The Killing Hand (25 page)

And now as I sit in my cell I find that for the first time since this whole ordeal began I have time to think, time to collect my thoughts and reflect on the events that led me to this very moment, time to remember the men who have fallen in my journey to get here and to think of the man who is yet to fall.

   I take all responsibility for everything that has happened thus far. I should have seen it coming
– the clues were there, but I simply wished not to acknowledge them, choosing instead to live in ignorance. You can never truly accept the truth until it happens – and even then sometimes the truth is too hard to bear.

   Had anyone learned anything from the ideal? If they had, they were not aware that they had, and they even seemed happier for it up until
their final moments. Perhaps this is what they wanted the entire time.

   With Palmer dead, the final tie to Jack has been severed.
Now that I sit imprisoned, I will be sentenced. The evidence is against me. Jack has disappeared beyond my reach.

   And it
seems wrong that, despite my hammering and shouting for help, no one will listen to my plea. I am labelled a villain. If only someone would listen, then perhaps I could tell them my story, the full story, and I could end this nightmare.

   But if I told t
hem my story, would I be classed a murderer? I had sat by idly in those meetings and watched as man after man was sentenced to death. I led Jack to Palmer. Perhaps I had even led him to James on that fateful night.

   Maybe I am the villain.

   As I look out of the dilapidated cell window, the night sky no longer seems so harrowing. In fact, I can almost see the stars. For a brief moment, I feel calm.

   There is a sound of a steel door slamming shut and a set of footsteps approaching. I try to peer through
the bars but cannot see anything. The entire corridor is bathed in darkness.

   A policeman walks up to the rust encrusted bars and stars at me silently, his details hidden by shadows. He beckons for me to move to the back of the cell and I do so. Each ti
ck of the clock feels like a decade as he waits behind the uninviting cell door, my heart pounding faster than the sweat pouring out of my body. He pulls out a set of keys and unlocks the door, stepping in.

   My heart races. Am I free? I hope to God that
he tells me that the real Jack has been caught. That my arrest was simply a misunderstanding. That it is all over and done with. That I am free to live without being hunted.

   Instead, he simply turns and locks the door behind him and turns to me. He does
not say a thing to me, standing still with an icy glare. I cannot move. This man is the very definition of dangerous.

   He reaches up to his officer's jacket and begins to unbutton it, revealing a steel chest plate.

   The man stood before me is none other than Spring-heeled Jack Himself.

   He takes a step towards me and my body freezes. Another step. And another. I manage to press my way along the wall, circling
Him as he toys with me. I make my way towards the locked cell door.

   "You cannot leave me
in here with him!" I yell to the dim hall beyond, holding onto the cold metal bars so hard my knuckles begin to turn white. "He will kill me!"

   He raises his hand up
. Long steel nails protrude from His glove, beckoning me to silence.

   My legs shake and
I feel sick. It is too late – there is no way to leave this disgusting, filthy room. But in a way, it is for the best. I had done too much running over the past few months. A resolve rushes over me as I realise that, one way or another, this must end.

  
I have accepted that this cell may well be my tomb, but I at least hope for some closure. "Why did you do it?"

   Jack simply smiles and avoids the questions. "You're an interesting one, Eric. I have to say. Everyone else tries to get rich and famous, but
what were you doing there? You were just trying to scrape along, weren't you? Trying to make a living from the gains of others, you're not dissimilar to me."

   "I do not
go around killing people.".

   "Does not mean you are free of sin though."

   That sickening smile widens. He knows that I am his. That I have no means of escape and He can finally end this tonight.

   "You do not even care, do you?" I call out, hoping to prolong the inevitable in the hopes that someone may chance upon us.

   He extends the remaining claws from his gloves. Before I even see him move I can feel his knee digging into my stomach, causing me to double over. The side of my face goes cold as it collides with stone. He prances from left to right as he extends his silver claws, pure excitement spread across his face. I struggle to my knees, the shock of the impact tightening my entire body. I let out a desperate scream, knowing my time is growing shorter. Nobody responds to it.

   "Shout all you want, Eric. Nobody is coming to save
you now. Here marks the end of The Terror of London"

   Heat rushes over my face as I realise Jack has swiped at me and the claws have dug into the flesh of my face. I stagger back, clinging to the bars of the cell to keep me up. I feel hot blood trickling
down my face and running down my shirt. I scream at him in fury. "You are nothing but a monster!"

   Jack lunges at me, his fingers clasped around my neck, pinning me against the bars. "Perhaps in your literal definition, but if I am a 'monster' then what
are you? Your actions left men dead, guards and labourers who had wives and children. Are you going to comfort them in their grief, consoling them with the thought that their husband and father was a "villain"? You have hurt and maimed and ruined people's livelihoods whose only crime was choosing the side you think is in the wrong. And your reasons – your only excuse for this damage – is for materialistic gain! And now your friends are dead, and I am deemed a monster. All the people I have killed – for unlike you, I admit that I have killed – all the lives I have ruined, and this one act deems me a monster. How pathetic. Well, take comfort in the fact that today you have also become a monster in the eyes of the wives and children of those men. And you will die here, knowing that you also have become the thing you were trying to defeat. You will die here as Spring-heeled Jack."

   Before I can respond, I feel another knee to my ribs and I can feel something crack within as I collapse to the floor.

   He continues. "You see me as the bad guy, the murderer, the monster. But have you ever stopped to think of how I see you? Fat pigs in a room, drinking and eating whilst marking men for death. We both knew there was only one way to escape this hell. You kill me and you get to walk away a free man. I kill you and I can finally walk free of Spring-heeled Jack.”

   He squats down beside me. I try to move, but my body is paralyzed from the repeated blows. I can feel the heat of his breath as
he speaks. "We're all monsters, Eric. It's a matter of who knows it, and who continues to close their eyes and plug their ears."

   "
T-there was no n-need for any of this. Y-you c-could have stopped at any point. Y-You are evil..."

   "No, I am a realist.
Jack was a celebrity, and as such required a fitting end."

   I lever myself up a little, pain rushing over my torso. I place an unsteady palm against my body and push one of my ribs back into place, my face twisting at the sickening notion of my bones bre
aking within me. A heavy hand on my collar pulls me up. I hang before Jack as if on a meat rack as I feel a mix of fist and claw collide with my body.

   Jack drops me to the floor and I
smash against the stone with a sickening crack. He stands over me, arms stretched. "But what is evil, really? Evil does not exist. Evil is invented from whatever opposes your own morals. This is not a battle of heroes and villains. It is a battle of principles." He grabs my head once more and pulls me towards him. "And those who have none."

   He launches me across the room. My entire body is encompassed with a dull ache and my vision begins to black
en. I try to move. My fingers. My toes. My arms. Nothing.

   "Y-you are...
insane..."

   "No, I am perfectly aware of what I am doing. You, on the other hand, seem to have the delusional notion that you can stop me."

   I feel the hot white heat of steel claws tearing into my face, tearing through skin and touching bone. As the claws tear away I can feel part of my upper lip tear open. I want to scream, but I can only manage a hoarse groan.

   "Do you know why you are similar to me? Because you had everyone fooled, did you not?"

   I struggle to choke a response out. My mouth goes numb. My jawbones taste of salt, and all I can do is swallow. I see his steel boot dig into my ribs, but cannot feel it anymore. I realise that death is upon me, that my demise is nearing and I have been given no chance to accept such a fate. It will happen regardless.

   Jack's voice starts to echo, as if it were a mile away. "You do not even have to say it. It was the money, all along, was it not? You did not stay in England for your friends, nor your
Father’s legacy, but for the money. You caused that man the utmost disrespect."

   He swings at me in a fit of anger. The claws tear across my body and face. The vision in my right eye goes black. I feel the thick drip of blood running down my face. Jack has no intention of leaving me alive. He wishes to rel
ish in my death.

   "It was not that I had killed your
Father that worried you. It was that he was not around anymore to fund you to disappear to the far ends of the world."

   "
B...bastard..."

   "That cool exterior soon crumbles when you are exposed, Eri
c. What is the difference between us? We both are driven to get and do what we want by any means necessary. We both have both suffered tragedy. So what is the difference between us? Is it because I have just a little more blood on my hands?"

   Jack slashe
s manically at my body, tearing through clothes and flesh. Despite the pain, despite the lack of feeling, I instinctively curl up as my body gets weaker and weaker. He kneels down and watches me writing in pain. I can feel my body growing colder. I try to scream, but nothing comes. Jack slides a single metallic claw up towards my neck.

   Who was it who said your life flashes before your eyes before you die? How did he live long enough to start that rumour? Why would people just believe him? I suppose becau
se they don't want to have to prove it by dying. In the absence of my flashing lifespan, only thoughts of worry fill my brain as my blood filled my pockets and soaked the floor.

   I can hear his voice resonating about my head, hissing like a snake descend
ing towards its prey. "Prepare for the black, Eric."

   I flinch, expecting to feel the cold steel of hell tear through my body and end it all. In a way, I am relieved that such a horror would end, for the pain surging through my body has sapped all the ho
pe and resolve running through my system and replaced it with terror. I cannot remember the exact moment I stopped being scared, but it is gone now. Instead I am tired and cold and ready to die. And die I will, that I am certain, here and now, and not a soul will know. The realisation of how fragile – how pitifully mortal – I am sweeps over me as I lay on the cell floor. My head is spinning. I feel the pool of blood around me get bigger and bigger. I cover my eyes with my hands. They hurt so bad. It feels like someone has lit them on fire. I can't open them, can't blink. I can't ever hear what is going on around me. The pain worsens as I close my eyes. I pass out, or I think I pass out. Perhaps this is death. I know that I will die here in this infernal cell.

   That I will die here as Spring-heeled Jack.

   Instead, there is the sound of a gunshot, a sudden ringing thunder within the prison itself, followed by a scream of agony. The sickening crack of the gun makes me jump, my heart running away with my confidence. All I can hear is the rush of blood in my slightly deafened ears. The fear is immediate, and real. It sends shivers down my spine, faster than the bullet that pierces its victim. I manage to roll on my side, grunting in pain as I do, in time to see Jack himself stumbling towards the wall of the prison. As he does so I can see where the gunshot emitted from: Lilly beyond the bars of the cell clutching the smoking pistol in her hands, the shock of her own deed painted across her face.

   I want
to stand. To run towards her and embrace her and thank her for coming to save me. For ending this nightmare. But my body is paralyzed, frozen and numb from the torture and I can simply stare at her with admiration.

   Jack manages to stand though, clambering his
way up from the stone floor. Whilst Lilly fumbles with the pistol, still in shock that the infernal thing had fired, Jack manages to get to the door of the cell and unlock it. He spreads his claws, preparing to lunge. In reflex, Lilly takes another shot, sending him to his knees with a groan. Once again he struggles up towards her, but another shot sends him crashing to the floor. Frantically, he reaches out to claw at her ankles. The bullets ring out, one but one, sending him into a still silence until the gun clicks.