*Note: this is a fairly dark chapter, so heed the M rating. Quick shoutout to coveredinbees for being the literal best ever! If you haven't read any of her stuff, please do. She's an amazing writer and her stories are utterly amazing. Works of art. I hope you enjoy. Please review. I really love feedback. 😊
Chapter 15
Brooklyn, December 1903
Katherine Moore could barely catch her breath as her feet slid to an unsteady stop on the icy cobblestones beneath her. Her head was spinning, a shudder wracking through her body at the weight of her drenched, chilled clothes.
"…you had two jobs, Julia…"
She felt her stomach almost revolt against her at the familiar, cruel voice hissing through her mind. But she quickly remembered herself, seeing the raised eyebrows of the vendor woman across the way. The horrible weather had thankfully ensured that the normally busy Brooklyn streets were now mostly empty, but there were still a few stragglers out and about, braving the afternoon sleet storm as if they didn't even notice the ice, wind and rain beating down upon them.
Kate nodded shakily to the older, white-haired woman who immediately frowned before turning her gaze elsewhere. And with one more deep breath, the dark-haired girl moved swiftly to an empty side street clenching her eyes shut and wrapping her arms tightly about her middle before leaning against the brick overlay of the building next to her.
That sick, taunting voice that she had managed to keep on the periphery of her consciousness until a few days ago—along with everything else that had tragically led up to and followed it—would not be silenced. It was as if a barrier had shattered—a dam had burst. And now she was drowning in every single moment of horror that had ever come to pass over her—body and soul alike.
At first it had been only turmoil. All the instances of pain converging into one incapacitating wave of shock. And, strangely, Kate found that she could still push forward—still operate—through the chaotic white noise, no matter how loud it became. It was when the sounds began to transform into distinct events that she began to slowly unravel.
Especially when she realized that some of the incidents she had spent weeks categorizing as drug-induced nightmares were, in fact, disturbingly real things that had actually come to pass.
And that's when she remembered the night on the docks.
It was as if her body would be instantly transported there, without warning, at any time of day or night. Her eyes might blink, and the smell of rotting fish would fill her nostrils, the rough, wet wood of the pier pushing against her cheek. And then came the throbbing ache in her head from where they had struck her with the lead pipe outside her parents' building, her vision blearily waxing and waning into the dark night surrounding her.
Kate had noted the rough rope binding her hands as well as the gag stuffed into her mouth. But it all must have been just extra precaution because the powerful blow to her skull from hours earlier had left her unable to formulate a cogent thought, let alone attempt any movements.
So, she did the only thing she could—focus on the gentle lapping of the water beneath her. The even, reliable rhythm slowly replaced the terrifying silence around her, and she soon found herself able to match her breathing to the gradual ebb and flow.
But Kate's peace had been short-lived. Because not five minutes had passed before she heard a voice that chilled the blood in her veins.
"Really, it's unfortunate it's come to this. But I've given you both too many chances to count, now haven't I?"
And then something heavy thudded next to her, a sharp, familiar womanly cry echoing into the night.
Kate jolted herself out of the memory as she felt several warm tears travel down her cheeks. Her body was shaking, but it wasn't just from the cold, or the wet, too-big clothes she had stolen earlier.
It was the truth from which she could no longer hide—the blatant, hideous reality that she had been running from for years. It had taken hours of sleeplessness over the last two nights—the solitude and darkness creating a perfect backdrop for memory after memory to present itself as undeniable evidence.
As verification of the words—the facts—that she had buried in the deepest, darkest pit within herself.
It had been so long since she had ventured anywhere near that boundless crevice inside her chest that she had almost forgotten it existed in the first place. Perhaps it had been denial that had sealed it off initially, or the distraction of others' kindness. Maybe she had allowed herself to indulge in the hope of it all—in the plans she was always making. That maybe, just maybe, she might find a way to ensure their fruition.
How foolish she had been—how very, very foolish.
She blinked again, feeling more tears falling down her face. There was no hiding from it now. No forgetting it. She had all the proof she could ever need to confirm what she had feared to be true so many years ago at that inlet—the very words her mother had screamed at her when she had found out her eldest daughter's virtue was no more.
"Wretched, wretched, girl! Do you know what you've done? To your father and sisters? To me? You have become poison to this family, and we can no longer suffer your ill effects. The only use you have now is to be gone from us—as if you had never existed in the first place!"
Kate hadn't wanted that to be true. For years she had allowed herself to believe the opposite. Because Julia had said so. And Leonora—as well as James, Riggs, and Oliver. Even Spot Conlon, with all his struggles involving connection, had allowed for as much. But that had been before.
Before all the trouble she had caused at those factories by the river. Before John Cooke had sniffed her out and sunk his claws into Julia. Before she had professed her love to a man that wielded his smile like a knife.
"You…love me? You—you can't be fuckin' serious. Love? C'mon, Kate. I thought you of all people didn't believe in fairy tales. In love. So, what am I 'sposed to say to that?"
God, had she been mad? What had possessed her to even consider saying that aloud to Spot Conlon, let alone feel it?
But as she pulled the very same man's cap further down over her brow, walking out again into the inhospitable, icy scene, she shrugged off the familiar shame that filled her gut at the thought. Because really, what did it matter now?
Had her heart fluttered on the roof a week prior when a warm smile had spread across his handsome face, his eyes the most brilliant shade of blue, as he had openly admitted his want for her? With the force of a train engine. But want was not love. And even if that's what he meant, there was no way for him to truly understand, or appreciate, the personal cost that came with tying himself to her.
That loving her was a fatal mistake. Like downing a bottle of cyanide.
And perhaps she truly was mad, but now she was also certain—every terrible thing that had occurred in her sphere of awareness over the years had been linked to one common factor.
Her presence.
So, when she had finally remembered what had happened on the dock that night with John Cooke and a few of his men, the water calmly lapping beneath her, she had immediately recognized her sin.
She could see John's expensive boots through her hazy vision, feel the warmth of another struggling body next to hers.
"It was so simple. You had two jobs, Julia. Only two things that I asked of you," John had stated emotionlessly.
And that's when Kate had realized who it was that had been tossed like a rag doll beside her, the corresponding voice only further terrifying confirmation.
"John, this—this is absurd. I would never—"
"Two jobs, Julia. As per our agreement," John cut in stoically. "Shall I jog your memory?"
"John," Julia attempted again.
But he only stepped closer to her, his voice softer and thus much more terrifying. "The first was that you would please me intimately, in any way I saw fit. The second was that you were to keep Katherine in check at all times. No matter what. And you assured me that you were quite capable of these tasks. That I would have no need to deal with Katherine myself."
"I don't know what you think she's done, but it must be a misunderstanding of some kind," Julia whispered, her voice trembling.
John was silent for a moment, and even in Kate's semi-conscious state, she could feel the cold rage emanating off his body. "I suppose in some circles these sad attempts at lies might be considered courageous. Brave acts of protection for a loved one. But not here, Ms. Hawthorne. Not with someone like me."
"John, please," Julia shakily murmured, a sob barely contained within her throat.
"Our agreement was that you would see to those two tasks or Katherine would be mine to govern over as I saw fit, was it not?"
"I did what you asked," she quickly asserted. "Everything you asked of me. Everything. Katherine doesn't even need to be involved—I—I can find another way—"
"But you see, my dear, Katherine is the one who broke the rules. Not you. And if you are not able to contain her as you promised, then you are no longer of use to me."
The water had lapped gently to and fro as Julia had stuttered, "John, I—you can't—"
And then a deafening shot fired through the night as a light flashed from white to orange. But the darkness returned so quickly, the subtle ebb and flow of the river seemingly uninterrupted, that Kate almost didn't believe it had taken place at all.
Except for John's next words. "Billy, you know what to do with this one. Out to sea."
Then Kate felt cold leather brush against her forehead as John's boot grazed over her. "Connor, I want this one in Queens. But she's not to be handled. Do you understand?"
A man's voice grunted in response, John continuing on as Kate's vision had faded into black.
If only that night had merely been a terrible dream that she could awaken from. If only Julia had not been forced to pay for her sins—transgressions that had been building atop each other for so long, Kate hadn't even been sure what had started it all.
But now she was undeniably certain of the cause. And while it was far too late to go back and save her dearest friend Julia, she would be damned if she allowed the same fate to befall anyone else who had the misfortune of falling into her path of treachery.
Because her mother had been right all those years ago. She was a poison, and the only way that she could be of use to the people around her without doing any further damage was to be gone. To finally complete the task she had set about at that deserted inlet six years ago.
In one night, she had lost everything.
In one split second, she had been left truly alone in the world.
And she had no one to blame but herself.
So, there was nothing left to do but go back to where everything had started to go wrong. Where she had started to go wrong.
And this time, there would be no intercessor to lift up her causes to. Just her, and the lapping water.