Pulling my boots back on, I do not stop to tie the laces, butreach for the paper and pencil to tell Watts about my misfortune.
“No,” he says, locking the door. “No excuses. I’ll get what Iwas promised. You’re not going anywhere until I do.”
I lead him to the approximate place where the earbob went intothe sewer. Hershel Watts hunkers down, makes a brief perusal, and laughsbitterly. “I’m not digging through that mess.”
Watts regains his feet and heads down the hall, footstepsechoing. “You find my pearl and we’ll do business.”
The stench of the Violent Unit makes my eyes water, and Ibreathe through my mouth, steeling myself to begin the search. Do it, Hester.You must try. Squatting down, I extend my hand toward the grate. I hear chainsclank against each other and metal joints creak within the cell to my right. Softlythis time.
“’At you, dearie?” Harry asks. “The silent one what took mefingers? We’ll let bygones be bygones, ’ey?”
Some snakes cuddle their quarry before squeezing them to death,and Harry is doing the same, cajoling me into trusting him. But I sense thatwhen he is free of his bonds, all good humor will disappear. I could choke onthe foul smell of his hatred. I stumble to my feet and run, one hand touchingthe wall, the other outstretched before me. Harry goes wild at this and workshis chains back and forth in a frenzy. A bolt in the wall must have come loosebecause he is suddenly at the cell door, jerking against it. I round the cornerand fall, tripping on my untied laces.
“Careful, Ragamuffin,” Harry calls. “Wouldn’t want you to ‘urtyourself.”
The squeaking of metal hinges intensifies. Rusty iron, mostlikely ignored for years. By the sound of it, he’ll have the door off in notime.
Get up, Hester! Run!
And I do just that, until I lose my bearings at the nextcross-section of corridors. Which way to my ward? Right? No, left. Left. Notfar away, metal whines and gives way under pressure. Sweet blazes. He’sbreaking free.
Howling in triumph, Harry pushes the door aside and steps outof his cell. Slow footsteps at first, but then, sounding like a ravening wolf,he begins to run.
“Let’s play,” Harry whispers, turning at the top of the hallwaywhere I stood only minutes ago.
Swinton must be part bloodhound because he follows my trailnearly to the footstep. I take the sharpened bone from my pocket and hold ittight, accidentally snapping the brittle weapon in two.
Bloody hell, I’m an idiot! Now what can I do to defend myself?
The plaster wall under my right hand changes and becomes asplit wooden surface—a double door. Applying all my weight, I push through itand enter the room. Everything smells strongly of chemical agents. I feel myway forward into the space, discovering it is much larger than I expected withrows of chairs on several levels. The floor slopes downward, and I follow ituntil I reach a flat stage.
I run my hand along a broad counter upsetting a stack of gauze,spools of thread, trays of metal tools. Something falls on my foot, and I reachdown and gather it in my hands. An apron?
Damn and damn again. This is an operating theatre.
Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, leading a murderer whofavors knives to a room filled with them. Have I time to sneak out and gosomeplace else? No. My pursuer is coming down the hall, a hundred yards away.Better to stay here—Harry’s not the only one gifted with the blade. I lift ascalpel in my hand and feel its weight. A little light, but if I throw them inrapid succession, they might wound him sufficiently. In any case, the scalpelsare far better than my pointy chicken bones.
And what other option is there? I don’t trust my new powers—don’tknow how to summon the heat that wounded Harry before and caused him to losehis hand. I organize my weapons, arranging them on a cart to my right. WhenHarry enters the theater, I am as prepared as I can be, given my situation.
“Never gets old,” he says, moving forward. “Tho’ I must confessme disappointment in tonight’s chase.” He sighs and ambles to the top of theaisle. “Rather anticlimactic, if I’m being ’onest.”
That’s right, Harry. Keep moving.
But he stays put, pausing for effect. A homicidal showman.“’Ere we are in a mental ‘ospital, of all places, at midnight, alone. Andthere’s no pleading or weeping. A travesty, that’s what it is.”
Must he belabor this? Come now, just another five feet…
At last, Harry walks down the slope. Finally getting on withthe actual attack. “Sorry, me lovely. I was ’oping fer better from you.”
Far be it from me to disappoint.
I propel the scalpel toward Swinton’s shoulder. He cries outand I hear him groping about the wound. The second knife is heavier and reachesits target, sinking harder and deeper than the first.
“Damn witch! Wait’ll I get thee.”
Harry takes another step, and my scalpels fly fast, a cloud ofspikes—hitting him multiple times. He screams and tries to run, but falls as mylast scalpel hits. Then I detect a crawling, dragging sound. In a pain lacedvoice, Harry wimpers and begs to be spared, as he pulls himself toward the aisle.
“All red,” Harry Swinton murmurs and drops into a puddle of hisown blood.
I cover my mouth, hoping not to be ill or to embarrass myselfin front of Jack the Ripper by crying with relief. Exhausted and completelydone with being brave, I do not wait for another opportunity of escape andhurry past his twitching body. He doesn’t wait either and grabs any part of me hecan reach. He seizes my ankle, and I hear a sizzling sound, smell the fetidodor of scorched skin. The contact between us is brief, but I stumble down tomy knees.
“Burned again!” Harry cries, outraged.
Light-headed, I get to my feet and make myself walk to the topof the
