Chapter 12: Torn Apart

Alyssa was cold and very, very wet.

She felt dizzy and tingly, like she had just tried to get up too fast after sitting for a long time. As if mocking her moment of disorientation, the night was unleashing a fury of rain. Huge, billowing cumulonimbus clouds blanketed the dark sky overhead, hiding the stars and moon.

The icy night was silent except for the sound of rainfall. There were no traces of thunder—to Alyssa's disappointment. With no flashes of lightning to light her way, she was forced to remain still until her eyes adjusted to her abrupt change of environment, despite the sheets of freezing rain soaking through her clothes.

As her eyes adapted, she could make out the shapes of brick buildings surrounding her. Bits of silver chain link fence ran here and there, sectioning off parts of what appeared to be some sort of courtyard or park. Brown, dead grass was beneath her feet, and wooden flower boxes surrounded the small area. Leafless, spindly trees sagged in the drenched soil, looking as cold and water-logged as Alyssa felt.

She tried rubbing her arms for warmth, but it was no use; the air here was even colder and more unforgiving than the London Streets had been. She was pretty sure her lips were already turning blue.

Shivering, she began to walk through the relentless rain, head down. She couldn't really tell from her surroundings where—or when—she was. The featureless fences and buildings could be anywhere from ten to fifty years old. Across from her was an opening in the fence, though there wasn't any type gate in sight.

Beyond the fence was a rain-soaked road made from gray-brown brick, faintly lit by a flickering streetlight. Alyssa tried to guess when how old the bricks might be, but it was impossible to tell how new or worn they were through all the puddles. She was about to step onto the road when something tucked next to the fence caught her eye; a lone, dented trash can.

Hoping to find something—anything—that had been thrown away with a date on it, Alyssa hurried over and peered down inside it. The light was poor and the can was almost empty, but she could just make out what looked like an extremely soggy, crumpled newspaper. She carefully dug it out and went to stand under the streetlight.

The paper was starting to tear and the ink was smudged, but the headline was clear.

'Gruesome Murder in West Sussex'.

Here we go again, thought Alyssa. Her heart began to pound as she read further.

'The bodies of elderly Dorothy Rand and her toy-maker son, Albert Rand, were discovered late Tuesday afternoon. Both bodies were found in a drum filled with acid in the garage adjoining their home on Russel Street. Though there are no leads or suspects at this time, authorities believe that a large sum of money was the motive for this heinous crime.

'Mrs. Rand, who was legally blind, required assistance in day to day tasks. Albert Rand, a clever young craftsman, made a comfortable living for them both from selling toys, and due to his profession was quite popular with the local children. Though both bodies were badly damaged before being removed from the acid, the coroner has confirmed that Rand's eyes were brutally removed prior to his death.

'Police are currently investigating reports of a young man seen with the Rands several days before the murders took place. Locals are saying the man appeared abruptly, claiming to be a distant relative of Mrs. Rand, and has since disappeared just as mysteriously.'

Alyssa felt numb as she finished reading the article, and not from the cold. She knew in her heart that no sane human being would commit a crime so horrible. The culprit was kin to Robert Morris—mad, ruthless, and unspeakably cruel. Tightening her chilled fingers on the saturated page, she quickly scanned the article again for a date.

November 23, 1963.

Two decades later than her last trip through time, but the warmth and safety of her own home seemed further away than ever. Alyssa returned the newspaper to the trash with a heavy heart; reading about Dorothy and Albert reminded her of her own mother.

Keeping as close to the wall behind the streetlight as she could, Alyssa started down the rain-soaked road. The lights, dim to begin with, could barely shine through the thick sheets of rain. Alyssa kept on the same side of the street as the streetlights, until the road turned sharply to the left.

It was a little brighter here, thanks to a light hanging above a door that led into the building she had been walking next to. As she looked around the corner, she realized that it was a large brick home. She also saw something that made her stomach lurch and her mouth turn dry.

Near the door was an old, rusted dumpster. And hanging limply over the side was the ghostly white shape of a human arm. Alyssa did not want to take a closer look, and kept her distance as she passed. Lying dejectedly in a nearby puddle was a brown crocheted bear; as she stepped over it, its black button eyes pooled with raindrops until they spilled over, trickling to the soaked ground like tears.

The road continued on, but Alyssa could already see that her path was blocked. The road itself was flanked by long brick buildings, with little to no space between them, and at the end of the road was a green car. One tire rested against the wall, causing the vehicle to tilt. The trunk was broken and hanging open, and its contents had spilled out onto the road. If there had been anyone riding in the car at the time of the crash, there was no way they could have escaped the crumpled cab alive.

Alyssa's heart was thumping again. Her last journey through time had also had her following a veritable trail of corpses, until they inevitably led her to the den of a Subordinate. As she stood there, pulse racing warm despite the rain, she knew that another was close by.

The door next to the dumpster had been painted once, but time and weather had stripped it back down to the dull, bare wood. Alyssa gripped the ice-cold knob and turned, but it wouldn't budge. Undaunted, she continued along the front of the house; there had to be some way to get inside. She would climb through a window if she had to.

As she continued on, heading toward another set of flickering lights, she noticed that someone had spray-painted the wall so it read 'Get ready to go to Hell'.

Alyssa felt another chill; that wasn't just idle graffiti. Someone knew she was coming.

The pair of flickering lights were clamped on either side of another door, just as weathered as the first. This time the knob turned easily and Alyssa hurried inside, grateful to finally be out of the pouring rain.

She found herself standing in a narrow entryway, with a metal umbrella stand directly to her left. An old-fashioned light fixture hung from the ceiling from worn black wires and without any sort of covering over the dusty bulb. The light it cast was yellow and unpleasant.

Alyssa stayed where she was, shivering uncontrollably as she waited to stop dripping. She knew she couldn't stand around until she was completely dry—if she could dry out all in, given how cold the air was.

The chill in her bones wasn't the only thing keeping her from moving. Beyond the small entryway was a short room with a set of double doors on the left-hand side. Further down the area connected to a narrow hallway, which turned towards the left. There were cardboard boxes and other discarded articles tucked in the corners, giving the place a sloppy, unkempt look. And on the floor, right outside the doors, was a very large bloodstain.

The stain spread across the floor in streaks, as if someone had dragged something through the doorway. The marks didn't look fresh, but Alyssa knew better than to assume anything anymore.

Though her teeth were still chattering, she forced herself to move away from the front door and began tip-toeing down the hall, ignoring the shudder that ran through her as her feet touched the stain. She tested the handles of both doors, but they were locked.

As she turned away from the door, Alyssa thought she heard a faint sound from deep within the stone silent house. She quickly held still again and strained to listen; it sounded like some kind of bell.

Feeling more curious than frightened, Alyssa crept down the hallway, keeping close to the left-hand wall. Resting her hand on top of what looked like some kind old-fashioned record player standing near the corner, she slowly leaned forward and peeked further down the hall.

The hallway continued for several more feet before turning left again, past another closed door. There was another hallway to her right, but she was too far away to see down it.

Her attention was quickly drawn to the other end of the hallway as she heard something scraping near the closed door, followed by the bell sound again. A second later a figure turned the corner and hobbled in her direction.

Alyssa quickly drew back in fear, but she soon realized that the figure hadn't spotted her yet. She also realized that there was nothing dark or menacing about him, either; the feeling that welled up inside her as he drew closer was very much like pity.

The figure was a man in his mid to late thirties, with dark hair and eyes and the faintest shadow of a beard. He was wearing a dark red sweater and a blue knit cap, and a heavy smock covered in light stains was tied around his waist. As he shuffled his feet across the floor, a bell hanging from his right hand jingled.

As he came closer, a clacking could be heard over the bell, and Alyssa saw that he was holding a long cane in his other hand, and tapping it along the floor as he walked. As he passed under the light of one of the fixtures, Alyssa had to slap her hand over her mouth to keep from gasping in horror.

His eyes weren't dark; he had no eyes at all. Black, empty sockets stared ahead, unseeing, as he shuffled along. Streaks of blood stained his cheeks, like trails of red tears.

Even though he couldn't have looked more harmless, Alyssa moved back around the corner and pressed her back against the wall, treating the record player like a barricade. Harmless or not, a permeable cloud of desperation and grief surrounded him, so intense it made Alyssa's heart tighten uncomfortably. She wasn't eager to learn just what that desperation might drive him to do.

Huddled against the wall, she held as still as she knew how, not daring to breathe as the lost soul of Albert Rand came closer to her hiding place. As he rounded the corner, she could hear he was muttering to himself under his breath.

"Mother," he sighed, his low voice little more than a moan. "Where have you gone, Mother. I keep searching and searching, but..."

Albert suddenly froze, his hunched form turning so rigid the bell stopped jingling. Alyssa stiffened fearfully but stayed where she was.

Several seconds of silence past—and then Albert whirled on her, coming so close his smock brushed against her bare shins. Alyssa bit back a squeak of surprise and pressed herself harder against the wall as the empty sockets leered at her.

"Who are you?" demanded Albert, his voice accusing and firm, but only slightly louder than when he spoke a moment ago.

Confronted with the twins holes and bloodstained face, Alyssa couldn't speak. Her mind went blank of all things except that she was looking at a dead man—a dead man teetering on the brink of insanity and who would probably attack her if she said the wrong thing. She didn't know what to do if that happened; he wasn't evil like the Subordinates, so she had no weapon against him. She wouldn't have wanted to use one, anyway.

Albert suddenly struck the wall next to her head with his cane, almost making Alyssa shriek. She instinctively covered her head with her hands and slid down the wall, her rear nearly meeting her heels. A moment passed before she noticed that Albert hadn't moved; a glance up told her that he was still staring at the same spot, high above her head.

The weary man abruptly turned away with an agonized sigh. "Don't know what's real anymore," Alyssa heard him mutter as he shuffled away. "Oh, why can't I find you...?"

Remaining as still as possible, Alyssa watched sadly as he made his way to the front door. He fumbled a moment for the knob, then ruefully twisted it and stepped outside into the rain. The door slammed so hard behind him Alyssa nearly jumped out of her skin.

Getting up shakily, Alyssa walked slowly to the front door. The thought of Albert out in the cold, unforgiving night as he fervently searched for his mother weighed heavily on her heart. She was already imagining there was some way to help him, like May, so she at least wanted to know where he was headed so she could find him later. But when she grabbed the knob and tried to turn it, it wouldn't budge.

Frowning hard, Alyssa turned, twisted, and jiggled the knob, then gave up and tried pushing the door itself, but it was no use. The cold, wet night had caused the old wood to warp and expand, jamming it in place.

Sighing, Alyssa turned away and headed back to the hallway. After rounding the corner, she decided to check down the adjoining hall on the right-hand side before exploring the rest of the house.

There was a closed door directly ahead, and another off to her left. As she drew nearer, she could faintly hear the sound of muffled sobbing coming from behind the latter.

Her heart weighing heavily again, Alyssa crept closer and pressed her ear against the door. From within she could hear subtle movements; the shuffling of feet, the scrape of a chair leg, the clanking of something metal. Among the faint noises was the sound of the endless sobs of one in complete and total despair.

Alyssa knew it must be Dorothy, undoubtedly as blind in death as she had been in life. And with Albert's sight gone as well, they were both damned to search for each other for eternity. Search, but never find. The thought of the two pathetic souls stumbling through their endless darkness made Alyssa all the more determined to do whatever she had been sent to this time to do.

Although she doubted it would be as easy as guiding them to each other, she decided it wouldn't hurt to try. Gripping the cool doorknob, Alyssa began turning it slowly.

The knob felt stiff and resisted being moved. Turning harder, Alyssa rested her other hand on the door itself as she continued to listen to Dorothy inside. As she continued to turn, she thought she felt a tremor run through the wood of the door. She paused, but the only sound she could hear was Dorothy sobbing, so she resumed turning the knob, harder this time.

The knob suddenly popped in her hand, rattling like someone on the other side was twisting it violently. The door itself was buzzing and trembling, as though an electric current was rushing through it. Alyssa hastily let go and hopped back; the trembling stopped.

Unnerved but refusing to give up, Alyssa cautiously took hold of the knob again. This time she felt the door vibrate the moment she touched it, and when she tried turning the knob, a force like an angry bear began hammering against the door.

Alyssa staggered back and fell against the wall. The ruckus stopped as soon as she moved away, and, after several minutes of hesitation, Alyssa stretched her hand for the knob again. The wooden door buzzed angrily, and the knob rattled and clanked so hard she thought it would fly clean out of its holdings.

Finally giving up, Alyssa moved slowly away from the door and back into the main hallway. She knew there was nothing she could do—for now, at least. She also knew that the violent barricade wasn't there by accident.

Someone had deliberately sealed Dorothy Rand up, making doubly certain she and her son would never find each other. That same someone was also making sure no one else interfered. And that someone, whoever he was, was much stronger and more clever than Robert Morris.

And Alyssa knew that she needed to tread very, very carefully.