Miruvor: How can I ever thank you for your kind words? I daresay you lent me enough inspiration to jot this meager chapter down and gain enough resolve to expose it to the criticism of others.
To All Other Readers: I apologize for taking so long in continuing this story, and am more than aware that the following chapter is by no means lengthy, as it no doubt should be in order to make up to you for the delay. Still, it does rather solve the cliffhanger I left in the previous chapter, doesn't it?
I hardly believed it to be true, yet it was indeed; there in the partial darkness stood my long-dead parent—more specifically, my mother. How queer it was that she still wore that faded old blue dress, and that she seemed not a day older than when father had...disposed of her, so to speak. In my heart I experienced a slight twinge of unease, causing me to think that something unsavory was certainly up. But I wished to believe that I was either utterly losing my head or that the ongoing events were for the best, rather than consider my own mother tangled up in the crime all-too apparent evidence accused her of. For yes, there was my mother—and close beside her the corpse of poor old Mrs. Medwin, God rest her soul!
At length she became impatient with my silence, and with a quite rude roll of her eyes Mother said in a tone that I found none too genial, "I've been expecting you, Crane."
My mouth was horribly dry, yet I managed to gasp out amazedly, "Mother!"
"Oh, yes," she hissed. "It's your dear mother, here to claim what is rightfully hers..."
I could hardly believe it when she caught hold of my arm with more force than I thought absolutely necessary, but I could not bring myself to resist her.
"You're alive,' I whispered, whatever joy she had inspired within my breast slowly fading as her odd manner became impressed upon my mind.
"Constable! Mr. Constable, sir!" Masbath's voice, shrill with anxiety, could be dimly heard as he called me from the other side of the door. "Are you alright? Should I fetch help?"
My mother became still more disagreeable. She grasped my throat and shoved me violently against a nearby wall, her eyes possessing an intense glow that struck fear into my very soul and caused me to doubt her sanity a good deal.
"Send for help," she said, "and the fellow who dared to suggest such foolishness will surely die, as will you...and your darling Katrina."
This was all quite unexpected and I could hardly fathom any of it.
"I beg pardon," I said, "what's that you said?"
To my further astonishment, she allowed her mouth to fall slightly open and then ran a thin, forked tongue over her lips.
"I said," she informed me between fits of eerie giggling, "seek help and you'll find death, my sweet."