Disclaimer: I don't own anyone except Katie. Everyone else belongs to whoever they belong to.
Notes: There is a lot of cockney slang in this part, so I'm going to try and remember what they all mean (got 'em from a dictionary) I'm looking them over now, and it's not really painting a lovely picture about what this chapter entails, but I promise that there isn't any smut. It's mainly talk. Thank you all for your reviews! SIXTY! WOO!
Pinch brick/Bang tail- prostitute
Paraffin lamp- tramp
General election- erection
Barnacle bills- testicles
Going under
I try to be as silent as possible as I approach Nemo's room much later that day. Outside, the sky is just turning a rosy pink as dusk approaches. In the library, the men sit and have a chat over a glass of brandy. I had declined, much to Henry's surprise, claiming that I had a headache. Instead, I am putting the first part of my plan into action. I have to admit, as I creep towards Nemo's room, that I feel a kind of perverse thrill out of trying to do something daring. Daring for me, anyway.
As I put my hand on the doorknob, I glance around me quickly, not only with my eyes but with my mind too, knowing that Skinner could have easily followed me if he had wanted to. When I see and feel nothing, I turn the knob and slip inside.
When I look around his room for the first time, I am surprised at how different it looks to mine. There are elaborate carvings of various godlike figures on his bed and there are statues of the same deities on his desk too. I recognize them as the Hindu gods Shiva and Vishnu upon closer inspection. Everything is so very... Nemo. I shake it off, and begin to poke around to see if he has what I'm looking for. I rummage through most of his things, trying not to upset them too badly.
When I rummage through one of his drawers on his desk, my fingers brush something metallic. I pull out the object and grin in triumph. In my hand is a long, wicked looking knife, about eight inches long with the handle decorated elaborately with more Hindu gods done in silver and blue. I bite my lip and run the tip of my finger across the blade. When I draw my finger away I am satisfied to see my blood staining the knife and my finger. I put the finger in my mouth and suck away the blood as I head for the door again. I make a rather stealthy escape from Nemo's room into mine. I glance around my room nervously before finally stashing the knife under my mattress.
I pause for a moment to try and still my fast beating heart. I swallow hard, and sink down onto my bed, letting out a heavy sigh. I feel simply awful for stealing something of Nemo's, but it had to be done. I have no knife or weapon of my own which I could bring with me to Moreau's island, and I knew Nemo would have something, as I have heard of his amazing abilities with the blade.
I draw my knees up to my chin, wrapping both my arms around my legs and staring at the wall across from me. Since I promised to stay, Henry has been nothing but supportive. He thanked me again and again for promising, and each time I felt my spirits sink lower and lower, until I was nearly drowning in guilt. I couldn't stop him, or reject his little tokens of affection; his kisses or his terms of endearment.
All my life, I have waited for someone to treat me the way that Henry treats me. I thought that when it happened, that when I fell in love, it would be a happy and joyous occasion, one that I would cherish forever. Instead, I half wish that it had never happened, that Henry had never kissed me, or told me that he had feelings for me. If he hadn't, perhaps neither of us would be hurt by this.
On the other hand... God, it feels so good to be around him.
The moon rises slowly, creating more shadows in my room. I hear the others head to their rooms, none of them bothering me and my 'headache'. I had specifically said that I would be going to sleep so they wouldn't. If I hadn't, I bet Henry would be in here, asking if I needed anything. He's so sweet.
Sensing that it's almost time, I get up and head over to my desk, taking a seat and rummaging around for a piece of paper and something to write with. When I am finally ready, I think about what I want to write before putting it down on paper, wanting it to be absolutely perfect. As I think about what I want to say, it suddenly occurs to me that this might be the last time I'm in my room.
This fills my body with a sickening feeling, and goose bumps appear on my arms as a chill runs through me. I glance around and try to commit the look of my room to memory. With a slight tremble in my hand, I begin to write, the words coming faster and with more elegance than I had expected.
By the time you read this, I'm sure I will be in Moreau's clutches, being taken to his den of inhumanity. To be honest, I am afraid of what I am about to do, but it is partly my fear which spurs me on, strangely enough. Know that I am thinking of you all, and that I honestly believe that I will save those who have fallen into Moreau's clutches before me. I know that by doing this, I will alienate several people who's trust I hold dear, and I am truly sorry for it. I can only hope that you will be able to forgive me someday, whether or not I am with you. I will be in touch. I apologize for any pain I have put you through in doing this, but I had to.
Sincerely,
Katie
I read over the note twice, and once I am satisfied, I put it back onto the table. I open the window to my room, and the sounds of night birds and insects greet me, as if urging me on. I slide my hand under my mattress and feel around for the knife. When my fingers come into contact with the handle of the knife, I immediately wrap them around the hilt and pull it out. The blade flashes wickedly in the moonlight, and I want to shudder as I think of how it's going to slice into my skin.
I begin to get partially undressed, and once my corset is partly undone, I quickly wrap the knife in one of my scarves and then place it right on my stomach, quickly redressing. The feel of the knife pressing into my belly feels odd, but not completely uncomfortable. Sensing that it's time to go, I look at myself in the mirror one last time and murmur," Well... this is it." And with that, I creep out of my room with more stealth than I had displayed earlier today.
I carefully and quietly inch my way down the hallway, freezing completely when I hear any noise at all; the sound of the building settling around me, the squeak of a floorboard beneath me and the sound of a clock in the hallway. When I reach the door, I let out a silent sigh of relief and slowly open the door. By the time I'm outside with the door closed tightly around me, my heart is beating so fast in my chest that I wonder if something's wrong with me. I hurry down the stone steps, but pause at the bottom, looking back at the building and picturing the faces of those still inside. I close my eyes as images of Henry bombard me, and pray that I will be able to see him again soon. I press two fingers to my lips and then hold them up whispering," Goodbye."
I then turn on my heel and dash off down the street. I follow my first inclination, and head east. The street is already dark, and it feels strange to see it so empty and lifeless. I try to think logically in order to figure out the best place to find Moreau's men, and realize that it would make more sense to head to the more dangerous parts of London, such as the Whitechapel district. If I were to be kidnapped there, my screams wouldn't really be anything out of the ordinary, as the crime rate there is simply appalling.
The very thought of ambling around the same area where the Ripper murders took place makes me want to just go home, but instead I square my shoulders, lift my chin and head in that direction. It takes me quite some time, as Whitechapel isn't exactly close to my home, and when I get there it is a good two hours later, give or take.
When I walk into the heart of the district, I am immediately spotted, due to the fact that I stand out like a sore thumb. Some of the men wandering around looking for a good time holler at me, thinking that I'm just a very well-dressed 'pinch brick'. Most of these men are extremely drunk, and I easily elude them. The real unfortunate women holler too, but they deliver insults and threats to me, saying that if I were to even think about 'working' their corner, they'd kill me. I'm not sure what they exactly mean by 'working their corner', but I know that it can't be anything good by the looks of them.
On top of it all, there are some very sober, very dangerous looking men glaring at me. I glance at them nervously, knowing that they are probably thinking about robbing me, or worse, right now. The area reeks of garbage and other very pungent smells that make my stomach roll. I shut my mind tight to all of the men and women around me, afraid at what I might hear. There are so many people here, unlike the streets around the League headquarters. It's almost as if these streets come to life at night and die at dawn.
I try my best to shut out the sounds around me as well, as I hear the sounds of less than wholesome activities all around me. I am so busy trying to shut it all out that I almost don't notice the rather large man approaching me from behind. He seizes me by the arm and pulls me up against him. He smells like urine and booze, and when he grins at me, he reveals a large gap in his otherwise yellowed and rotting teeth. He's sweating like a pig, which is rather appropriate as he looks like one too.
" 'ere now," he says in a loud cockney accent," what's a purty little 'fing like you doin' 'round 'ere? Yer ain't one of them regular 'paraffin lamps' from 'round 'ere." I want to roll my eyes and reply with a sarcastic," Brilliant deduction Holmes." But I have not the courage to do so. I try to struggle out of his grasp whimpering," Release me sir." He lets out a loud volley of rancorous laughter and sarcastically says," Well den Your Majesty!" My eyes go wide as he grabs his crotch through his flimsy pants with his free hand and demands," Don't suppose yer wantin' a quick one den? I needs to be takin' care o' me general election." The implication behind his words is enough to make me panic. Before I know what I'm doing, I lift a leg and kick him right between his legs. He lets out a howl of pain and sinks to the ground as many people around us start laughing. I turn on my heel and begin to run as he shouts," Me barnacle bills!" I have no idea what he means by that, but whatever it is that he's talking about, he doesn't sound too happy.
As I run, memories of reading about the Whitechapel murders come to mind, and I picture my own mutilated body on the front page, the headline proclaiming 'Young Woman found brutally murdered in Whitechapel! Ripper strikes again?!' I run down another narrow street, only barely noticing it when I accidentally knock into some bang tails heading in the opposite direction. I mutter a quick," Pardon me," and continue on my way.
I finally stop running as I head down a dark alleyway. It smells absolutely disgusting down here, but I pause to catch my breath despite this. I lean up against one of the houses which hem me in and push back some of the hair that's fallen out of my bun and into my eyes. As I attempt to catch my breath, I realize that I am not alone. The feeling of being watched makes me stiffen and look up. Assuming that my attacker has come after me, I tell myself to calm down and just defend myself with my power.
But when I hear more than one set of footsteps coming towards me, I immediately know that it is not him. I tentatively reach out with my mind to try and get an idea of who they are before I actually come into contact with any of them. I am immediately bombarded with the sensation of complete and utter darkness surrounding me and I withdraw from them completely, knowing that I have found what I am looking for.
Or is it the other way around?
I try to catch a glimpse of them as I softly say," Hello?" I receive no reply, and I straighten up, about to walk towards them. I have no idea what I'm doing, as I am completely disoriented, unable to really think clearly. I open my mouth to call out to them again, but don't even get one syllable out before I am suddenly attacked. I know for sure that it is Moreau's men, as they attack me from all sides, some of them even jumping out of a tiny window from one of the houses to get behind me. Two of them grab my arms and pin them behind me while another clamps his hand over my nose and mouth, a wet cloth pressed into my face.
" Careful boys." One of them calls, and I want to scoff at him. Instead I lift a crate with my mind and smash it over the head of one of the men behind me. I want to inflict as much damage on these men as I can before I let myself be taken, but I can do nothing else as my head begins to swim. I feel my own eyes roll back into my head and I realize that the cloth over my mouth and nose was soaked with chloroform.
I begin to black out totally, but not before I hear one of them say," They must really be getting desperate if they're sending her out." Someone makes a grunt of agreement and replies, but the sound of his voice is drowned out by the incessant buzzing noise that is gaining volume in my head. I finally descend into a state of unconsciousness.
When I wake up again, I am on a cold, metal floor. My head throbs with a massive headache, and all of my limbs feel heavy and weighted down. I raise a hand to touch my temple to try and soothe the ache there, and to my surprise I hear a loud rattling sound. I open my eyes and examine my arms, shocked to see a pair of manacles fastened to my very thin wrists. The chains lead to two rivets which are fastened to a wall. Upon closer inspection, I see that the chains are made of a metal that I've never seen before. I give an experimental tug with both my arms and my mind and barely make the chains move at all.
I look around the room, if you could really call it that. It's too tiny to be a true room, but not small enough to be a closet. There is a small window which lets a little light in, and I slowly manage to drag myself over there. I have to stand on my tip toes to look out the small square, and when I do, my eyes go wide. The scent of salt reaches my nose and then sounds of gulls overhead reach my ears. I lower myself back down as I realize that I'm on a boat, headed towards Moreau's island.
Maybe my plan is working a little too well?
I shift a little where I stand, and give a sigh of relief when I feel the knife still tucked inside of my corset. I look down at myself, however, and my mood shifts to one of shock. My dress has been tampered with. The buttons and ties are not done properly, not the way that I always do it. They must've searched me to a certain point. The thought of having their hands on me while I was unconscious makes me sick to my stomach.
What in God's name have I gotten myself into?
[Next time]
Katie finds out just what she's gotten herself into. And it's not good.