The Killing Hand (17 page)

I attempted to sleep, but found I could not. My
mind was plagued with guilt and horror of the crime that was to be committed. After a short while of lying dormant and unable to sleep I decided that I would not waste the night and instead rise. I bathed and prepared myself for when the morning would come. Even though I had no work to attend to, I still made effort to dress proper. I thought, with no certain clarity, of what actions I could take, of which there were few. I could wait for the certain murder of Arthur Shaw or I could attempt to intervene. Knowing that would be wrought with guilt forevermore should I let the murder occur, I found myself committed to preventing what I had done.

   At first light I descended my stairs and exited into the streets. They were sparse, a few early risers on errands
walked with purpose, but little more. I made my way towards the building of Godwin & Co. As I had hoped, I found it desolate when I arrived, for even Gilbert did not wake at such an hour. I opened the shop with the key that once belonged to my Father, entered, and shut it and the world out.

   The place was quiet. Not even the slight whisper of pen against paper broke the silence. The entirety of the shop was dim, with the morning light only just beginning to peek through the windows and illuminate the floorboards.

   I had no time to linger, for I was unsure when Gilbert would arrive. I assumed not this early, but wished not to remain long enough to find out. I made my way immediately to the log books stacked against the walls containing details of our customers. Although Arthur Shaw was a blackmailer and a crook, I suspected that my Father would have been insistent on marking him as a customer, if not only to make the books reflect the loss.

   It took time, for there were many names scrawled in those tomes and Gilbert had done little to sort
them following my Father’s absence, but eventually I found it. I tore the page from the book, placed it back down on the shelf and exited, locking up behind me committing the workplace back to stillness.

   I decided to purchase the most recent newspaper.
I was, after all, yet to discover if my actions were all in vain. No murder glorified the cover and this was enough. It was entirely possible that it simply had not been reported by the police yet, but I could only act on what I knew. I returned home and waited for evening to come. He had never killed during the day and I saw no reason for him to start. My best chances of catching him out would be to be there when the attack occurs.

   Once evening came and the sun began to duck from the sky I set out once
again. Arthur Shaw lived in the type of place one would imagine a wealthy man to do so. The façade of the grand terrace townhouse imposed itself upon the street below, acting every bit as smug and proud as its owner. I wasted no time in fear of it, instead hopping up the steps and clapping the knocker. By this time the sun had finally disappeared and many were in the street making their way from work.

   Arthur answered, with a curious smile. “
Eric Godwin? A curious surprise to find you here. A part of me did expect for you to turn up sooner or later.”

   “
It did?” I asked, attempting to remain calm. I had to make sure to act casual and avoid raising any sort of alarm.

   “
You forget I knew your Father. It was not unlike him to visit to try and come to an agreement. Whilst I feel that you may be wasting your time Eric, I will at least give you the time of day, for I am interested in the outcome. But where are my manners! Come in, come in!"

   Arthur stepped back, opening the door of his home to me. I entered
and was lead to his parlour. I smell of smoke lingered in the air and a freshly poured glass of gin rested on the coffee table. He offered me the pleasure of both, but only accepted the offer of the drink.

   The threat of the killer concerned me, but I c
ould do little for the time being. I could not simply tell Arthur that he was to be murdered, there would be too many incriminating questions. I decided my best action would be to delay and, should the murderer appear, then perhaps we could both outwit him and bring an end to this sordid affair whilst simultaneously playing it off as a chance attack. “Mr Shaw,” I said, “How did you come to know my Father?”

   His reply was simple. “
Business. In exactly the same fashion as you do now, no different. He and I became acquainted through the contacts one gains in their circles. But that is not what you wish to ask of me, is it, Eric? You wished to ask me how he found himself in such a situation, do you not?”

   I fumbled with my glass and nodded my head.

   He continued, “After you left, Godwin & Co went through a rough patch. Still is, as far as I can tell. Your Father needed money.”

   “
And you offered him a lone in exchange for permanent repay?”

   He grinned. “
It is good to know that the rumours of your intellect are not accurate. Yes, I offered him a temporary boost for a permanent one in return. An unfair deal viewed from any angle, but men in deep holes grab at any rung within reach – and your Father had few.”

   A slow, purposeful knock resonated from the fr
ont door. I knew immediately who it was.

   Arthur said, “
Ah! It appears I have another guest tonight.”

   What could I do? If he opened the door then he would be inviting the killer into this home. He would see me as a witness and attempt to remove me as
well in the process. I could not let Arthur be caught off guard, for we stood better chance if we were both alive. But what, with me stood in the middle of Arthur Shaw’s parlour with no place to hide, could I do without arousing the suspicion of both parties? I had little option.

   “
Are you expecting someone?” I asked, attempting to delay.

   “
I am not,” he said as he made his way towards the hall.

   “
Then I would suggest you do not open that door, Mr Shaw.”

   He fixed me a queer look. “
And why do you say such a thing? Aside from the fact that you seem to have a fear of answering your own at the best of times.”

   I stammered, but grappled onto reason. “
You have not seen the news recently? The reports of the wealthy who are murdered at night by some foul beast? The police recommend that people do not answer their doors after light.”

   His look remained, his head tilting slightly. He began to creep towards me. The knocking had since stopped.

   He said, “You believe that the killer may be outside?”

   “
I have no way to be certain, but that is the advice they are giving. If the man on the other side of that door has come to kill you, then I believe it best for us to stay here.”

   Arthur smiled, a mix of entertained and confusion. "And why would you think th
at he would target me?"

   “
You are an affluent businessman, the exact sort of target he looks for.”

   Arthur paused. Then, from nowhere, let out a roaring laugh. “
You are more strange than the rumours suggest, Mr Godwin. I can assure you the man knocking at my door has not come to kill me.” He patted me on the shoulder and, with a smirk, made his way back to the hall.

   “
Wait, Arthur,” I said. “You shall not answer that door.”

   He froze in the doorway. The soles of his feet squeaked against the wooden floor as he turned on the spot. “
This is no mere paranoia,” he said, “You know more than you let on.”

   Desperate, I found myself with no alternative. If I refused to argue then
he would open that door and we would find ourselves at the mercy of Him. I had no option but to be honest and hope he would listen to reason long enough to devise a plan.

   He demanded, “
Tell me why you say such things.”

   “
Because I know the man who sent him,” I stuttered. “That is why I came here tonight.”

   “
To warn me?”
   I did not answer. No lies, no fault.

   I expected him to strike me. Shout at me, in the very least. Instead he simply smiled and said, “
Fool.” With that he made his way towards the front door.

   “
But, Mr Shaw, do you not understand? The man is a killer?” I called to him as he vanished into the hall.

   His voice echoed as he walked down the hallway. “
Then, if that is the case, he will not simply stop at a door knock, will he?”

 
I hear the latch slide and the door open. I hunt about the room, searching for any nook in which I could hide myself, but there were none. I was trapped. A spider caught in its own web. I could only stand, frozen to the spot in cold realisation that I had painted my own downfall, my eyes forever widening. I heard the sounds beyond the room: a short silence. Then the door opening further. Footsteps, slow and heavy. Two sets of footsteps approaching the parlour.

   Then Arthur Shaw appeared in the doorway o
f the parlour, his face blank and expressionless. He stepped inside and a man behind him followed. He was large in frame, dressed in a long black coat, his face concealed by a mask and his hands by leather gloves.

   Arthur said, “
Is this your killer?”

  
I knew immediately that I had walked into a trap; that the very grave mistake I had been told I had made was composing itself before my eyes, yet the dots were failing to join. I merely stood in disbelief for some time, nodding out of obedient fear, before managing to speak, “W-what is this?”

   “
A foolish attempt, I would say,” Arthur responded. “Admirable, however. I did not believe you had it in you. You first marked me for death merely because you found me to be a thorn in your side – a situation I had suspected may occur and I made plans accordingly, but what I did not expect was for you to turn up this very evening. A change of heart, was it? I applaud you for your attempt at the very least, but it was short sighted in the end. This, as I believe you are already aware, is the infamous
‘Terror of London’
, although his current name appears to be ‘Spring-heeled Jack’, a title neither of us are fond of. Tell me, how many times have you been a Jack now?”

   The killer did not respond. He did not so much as a
cknowledge the question, instead remaining silent and transfixed upon me. Upon his prey.

   “
No matter,” Arthur continued. “It should probably be apparent to you by now, Eric, that you have cornered yourself.”

   “
W-why?” I asked, perhaps in futility. “To what purpose and gain?”

   “
Such a thing should be obvious: money. Is that not what fuels us all? Even you? It is a lucrative business, Eric, although you appear to already know such things. I should imagine that you are now asking how you could free yourself from such a situation. You cannot. There is nothing to be done. You appear to think me a villain, but you must understand that villainy is merely a matter of perspective. I am no mastermind. I am a businessman, such as yourself, although admittedly dissimilar in every way. My interest is in acquiring assets – now that is something I am sure you
do
understand since your involvement in those meetings. However, in this case, you are and your friends happen to be the ones that I am after.”

   “
But why us?”

   Arthur smiled. “
Why you, in particular? You would have to ask your good friend Lucius why he has committed you to this path. I cannot answer for his reasoning, although I will say it is fitting. Beware though, that should you start down that route of discovery, you may not like what you find.” For a fleeting second I thought that he may expand, that the explanation would be laid out before me, but he did not, instead opting to leave me guessing.

   Jack, the fearful being that had stood silent throughout
this exchange, suddenly twitched. It was slight, as if a cold chill had ran down His spine, but when I saw the claws spring out from the tips of his gloves I knew His movements were purposeful. My stomach dropped. Was this the end?

   The next series of e
vents remain very clear in my mind. They played in slow motion, as if I were meant to take in every horrific detail. Jack spun around on the spot and those claws dug deep into the stomach of Arthur Shaw. He let out a cry and dropped his glass to the floor. He attempted to scream something – possibly a “What are you doing?”, but the foul creature dug the claws in deeper and twisted. There was a slurping sound as he did so, followed by a crunch as the twist began to slow and judder. He repeated this action several times, each one more ferocious than filled with anger, until Arthur Shaw’s torso was reduced to mangled meat. Jack removed his arm from the once-stomach of Arthur Shaw. It was shining with a coat of blood up to the elbow. With a weak moan, Arthur Shaw collapsed to the floor. The impact against it silenced him and he moved no longer.

   I remained routed to the spot in cold silence. What had happened here? Was Arthur Shaw not the creature
’s controller? Was I next? I knew that Jack would not forget my presence. If I did not take action, he would kill me without hesitation.