Authors: Andrew Bishop
I arrived at my place of work shortly after, sitting down as I studied the newspaper intently. I was sickened at how such inaccuracies could be portrayed as news. The only little sense that the articles gave was that some of the details of the latest murder mirrored the ones that had come before.
"Surely you do not believe all that nonsense about this '
Steel Jack
', do you?" Gilbert asked as he peered over my shoulder at the newspaper.
"At the very least, the murders are happening," I responded, shutting the paper from his view. "But no, I do not believe that it is the devil himself out there murdering the populace of London."
"Perhaps the murders are simply unrelated. Did you ever consider that?"
There it is again! A mere coincidence.
"I doubt that much. The murders have happened in the same radius, to people of similar social standing and at similar times with similar attacks. The evidence outweighs it."
"How do you know they all occurred at the same time?"
"The newspapers all say night."
"Night is a long period of time."
I sighed. "Well, what do you make of it all then?"
Gilbert dropped onto his chair and stared at me plainly. "Media frenzy."
Media frenzy. Coincidence.
"Media frenzy? How many victims have said the same thing? The logic defies you."
"Because I know what the media did not report," he smiled. "Sure, in the witness's initial confusion they said they saw such things. But when they calmed down and their senses returned to them, they realised it was merely fear playing on their minds."
"And how do you know such a thing?"
"A man such as I hears things," he said, dipping his nose back into his books and ending the conversation. "Perhaps if your ears were open, you would hear them too."
I ducked my head to continue with my work. As I did so I heard the jingle of the door go and looked up to see a familiar sharp suit yet nothing more: the wretch Arthur Shaw standing in the entra
nce.
He spoke, "I am not interrupting anything, I hope? Not that it would matter if I were. It is that time of the month
where we do business, gentlemen."
Gilbert stood and went to the back without word. I think I finally understood and sympathised w
ith him: Arthur Shaw was not worth the effort of speech. He merely existed to leech money from us and taunt us in the process if we responded. I ducked my head once more and continued to work as the wretch paced about the room, fingering at the books upon the walls.
Gilbert came back several silent moments later and passed a cloth bag to the wretch.
Arthur smiled. "Cheer up, gentlemen. You have just bought your own salvation! Or at least, for a short time. Good day." With that he left us to our work, slamming the door behind him and rattling the bell.
Gilbert and I said nothing further. What was there to say? We were stuck with no foreseeable way out. To speak would only further depress us.
That night after work I locked my home and proceeded towards Rufus' place, not knowing why he had invited me. When I arrived I knocked on the door and a worried Rufus beckoned me in quickly, leading me to his living room where Francis already stood. The two of us nodded to one another.
"Rufus, why are we her
e?" I asked.
"I think you should know the truth," he spoke as he sat down on his armchair, sinking into it.
"What truth?" Francis asked as we both sat ourselves on the sofa opposite.
"That I... I sold my soul to the devil."
Francis and I glanced at one another, sharing the same bemused expression.
"I know what you are thinking!" Rufus interjected before either of us could respond. "But it is the truth, honest."
I felt an exasperated sigh slip out as I realised that it was going to be a long night.
"Go on," Francis beckoned.
"I have been in a bad place for a few months now – my wife and I had been having trouble. I will not bore you with the details of
that
, but one night it got to be too much and she and I began to quarrel. I just had to get out of the house. I had to go flush away the pain."
Francis and I shared the same glance once again; a glance that knew that any story involving drink should be taken with a pinch of salt.
Rufus continued. "When I was heading back home, there was a man. He asked me what I was sought; he asked if I would like to know what the future held for me, to which I said I had no future and therein lied the problem. There was nothing he could do for me, so I tried to bid him a goodnight, but then he asked if there was something I could do for him... And what can I say? It was a foolish decision; I do not understand the mentality. I gave him his commission, of course. It was all a con; I knew that much. How could I sell my soul to Satan? I did not believe souls could be bought and sold as commodity; I did not believe Satan would acquire my soul for basic payment, yet! The next day – I had been losing at cards for weeks. Palmer had been winning and nothing was happening. The entire group was stuck in a stalemate. Then, the very day after I sell my soul, what should happen?"
I mime a perplexed shrug, but Francis appeared to understand instantly. "Charles Ashdown."
Rufus pointed at Francis as if it were indication that he were no longer the only one under the belief of a
mere coincidence
. "I thought it coincidental, it had to be. Then as it happened again, and again, it finally sank in. I had sold my soul to the devil, and this was His response."
I could not help but ask, the entire situation seeming l
ike some absurd joke. "I do not get it. Why tell us about this?"
"The other men, they bought into it straight away. They use the venture for their own gain, even as they know the cost. But do you not see? You cannot mess with dark forces and get away wi
th it. You two are the only ones who have not sinned."
Francis stepped up from the sofa, feigning a yawn. "Thank you Rufus, this has been very enlightening. If you do not mind, it is getting late and-"
"Do you not see? I need you to help me stop this, before it spirals out of control."
For the first time, Rufus looked desperate.
He looked like a child, unable to fend for himself anymore. Perhaps the drink had finally started to do away with his sense. Francis appeared to realise just how genuine the plea was. He walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I do not believe that the good Lord above would allow you to trade your soul. You have nothing to fear. Do not worry Rufus, we will find a way to stop it."
Francis' words at least car
ried some truth – we would have to find a way to stop it, although not because of some devil.
With this conclusion Rufus thanked us and saw us out. He cautiously surveyed the street as we left before locking his door and disappearing back into the light
of his house.
"He is irrational," Francis blurted to me the moment the door shut. "The place he was referring to, I know of it. It is run by Irish con buggers. Fortune telling
and such. I cannot believe he bought into such unholy magicks."
"I can se
e where he is coming from. Have you read the news? Reports of a demon, able to fly and breathe fire."
"Yes, but the difference is you and I know it is all fabricated by the media. If there is one benefit to this evening, it is that we can now say for ce
rtain that Rufus is not the killer."
Rufus' absence at the next meeting came as no surprise after the previous night's events. Having being shunned by Lucius for not choosing a target and storming out, I had no doubt that he would rather drink himself into a stupor elsewhere rather than put up with Lucius' berating. Thinking Lucius to now be in league with the devil would only make him shy further away. The bigger question now was whether anything would come of his defiance. We all sat drinking in silence after arriving, unable to strike conversation. The only thing that bound us all together was the very thing tearing us apart. We were morticians, dictating the life and death of others and awaiting the outcome.
Harry was the last to enter. He looked ghastly pale as he sheepishly apologised for his lateness and took a seat.
Francis' eyes showed deep concern as he studied him. "Are you well, Harry?"
"I did not get much sleep last night," he simply said, lo
oking over to Lucius to start the meeting.
"We have waited long enough
already; it is about time the meeting started." Lucius sighed, indicating the absence of Rufus. "I have no doubt that you have all heard that Gareth Jenkins was found murdered in the past week."
"It is almost as if someone is killing these people for us," Palmer mumbled to himself as he thumbed through the copy of The Times that had been brought in.
"I have to admit, the circumstances do seem that way."
Francis remained just
as fiery as the previous week. "Then all the more we should stop this. What if another dies?"
"I have no doubt that they will," Lucius responded simply.
The eyes of every man in the room widened. We were all resigned to a hushed silence which soon became palpable.
"Then you are agreeing that these deaths are occurring because of the events in this room?"
"Exactly."
Francis
addressed the rest of the room. "Then, you have heard it from him, too. The only way to prevent further atrocity would be to disband this group."
An obnoxious laugh cried out from Palmer. "Seems a bit far-fetched Lucius! What makes you think such a thing?"
Lucius slipped a hand into his chest pocket and produced a slip of paper which he slid out over to Palmer. "This."
Palmer unfolded it curiously. "A bank statement?"
"It shows the recent transactions of The Hudson Group." Lucius leant over to Palmer to point at something. "Take a look at the recent withdrawals."
Palmer mumbled as he read down the statement. ".
..Several withdrawals of £150. Then you believe someone is taking the money as payment for bumping these people off?"
"Possibly. It seems too much of a coincidence otherwise."
"Now wait on, how is that possible? The only people who have access to this account are..." His sentence fell apart as he spoke it. His voice wavered and dipped into silence. I could hear the rest of the words spoken in my head. Judging by the faces of my associates, they understood it too.
Lucius was the one who finished the
sentence for him. "Sat around this very table. Indeed."
Harry rose from his seat suddenly, causing it to fall back. He pointed a wild finger about the table at each and every one of us. "W-Which one of you...?"
"Do not be foolish man," Lucius commanded, beckoning for him to return to his seat and be calm. "If it is as it seems, nobody is going to admit to such a thing."
"But... w-why?"
"I do not believe you will get an answer. If the person doing this wanted us to know, they would have told us after the first murder. Or possibly before. Maybe it is one of us behind the murders, or perhaps an accomplice to one of us. What we must accept is that this is happening and we are a part of it."
"And you defini
tely think someone on this table is behind these attacks?" Harry asked. He appeared to be flittering back and forth between accusing and questioning, perhaps too afraid to acknowledge the reality of it.
Lucius' brow dipped as he stared through the table
into nothing. "It is the only way it makes sense."
Everyone remained silent, lost in their own thoughts and occasionally eyeing each other in what I could only imagine to be accusations running through their minds. As suspicion was cast over the group,
Lucius simply picked the cards back up and began to deal.
"Wait," Francis signalled for him to stop. "You are carrying on?"
"Of course."
"But, someone else will be killed!"
Lucius continued to deal, ignoring Francis' pleas. "If you are trying to convince me to stop, you are not doing a very good job of it."
"It is no different to committing murder yourself!"
"We are simply playing cards and doing business," Lucius smiled as he used his best, yet still unconvincing, reassuring voice. "If it goes further than that outside this room then it has nothing to do with me."
"This is absurd, you are condoning murder!"
"No, I am not. I am condoning a buyout, and that is all." Lucius' voice wavered as he struggled to contain another outburst, occupying himself with dealing of the cards. "I am guessing you do not wish to be dealt in, Francis?"
Francis responded by throwing his dealt cards back, to which Lucius simply cocked his head and uttered a grim "
Very well
," to himself. He finished dealing out the cards and we began to play the infernal game once more. I found my mind not to be with it. Seeing Francis beside me, arms crossed and trying (and visibly failing) to blank the goings on of the room from his mind, only made me feel guilty for playing. But it is as Lucius said; would it make any difference if I did not? I wondered why Francis did not simply leave, but I remembered what he said the meeting previous.
A killer is working in favour of the group, the last thing I want to do is make my
self the next target.
Francis was right. This was not someone you would wish to get on the wrong side of.
It had barely been a few rounds when Palmer slammed his final pair onto the table and emerged victorious. "I would appreciate it if one of you gentlemen could actually pose a challenge to my remarkable skill!"
"Congratulations," Lucius' clapped, his false celebration apparently lost on Palmer who sat grinning smugly to himself. "Now, putting your ego aside..."
"Whoever I chose will end up dead?"
"Well, I could not say for certain, but that is what I believe, yes."
Palmer clasped his hands together in glee. He somehow found it within himself to pull a name from the obnoxiously long list of people that I am sure he would have loved to make disappear from his life. "Thomas Harrison."
"Of Black Lane?"
Palmer nodded eagerly, his head sliding about on his fat chin grotesquely.
"Very well, so shall it be. I know better than to ask why." Lucius poured himself another drink and leant bac
k in his chair. "I think it goes without saying that what happens in this room should not be mentioned to anyone else. To do so would not only incriminate all of us, but endanger the life of the one who informs. We shall still continue these meetings as normal. Now, if you do not mind."
We all begin to rise, except for Francis who stared up at us all in a discordant disbelief. "Is there not a thing left unspoken by the company I keep? What have I to do with these machinations of greed? The soulless creat
ions of a Godless nation brought low through the self-gratifying nature of man."
Lucius snarled from across the table. "Shall we have this out Francis? Would you bring your food to the door and tread through the barrier from self-conscious preservation
to outright denial of one's actions in an atypical manoeuvre crushing your so-called deity and sacred persona? You are no holy man. Each man is as guilty as the last. You are no different than I."
"You and I vary in vast and incalculable ways, Lucius. I
embarked on this venture, as you well know, as a means to tend to my dying wife. If I cared not and was not in a position upon which my family depended I would not have joined such a group. I find it decidedly ugly to consort with those that value not life and the lives of others."
Palmer, apparently sensing that nobody was going home just quite yet, shut the door to the room and stepped back over to the table. "You have justly vindicated yourself of wrongdoing yet you persist to reap the benefits of th
e suffering of others. You are not as clean as you would believe. Why not embrace the advantages that this business venture can bestow on you? The great accumulation of power means we have the ability to forgo the limitations of lesser men. The men of import are designed to prosper. As the great men here have amply demonstrated – we can brand others as expendable."
Harry stepped in between the warring parties, addressing Francis. "What is this disagreement? Conflict will prove futile. Concede to these people or be subjected to their will. Your choice is plain."
"I care not for your input, Harry," Francis scowled.
"Your protest to murder is duly noted, Francis," Lucius spoke as he rose from his seat, slipping on his jacket. "However, as you are as you say
obliged
to continue in this business I suggest you voice not your opinions in such a candid manner. Your heaven knows not the ramifications of outburst such as that."
With that conclusion Lucius strode out of the room, Palmer in tow. Harry gave us a nervous look before toddling after them, leaving Francis and I to exchange concerned glances about what we ha
d gotten ourselves into.
"I am surprised you did not storm out during the meeting itself," I remarked to Francis.
He stalled for a minute, waiting for the other members to disappear back into the club beyond earshot. "I could walk away Eric, but what would that make me? People are dying because of something I am a part of. Even if I walked away, assuming I was not killed as a consequence, I would have to watch as the murders continue. The only chance we have at preventing this is to appeal, to hope that the conspirator will see the error of his ways and stop. I do not want any part in this sick game, but what else do you suggest? These men seem to have the power to kill anyone. If I up and leave now, they will get nervous. If anyone leaves, it will be their name that goes down next, I guarantee it. We cannot be rash about it. We are better off biding our time, if we can find out who is behind this entire ordeal, perhaps we can find a way to stop it."
"You are right. If you walked away now, you would
be putting yourself and your family in danger, too."
I could see the despair in Francis' mind, no doubt thinking about the wife of his. "You are right, Eric. Thank you. It brings me great joy to hear you say such a thing. I do not think I would be able
to keep a level head without your kind words."
I smiled, but it did not last long. "What do you think will come of Rufus?"
"Nothing good," he merely responded as we both solemnly turned to head towards our homes together, the weight of the situation having drained us both of energy. He muttered to himself, "Perhaps the killer will see better than to punish Rufus. Perhaps he will simply let him go. But if he does not - and if this entire thing continues and goes too far - it will be the chopping block for the lot of us. It needs to stop, Eric."
I nodded, but had nothing further to say. Francis was my voice of reason. Everything he stood for I would support him in, but it was obvious how powerless he felt in such a situation. He had a voice - for that
much we should have been thankful - but if he did much more then he would only be bringing ruin to his own life.
When I finally returned home in the early hours of the morning I found myself weary from the evening’s events. I immediately made my way up the stairs to my chamber, where I collapsed on my bed in a dazed state, wishing only for sleep. Within mere moments, I slipped out of consciousness and into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Click.
I stirred some time later. Everything was dark. My eyes were heavy from exhaustion and remained firmly closed. What time was it? Late, it must be. I was still half asleep, unable to move my body.
Click.
Another. Just as I was drifting off again. What was it? I could feel cold against my skin. The window was open. Why was the window open? My body turned of its own accord, pulling the covers over me to protect the warmth. The warmth overtook me once again and I could feel myself drifting off, my thoughts and worries disappearing from my mind as it is clouded with nothingness.
Click.
I stirred one final time and this time I realised what was causing it. Someone was in the house.
"Good morning, Mr Godwin."
My eyes slammed open, cold fear rushing down my spine. My head rung as I abruptly woke from my slumber, beckoned by the sudden harsh voice in the dark. My body jolted with surprise, but did not move anywhere. I realised that I was pinned to my mattress.