Chapter_13_The Star Guiding Me Home
The more time passed the less and less powerful Julia's wrath became, for with each and every round, the rageful flare would burn lower. Her anger, however, seemed to maintain homeostatic balance with her worry, which replaced the anger, growing exponentially as the hotter emotion calmed. William was alive when he had called, when she had heard his voice in the phone, his breathing. There was no doubt then. Now, however, there was doubt. He could have been killed… or not. If not, he still could be… before he had a chance to make it home to her… before he had a chance… to explain. Although Julia now understood in a deep and profound way that not knowing when you are supposed to know is so much worse than not knowing when you are not supposed to know, she unintentionally sent herself back down the tunnel of despair each time she told herself, "He should be home by now." And, as for her anger, it had settled down into a slow and steady simmer, fueled by the burning flame of her hurt underneath it, and it had begun to feel to her as if that hurt would always be there – always.
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William roused George. It was barely past midnight, and they were still at Ettie's Coffee House. Benefitting their plan to sneak out in the middle of the night, they had been able to arrange to stay in the same room, taking advantage of the fact that on this particular night, there was a customer who had requested the company of two ladies, something of which George himself was familiar with of late.
The noises William had noticed George had been making for the past few hours suggested that the man had enjoyed a deep, high-quality sleep, seemingly enhanced by a few moments of dreaming that he thought rivaled some of Julia's more… spicy dreams. William, on the other hand, had not slept a wink. He wondered if having Julia's picture would have helped, for anxiety plagued him, and he had failed to find any means of self-soothing. Perhaps more troubling than the intense anxiety was the feeling that underneath that anxiety there was a deep gloominess. Over and over again, he replayed their short phone conversation, each time working to have a better result, a result in which he had been able to convince her that he loved her more than life itself, that, for him, she wholly was his world.
Intermittently, he would coach himself to think about something else, often turning to the case at hand. That's when the intrusive flashes, so visceral, disturbing and unsettling, would come, most often of him chaining up another pig's hindfoot and cringing as he tried to hide from the suffering his doing so had caused.
In response to the flash, he would tell himself, "Burns liked the electric stun-gun. So many pigs will be freed of the torture because of your invention," trying to turn that page… Only to have another abhorrent apparition appear, perhaps a memory of Flannel Bull telling him to take off his shirt, or the sight of the teenage-boy standing before him as his captors opened the barn door, the boy who would be taken in William's place, any matter of the boy's turning and running or William's attempts to fight the demons off while handcuffed, destined to fail, leaving him bearing the guilt of not being chosen.
Even imaginary horrors popped up to torment him, like when he pictured what would have happened if Clegg had not chased the knife-wielding, crazed Graveson off, or if Clegg had decided to actually shoot him in the tender spot in which he had aimed his gun. Soon after that one, memories of the sound of the giant rotary saw at Davies slaughterhouse slicing through a pig carcass would blare in his ears, and he would panic, imagining that he was next, hanging in the cold darkness, bound and dangling from a meat-hook. He even saw in his mind's eye, chilling things, things that he had only been told about, by Sin, who had spoken of one man's toddler son who had drowned in the street, and that then, that same man had come home to find his wife dead, with their dead little baby still stuck inside of her, the child having killed her with its tiny hope of life. And of course, then William would be back to thinking about Julia. It had been a night of nightmares, without ever falling asleep.
Both dressed once again in their hobo clothes, William considered where to best carry the precious letter written by Adomas that would provide the evidence needed to convict Davies and Mulligan. George threw his hands up in the air declaring, "Oh, it's best not me, sir. I never told you this before, but I lost your wedding ring…"
William's eyebrow jutted up. He was certain the ring on Julia's finger was the same one he had bought for her?!
"Oh, Higgins found it. It had fallen through a hole in my pocket and he found it on my typewriter – got it to me just in time," the lucky best man explained.
"I see," William replied, folding the letter again and then putting it in an inside pocket, a somewhat secret pocket that he had sewn into his hobo pants before they had left Toronto. He blew out a puff of air, trying to calm his nerves. It was time to go. George picked up his bundle, William regretting that his own backsack had been stolen, and with it most of the money he had left – and Julia's photo. He needed to exhale again, the tension rising with his thoughts, and the memory they triggered, of the backsack's thief, Clegg, threatening to shoot him in his groin.
The two men tiptoed down the upstairs hallway headed for the stairs. The Coffee House was almost quiet, only an occasional lustful moan or the squeaking of mattress springs as they passed by one room or another. Turning to go down the stairs before they would pass Ettie's room, William smiled to himself knowing that behind that door Ettie was with Meyers. He hoped for her sake that Meyers would come clean with her about being in love with her. William had become only more certain that what he saw in Meyers last night had been true love.
On the large and winding first floor in the dark, they made their way to the kitchen where their coats still hung, filthy but warm, dry, snug, waiting for them in the back of the pantry. Once their coats were on, William stepped out of the pantry only to encounter Ettie in the moonlit blackness. Panic bolted to his heart, through his veins, sending every muscle to alert. "Thank God it's you," he whispered, his hand over his racing heart, once his brain registered her identity.
She stepped very close to him, his heart still beating rapidly from the fright, and stood on her toes to bring her lips close to his ear. "I think you might have been right about Terrence," she whispered, "Though the stubborn spy won't admit it… at least not out loud."
"Good," William replied simply.
Then she kissed his cheek. "Good-bye Will," she said, her message resonating with multiple levels of their parting.
"Good-bye Ettie," he whispered back.
William and George crawled out of a window to best avoid detection, a window that was cloaked by snow-covered bushes and trees, and the two men disappeared into the moonlit night.
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Having very little money left, anticipating difficulty finding a cab at this time of night, at least in Winnipeg, and figuring it would have been easier for someone to follow them if they had tried to hail one anyway, William and George decided to walk to the train tracks where they intended to catch a train to Burns' meatpacking plant. Their pace was brisk, but George still wanted to talk.
"You called it a ménage a trois, sir… my encounter with the… ladies, that first night…" the younger man huffed, his voice catching up to William, as George hurried to keep up, from a few steps behind him.
"Mm," William replied, already feeling his temperature rise and his armpits start to sweat with George's chosen topic.
"Well, I think it would really have to be called a ménage a quatre, I think sir," George said, waiting for what he figured was his bomb to hit.
Julia would have died laughing if she could have seen William's face. "Oh?" was all William could muster, his eyebrow highly elevated, trying not to sound shocked.
"Yes sir… You see there were really three…"
All of a sudden, their legs tearing them across the backyard as fast as they could, William and George figured out that they were being chased by a huge dog, their instincts putting them at top speed before their minds had had time to actually figure out what the noise was coming up from behind them! Within seconds, William was up a tree – George dove over a fence a second later! The dog had stuck with William and now barked wildly, rearing up to place his front legs up the trunk, even jumping over and over in an effort to try to reach the man. This dog was fierce, and this dog was noisy – the lights went on in the house!
From half-way up the tree, William's voice whispered with a yell, "George, throw the roast beef!" George looked up, searching for the detective in the tree. "The roast beef Miss Shari gave you!" William insisted.
"Brilliant sir," George declared – having forgotten he had the delicacy. George whistled softly, "Hey fella, over here," as he waved the roast beef wrapped up in a paper bag through the air.
"Thank God," William thought the moment the dog caught a whiff of it, turned away from the tree trunk, and stopped his loud barking.
George hurled the roast beef far from the tree harboring the detective and the dog took flight, as did William. The man sure could move fast, probably all the cycling. William flung himself over the fence exclaiming in a whisper, "That was close."
"I just about laid an egg, sir!" George whispered his shout. "Do you remember, sir, when you saved me from that wild…"
William knew exactly where the constable was headed, instantly feeling the intense surge of pain in his buttocks cheek where the vicious dog had bitten him. My God, Julia had been so mad at him for taking such a risk, taking on a guard-dog that had pinned George to the ground, and was surely about to kill him. "All too well, George," William responded, fighting the urge to rub the old wound.
"That's when the whole stationhouse found out Dr. Ogden was pregnant!" George remembered excitedly.
"Yes, George," William said, remembering Julia's fiery admonishment, a rather public one at that.
"Sir…" George started to ask him something, then thinking better of it. They were on the move again and it seemed William was not all that interested in talking, "Never mind," he said.
Knowing George couldn't see, for the man was trailing a bit behind, William rolled his eyes, immediately having an image of Julia ducking her chin and reprimanding him with her gorgeous blue eyes about his lack of patience. William took a deep breath, calling on his forbearance and asked, "What's on your mind George?"
Happily, George replied, "Well, sir, how did you know… I mean you told me, when we were in the bar after forfeiting the curling match to that snob Wesley Garland, you told me that since the first time you had met Dr. Ogden you thought she was the one for you, and… I just wondered, how did you know? I, uh, I've thought, well that I too had found the one for me every time I, um… Just, how did you know?"
He would not be able to answer that, William knew this, for there were not words to describe it. He pictured seeing her step out of the morgue's carriage at Clayton Bowles' home – his first moment meeting the new lady pathologist. He had already been impressed with her, for her having accomplished becoming a doctor, he knew she would have amazing determination and grit, and be bright and far more capable than just about any man around, for her to have made it so far, as a woman, in this man's world. The experience had been physical though, instantly catapulting his head into spinning, his heart into a wild, thunderous pounding, and skipping and soaring in his chest with just the sight of her. My God, she was beautiful. And he just knew it. He had been looking for her all his life, and he just knew it, he had finally found her.
"I can't really say George. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. I had loved Liza, but that love had grown over time. It didn't start out at all… like that. I had felt attracted to her, but… It just wasn't anything like what I felt when I met Julia. The earth moved, and I just knew I'd found her, that she was the one for me," he said, suddenly feeling he had said too much, too gushy…
"Well you sure took a long time to start courting her," George stated, receiving a frown he could not see.
"Yes," William said, "Too long indeed.
Finally, silent for a while, George broke the quiet hike, telling William, "You know sir, I forgot to tell you, um… the young lady, the one who told me she had met a man who bragged that he was going to be making a lot of money by destroying Burns for Davies, back last summer…"
"Mm," William said, saving his breath, grateful to see the train tracks ahead. They would catch a train here to take them to Burns' place. There, they would stow away on a train full of refrigerated meat headed back to Toronto. "Was there something more George?" William asked.
George had decided to keep the part about this woman actually being the third woman to join them that night to himself, but she did share some important information that he had remembered, and George felt the detective needed to be informed about it so, he said, "She said that she never saw the man again after that."
"Perhaps Graveson killed him too… Maybe he figured, or maybe he even found out, that this second man was going to commit sabotage against his employer, Mr. Armour. Graveson could have killed him too, to protect Armour's financial interests," William thought out loud, his face giving his customary wrinkle indicating he still had some doubts.
Suddenly George felt a chill up his spine. William did too. Graveson was creepy, and he was after them. Clegg had said the man had a one track mind, had warned William that the crazed man would be back to kill him. Fear threatened. There was a train whistle in the distance. William and George dashed for the tracks. The train was going their way, they'd best hurry… needing to beat their own record to catch it, there was only this train for hours and they couldn't miss the train leaving Burns' meatpacking plant at two AM. Now or never, they each gave it their all.
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The train car was empty, and thus it was cold. The door wouldn't close all the way and the wind howled through them. They sat in a corner, somewhat huddled together at a manly distance of a few inches apart, shivering. William put his hands in his pockets, and that's when he found it! Julia's photograph!
He was certain he hadn't left it there. He had kept it with him, had used to help settle down and be able to sleep that first night there. He pulled it out, looking down at it with puzzlement.
"The straw-bale I see," George commented on Julia's being a blond beauty in hobo terms, looking down at the picture as well. His comment reminded him of Sin. He had been inspired by the man, and he thought of him now. Sin had told them he would be heading home and starting his novel. He had said he even knew the title, "The Jungle." George thought that was quite apropos, as it was hobo lingo for a hobo meeting place, and it also made a strong statement about the reality of the harsh, cruel world – a world he'd come to know all too well over the course of this trip, it seemed even more so for the detective.
"George, this was in my backsack," William said, a spooky slowness to his words as he worked to fathom it.
"But didn't Clegg…"
"Yes, George. Clegg must have put it in my pocket. He was in the Coffee House – sometime after he… almost shot me," William answered, his pace quickening with the realization of the threat.
"Sir! Do you think he knows we left? Do you think…"
William took a deep breath, letting the exhale calm him, "We'd best be on the lookout," he said.
The stench in the air announced that they were getting close to Burns' Meatpacking Plant. The train they were on would be loaded up with meat and then head for Toronto. They jumped off a few hundred feet before it stopped, not wanting to be spotted by the workers. William had every intention of questioning these men, but he wanted to get a lay of the land first, to be on the lookout for Graveson and Clegg, and even Burns, though he was pretty sure that Canada's "Cattle King" was still at Ettie's – Burns was the one who paid for the company of two women last night.
Hiding in the dark behind what seemed to be a humungous vat of cow or pig blood, William and George studied the men moving about in the light only about twenty feet away. Each of them was large, hulking, each heaving a side of beef up onto their backs and then hurling it up into the train car.
"We're in luck George, I think I know one of them," William said. "The odds of it are so low, but the man did say he was going to try Winnipeg," William reasoned to himself. "That fellow right there!" William whispered excitedly, "That's John Dempsey, I'm sure of it… from the House of Industry – the man who saved my life, in the sawmill!"
"Psst! Psst!" William whispered when it looked like Dempsey was most alone, getting the man's attention.
Approaching, Dempsey's eyes focused suspiciously before a smile of recognition took his face. "Detective Murdoch!" he declared, being hushed quickly by the hiding pair.
William and Dempsey quickly caught up, and then Dempsey introduced them to another man who had known Adomas Baltavesky. This man said that Adomas had shown up one morning last August, that he was tailing a man who Adomas had said was going to kill lots of innocent people by messing up the meat, and Adomas intended to stop him. Dempsey's friend had helped Adomas get aboard the same train as the suspected man. He hadn't seen Adomas or the other man since. He had always figured Adomas had killed the man and then gone into hiding. Upon finding out that Adomas had been killed, the man seemed truly saddened. "He was the most noble man I'd ever met, trying to save people even when he was having so much trouble and turmoil trying to find his own wife and kid. Such a shame, dang shame," he had said.
"Sir," George asked, "Do you think Adomas did it? I mean there were never any reports of spoiled meat after that first one in July. Maybe Adomas did kill him, and save the day… I guess before Graveson then killed Adomas?"
"Possibly," William figured, adding, "Or Graveson killed both of them."
"Yes, of course, very possibly, especially knowing Graveson," George agreed.
Figuring that the word of a prostitute claiming that there was a man who told her was being paid a large sum of money by Davies to sabotage Burns' meat would not go very far towards convincing a judge, William decided not to pursue this clue any farther. Reminding himself not to subconsciously touch Adomas' hidden letter in his secret pocket, trusting that his evidence was safe and secure and not wanting to offer a 'tell' about it, William asked the two men to help them stow away on this train. George asked specifically if it could not be in one of the cars with the freezing cold meat. Thus, William and George ended up in a nice warm car full of hay-bales headed for Toronto. Finally, they were on their way home!
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It had been quiet for a while, the various cracks inside the train car letting in the pinkish-orange hues of dawn along with the chill of the wind from the train as it hurled through space. Crabtree re-discovered the two small bottles of lice shampoo that Lalka had given him, suggesting he share one with Mr. Codrum. "Detective," George said, breaking the peaceful clackety-clack chugging along of the train, "One of the ladies gave me an extra…for you." George extended the gift to William.
"Ah yes, Miss Weston, too, offered me some. I had it in my backsack. Thank you, George," William replied, taking the bottle and thinking to himself with a hop of jubilation that George's calling him "detective" signified that they were almost home. He found he was desperate with the need to see Julia, having trouble waiting for the moment he could hold her in his arms, and smell her delicious scent, feel her warm, soft body next to him. My God, he missed her – missed her so much the hurt of her absence seemed to sear a hole in him, his very life essence leaking out, dispersing in the world, leaving him empty. It was as if his very soul headed out to find her, leaving him bare, as if he couldn't be him without her.
Then, it flashed, the dread, the astounding fear that she would be upset with him, about staying with Ettie. Unwilling to tolerate the discomfort of it, he pushed the troubling thought away. But, much like a game of whack-a-mole, unbearable thoughts being pushed down in one spot only invited them to pop up again in another, and so it happened for William.
He wouldn't call it sleeping, but he had drifted off to somewhere, and in that place all myriad of taunts haunted him, from screeching pigs, to itching rashes on his skin, to dog bites, and bullets to his groin, images of the teenage boy being… William bolted upright, solidly, heart-pounding awake. Next to him, George had nodded off. He looked around. It seemed safe, only then, he heard himself finally breathe.
He was tattered and torn, a complete mess. He needed to sleep and he dreaded sleep, and with the possibility that Graveson was around, or even Clegg for that matter – if the spy had garnered some reason or another to think they were still a threat to American interests – and either of these men showed up threatening their lives, there was a realistic danger indeed. Maybe it was best if he didn't try to sleep.
William pulled Julia's picture out of his pocket. His fingers itched with the desire to take a hold of one of her curls, to feel it slide through his fingers, to almost hear the crinkly sound of the hairs rubbing across one another with his fingertips. He imagined moving in even closer, not quite kissing her neck… Just smelling her, breathing her in, letting her scent fill him, titillate him, light the spark.
He shifted, and then imagined walking through their front door, so filled with anticipation, just to see her, to have their eyes meet across the room…
Taking an ugly sudden turn, his imagination served up instead, the Inspector, sitting in his foyer, waiting there for him, with Eloise and Dr. Tash!
"Murdoch," the Inspector said…
And William knew… Started shaking his head, for it couldn't be true… He couldn't bear it to be true…
"Murdoch," the Inspector said again, stepping closer, his eyes so forlorn, his heart surely breaking with the news. "She's gone Murdoch."
The words stung so deeply he lost his ability to breathe, knew he would never ever breathe again, not without her…
"The baby?" he heard himself ask… into the tunnel…
A tear fell on Julia's photo with a plop, pulling him back. And he thanked God it wasn't true. Dizzy with fear, his body heavy with the release of the immense stress, he prayed to God that it wasn't true.
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Eloise took comfort in the fact that the doctor seemed happy in the baby's room, rocking in the rocking chair, surrounded by the beautiful new baby furniture. Last she had checked on her, Dr. Ogden had drifted off to sleep in the rocking chair, softly maintaining her deeper breathing while Eloise covered her with a blanket. Finally, her mistress would sleep.
She opened their bedroom closet to gather up any clothes to take out to be dry-cleaned, releasing a happy gasp with the sight of the detective's homburg on the top of the bundled up dirty dresses. "She's going to give him a chance," Eloise thought enjoying the feeling of the warmth fill her chest. "Thank God, she's going to give him a chance." Unfortunately, the man's cherished hat absolutely reeked with the smell of garbage. Eloise stuffed it into the center of her bundle of Dr. Ogden's dresses and hoped that the hat millinery would be able to remove the disgusting odor. At first thinking she hoped they would be able to do so before the detective got home, she quickly switched her wish, asking instead that he get home as soon as possible, hat or no hat.
Hesitating to glance in the foyer as she put on her coat, Eloise checked to see if the pile of bedding the doctor had put out by the couch for him was still there. Such a tumultuous, turbulent upheaval, much like those newfangled roller-coaster monstrosities at the amusement parks, her heart sunk again so soon after its earlier flight, upon finding that the detective's pajamas, and a pillow and a blanket waited there for him. The man would have a hard time with this… "As certainly was the doctor," she thought. Whatever it was he had done, she so hoped he could… Eloise shook her head, afraid her own doubt would dishearten her, thus ceasing the thought midstream. Things were truly a mess. She so wished he would get HOME.
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Hungry and cold and needing to find an outhouse, and coping with the discomfort of making due with whatever else they could find, all this and so much more weighed down on them. The life of a hobo, even a fake and temporary one, was hard indeed. It seemed, William reflected, that even just in the physical sense, Sinclair had been right, it is a jungle out here, and if you don't suffer and die at the hands of one predator or another, you will likely die of exposure, or starvation, or bad luck. Only one place was on his mind. William wanted to be – HOME.
It was only upon awakening that he realized he had fallen asleep. Instantly his every cell jumped into alert with the realization. "It's not safe to sleep! Check your surroundings!" his inner-adviser yelled to him. That's when he noticed it. There was a much stronger breeze than before. Turning his head very, very slowly towards the back door of the train car, he caught sight of the bright sunlight. The door was open! Terror pumped through him.
"George," he whispered, reaching over to rouse the sleeping man, "George."
The constable's eyes shot opened. Somehow, he awoke aware of the danger, stealthy and ready. Facing towards the opened door, George was the first to be certain of his presence. Something about the shadow on the bales of hay. William watched as George's eyes grew wide…
Suddenly, George dove onto William, his inertia hurling both them into a crack between two hay-bales and a shot pierced the air. The distinct, burning smell seemed to register along with the painful bang, the scent of singed-wood from where the bullet had slammed into the hay lingering in their nostrils with the ringing, as the two men once again ran for their lives. This time up and over the top of the stacked-up hay-bales, bolting for the other door.
"Goddamnit Graveson!" Clegg's yell rang out through the wind and the panic, "I said not to kill him!"
William and George slowed their retreat, ducking once again into a tight nook between hay-bales. It seemed that the two Americans were having a physical altercation…
Still holding their breath, William and George shared a look. Too quiet…
Then, the slightest creak on the floor. Then a man's figure in front of them. William's instincts took over. He would never be certain what about this situation triggered this response. Perhaps the level of fear he felt in reaction to Graveson subconsciously reminded him of the dangerous assassin he and his brother Jasper had encountered, a man called "Accidental Al" because he had made his murders appear to be accidents. Whatever the reason, his mind offered up the technique of ear boxing as self-defense, and although William had never actually done such a thing, he cupped his hands, smacked both of Clegg's ears simultaneously, and then watched as the man's eyes seemed to bug out of his head and he fell to the ground.
"I thought it was Graveson!" William declared, falling to his knees to try to revive Clegg. He was completely out.
"Sir!" George screamed alerting William to the once again rushing Graveson.
They dashed for the car door, instantly halting after opening it. There was no platform, or step, or anything to stand on, except for the link to the next train car, bouncing about, thin and precarious, a good two feet below them. To make matters even worse, it appeared that that train car ahead did not have a door anyway.
Remembering that he had observed outrageously high snowbanks along the tracks when he had "used the outhouse" earlier, William hollered out, "Jump George!"
Just as quickly, the detective was just gone – last seen crouching and throwing himself out the side of the train. George knew he did not have time to look back, but still, it took the sound of Graveson's gun firing again to startle him into taking the leap.
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"Too bad we had to throw away our only real food," George said, feeling so overwhelmed by hunger he thought he might feint. They had survived the jump, thanks to the fluffy, mountainous heaps of snow that had been shoveled to the sides of the tracks.
"That or be dog food," William replied, also so hungry that he wasn't sure if it was a joke, or just a profound and astute observation, one he would be more inclined to make now that he had, himself, almost become somebody's dinner, more than once. It had been hours since they had jumped off the train headed to Burns' Toronto meat distribution center. The good news was that they were relatively sure that Graveson had not also jumped off to pursue them, the bad news was that they were not certain another train would be coming by any time soon, and it was freezing, and they had another, more strategic, problem. Because of the very piles of snow that had just saved their lives for their sudden evacuation, they would now not be able to get the running start needed to get on a train should one come along.
William and George sat on George's blanket, part of it wrapped over them from the sides, in a little cubby hole they had dug in the snow to avoid the wind, and they racked their brains for a solution. William decided to think about all the times he had been on a train. Such a pleasant memory drifted up, warming him through and through.
He had taken a train to Rogue Valley because they had a case way out there, years ago, long before he and Julia had even courted. When he had gotten off the train and started to walk down the platform, he saw her from behind – and he couldn't help but notice what a lovely, lovely behind it was. Julia was wearing an orange and brown dress, and it swished and swayed side-to-side hypnotically as her hips wiggled and pranced as she walked, taking her business-like strides. Mm, she looked gorgeous. He had called out to her, she had turned recognizing his voice, and her eyes had lit up so when she saw him, and he knew, he hoped, that she quite liked him as well. He was so, so, in love with her – still was.
Coming back to the present, William remembered where he was, and how much he wanted to get home to her. He took a deep breath. "You know George," he said, "I want to thank you for coming with me."
"I was glad to, sir… But I must say, it had been quite hard," George replied. They shared a look, "hard was definitely an understatement, but there was a shared appreciation of each other too. William had come to love George he realized, sitting there with him in the freezing cold, desolate, miserable snow bank. His mind flashed to the time, probably because of the memory he had just been having about meeting up with Julia on the case in Rogue Valley, when George had thought that the whole town was being overrun by aliens from Mars.
He chuckled and then said, "Do you remember George, when you called Dr. Ogden out to Rogue Valley to examine a murdered cow?"
"It had had its guts sucked out through a tiny hole in its side sir!" George replied, feeling an eerie chill.
"And you thought it was aliens, George," William laughed a little harder.
"Well, sir, it was a reasonable conclusion, with the three-toed giant footprints and the lights in the sky and what not," George suggested.
"Well, I don't know about 'reasonable' George," William replied. Then William enjoyed another quick memory flash, this one of sitting in a pagoda with Julia, and being so very close to kissing her for the first time. He had been feeling absolutely overwhelmed and breathless with how beautiful he thought she was and how much he wanted to love her with every inch of his body, only to be stopped by the huge airship in the sky. Back to George's Martians, William conceded, "I suppose it occurred to me too as a possibility, for the briefest of moments, myself, particularly when the big ship with its bright lights flew, floating so silently, overhead. Ironic, don't you think, that that was the first time we met Mr. Meyers."
"Yeah, and he has managed to show up on every crazy case we've had since then too… even this one it seems," George added, then suddenly asked remembering, "Wasn't he dead?"
"Mm," William replied, explaining that Meyers had told him he had ejected from Pendrick's rocket and used the flying suit to land in Borneo.
The pair grew quiet, turning back to solving their problem of getting on a train should one ever come. William focused his thoughts back to times he had been on a train. That's when it hit him, like a lightning bolt! The memory held such immense fear and dread with it, and it might work now too! Thus, William's heart was thumping wildly in his chest when he turned to suggest it to, to remind, George about it.
"George!" he alerted his friend, "Remember when we were taking Gillies to Kingston, and the bandits stopped the train…"
"Oh that was awful sir. We heard all these running footsteps up above us on the roof, running back towards where Dr. Ogden was. I was petrified that somehow Gillies was going to try to kill her again!" George explained.
"As was I," William rushed to say. He took a quick breath, excited about his idea. "Do you remember how they stopped the train, George?" he asked.
George ran the memory through his mind, suddenly seeing the large tree trunk draped across the train tracks blocking the train. "I do sir," he said, nodding his head, a smile growing, catching the excitement. "But…" George turned his head looking every which way, searching the horizon, at least as much as he could see from where they were in their tiny snow cubby hole. "Sir, I don't see one tree – not to mention one that has already fallen and we could drag over here to put across the tracks," he said.
That was true… and that was a problem. "Well, George," William said, sounding hopeful, "We'll have to think of something else that would make the train stop." The pair went back to thinking.
"I've got it, sir!" George nearly screamed, "A cow!"
Oh, how William felt such a strain on his patience. He exhaled an exasperated breath of air, the smoke dangling in the air between them, and raised his eyebrow at George. "A cow, George?" he asked sarcastically, "A cow? You don't see a tree trunk around… Do you see any cows, George?!"
"Well no sir. But twice on this very trip we have been on a train when it had to stop for a cow," George defended his idea.
"Well that's all very well and good George… BUT, WE DON'T HAVE A COW!" William felt his temper threatening – one of the unfortunate effects of hunger.
"Sorry sir," George replied somewhat sheepishly, making William regret his outburst.
"It's alright George, my tree idea didn't work either," William said apologizing with a wrinkle in the corner of his mouth, grateful that George seemed not to take offense.
Back to stewing, they remained quiet. A few moments later, William noticed George sit up taller, preparing to say something…
George started slowly, "I should probably think this out before I say it, but… Well, I think we could… make a cow, sir…"
"Make a cow?" William's eyebrow was up again…
"Out of snow, sir!" George replied.
"Oh, now that might work!" William declared, picking up a glow with the blooming thoughts.
Nearly an hour later, ducked behind a snow bank along the train tracks, back a good forty feet from their "cow," William and George waited for a train, hearts pounding, for they heard one coming, and it was getting mighty close now. Up ahead, their snow-cow looked marvelous, at least in their opinions. They had used the white snow to make a cow-sized statue across the tracks, legs, head, tail… even big dark patches and eyes – which they had made by cutting pieces out of George's blanket with a their knife-blades.
Just as they had planned, they heard the conductor hit the brakes on the steaming train. Then… it stopped! William and George grabbed the opportunity to hop on the train, finding themselves near the back of the train, in a reefer – a refrigerated car – full of freezing cold meat. The car was over-packed so tightly with sides of beef for Christmas that there was barely any room for the two of them to squeeze in, but fit in they did, grateful for the ride.
Up in the front of the train, a few men had gotten out of the train and were examining the cause of the delay. The conductor seemed most annoyed, "What the heck?" he questioned, "Oh, bloody hell!"
"It's snow sir," came an obvious, and therefore infuriating, reply from one of the men.
"Jesus Christ Tom, I can see that!" the conductor screamed at him.
Another man noticed there was a note wedged in the "cow's" neck and pulled it out of the damp snow. He read it and started to laugh, handing it to the conductor. He elbowed Tom, anticipating the fury from the conductor once he read the note.
Writing it had been irresistible to George. It said, "So… you want me to "MOooo-ve?"
"Damn kids!" the conductor exclaimed, crumpling up the note and flinging it away. "We're bloody goin' through it," he declared, turning back to re-board the train.
As soon as the train was in motion, William felt a surge of excitement mixing with his relief. His urge, his urgent need, throbbing him with pain and drive told him he had to get home. And it seemed with each inch closer he got he was being guided, pulled, drawn in by Julia – by the one light in the universe around which everything else seemed to turn. She was his guiding star, and the way gravity worked between them, the closer he got to her the harder the force pulled. William tried to think of something else, besides having her in his arms, reminding himself of the perils they still faced, and that if he did not remain alert, keep watchful, and be ready to fight, or flee, at any moment, he may never make it home to her at all. He touched her photo in his coat pocket, reassuring himself… Then he touched Adomas' letter in his hidden pants pocket. Home, he wanted to be home.
))) (((
Hours ahead of William and George's second train, Clegg suddenly realized he was awake, and was lying on the floor. There was an intense and painful buzzing in his ears. They felt swollen and murky, and he realized with terror, that he could not hear a thing. He looked about the train car full of hay-bales, blurred by his new deafness, his memory dangling just out of reach. "Murdoch," he thought. Then he remembered it clear as day, Murdoch banging his ears. But he was unsure of why, or even where he was. "A moving train…" Clegg thought. "Oh yes! Graveson. Graveson was still trying to kill Murdoch. Damn crazy bastard," Clegg remembered.
It all came back to him then. He had been following Murdoch and the quirky, little constable because he figured Graveson would show up and try to kill Murdoch again, and he knew that if someone as prominent as Murdoch was murdered, then it would be too difficult for even Meyers to block the investigation. Importantly, such an investigation would lead back to Armour, and he could not have that. Unfortunately, after a thorough search, Clegg determined that Murdoch and the constable and Graveson were nowhere on the train. For all he knew, Murdoch could already be dead. Deciding he had no control over what happened now, for he would never be able to find them from here, Clegg figured his best plan of action would be to stay on this train and make some calls when he got to Toronto. There were signs his hearing was coming back. Hopefully, he would be able to hear the people he needed to call by the time he got there.
))) (((
Fortunately, William and George had been able to climb up on the roof of the train car and move forward through the blustery wind created by the moving train, finding that most of the cars in the front of the train were full of live pigs. After settling into a warmer train car, albeit a stinkier one for it held hoards of pigs, they discussed their plight. The detective had deduced that they were actually on a train headed for Hogtown now – directly to Davies Slaughterhouse. This was nearly perfect, he figured. The train would be pulling into Davies Slaughterhouse in the morning hours, exactly where they wanted to be to make their arrests, the train delivering the pigs intended for slaughter on Monday morning.
George had studied the train routes extensively when they had first started investigating Adomas Baltavesky's death, after Higgins had become so befuddled by the contradictions in the, then unidentified, man's death report. There were a few stops between Winnipeg and Toronto to reload the train with coal needed to fuel the engine. One stop was relatively close to Toronto. They would get off the train there, then call the Inspector and have the constabulary break out the armory and meet them at Davies Slaughterhouse to arrest Mulligan and Davies. The charge would be for manslaughter, resulting from the intentional spoiling of refrigerated, packed-meat shipping from the USA, specifically from Armour & Company in Chicago.
The sun was getting low in the west and they still had a long night ahead of them. They worried that Graveson may have gotten off the train ahead of them once he had realized that they had jumped off. He would have been able to board this train at one of the stops used to re-fuel the train with coal. He might show up again. Further, the conditions on the train were far from pleasant. They had carved out a corner of the pig-stuffed train car for themselves, but because the floor was drenched in pig feces and urine, the stench nauseating, and it was not safe to sit down, even if they were willing to sit on the disgusting brownish, liquid-soaked, floor. If a pig fight broke out, or the pigs spooked for any reason, or even if the train hit its brakes and the pigs readjusted their balance, they could end up trampled. Thus, William and George stood in the relatively warm, humid, reeking train car, surrounded by swine, staying watchful for any sign of Graveson. They were already exhausted, even from the start… but at least they were going home.
William noticed George delicately touch his side. His mind flashed the memory of seeing George about to be knifed by Graveson. "Is it hurting, George?" he asked, concerned that Ettie's cook may not have done the best job stitching George up.
"A bit, sir," George replied, "I'm sure it'll be alright though."
"We'll have Julia look at it when we get home," William offered.
The pair grew quiet again, William pondering the strength of his need to get home, noticing he felt it physically. It seemed as if every cell in his body, every atom, had shirted its orientation, was aiming east, reaching out for, stretching to get closer to, Julia. In a way he was grateful for the overwhelming need, for it pulled his attention away from his awful, agonous memories of all of the terrible, horrendous things he had seen, he had learned, even that he himself had done, out here in this cold, cruel jungle. It felt as if the only place that was safe and warm, the only place offering hope and the lure of joy, was home, was being back with her, the love of his life, his wife, his Julia.
After a few hours, their legs could take the standing no more. Deciding that it would be worth enduring the freezing cold for a while, they ventured up onto the roof of the train car. Up there, they sat, only their coats to warm them, cross-legged on the roof, looking at the beautiful landscape dash by. The Sun had set, and the luminous round Moon was low in the sky to the east – huge and pale.
William reflected on his earlier thoughts of his body leaning towards, being drawn towards, home – towards Julia. With the big moon, resting low in the sky to the east, asshewas in Toronto, he imagined it added strength to the force of her pull on him. Two celestial bodies, Julia and the Moon, working together to tug on him, in much the same way that the Sun and the Moon work together during the new moon and the full moon to heighten the flow of the tides, powerfully moving the oceans.
The train slowed as the tracks became windy, curving and bending around Lake Superior. Off in the distance, there was a rumbling. It grew louder and louder, until William and George figured out it was the sound made by a roaring waterfall. They feasted upon the magnificent view of Umbata Falls in the moonlit night. The recent rains fueled the power of the falls, dispersing a dense mist into the air cold December air, and with the moonlight from behind them, created a rare and magical sight.
"Sir," George whispered, his voice full of awe, "Do you see it… the rainbow?"
It was dim… required one's utmost staring and focus, but when it hit, it was stunning, the large curve of paled colors seeming to defy reality. "That's a moonbow, George" William returned the whispered wonder.
"A moonbow, sir?" George asked, his eyes never wavering from the enchanting sight.
"Amazing isn't it? Providing astonishing proof that the Sun still shines on the other side of the Earth, illuminates the Moon, which reflects its light into the night… that recycled sunlight tickling the tiny drops of water suspended in the air above the waterfall, splitting the wavelengths into remarkable colors…. Seemingly just for us," he explained. He waxed philosophical then, adding, "It makes me think of how my just knowing that Julia is in the world, far away, but there, waiting for me to get home, and how her presence reassures me, guides me in the world, lights my way…" His words halted abruptly. Perhaps he had revealed too much?
Impressed by William's knowledge of the science of the world, and his poetic words, and his amazing love for his wife, George found he could think of nothing to say. They soaked in the view until it had passed completely out of sight. Then, after a time, the cold taking its toll, they returned to stand in their corner of the train car full of live pigs being hauled to slaughter, getting closer and closer to Toronto, closer and closer to home.
) (
More hours had passed, with each man leaning against the wall of the train car in the dark. Occasionally one or the other of them would startle, for they were standing on putrid, slippery pig muck, and when they would drop from sleepiness, or the train would swerve or sway, and they would almost fall down, then suddenly they would jump to a more wakened state and recover their balance.
William was weakening, and he thought to himself about rousing George and going back up on the roof for a while…
The front door of their train car blasted open, the silhouette of Graveson suddenly standing in the doorway. Pigs spooked in a thunderous wave, barreling towards William and George's end of the car. Their bodies stood, absorbing the shock of the humungous swine bodies pounding into them, stepping on their feet, knocking them off balance. George hit the floor. William reached out and helped him to his feet, and oh so quickly, Graveson was in front of them, gun drawn. For the shortest of seconds, Graveson seemed to pause, perhaps he was trying to figure out which one of them was Codrum, which one of them he wanted to kill?
It was George who did it! Suddenly remembering the feel of using Kung Fu against an opponent, he swung into action, kicking Graveson's gun out of his hand, sending it flying through the pig-filled car into the dark, the sound of it landing and splashing through the muck indicating it had travelled far. Then, Graveson off-guard, William punched him in the nose, flinging him backwards and to the ground. Pigs bolted, parting the way for Graveson's body to the floor. William and George flew to the closest door, rushing at top speed for the roof.
They knew Graveson was relentless. He would take up chase. George reached the roof first, and began his dash towards the back of the moving train, finding his way in the whitish glow of the moonlight, William close behind.
A deafening, staggering gunshot pierced the air, diving William for the roof's floor. George only ran faster, getting further ahead. Quickly, William jumped back up, bolted for maximum speed, jumped to the next rooftop, only to fly to the floor again, somehow knowing another shot was being fired at him. The loud bang slammed from behind, whooshing the bullet passed its intending target once more.
George glanced back, seeing the detective once more hop up in front of Graveson, the ominous figure in the background stopping and bracing to take solid aim…
His eyes darted back to the roof floor. "It's a handle!" George's brain screamed at him identifying the metallic bulge on the floor, at that same moment his brain also reminded him that he had seen a dark, looming, tunnel up ahead! George leaned down and pulled on the handle on the floor, lifting the large door into the whizzing wind. It was one of those rooftop ice compartments, empty now because it was winter. At first telling himself to jump into the rooftop compartment, George hesitated figuring with lightning-speed thought, "No don't! You'll get trapped in there with no place to go – sitting ducks!"
Peering back towards the detective, he saw that the detective was very close, with Graveson a train car behind. Graveson wasn't running, but crouched, poised, balancing, honing his aim on the detective ahead of him. It was evident that Graveson was about to get smashed by the tunnel emerging bigger and bigger, closer and closer, from behind him as the train careened forward towards it.
"Sir!" George screamed with all his might, frantically waving the detective on. "In here! Tunnel!" he bellowed.
William dove for the opened compartment down in the floor. A shot rang out as George pulled the door shut with a bang! One, two, three, four, five, six… and then they heard the harrowing, echoing rumble of the train entombed within the rock-solid narrow tunnel.
The rooftop ice compartment consisted of a long, rectangular-shaped box in the ceiling of the train car, below it the car was crammed with frozen, packed sides of beef. William and George lay under the closed rooftop door, hearts beyond pounding, bodies recovering from the adrenalin-pumped escape, listening, waiting for the tunnel to end… Fearing that perhaps somehow Graveson suddenly fling the door above them opened and shoot them to death.
Taking what seemed to be their first breaths for hours after the terrible racket and blackness of the tunnel had ended, they had braved opening the door to see if Graveson waited for them outside on the roof. Now they stood on the roof as the train rushed on, having quickly checked to make sure Graveson had not jumped down between the train car they had hidden in and the one he had last been seen standing on, ensuring that the crazed killer was not down there hiding in wait for them. William said, "We'd best be on the lookout for more tunnels George," as he stepped back down into the ice compartment and used his pocketknife to remove Graveson's bullet from the lining at the back of the compartment. "I'd like to be able to tell if a bullet matches this one from Graveson's gun for any suspicious shootings in the future," he explained, pocketing the future evidence.
The moonlight had helped them survive Graveson's attack, and now it helped them investigate the scene to ascertain whether the assassin still posed a threat. Expecting blood splatter near where the tunnel would have impacted the man, they checked the rooftop of the previous car, finding no evidence that Graveson had been hit. "Perhaps he made it down in between the two cars," George suggested.
"Perhaps," William said, taking a deep breath, needing to think. "But if so, I would have expected him to come after us after the tunnel had passed," he added.
"Yes, he does seem rather intent on killing you," George agreed.
They thoroughly checked the area between the two cars, finding nothing to indicate that an injured Graveson had been there. Their own bodies still flexed at high-alert, they admitted that it seemed possible that somehow Graveson had survived the tunnel, figuring he either jumped completely off the train, either to his death or serious injury, or maybe he even landed in a snowbank as they had done earlier. Unfortunately, it also seemed possible that he might still be on this very train with them.
After imagining Graveson's likely means of killing them if he were still on the train, William suggested that they hide out in a different ice compartment until the stop before Toronto. They settled into the ice compartment in the last car of the train. William hoped any noises made by Graveson if he was still hunting them, as he checked each of the ice compartments ahead of them, might alert them to his approach.
Even though the ice compartment they were in was insulated, the design intended to hold the ice's cold temperature in, their body heat was no match for the cold December night air, the fifty-mile per hour winds created by the speeding train's motion, and the freezing-cold sides of beef packed to the gills below them. It was terribly cold. Thus, William and George lay for hour after hour after hour, shivering, feeling that sleep would threaten their very survival, for they would freeze to death if their body temperatures dropped any lower, and they needed to be alert to the potential attack from Graveson. Further, George was still soaking wet, and reeking, from his fall in the pig muck, and they were both ravenous, having had nothing to eat since dinner at Ettie's Coffee House.
William tried to calm himself down. He checked once again to make sure that Adomas' letter was safe. He started devising a plan for when they arrived in Toronto, thinking he would ask Detective Slorach to interpret the letter as soon as possible. "As soon as we get off at the stop before Toronto, I'll call the Inspector, and then Julia," he thought. But then he thought better of that idea. A call to reassure her then, he figured, would still be too early, for he would not be out of the woods yet, still needing to arrest Davies and Mulligan. Perhaps it would be best not to call her until he was certain it was done. He pushed the dread away once more, the nauseating thought floating up, that she would be angry with him for staying with Ettie.
He rolled over onto his back, as if changing the page, and let his eyes find the pale-white light peeking through the crack in the door just above him. "Julia could be looking at that exact same Moon," he thought. His mind replayed seeing the moonbow, and calm settled in with a deep breath, she was there, guiding him home, lighting his way, even if he couldn't see her, she was there, and he was getting closer each second, and it would all be fine as soon as he had her in his arms. William realized that he was hanging on by a string, and he knew with every fiber of his body that the other end of that string was attached to Julia, and he also knew that he was clinging to it with all his might, for his very grip on life. There was only one thing to do – he needed to get home to her, her. He needed to have her in his arms…
))) (((
The train rolled to a steady, smooth stop. The lack of motion woke them. The putrid smell in the air, much stronger than that they had become accustomed to from George, and the morning light through the crack in the door above them… And the sounds… Voices, and train car doors opening, and then the door of their train car below them… And workers, unloading the meat. And it dawned on them! They were at Davies Slaughterhouse!
"George," William whispered, "We're at Davies!"
"We must have slept through the stop," George concluded.
Every cell in William's body was in a panic. He had a history here, and it was not safe, NOT SAFE, to be here with no constabulary support on the way. These Davies men knew him, and had shown every willingness to kill him out of loyalty to their boss.
"What should we do, sir?" George asked.
William knew he needed to get a hold of himself if he was going to come up with an answer. They needed a plan, and they needed one fast!