Author's note:
A long chapter. This chapter takes place between Part 1 and Part 2 of the "Lukas Phantomhive" chapters and is important to explain certain things in the next chapter and falls back to the events of the Prologue. Part 2 of the "Lukas Phantomhive" chapter will be posted later. Please review. And I'm sorry about spelling Ciel wrong earlier.
This chapter also explains more about Samuel and Sasha Ironstadt.
CHAPTER 9 - "INTERLUDE"
December 24th, 1882
The streets of London were cold and dark, everything was blanketed with a thin wintery coat of snow. It had just fallen, draping the city with an angelic quality against the urban backdrop of the cityscape.
But beneath this, lain a depravity and seediness that not even Vincent Phantomhive could wrap his mind around and for which the Queen wanted an end put to - the kidnapping and sometimes brutal murder of innocent children at the hands of a crazed psychopathic killer who sought pleasure in other's misfortune.
Only the man's deeds were known, not his identity. But he did have a hive of minions who did his dirty work; and Vincent and his wife had had tangled on occasion with this man's organized assemblage of mercenaries and assassins when conducting missions for the Queen as her watchdog over the years. Vincent hated this sort of scum most of all, because how could anyone harm a sweet child? Even the Inner Circle wanted this man hunted down and killed for their own children's safety. But despite the collective effort of all those involved, secretly or otherwise including Scotland Yard, the man still remained at large.
The Queen had ordered Vincent and his wife to seek him out tonight, in a hideout where this psychopath was supposedly hiding, a warehouse in an abandoned part of the old shipyards next to the Thames River. A very reliable source had placed him here tonight.
Tonight, of all nights. Vincent mentally scowled.
It was Christmas Eve. Vincent Phantomhive was already in a fowl mood having to leave and disappoint his son Ciel tonight. The night when Saint Nicholas came to all the good little boys and girls to grant them wishes of good tiding and cheer with presents. He asked Tanaka, his butler, if he could look after Ciel tonight, and the old man willingly obliged. Ceil wailed and cried for Vincent to stay. But he couldn't, he was the Queen's watchdog, with a vow to safeguard London from criminals that sought to usurp the Crown. Vincent's crowning joy was his family and the worse thing he wanted was to see on his happy son's face with a frown.
Vincent had also planned to visit Ciel's twin in the hospital this night. Lukas had been afflicted with a terrible unknown disease at an early age that affected his face causing the skin to ripple and bubble with valleys of bumps. The disease had appeared to subside, but it still left lasting scars on Lukas's face that would not go away naturally.
He had asked Byron Kelvin, a well-respected aristocrat and a close personal friend of the Phantomhive family, to see if anything could be done to help his son. Lord Kelvin assured Vincent he could, as he had close tides with a multitude of renown doctors and plastic surgeons who were in the top of the field. He promised to make Lukas the most beautiful boy he ever could be, just like Ciel.
Vincent hoped for the best. He had very much wanted to see his son tonight. Lukas was in hospital being prepared for the surgery that was to take place in a few days.
For this outrage, for making him disappoint both his sons tonight, Vincent vowed he would make this crazed psychopath pay. And not only for all the children the man had harmed, but also to protect his own - he did not want to see Ciel or Lukas kidnapped. Tonight will be the end of it, he vowed. He'll drag this butcher to the very caverns of Hell! A man like this didn't deserve to live.
He'll have no trail; the only deliverance for London from this man's atrocities will be a bullet to the skull from my gun.
The waft of death filled his nostrils as he and his wife came across the corpse of a dead homeless man dressed in a trench coat and holey boots laying in front of the warehouse they were approaching on the docks. The man looked like he had died of the cold. His body was partially iced over with snow crystals and some of his skin had been eaten by feral animals. But with closer examination, he had been shot. There was a dried blood stain on his inner shirt.
Rachel crouched down and looked the man over. Coming from a noble family of physicians, she had medical knowledge and could determine the time of death. "Judging by the decomposition of the body, he was killed little more than twenty-four hours ago," she said. She stood up. "And at close range. He was murdered. Perhaps he learned something he shouldn't have."
Vincent nodded. "Time to eradicate the vermin of this house," he said firmly.
"We are like poison for this den of rats."
Vincent agreed.
He walked to the two large doors of the warehouse. They were closed, but not locked. With his gun in one hand and a hand gesture for his wife to stand back, he slowly pulled a door aside to peak inside. The door hinges creaked with an ill-omened loudness that could alert anyone listening…
And suddenly shots rang out.
He jerked back, pulling his wife behind him. Bullets embedded themselves in the inside of the door close to him. With a constant barrage of fire Vincent backed up either further.
"Not a very warm welcome for guests," Vincent said.
"Did you expect cookies and milk, dear?"
Vincent smirked at his wife's levity. They had been on so many of these missions that they implored a commonsensical rapport to offset the tension. She knew how to make him smile even at stressful times and he welcomed it. But joking aside, they needed at way to disarm this guardsman and get in the warehouse. And he had an idea.
With a silent gesture of his hand, a gesture he and his wife had developed, he indicated for his wife to circle around the warehouse to try to find another way in, a back way, while he stayed to draw the guardsman fire.
As she left him, he fired back at the guardsman and took more fire, hiding behind the corner of the building. A napsack that he wore had an array of tools and other things that would be useful here, including explosives, but he opted to merely exchange gunfire with the guardsman for the moment until his wife could equal the odds. One shot from him equaled rapid fire from the other. Vincent knew the guardsman had a rifle that could fire multiple shots at once. He knew this because he knew several weapons manufactures.
A hired thug, that's all this guardsman was. It made Vincent sick to think that money motivated these people into harboring such a sick and perverted killer. Like the Pi Piper of the children's story, this killer lured these children away and did unspeakable harm to them. Over the last couple of months, the man had been more active, and children had being returned after parents pleas. But dead. With severe injuries. Blunt force trauma to the head, severe lacerations, broken bones, and other unspeakable injuries that Vincent didn't wish to recall. All of them added to the collected reports on this yet still unidentified psychopath.
A shot reached Vincent's position too close for comfort and he backed further away. The guardsman had obviously altered his position for a more viable shot. Probably taking into account the position of his enemy's shots, Vincent thought. The guardsman had changed his angle proportionately.
Rachel had been gone longer than expected, the warehouse wasn't incredibly large and it wouldn't take long to circle around and find a back entrance, and he feared something had gone wrong. What if she had been captured or worse shot by a hidden threat? No, he would not let those dark thoughts distract him. He had faith in his wife. She had never failed him the past. When she married him, she knew what she would be getting into to, and she accepted it willfully. She would be his partner in marriage and as the Queen's watchdog. And over the years she had made both partnerships a blessing.
Vincent heard a single shot, then a loud thud - that of the weight of a man hitting the ground after being hit. And then a second thud?
Rachel?
"All clear," said Rachel.
Vincent came around the door and joined his wife inside the warehouse, and saw two men laying motionless on the ground. He smiled. The first was the guardsman who had shot at them, and the second man - a second guardsman - who he hadn't known about, killed by his wife with a knife throw to the heart.
He looked up at two platforms where the guardsmen had been stationed on either side of the building, planks attached to the edges of the frontal warehouse wall. Each had excellent vantage points of the warehouse doors. With a single shot, either one of them could pick off their target dead without the victim even knowing it if they ventured in unknowingly.
And that's probably what happened to the homeless man out front. He ventured where he wasn't suppose to be. Thus proving the information of tonight from an informant was genuine. The man they sought was here.
He asked her how she managed to kill the guardsmen, and Rachel told him how she managed to find a broken board in the side of the warehouse, squeezed through, sneaked under the first guardsman, killed him with a single gunshot with her gun, then killed the other with a well angled knife throw.
Vincent nodded pleased. "A difficult venture and perfectly executed." He smiled. "Very well done, Rachel." She smiled back. "Now, onwards into the lion's den. I wager this is only the first hurtle we are to face here."
Together they carried on into the dark, dank warehouse where they knew other dangers awaited them.
A young man held a phone receiver to his right ear and spoke to the person on the other end. "They're here, sir. The guardsmen failed. Instructions?" The man listened for a bit and them replied, "Understood." He nodded to his twin brother across the room of the foreman office who had been looking out the open bay window to the floor below, now eyeing his brother as he hung up the phone. "Kill the Queen's watchdogs."
His brother smiled broadly as he held a mechanical device in his hand, a control box with buttons and a lever that was attached to a thick black cable. It controlled a mechanical claw situated in the centre of the warehouse overlooking the work floor below. In its grip was a net filled with iron ore and other metallic debris left since the warehouse business closed down ages ago. The warehouse handled the distribution of metal, brought here by trucks and stored until shipped elsewhere by boat.
Sasha Ironstadt eyed the claw as it moved into position via a ceiling conveyer above the supposedly covert Phantomhive couple. It was surprisingly quiet for not having been used in years, but that was poor luck for the Phantomhive's. What they can't hear will kill them.
Samuel Ironstadt came over to the window and watched as the claw moved stealthily and slowly into position above its unsuspecting prey, their forms illuminated by moonlight from the open warehouse doors. When released, it would squash them like insects, carve up their bodies like knives as each metallic piece cut them to ribbons. It would be the perfect bloody murder making even the notorious prostitute killer Jack the Ripper proud. And, unlike the story of Hansel and Gretel, the Phantomhive's had no chance of escape!
With a nod by Samuel, Sasha pressed the release button. Seconds passed without the claw releasing its load, and Sasha thumbed the button repeatedly. Either their was a malfunction in the device or there was an unsuspected delay in released. He didn't know. But then there was a metallic screech from the rotator wheel and the claw fingers released its load.
However, the few seconds that the claw took to open and the noise it made gave the Phantomhive's the means to avoid the debris, making a hasty retreat to either side of the drop zone. The iron ore and other metal objects came crashing down on the spot the Phantomhive's had previously been filling the warehouse with a multitude of ear-shattering crashes, kicking up dirt and dust.
The twins watched from above, trying to pin point their targets. But the thickness of the dirt and dust made it near impossible to see anything on the floor below. When things finally cleared, the Phantomhive's were no where to be seen. But the twins knew they were still alive. For a few seconds of delay and a noisy claw, despite the quiet conveyer that positioned it, they had failed to kill the Queen's watchdogs.
"The squeaking wheel…"
"Didn't get the oil."
They both sneered angrily. Nonetheless, they weren't done. They still had another idea that would not fail.
"If the Phantomhive's care so much for the children, Sasha…"
"Then let's let them see them, Samuel."
"Send in the troops!" they said in unison.
Vincent coughed as he caught his breath. The dust began to clear from their narrowing escape in nearly being crushed beneath tons of iron ore and metal dropped from a carry claw strategically moved into position by an unseen enemy. Due to a screech of its gears, they were able to jump out of the way. Just barely. Rachel was not with him, choosing to sprint in the opposite direction to avoid the debris.
"Rachel!" he called out, no longer carrying if the enemy knew they were here. Which they did. "Where are you?" The warehouse had become darker. The gaze of moonlight that they were using to see had dimmed behind cloud cover casting the inside of the warehouse previous basked in sapphire light to near darkness. He didn't want to use his torch for fear it would give them away. Now it didn't matter.
"Vincent," she called back. "I'm fine. Follow my voice."
Vincent climbed to his feet and followed her voice as she continued to direct him to her. She was on the ground near the far wall. She seemed dazed, but otherwise unhurt. He didn't see any broken bones. She did, however, have a deep laceration to the left side of her forehead, perhaps from a flying piece of debris. He reached into his pack and took out a handkerchief and pressed it to the bleeding wound.
"That was no accident," she said.
"I know. It was meant to kill us."
"I get the feeling someone doesn't want us here."
A thin smile crossed Vincent's face. His wife's levity in the face of adversity was boundless. But now was not the time for jokes. Whoever was responsible for this would be paid back ten fold, Vincent vowed. Especially after hurting his wife.
He said, "Stay here, I'll look around." He took out a torch from his pack and turned it on. The warehouse was now bathed in the glow of a yellow luminescence.
Rachel clutched his arm as he started to get to his feet. He looked back with concern. "Be careful," she said. "they're killers. They have no remorse. I don't want Ciel and Lukas to become fatherless if you go off and do something stupid."
Despite the seriousness in her eyes, Vincent produced a smile to alleviate her fears. "Trust me, I'll be careful." In his other hand he held his gun, cocked and ready with six shots.
Leaving his wife temporarily he moved to the centre of the warehouse shining his torch in every direction, focusing then on the foreman office where he suspected the culprit of the attempted murder had resided.
He ran up the stairs and kicked in the door, but the room was empty except for a phone on a wooden desk and a control box that he knew controlled the claw that dropped the debris, and it was turned on. But the culprit was probably long gone, and if so, so was the man they had come to apprehend. Therefore, it was clear that the mission had ended. They knew we were coming and they had planned to kill us, he thought.
Leaving the foreman office, he walked back the stairs and back to his wife. She hadn't moved, laying on the ground, still pressing the handkerchief to her forehead. "Time to go," he said, helping her up. "It was a trap. Our target has moved on."
Suddenly the entire warehouse lit up with a brightness that momentarily blinded Vincent and his wife. Someone had just turned on the lights. Focusing, Vincent turned to see standing on the balcony of the foreman office stairs he had just come from were two young men dressed in white with blonde hair. Twins.
Vincent instantly recognized them. Sasha and Samuel Ironstadt. English born, but German by lineage. They were young, fifteen, but they were two of the most cold blooded serial murderers ever born. Compared to them, Jack the Ripper was an amateur in his murdering of prostitutes in White Castle.
The entire criminal underworld knew of these twin mercenaries for hire. They had murdered their parents in cold blood, because they want to know what it felt like to kill someone, and that was at age ten. Now at fifteen, they were renown for their murderous ways, killing at least twenty people as far as Vincent knew. Most recently, a well known crown attorney who was prosecuting a man for killing his wife. The man had suspected ties to the mafia, and if found guilty would spend life in jail. Now after the murder of the crown attorney, the case was put on hold; but the man was out on bond.
If the man whom the Queen wanted dead for the kidnapping of children had hired these two "kids", then things were in much dire straits than Vincent originally thought.
Vincent pointed his gun at the brothers, sneering, his finger firmly situated on the trigger. He would do the world a great justice by killing these kids right here. But the twin brothers didn't flinch from Vincent targeting them, they weren't even afraid of his gun. Sasha leaned on the balcony barrister while Samuel stood up straight with one hand on a hip, and both were smiling. And yet unarmed as he could see.
"I suggest, Phantomhive, that you put that gun down," Samuel said.
"I should kill you both right now for all the lives you've taken. You're both demon seed!"
Sasha laughed. "It all depends on which side of the coin you're on, watchdog," he said. "And you'd probably want to do as my brother says. Turn around."
Vincent took a brief glance over his left shoulder, then completed a turn, wide-eyed, as he saw his wife held captive by children pointing firearms at her. Four of them, three boys and one girl. They were no more than between the ages of eight to ten to twelve. By the look in their eyes, they had been brainwashed. Controlled by an unseen force. And one of them he immediately recognized. Richard Thompson III, the grandson of a Magistrate, who had been kidnapped just last month.
His father offered a large reward for the return of his son. The boy had vanished without a trace in the backyard of their mansion in Brighton. If Vincent survived this, at least he could go to the boy's father and tell him he had seen his son alive and there was hope. And if things went even better, he could even take the boy back along with the rest of the children.
But however these children were brainwashed showed in their eyes that they could not be reasoned with. They were under the complete control of their master like puppets and the twins held the strings. Regardless of the seemingly futility of the effort, Vincent begged to try.
He put his gun down and focused on Richard. "Please boy, please put the gun down. Your father begs for your return. He misses her very much."
The twins came down the stairs and now stood close enough but still far away from Vincent's grasp, obviously to witness the drama. "You're wasting your breath, Phantomhive," Sasha said. "He can't hear you. His memory is gone. He obeys only us now, as do the rest of the children."
"What do you mean his memory is gone?"
"Erased," Samuel explained. "Who he was is gone, or as far as the Doctor has told us. Richard Thompson III is no more. He's simply known as number fifteen, given a numerical name, like all the rest of them. This boy is number seven, this other boy is number eighteen, and the girl is number six."
Vincent figured the numbers each were given might indicate the order in which they were taken, or perhaps the numbers reused. Some children had been missing for months, even years. And some children had even ended up dead, found in ditches and in streets with horrible injuries. And strangely, some self-inflicted. And now Vincent knew why. The children had been brainwashed, and by the wishes of their master, would obey any command given to them. He hoped that didn't mean even killing themselves?
"That's sick and perverted! Why would someone do this to an innocent child!"
"Ours is not the question why," Sasha said.
"Orders by your master?" Vincent said hotly. "These are children for Heaven's sake!"
Both brothers laughed as if finding Vincent's reaction to the situation amusing, but the use of children like pawns in a game that didn't concern them was not funny to Vincent.
"You murdered your parents in cold blood," Vincent said. "You're just as twisted as your master!"
"Our parents, Phantomhive," Samuel started, "we're cruel and callous people. We put an end to them as is our right when a wrong has been done to the children."
"Your parents were well respected in London, kind and considerate. They volunteered their time to charity groups, hosted diner parties in your home to raise funds for the less fortunate, and donated money to - "
"They ignored us!" Sasha said. "They spent all their time with other people, leaving us alone. Then we meant a man who promised us everything we ever wanted. And hence five years later, we do."
"You're mass murderers. Is that really what you wanted? Release these children!" Vincent demanded. "Don't let this man you obey enslave them. What can be done can be undone. Their memories can be restored with help."
Sasha put his hands on his hips and sighed. "Apparently you're not listening, Phantomhive," he said with some annoyance. "Perhaps a little demonstration is in order to facilitate just how much power we hold over these children. That what has been done, will not be undone."
"Number fifteen," Samuel said. "Point your gun at your head and fire."
Richard Thompson III raised his weapon to his head…
"Nooo!"
Vincent screamed in protest, and even Rachel tried to stop Richard, but within seconds the boy was dead by a gun shot to his head, blood oozing out of his brain as his body dropped to the ground. There was no hesitation, no willingness to save his own life. The brainwashing the boy had had was just too great.
Vincent saw Rachael put her hands to her mouth and tears began to fall down her cheeks. Despite being the Queen's watchdog with him and having killed many people all in the name of the throne, apparently seeing a child kill himself so callously in cold blood was too much for her, especially if the same thing could be used on their own children if ever kidnapped by these monsters.
Vincent was saddened, but equally angry. Enraged, he turned to the twins, gripped his gun firmly in his hand, and began to raise it, when suddenly two children took aim at him to protect their masters at the moment, the two boys. Rachel was still held at gun point by the girl.
"You see, Phantomhive, there is no way you can save any of these children," Sasha said. "They are in essence our master's playthings to do as he sees fit. He loves children. We don't question his motives. We just deliver the goods."
"You kidnapped these children?"
The twins nodded.
"And allow us to now take our leave," Samuel said, "so you can play with them."
Play with them?
The twins took their leave, and Vincent could do nothing but watch them walk towards a backdoor in the warehouse. The two boys with their guns maneuvered themselves to act as a shield to let them leave. Vincent couldn't shoot or risk of harming the children. In all likelihood, one of the boys would probably throw himself into the shot to save his masters, brainwashed to do so.
Just before leaving, Samuel turned back and said, "The name is this game is called target practice. The object of the game is to avoid getting killed. But we'll give you're a sporting chance. You have ten seconds before the children start shooting. Your time starts…now."
They laughed before the single backdoor slammed behind them, and Vincent immediately refocused his attention on the children with their guns pointed at him and Rachel.
Without hesitation, he grabbed Rachel, who had seemingly recovered from the shock of Richard shooting himself, and they began to run towards the open warehouse doors from which they had come. He knew there would be no reasoning with the children - the brainwashing was just too strong, especially if it was enough to make a helpless child shoot himself. So their only option was to run!
Seconds later, the sound of gunfire began to reign the air.
To be continued.