by Amy Cross
"I can't decide right now," I mutter, heading to the door. "I need time. I can't..." My voice trails off as I try to make sense of the conflicting thoughts that are rushing through my mind.
"You have twelve hours," he says.
I turn back to look at him.
"Maximum," he adds. "I'm not setting the deadline. She is. She can't last much longer. In twelve hours, it might even be too late. You have to find a way to make it settle in your mind, Mr. Pope. There's no alternative. She's as good as dead. Just give the word and I'll save the child".
Glancing over at his makeshift set of instruments, I see several saws and blades. It's impossible to believe that I could ever allow this butcher to cut into Henrietta's body, yet I'm gradually coming to the conclusion that there might be no alternative. When he says that she's close to death, I believe him, and if the child lives, I will at least have a reminder of Henrietta's spirit in the form of a new life. For the first time in many, many years, I actually find myself hoping that God might intervene and give me the strength that I require.
"Give me one hour," I say eventually. "I'll make a decision, and then you can..." I pause, and even though it's painfully obvious what the decision will be, I cannot quite bring myself to say the words. Not yet. It's too soon. "Give me one hour," I say again. "Just one hour. I'll be downstairs. When I've made the decision, I'll..." I pause for a moment. "When I've made the decision, will you act immediately?"
"There's nothing to be gained by waiting," he replies.
Leaving the room, I make my way toward the stairs. I already know what I'm going to decide, but I need to summon the strength to get the words out. After all, I'm about to sign a death sentence for the woman I love. I can't shake the hope that perhaps some miracle will come down upon us and change everything, and that suddenly Henrietta will recover. Still, deep down, I know that such things simply do not happen. She is as good as dead, and I should probably give the word to John the Pig immediately. Not only will the child perhaps be saved, but Henrietta will be spared the undoubted pain and suffering that she is currently enduring. Stopping at the top of the stairs, I try to force myself to go back and tell him to start the operation, but I can't. Not yet. I want my love to live a moment longer, even if ultimately we're both doomed.
Elly
Today
"What's the name of this place again?" Mark shouts.
"The King's Arms!" I shout back, struggling to make myself heard over the sound of the music. Having finished dinner, we've south of the river to the pub where I used to hang out when I was younger. It's strange, but earlier this evening I suddenly realized that I'd never actually taken Mark to any of 'my' places, and I'd never really shown him what my life was like before we met. It took a while to persuade him to come all the way down here, and it's clear that he's feeling pretty uncomfortable, but I kind of feel like it's important to help him understand the real 'me'. After all, so far he's only known me as part of the game, but with the game coming to an end, he needs to know a lot more about my life.
"It's very loud!" he shouts.
Smiling, I pass him a pint of beer.
"So you really used to come here?" he continues, as we head away from the bar and over to a slightly quieter booth. There's something about his tone of voice that makes it clear he has a hard time picturing me in the King's Arms on a regular basis. I guess maybe he's always seen me as a kind of vanilla girl, never actually going out and having fun.
"Does that surprise you?" I ask.
"Maybe. It just seems a little..." His voice trails off, and I can tell that he's trying to come up with the right word.
"Rough?" I suggest.
He nods.
"It wasn't quite so bad in the old days," I continue. "I mean, it wasn't exactly posh, but over the past few years it seems to have gone downhill a bit. Then again, it used to be way, way worse. Apparently this place was notorious in the nineteenth century. It had a reputation as the toughest pub in London. Seriously, you could have been killed just for walking in at the wrong moment".
"I'm glad to see it's improved so much," Mark replies with a cautious smile.
"Look at that guy," I say, pointing at a small framed portrait hanging in the booth. "His name was Darius Wolff. He was the landlord here for a while, and he's supposed to have been this insanely violent figure who was feared throughout the London underworld. Eventually they found him dead here, hacked to pieces. No-one ever discovered exactly what happened, but they think he was mixed up in some pretty shady business. There was this other guy here, like a kind of amateur doctor who went by the name John the Dog or John the Pig, something like that, and he used to operate on people for money. He was found dead here too, at the same time as the Darius Wolff guy".
"Sounds like there was quite a bloodbath," Mark says.
"You should look it up some time," I continue. "The history of this place is enough to make your toes curl. It's like every murderer in London used to come here to drink. There used to be a joke about the King's Arms having its own laws. It wasn't until the old landlord died that it started to get cleaned up, but even then, something about the place seems to have really stuck. It's like the pub attracts trouble, generation after generation".
Staring at him for a moment, I eventually start to smile.
"What?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"You think I don't fit in here?" he continues.
"I'm sorry," I reply, "but you really don't. I mean, it's kind of cute watching you try, but I bet you've never been anywhere like this before. You look totally lost".
He takes a sip from his beer. "Is this really beer?" he asks after a moment. "It's so... fizzy".
"It's lager," I reply, glancing across the room. "Don't tell me -" Spotting a familiar face over by the bar, I fall silent. It's been a while since I even thought of Rob, the old friend whose band took me halfway to Exeter before I had to be rescued by Mark, but suddenly I see that he's ordering a drink. For a moment, I'm frozen in the headlights, trying to decide whether I should go and say hello, but seconds later he glances in my direction and we make eye contact. It's an awkward moment, and I quickly turn back to Mark. I guess this is exactly the kind of stress I'm supposed to be avoiding.
"Someone you know?" he asks.
"An old..." I pause. How do I explain Rob? He was a guy I slept with for a few days, but that's about it. "Just an old friend," I continue eventually. "We had a thing. Briefly. I guess it's coincidences like this that could've been avoided if we hadn't come to this place at all. I'm sorry -"
"It's fine," Mark replies. "I don't mind meeting an old boyfriend".
"He wasn't my boyfriend!" I say firmly. "No way! He was just this guy. There was no boyfriend or girlfriend stuff going on. It was just..." My voice trails off.
"Sex?" Mark adds helpfully.
I nod.
"So aren't you going to invite him over?" Mark asks.
"God, no," I reply. "I don't want anything to do with him. I mean, I've got a few old friends knocking around, but he's definitely not one of them. As far as I'm concerned, he doesn't even exist. I'd forgotten all about him until..." I pause for a moment. "He's not looking this way, is he?"
"Actually he's gone over to another booth," Mark replies. "I think he's with some other people".
"Thank God," I mutter, taking a big gulp from my pint. I'm starting to realize that bringing Mark here was a disaster. It's not like I was some kind of slut or tramp when I was younger, and I didn't even sleep around, but I still feel like my life is better divided into a pre-Mark phase and a post-Mark phase. This misguided attempt to blur the line between the two is starting to fall apart, and right now I just want to get out of here. "I just need to go to the bathroom," I mutter, getting up and hurrying through the crowd.
Once I'm in the dingy, dirty bathroom at the back of the pub, I manage to force myself to calm down. Sure, my old life wasn't exactly perfect, but I didn't ever do anything that should make me embarrassed. Looking in
the mirror, I realize that I look totally out of place in this dump. The King's Arms hasn't changed at all, but I have... I feel as if I'm older and more focused. It's not that I'm too mature for this place... Scratch that. I am too mature. Well, maybe 'mature' isn't the right word, but I've definitely moved on, and I don't belong here.
After taking a couple more minutes to freshen up, I head back out into the bustle of the pub, and to my surprise I see that Mark is no longer sitting at our booth, which has already been claimed by a bunch of girls. Turning and looking across the crowded room, I try to work out where Mark has gone, before finally I accidentally make eye contact with Rob again. I smile weakly, and he reciprocates, but I quickly turn and hurry through the crowd. There are way too many people packed around the doorway, and it takes me a couple of minutes to finally force my way out into the cool evening, at which point I immediately spot Mark standing over by the railing, watching the passing traffic.
"You okay?" I ask, walking over to him.
"I just needed some air," he replies. "That place can be a little intense. I think I was breathing in someone else's sweat".
"That's what it's like in there".
"It's not a bad place," he continues. "If you really want to go here, I -"
"No!" I say quickly. "No! Definitely not! No, this was..." I turn and stare at the bustling pub. "I guess this was my last visit," I add eventually, feeling a hint of melancholy in my chest. "It's a good thing. I don't want to still be going here for the rest of my life, but I guess I needed to come back and say goodbye to the place. Now I've done that, though, I just need to move on".
"You sure?"
I nod. "Don't you have places like that? Places you liked once, but you don't like any more?"
"Sure".
"That's what this place is to me," I continue. "It's a symbol of my old life, and symbols are made to be destroyed. Right?"
"That's one way of looking at it," he replies. "I'm glad we came, though. I like seeing glimpses of the old Elly. If I ever hope to know you properly in the future, I need to know a few things about your past".
"You really want that?" I ask, a little shocked at how forward he's being. "You want to know me properly?"
"Would I be here if I didn't?"
"Yeah, but..." I pause, and suddenly I realize that this is exactly how I've been wanting things with Mark to work. He seems to actually care about me. "Promise me the game is over," I say suddenly. "It is over, right?"
He nods.
"Just for us, or... Is it over permanently, for everyone?"
"That depends on other people," he continues, "but as far as we're concerned, it's finished. I've made that very clear. I'm not going back to that life, and they can't make me. At the same time, I was careful to have an insurance policy in place. These can be dangerous people, Elly, but they're not stupid. They know what could happen to them if they try to hurt me. One of the few advantages of this situation is that everyone has always been very open and honest about what happens in certain circumstances. They know what I want, and I know what they want. I'm pretty certain an agreement can be reached".
"You think they'd try to hurt you?" I ask.
He shrugs.
"But..." I pause, realizing that my long-suppressed fears regarding Mr. White and Lady Red are starting to come to the surface. Although I've never been able to really put my finger on it, I've suspected for a while that there might be more danger and violence to the game than Mark has ever admitted. It's as if he's deliberately holding back certain information from me, and this in turn makes me worried about whether he can handle any problems that arise.
"It's okay," he says, forcing a smile.
"You'd tell me if it wasn't, right?"
He nods.
"I need to know that you trust me," I continue. "If we're going to make a go of this, we need to be able to do things together, and not just the good things".
Stepping closer, he puts his arms around me and pulls me tight. The bright lights of London traffic roar past as we embrace for a moment, and then finally Mark steps back.
"Come on," he says, "let's get out of here. You've shown me part of your London, now it's time for me to show you part of mine". With that, he takes my hand and leads me along the street.
As we walk past a bus-stop, I catch sight of our reflection, and I can't help but notice that we look like a normal couple. Just a guy and a girl, out in the city for food and a few drinks. No-one would ever know that there was anything unusual about us, and that we'd met as part of some arcane and perverted game. I'm starting to think that the days of Mr. Blue are finally over.
Jonathan Pope
1901
"If you could hear me," I say, sitting in the darkness, "I think you'd understand. You'd know why I'm making this choice, and you'd approve. I lost track of how many times you reminded me that it's only the child who matters now. Not me. Not you. Just the child. If he or she can live a full, happy life, free of the game and free of the knowledge that we were such twisted people, then at least some good can come of everything. When I was able to just focus on that fact, the decision came easily. I'm just sorry that it has to be like this".
I wait, hoping for some kind of reply. Henrietta is still on the bed, breathing fast and struggling with an increasing fever. Since we arrived at the King's Arms a few months ago, she's dipped in and out of the fever, although she's never recovered sufficiently to talk to me. It's as if, in the aftermath of everything that happened with the box and the heart of the game, Henrietta's body has shut down. I'd give anything for one final moment of clarity, just so that I could tell her that I truly love her. Despite everything that happened between us, I'm still not sure whether I actually said those words. Dear God, I hope that I told her before it was too late.
"He promises it won't take too long," I continue. "He says it'll be as painless as possible. He's not exactly the world's greatest surgeon, but he's better than nothing. He's going to give you something to help numb your body, and he's going to end things as quickly as possible once the baby is out. After that, I was thinking to bury you in the park near my old house. I always wanted to take you there, but I never had the chance. It's a very quiet spot, and I'm sure no-one will ever find you. It's better than dropping you into the Thames. I couldn't bear to let you sink into the depths along with all those other bodies".
Silence.
"Dear God," I whisper, closing my eyes, "I'm begging you. If you have to take someone, take me. Just make sure that this woman is delivered from whatever curse is driving her toward death. Spare her and end my life instead. She deserves more, and the child deserves to know its mother".
Hearing a sound over by the door, I turn and see that John the Pig has arrived. Eager to get on with the operation, he has an earnest look in his eyes, and I realize with a trembling heart that the time has come. I look back at Henrietta and reach out, feeling the sweat on her brow. She's burning up, and the heat is so extreme that I'm finding it hard to believe that she's still alive.
"It's the end now," I tell her, "but while I shall go on living in this foul and shallow world, you are about to pass on to paradise and immortality. I can only pray that one day we shall be reunited, even though I know in my heart that I have committed many, many sins in the past. Whatever happens, I beg that your soul will be given some form of relief in whatever world you reach".
"We need to get started," John the Pig mutters as he heads over to the tray and starts to assemble his instruments. "It's up to you whether or not you want to stay, but I'd advise against it. There's going to be a lot of blood, Mr. Pope, and it's my reasoning that a man such as yourself is perhaps a little unused to such things. I mean, I know you've killed your fair share of men over the years, but I doubt you've ever stuck around to watch them bleed out, have you?"
"I should be with her," I say, taking her sweaty, clammy hand and holding it tight.
"She won't know," he continues, coming over to the bed with a saw in his hand. "She's so far
gone, she won't even understand what we're doing. She hasn't responded to anything I've done while I've been examining her".
"She might," I say quietly. "I shall stay. I want my face to be the first thing that the child sees".
"Suit yourself," he replies, pulling Henrietta's skirt back and cutting her underwear away. "I'm going to try to get it out the normal way first," he says after a moment. "From what I've read, the woman's usually supposed to push, but I don't suppose she'll be able to do that. Therefore -" He holds the saw up. "I've been checking on the anatomy books, and I think the best course of action is to saw her pelvis open in two spots, and then kind of maneuver the child out".
I stare at the teeth of the saw, barely able to conceive of such barbarity. Have we come no further, as a species, than acts of savagery? I can't help but wish that I were the kind of man who could call upon favors from the greatest physicians of the age. I'm quite certain that members of the nobility never have to face such horrors. Why are such fools allowed to live happy, pain-free lives, while good women such as Henrietta are subjected to the savage medicine of men such as John the Pig?
"No time like the present," he says, moving around to get a better view of his target. "It's not gonna hurt any less in an hour. It might even hurt more, if her condition deteriorates".
"Have you no sedatives?" I ask. "No pain-killers?"
"Oh, I don't need any of that," he replies merrily. "I'm feeling fine".
"I meant for her".
"She can't feel pain now. Look at her. She's pretty much gone already".
"And you're sure you won't harm the child?" I continue. "Surely there's a danger that -"
"Mr. Pope," he replies with a sigh, "I'd like to remind you that I'm the doctor here. I've assured you that the child will be safe, and you can count on my word. All you need to do is get ready to hold the baby. You should probably rush it from the room as soon as you're able, and give it a quick wash. I don't really know why, but I've read that people do that". Positioning the edge of the saw against the inner side of Henrietta's crotch, he pauses for a moment. "She probably won't react," he says eventually, "but I suppose it's possible she might have a little twitch. If she does, just hold her down, okay?"
