The Raven Watcher (The House of Jack the Ripper Book 7) Page 4

  They are butchers and barbarians.

  What am I to work with here?

  “How could they carve you up in this manner?” I whisper, feeling the rage start to rise through my body. “Do they have no decency? Do they have no honor?”

  Then again, I know that this is not the right Delilah. This is a Delilah I met only recently, although I must admit that I became rather infatuated by her. I have always loved women named Delilah, ever since I lost my Delilah. I suppose something of the name seems to echo in my heart, reminding me of pure beauty and joy. This is a weakness, perhaps, though not one I can fight.

  Feeling a flicker of pain in the left side of my head, I wince slightly, although the pain fades soon enough.

  The pain always fades.

  It always comes back, too.

  I hesitate for a moment, before placing my hands against the stone slab. I need to recenter myself, to calm my fury, but in truth I can feel my anger growing and growing. I want to stay in charge of my humor – indeed, I consider self-control to be one of a man's greatest duties to himself – yet this time the anger is burning through my body. I need to let it out somehow, to express my fury. Finally, no longer able to help myself, I turn away from the slab and let out a loud cry, and I punch the nearest stone pillar with my right hand.

  The pain is immediate and incredible. I gasp and drop to my knees, clutching my hand. I am able to move the fingers, so I do not think anything is broken, but I must have fractured the bone.

  For a few seconds, kneeling all alone on the cold stone floor, I try to come up with some other plan. I had planned to mimic Doctor Grazier's work, but to make a few common sense changes in order to ensure that I got Delilah back. Now, however, I am starting to feel as if all hope is lost. Besides, the left side of my head is starting to throb now, and deep down I know that all of this is wrong.

  The body on the slab is not the right Delilah.

  This is Delilah Culpepper.

  My Delilah, on the other hand, is long gone.

  And then, slowly, I realize that a whispering voice is intruding into the silence.

  “You know I can help you, don't you?” the voice asks, rasping but steady. “All you have to do is let me out of here. I'll get out eventually anyway, so you won't really be changing much. Just open this door, and I can do almost anything that you ask.”

  Slowly, I turn and look across the basement. At the far end, the door to the storeroom remains locked. I know that before he lost his mind, Doctor Grazier left his wife's animated corpse in that room. She is there still, and not for the first time she is pleading with me to release her. Except, this time, she is offering to help as well.

  “You are merely a man,” she continues. “You are mortal. You know nothing of these things, but imagine all that I know. Do you really not understand that I can help you? Whatever you want, whatever you need, it can be yours as a reward for releasing me from this place.”

  I wait, and now I hear a faint sniffing sound.

  “It is death,” she adds finally. “I smell it, but whose death? There is something stale about the scent, something old and rotten, but do not let that deter you. She can be recovered, but not by you, not by a mere mortal who dabbles in these things. Let me out of here, and reviving your lady love will be the task of just a moment. To you it is impossible, but to me it is as simple as breathing in and breathing out. It will be easy. All you have to do is open this door.”

  And then, as if to emphasize this point, she gently rattles the handle from the inside.

  Tempting me.

  Luring me.

  Her game is so pathetically obvious.

  Still nursing my injured hand, I slowly get to my feet.

  “Come on,” she continues, still rattling the handle, “open the door. I'll give you everything you want, and all you have to do in return is let me out of here.”

  I hesitate for a moment, before starting to walk across the basement, heading toward the door at the far end.

  “That's right,” she purrs. “Everything you want is waiting for you. Whoever she is, I can give her back to you. I can even promise you eternal happiness together.”

  Stopping in front of the door, I watch the handle as it jiggles for a moment. And then, very suddenly, it falls still again.

  After a moment, I reach into Doctor Grazier's trouser pocket and take out the key to the storeroom.

  “Are you doing it?” the voice asks, filled now with a sense of anticipation. “That's good. Just unlock the door, and I'll give you everything you could ever want.”

  “I must confess that you surprise me,” I reply finally. “It is difficult to believe that you think I am quite so stupid.”

  I wait, but there is no response.

  Stepping forward, I kneel in front of the door and examine the stones, and then I use the end of the key to start carving a shape into the wall.

  “What are you doing?” the voice asks, and now she sounds worried.

  “The door holds you for now,” I reply, carving the end of a square and then starting on a pyramid, “but it will not last forever. If nothing else happens, it will still rot eventually, long after we mere mortals are gone. But I know enough of the arcane arts to understand how to truly keep a demonic entity trapped. And that is what you are, is it not? You are some kind of demonic creature that poured itself into the body of Catherine Grazier after her soul departed, and now you -”

  “Stop!” the voice shrieks, and suddenly something thuds hard against the door from the other side. “I command you to stop immediately!”

  Ignoring her, I carve more shapes. I do not remember precisely what form the old inscriptions should take, since it has been many years since I was shown them by an acquaintance on the banks of the river, but I feel certain that I can make a good stab. And I can always come back later and touch them up, to make sure that the creature is properly contained forever.

  “Don't you want the woman back?” she asks, and it sounds almost as if she is sobbing. “I can taste her, you know. Part of her was poured into me and now courses through my veins. I can help you, but first you have to get past this foolish human aversion to things that you don't understand!”

  Still refusing to reply, I start carving more and more of the signs, this time spreading them out across the wall. My hands are shaking slightly but my intent is strong, and I refuse to let anything stop me or slow me down. This thing, whatever its precise nature might be, will never be allowed to break free from the basement of Doctor Grazier's house. Not if I have any say in the matter.

  “Please,” the voice continues pathetically, “you can't leave me alone in here. It's cold and dark, and I'm afraid. There's no water, and nothing to eat. I found a tin of rotten peaches, but other than that I've been left to starve. Don't you have any compassion? Any humanity?” A moment later, I hear her scratching feebly at the door. “We're both intelligent beings, are we not? You fear me, I understand that, but let me explain what I am. Then maybe we can come to some kind of understanding.”

  Stepping back, I see that the wall is now at least partly covered in symbols. I have many more to apply, not only here in the basement but also throughout the house, before this creature is properly sealed inside. For now, however, I must address other priorities, so I turn and make my way back toward the slab. And then -

  Suddenly I feel a rush of pain in my head. I bump against one of the columns and then I freeze, waiting for the agony to subside. All my adult life, I have suffered from these occasional headaches. They always come on without warning, and they never last more than a few seconds. They're the same every time, however; I feel a growing pressure in the right side of my skull, building and building until suddenly it seems to pop. And sure enough, after a few seconds, that is exactly what happens.

  I wait, slightly out of breath now. I know what will happen next, and sure enough I swiftly taste blood in the back of my mouth. Holding my hand out, I spit a glob of reddened saliva into my palm, and then I wipe
that against the column. Every single time I get that brief headache, I end up with a drop of blood in my mouth. The condition began shortly after I suffered a head injury as a child, and has persisted ever since.

  Taking a deep breath, I begin to make my way once more across the basement.

  I must focus on the tasks at hand. If I become distracted, all might very well be lost.

  Stopping to look down at Delilah, I try to tell myself that there is some way to bring her back. Certainly her body has been left in a very poor state, which means that I have almost no material with which to work. Doctor Grazier had his wife's entire body, whereas I possess only Delilah's bones and skin. Yet I cannot turn away from this challenge, and I believe that – having watched Doctor Grazier's countless mistakes – I am in a position to replicate his work in a more successful manner.

  I can do this.

  I am a better version of Grazier.

  I shall not create a monster.

  Instead, I shall bring Delilah Culpepper back to life, I shall raise her from these scraps of her body. First, though, I require resources from the street.

  Chapter Six

  Maddie

  Today

  I can hear the world outside, but I know the world can't hear me. I'm still in the bedroom, still slumped against Nick's dead body, still holding the handle of the knife that's deep in his chest.

  And I don't think I'll ever be able to move again.

  I can barely even keep my eyes open. I keep feeling the lids starting to slide shut, but I'm terrified that they might never open again. Then again, I know that there's no way I can drag myself all the way out of this house and get help, so deep down I think maybe I've begun to come to terms with the fact that it's all going to end here. In fact, I have so little energy, I can't even summon the strength to panic. My mind is floating, and I think I'm starting to experience short periods of nothingness. Maybe those periods are getting longer, and maybe this is what it's like to have your thoughts dwindle away.

  Maybe this is what it's like to die.

  “Help,” I whisper finally, but I can barely hear the word myself. I move my lips again, hoping to call out a little louder, but if anything now my voice is even less than a whisper. It's just a very faint, barely audible sigh.

  And then finally, a moment later, my eyes slip shut and I'm powerless to stop them.

  Suddenly I feel my body twitch, and I manage to get my eyes open again. I immediately realize that something seems different, and when I look around I find that I'm on the bed. The knife is still in my hand, gripped incredibly tight as if I physically can't bring myself to let go, but somehow my body has moved up onto the bare, metal-framed bed. I know there's no way this can be possible, but I also know that I'm not hallucinating. Still holding the knife firmly, I look over at Nick and see that he hasn't moved at all.

  And then I feel something pressing gently against my chest, as if to push me down onto the bed.

  “No!” I gasp, trying to fight back. “Stop!”

  I scramble out of the way until I've backed all the way against the wall. There's no sign of anyone else in the room now, except Nick on the floor, but I swear I felt hands touching me. I look around, terrified in case I spot someone, but I'm all alone. My mind is racing and I keep telling myself that I'm not insane, but then slowly I realize that my eyelids are once again drooping. I try to stay awake, but a moment later my head nods down and I feel myself slipping back into unconsciousness. No matter how hard I fight, I just can't stay awake.

  And this time, it feels as if I'm going to sleep forever.

  ***

  “Maddie? Maddie, where are you? Are you okay, Maddie? Answer me!”

  The voice stirs me from the deepest sleep of my life. I mumble something under my breath, but I keep my eyes shut as I briefly become aware of my surroundings. And then I slip away again, falling deeper and deeper into a void of sleep. I can hear the voice still calling out, but nothing seems to matter anymore. I don't even have enough energy to think. Somehow, though, the voice finally comes floating back up into my mind, and I hear my name again:

  “Maddie! Maddie, say something!”

  I open my eyes a little, but my vision is all blurred. I don't see any sign of anyone in the room, but I'm sure I heard the voice just now. Still, I look around for a moment before leaning my head back against the wall again. I'm so tired, I just want to go to sleep. Whatever's wrong, I'm sure it's got nothing to do with me.

  “Maddie! What happened to you?”

  Suddenly somebody grabs my shoulder. I jerk awake and try to sit up, and after a moment my vision clears enough for me to see a familiar face staring at me in shock. It takes a fraction longer, however, before I realize where I've seen this person before.

  “Oh God,” Jerry stammers, “Maddie, you look... What happened in here?”

  “Are you real?” I whisper, reaching up and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you really here?”

  “Of -”

  He lets out a faint splutter as I touch his mouth. Turning away for a moment, he seems genuinely shocked, and a moment later he looks back down at me.

  “Are you real?” I ask again, still not daring to believe that he's actually here. “Pleases, tell me you're real.”

  “Of course I'm real!” he replies, clearly concerned by my injuries. “You were supposed to come and let me know that you're okay, remember? That was the whole deal, I wanted regular updates to make sure that you were doing okay in here. When you didn't come, I gave you a little longer but then finally I had to check up on you!” He looks down at my torn and bloodied belly. “In the name of all that's holy, what happened here? Who's the dead boy on the floor?”

  “I have to get out of here,” I tell him, reaching out and grabbing his shoulders before trying without much success to haul myself off the bed. “Please, we both have to get out.”

  “Hang on,” he says, lowering me back down onto the bed. “You're in no fit state to go anywhere.”

  “I have to get out of this house,” I murmur, although I can feel myself once again starting to fall asleep. “It's not safe here. Please, you have to help me...”

  “Of course I'm going to help you,” he replies, but he's still not helping me up. Instead, he's settling me down against the metal frame. He thinks I need to rest; he doesn't understand that I have to get out of this place at all costs. “You're going to wait right here,” he continues, “and I'm going to call an ambulance. And the police. I'm going to get help, but you just have to wait a moment longer.”

  “Find Matt,” I whisper.

  “Find who?”

  “Matt!” I grab his hand and squeeze tight. “Please, he's in one of the other rooms. I'm okay, but go and check on Matt. Tell the doctors to look after him first. I'm fine here.”

  “I'll check the other rooms,” he replies, “but Maddie, what's been going on here? There's blood everywhere! There's a dead body on the floor!”

  “He tried to... he...”

  I turn and look over at Nick's corpse, and I feel a sensation of pure hatred rising up through my chest. For a moment, I can only stare at him and think back to what happened earlier, but then I manage to turn back toward Jerry. There's still a part of me that worries this is an illusion, that thinks it's far too convenient for him to show up like this, but at the same time I can feel a wave of relief rushing through my thoughts. I keep telling myself that I can't trust what I'm seeing, but finally I break down and start sobbing.

  “Oh my girl,” Jerry says, squeezing my hand tighter than ever for a moment, then putting his arms around me and holding me tight, “what have they done to you? What in the name of all that's holy has been going on in this house?”

  I try to tell him, but I collapse into a heap of whimpering cries. The more I try to pull myself together, the more I start trembling, and finally I cling onto Jerry as I realize that I can't possibly put any of this into words. How can I ever tell anyone what Nick did to me? And wouldn't they just think I
'm insane if I tell them about the way I got stitched up by unseen hands? In fact, I can barely believe any of it myself. Maybe once I'm out of here, I'll suddenly decide that the whole thing must have been in my head.

  I'd like that.

  I hope there's another explanation.

  “Matt!” I blurt out finally. “You have to find Matt! Save Matt!”

  “I'll call an ambulance first,” Jerry replies, “and then -”

  “No!” I pull back, suddenly filled with a sense of hope. “Find Matt! He's in one of the other rooms!”

  “Maddie -”

  “I have to find him!” I sob, starting to get to my feet. “If you won't go, I'll do it. There's still a chance he might be okay!”

  “Okay, wait there,” Jerry replies, putting a hand on my shoulder to keep me on the bed, as he gets up. “You're in no fit state to be walking about. I'll check on this friend of yours, but then I'm going to call an ambulance.”

  “Hurry!” I whimper as he steps around Nick's dead body and makes his way out onto the landing. He heads to one of the doors and I hear him looking in the next room along, and then a moment later I hear him in the room next to the top of the stairs.

  And then he falls silent for a moment.

  “Please be okay,” I sob, “please, please...”

  Matt can't be dead. It's my fault he's here, and I'll never be able to live with myself if anything bad has happened to him. He managed to survive one beating, and I keep telling myself that maybe Nick didn't have time to go back and kill him. After all, he was far more interested in me, so hopefully he just incapacitated Matt and planned to finish him off later. As the seconds tick past, however, I start to wonder why Jerry still hasn't returned. He should be back by now, but all I hear is -

  Suddenly there are footsteps, and a moment later Jerry appears in the doorway. I can immediately see from the look in his face that something's wrong, but I refuse to believe the worst. There has to be a chance.