and a pond full of ducks, but his grandfather lost most of it through his love of gambling. Still, Robert was materially wealthier than Elliot had ever been and he’d kept an innate sense of self-worth that was many levels above his current living situation. Elliot wondered if Robert had noticed yet that he was no longer around. The two men would sometimes go weeks without seeing each other and they hadn’t socialised much lately so it was unlikely that he was too concerned about his absence.

  Elliot had reached the wine bar now. The building was ablaze with welcoming lights offering a weary traveller a haven from which to escape the rain. A tavern in the town, an essential roadside commodity for as many years as men had looked to the horizon and made their journeys. For the first time, he would be within spitting distance of the Knave, a man cut form the same vile cloth as the madman who had stolen Annie’s life from her. Taut with apprehension and with his heart racing at an unrestrained gallop, Elliot pushed open the door and stepped into the cosy warmth.

  He spotted Louise immediately. She was clearly older than most of the other patrons here but she carried herself in a manner that fitted both the venue and the atmosphere. She wore her blonde hair in a short, flattering style, her cheekbones shone with a shimmery substance that highlighted their shape and curve, and her trim figure, or at least the parts of it that Elliot could see of it from where he stood, was pleasing to the eye. She sat at a corner table, with a colourful drink in a fancy glass on the table in front of her and her gaze on the door.

  Elliot was too nervous to order himself a drink. He leaned against the wall on the other side of the room from Louise’s table and pretended to check his phone, although he remained acutely alert for any sign of movement over by the door. He didn’t have to wait long. Just a few minutes after he entered the premises, a man wearing a black coat very similar to his own and a black cloth cap pulled low on his brow walked into the bar. His arrogance was unmistakable as he gazed around, skimming his eyes haughtily across the room as if he owned it. Without any argument, this was the Knave.

  He walked past Elliot without acknowledging him, giving no indication that he’d seen him or cared that he was here. Elliot’s nostrils filled with the smell of cigarette smoke that clung to the man’s clothes as thoroughly as liberally applied cologne. From this near distance, Elliot could see the five o’clock shadow on his jaw, his thick, dark brows, and the cruel line of his mouth. The man was handsome enough but the pall of arrogance that hung over him hinted at his darker side. Unfortunately, Elliot knew only too well just how repulsively dark that side of him really was.

  The Knave greeted Louise politely and from the look on the woman’s face, she was happy enough with what she saw. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, touched her hand to her hair, and fluttered her heavily mascara-ed eyelashes, employing the age-old methods of flirtation that Elliot knew so well. The Knave gave her a wry smile that failed to reach his eyes and sat down opposite her without removing his coat.

  Elliot moved away from his spot by the wall and walked across to a recently vacated table behind the couple, as if he’d planned to sit there all along. The couple who’d sat here before him had left two empty beer bottles on the table top and he moved one of the bottles nearer, as if he were drinking from it himself. He could hear snippets of the Knave and Louise’s conversation but it was impossible to get any closer without drawing attention to himself. They were talking now about a West End play they both wanted to see, although Elliot guessed that the Knave was feigning a common interest to keep the conversation flowing smoothly.

  Over the next ten minutes, the couple’s chatter progressed through a range of casual subjects and Louise laughed often, apparently amused by the Knave’s comments. Elliot stifled a yawn. He’d imagined that a serial killer’s conversations would be at the least thought-provoking and at the most outrageous, but it seemed the Knave was willing to let Louise steer the topics as she chose. Elliot had idly begun to scroll through his phone when Louise’s sudden change in tone caught his attention. He leaned in, placing his elbows on the table and hunching forward as he strained his ears to listen.

  “I don’t agree with that sentiment,” Louise was saying now. “I believe the state welfare system is full of cracks and it needs a lot of work. The children who fall through those cracks are the ones who suffer the consequences.”

  Elliot wasn’t sure how they’d managed to reach this controversial topic given the Knave’s own personal history within the state system. From the tension now evident in the set of the man’s shoulders, he probably would’ve preferred it if they were still discussing West End shows. The Knave muttered something low and indiscernible in response to Louise’s comment and she glowered back at him, all sign of flirtatiousness now gone. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say and it was also very rude. Look, I’ve changed my mind about this. We obviously have nothing in common after all. I’d like to say it was nice to meet you but I don’t think it was.” Moving swiftly, she climbed off her wooden stool and stooped to pick up her blazer and umbrella from the seat beside her, avoiding the Knave’s eyes. She’d already turned her body towards the door, positioning herself for a hasty exit. “Good evening.” She walked stiffly away and left the bar without looking back.

  The Knave waited until she’d walked past the window and disappeared from view before casually leaving the table. With his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, he sauntered across the short distance to the door and stepped outside, heading in the direction of the Tower of London as Louise had done just moments before.

  Elliot’s heart began to gallop again. He walked with unhurried haste to the door, counting slowly to ten before opening it and stepping back out into the omnipresent rain. He could see the Knave ahead of him, his hands still out of sight in his pockets and his shoulders hunched against the driving rain as he doggedly followed the clip-clop sound of Louise’s heels on the tiles and the cheerful bob of her orange umbrella. In his hat and dark clothes, the man could be any anonymous stranger striving to get to his destination without becoming too drenched.

  Elliot set off in determined pursuit, keeping himself close to the darkened side of the footpath and away from the revealing light of the lamps. He was on his home turf now and despite the various changes to the architecture over the centuries, he knew these streets exceedingly well. Louise would not fall victim to the Knave’s depravity tonight, not while Elliot Cinder was here to protect her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Knave stopped walking and turned his head to glance back down the street, his eyes hidden beneath the peak of his cap. Elliot hurriedly pressed himself up against a wall, flattening his body and holding his breath to prevent a tell-tale puff of steam from escaping his lips. They had just passed the Dicken’s Inn, the sight of which had taken Elliot by surprise. He’d lifted many a tankard of beer inside those rough-hewn walls and he’d scuffed his boots through the sawdust strewn floor on many occasions. He may have even slept there once, in those f
irst dreadful days after the loss of Annie, made insensible through downing too much liquor before passing out in a corner.

  The Knave walked on, turning off the main street just as Louise had done to follow the narrow curve of Cloister Walk. Elliot knew with certainty that if the Knave attacked her this evening, it would be down here in some dark alcove or doorway. It was almost time to show himself, to the Knave at least, and let the man know that his murderous plot had no place here. Louise’s heels echoed on the cobblestones ahead of them, her stride even and resolute. She certainly wasn’t running or in any sort of panic, signalling that she had no idea she had two focused and determined followers with very different outcomes on their minds.

  Elliot wiped the rain out of his eyes and tugged his collar a little higher to cover his ears. He didn’t intend that the Knave should see his face or recognise him from the wine bar. That would ruin any future chances to trail him. He saw the Knave lengthen his step, quickly closing the distance between himself and his unsuspecting prey, and Elliot sped up his own stride with the knowledge that a window of opportunity was about to open. He shoved his hand into his pocket and gripped his phone, his finger blindly finding the volume button. He’d taken the time to set his music app while he sat in the wine bar and then he’d turned it to mute, ready for this moment.

  The sudden blare of pop music was unexpectedly loud and it instantly had the desired effect. The Knave whirled around and even Louise’s even footsteps faltered for a brief second. Elliot kept his head low as he passed the Knave, trotting along to the jaunty tune of an old Spice Girl’s favourite. Despite the noise of the music, he was able to hear the man’s angrily uttered curse. Up ahead, Louise left the relative isolation of Cloister Walk and stepped out into the safer thoroughfare outside the bright and boisterous glow of the Slug & Lettuce Tavern.