Almost there, kids. The last chapter is due tomorrow. Thank you for your lovely comments, it's been, as always, a pleasure writing for you. ;)
There is a sadness to reaching the end of a journey, be it in a story or in life. And even though there is always new challenges awaiting, closing a chapter comes at the price of saying goodbye to things and people your heart has attached itself to. So, today I am happy and I am sad. But there will be new stories - in life and in Phryniverse.
Chapter 35: Dark Energy
The morning wind brushed through her hair, while the Hispano Suiza moved smoothly through the streets of the waking city. Mr. Butler was a brilliant driver, as it turned out. Mrs. Robinson couldn't pretend to be surprised. Trying to ignore her throbbing shoulder, she waited for the painkillers to do their magic. At least the crusted over wound wasn't bleeding anymore and the bullet didn't seem to have injured any vital organs. She would live. It just hurt nastily.
Restlessly, Phryne's fingers moved through the soft hair of the girl that was leaning into her healthy side. Jane had her eyes closed, overwhelmed by relief after an exhausting night fearing for her parents, but Mrs. Robinson doubted that the girl was asleep. On the opposite end of the back seat sat Jack, lost in thought. He was wrapped in someone's coat, yet shivering in the wind, his cheeks flushed and Phryne once again wondered if this could really be a simple cold. Mac had avoided her burning question enquiring into Jack's health, pointing out that she had to examine the Inspector before she could make any calls. The rational part of Phryne knew that her friend was right in not attempting a blind diagnosis. But glancing at Jack's blotched face, she was certain that he belonged in bed, rather than on the trail of a dangerous criminal.
Yet, there hadn't been an argument. Even Mac had kept unusual and unexpected silence, when they had decided to drive to Coburg, rather than St. Kilda.
Of course, logic demanded for Jack and Phryne to return home and get some much needed rest. But what everybody knew, conscious or not, was, that it would be impossible for them to find any peace, while Rose was still out there. They had to finish this.
Unbeknownst to his wife, Inspector Robinson was currently pondering if he had made the right call. But it was too late now; the bluestone walls of Pentridge Prison rose from the morning fog. There was something off, they noticed as soon as they approached. The guard lying in a puddle of blood in front of the open gate for once. Black cars seemed to be pouring out of every corner at the same time. Soon the street in front of the prison was swarming with policemen.
The Sergeant who had first arrived at the shot man's side, shook his head. The second warder on night shift at the main gates had managed to drag himself to a wall, where he was sitting, trying to keep the gaping wound in his stomach closed with a hand. Blood was spilling through his fingers.
Collins, Brent, go and telephone for an ambulance," Inspector Robinson ordered, before he crouched down beside the wounded man, a task that currently took concentration. „Be careful, they might have left someone behind." Obediently, the officers disappeared in the guard tower to find a telephone, while Mac rushed to the guards's side.
"They shot Freddy," he whispered.
Jack nodded grimly, glancing at Mac, who looked serious.
"There's help on the way," he promised the man. He doubted that there was any help to be had for the guard.
Another shot rang out in the distance. So, Rose had taken the bold approach. Shooting down everybody who dared stand in his way.
"Mr. Butler," he waved his servant over, who approached without delay. "I want you to take Mrs. Collins and Jane home."
His daughter wouldn't have it.
"I'm not going home! You two had almost got yourselves killed last time you ran off on your own," she protested. Jack stared at her for a long moment, wondering how to approach this. There would be people dying today, and none of them would be children.
"We aren't on our own, Jane," he said gently. "There's more than 30 police officers here. Trust us. I don't want you to get hurt."
Jane stared at him in annoyance. Jack looked at Phryne for help but found that she had pulled Mr. Butler aside, whispering something into his ear. He had a faint idea what it was. Jack burned to send her home, but he couldn't. This was her fight much as his own.
"Miss Nowak, I want you to go with them as well," he added instead. Maybe his wife didn't think that a faceless foetus needed worrying about, but Jack disagreed. It wasn't the only reason if he was completely honest. The old-fashioned part of him was certain that women shouldn't ride into battle. Unless they were Miss Fisher of course. Or Doctor MacMillan, who currently accepted a firearm from one of the policemen with blood stained hands.
Natalija was obviously not happy with his decision, but after a quiet discussion with Eddie that had the word 'Daisy' strewn in multiple times, she reluctantly agreed.
"Come," Dot said, putting a hand onto Jane's shoulder and pulling the stubborn girl towards the waiting Hispano, throwing a last pleading look at her husband. He nodded. There was nothing that would keep Hugh from returning home to her. Just when the red car left, more police arrived, including Sanderson and Morgan.
"Right men, lets get everyone armed," the Inspector said, instead of a greeting, while Jack informed the Commissioner of what was happening. Sanderson didn't say much, his throat was tighter than he cared to admit at seeing Jack alive, if not well. Minutes later, every weapon had found an owner.
"Are you certain that you want to do this, Miss Fisher?" Jack whispered towards his wife.
"I'd like to see you try and stop me," she whispered back.
"I wouldn't dare. But please do me the favour and stay away from Rose," he begged of her, while closing her fingers around a gun.
"Not if I can avoid it," she promised, kissing him. "But considering there is more than 50 people here and I am not at the top of my game, I will likely have to leave the honours to somebody else."
Reluctantly, Jack let go, listening to the noise in the distance that promised that Little Jacob still hadn't found his sister. It was time to make a move. With every minute they wasted, more people died. But he truly hoped that Phryne wouldn't be the one to find Rose first. Not only because he was scared that the criminal would use her weakened state to kill her but also, because he feared she might succeed in shooting him. He had shot too many people in his life to wish this on her.
After the Chief Commissioner had explained the plan, the mixed group poured through the gates to cross the building lying behind it. Sanderson ignored the fact that there were Civilians storming a prison with his men. Miss Fisher, or rather Mrs. Robinson, as he reluctantly corrected himself in his head, looked scary with her blood drenched blouse, her arm in a sling and a nasty sparkle in her eyes. Standing in her way today was definitely not a smart idea, it occurred to him.
The freezing yard lay in total silence, the first glimpses of sunlight seeping through the fog. The first officers left the group to secure guard towers and buildings. Just then another shot ripped the calmness in half. Running feet clacked over the stone. A young man in a warder uniform rushed towards them.
"They're shooting down everyone!" he screamed.
"Where are they!" Sanderson barked, but the man didn't seem to hear him, just trying to race past him. A strong hand grabbed his arm in flying past.
"Where?" Morgan asked, calmly.
The young man struggled, but realised that there was no point to it.
"D Division," he panted.
"I could've told him that," Phryne whispered towards Mac, who smiled grimly. Right now, the Doctor wished she had brought her bandages rather than a gun. "Only an imbecile would look for a woman headed for the gallows anywhere else."
"While I wouldn't count on George to be surprised, there is the slight possibility that not everybody knows all the details about the inside of a prison, Miss Fisher," Jack smiled, without stopping. "Which makes me wonder, how exactly you know?"
"I have my sources, Jack."
The Inspector raised his eyebrows but never got to enquire further into the subject, as they arrived at a rather nondescript entrance leading into the part of Pentridge prison in which the most notorious of criminals had found their untimely, if well-deserved, ends.
Here, it wasn't quiet at all.
More men veered off to the other buildings, then the remainder of the group stepped through the steel gate. When they entered the dark hallways of the "D Division", the noise became terrifying. The prisoners behind their doors were in uproar, some hopeful for an escape, some enraged, some frightened out of their minds. Their screaming mixed with the groans of the wounded warder, soiling the stone floor with his blood. Doctor Mac was already crouching beside him, giving him a quick look over.
"Just a scratch," she diagnosed. "Keep this firmly pressed to it."
"And who exactly you think you are then, Lady?" he snapped, staring at the handkerchief in his fingers.
"I am the woman who might get you to a hospital, if you are lucky," the Doctor quipped. "So, do as your told and you'll live."
She smiled, leaving the man lying against the wall, staring at the piece of cloth. After a moment or two, he clenched his jaw and applied pressure to his wound. His male pride wasn't quite worth dying for.
Mac caught up to the group just when Sanderson sent some men out to secure the corridors at ground level. There were more guards on the floor where the rushing down warder's had confronted Rose's men. For some of them, every help came too late. Just as Phryne crouched down beside a man who may have been in his 40s, his leg gushing blood, a shot fell, then another shortly after. Pressing herself to the floor, she glanced at Mac, who had also dived to the ground, then nodded to Jack, who had found cover behind a corner, her eyes darting to a place behind the stairs.
Jack's heart was racing in his chest, as he snuck along a wall, exposing himself to the gunman. But he felt movement behind himself, some of the other policemen were following him. Another bullet cut through the air, hitting the wall close to Jack's head. He raced forward. The man hiding behind the stairs - his staying behind probably due to having copped a shot to the foot - was still refilling his revolver, when the clicks of five safety latches being taken off sounded around his head. He stared into a pair of bloodshot eyes. The rest of the angry man wasn't any more appeasing.
"Hand it over," Jack said. Seconds later, a Sergeant was on the Criminal's back, securing handcuffs to the man.
"Where's Rose?" Sanderson asked, when the man had been hurled to what was left of his feet.
A long string of cursing was the only answer.
"Get him out of here!" the Commissioner ordered, while Jack helped his wife to her feet.
"You alright?" he whispered.
"Perfectly fine," Phryne quipped. "I would appreciate though, if they'd pick someone else for target practise."
They both knew that she was lying. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. The long night still wore on her, and the exercise of throwing herself on a floor with an untreated shotgun wound, seemed like a terrible idea in retrospect. Jack allowed himself to touch her cheek which was as much affection as he would show in front of 25 police officers. Phryne smiled, missing Bert rolling his eyes at them. She felt as terrible as Jack looked. But they would be fine – at least as long as Rose's people didn't improve their aim.
While a handful of men stayed downstairs to chase down any more hidden threats, the rest of the group started to head to the upper floors, stepping over dead bodies of warders and criminals alike. There were also more wounded and Mac, aided by Cec and Eddie, did her best to patch them up enough to ensure their survival until the hospitals could take care of them. But it was just a drop in the bucket, they all quietly knew. They needed to push forward. The prison was too dangerous a place at present for any ambulance team to even enter.
More policemen were sent away to secure the next floor, amongst them Inspector Morgan, but neither Phryne nor Jack felt inclined to join them. They were here for one man and one man only. Sneaking up the stairs, the heavy pistol held in front of her, while the deafening sound of the prisoners rang in her ears, Phryne expected to be shot at any second. But instead the sight in front of her eyes caused her breath to hitch in her chest.
X
"It's unfair!" Jane screamed, pacing the parlour. "They can't just die now! We only just found them."
"Please calm down, Miss Jane," Mr. Butler pleaded, lying a calming hand on the girls shoulder. He wouldn't allow her to return to Pentridge gaol, no matter how much she raved. Despite the longing in his chest to be there himself, to for once be allowed to protect the people close to his heart, he knew that his Mistress had chosen a different fate for him and he wasn't going to let her down.
"Jane, please. They know what they have gotten themselves into," Dot joined in, "and they wouldn't have gone, if they weren't sure they'd be back". She couldn't hide that she didn't quite believe her own words though. Natalija Nowak just sat silently, as if unsure what to do with herself. Her skinny frame looked lost in the huge armchair.
"She's right," she suddenly said. "We sit here, drinking tea, while our loved ones are dying!"
"The Inspector has ordered me to bring you to safety, Miss, and I am sure there is good reason for that," Mr. Butler prompted.
Natalija pulled herself to her full height which was an interesting sight.
"I may be in the family way, but I don't need Jack or anyone else to tell me what to do!"
Dot stared at her, as if she had just grown a second head.
"We need to go back. Please, Mr. Butler. Please!" Jane begged.
A knock rang out, while the servant contemplated what to say. A flustered looking blonde woman stood on the doorstep.
"Is this Jack Robinson's house?" she asked, her lovely voice trembling.
"It certainly is, Mrs..."
"Willis," Adelheid said, allowing him to take her coat. She fixed her hair and gotten dressed properly, since they had parted, Dorothy noted. In fact, she looked very nice.
"I'm afraid, the Master is presently not at home," Mr. Butler said from behind her, as Mrs. Willis stepped into the living room. The woman didn't seem to hear him. She just gaped at Natalija and Jane who were grimly staring at the intruder, the piano, the fire place, to finally glance at the portrait of one Victorian policeman, hanging upon the wall. The picture of Jack Robinson painted by Riya Santi was so lifelike that Phryne hadn't been able to resist adding it to the decoration in her parlour, against all protest of her embarrassed lover. Now, Adelheid stared at his smiling features, her pretty mouth hanging open.
"Jack. It really is Jack," she whispered. Then she fainted in the most dramatic way possible.
X
People were racing past her, flooding the upper floor of the prison right underneath the roof, weapons where pulled, bullets flew around her ear, screaming and grunts of pain sounded where the officers ran into criminals - but Phryne just stood, feeling herself tremble. She had seen her fair share of dead people in her lifetime. There was always something creepy to a body hanging off a rope by the neck. It was nothing against seeing Elaine Browning's remains, gently swinging in the cool breeze that crept through the cold hallway. A man stood, his back turned to the fighting men, at her feet, silently. Phryne started to run, wrapping her hand tighter around her gun, when another shot fell. A scream startled her, she spun. Eddie collapsed to the floor, clutching onto his thigh. To her right, Constable Jones was wrestling down the shooter.
"Mac!" Phryne yelled, but her friend was nowhere to be seen, doubtlessly patching up someone somewhere else. The Lady Detective threw another look at Rose, at Jack running towards him, then back to her old friend, who writhed in agony on the floor, blood spilling from his leg at a worrying pace. Making a decision, Mrs. Robinson dropped to her knees.
"Calm down, Eddie, it will be fine," she hissed, pressing her palm to the wound and praying that she wasn't lying.
"Daisy," her wounded friend whispered, "please make sure my girl's tak'n care of."
"If you think that I will just let you die, you got it wrong!" Phryne panted, with all her weight leaning down on the wound, willing it to stop bleeding. "I think Miss Nowak would kill me, if I did."
Eddie grinned weakly at this, before squeezing his eyes shut with an agonized groan.
Jack knew that she wasn't behind him, he couldn't hear her steps. But he had no time to look around, his eyes were magically drawn to Jacob Rose, standing at the feet of his dead sister. The Inspector slowed when he approached, as if the mourning man deserved his respect, despite the blood he had spilled all over the stone floors.
"It's over, Rose," he said calmly, his weapon raised at the man, who slowly turned. There were traces of tears on his cheeks.
"You're right," Jacob said. "I came too late. And yet, you won't have the decency to die!"
There was no time to react. Rose's yelled words echoed off the walls in the same moment that he ripped up his gun and pulled the trigger. Time seemed to slow down. Jack could hear Phryne scream his name somewhere in the distance, other policemen storm closer, but there was just thick fog around his brain while his fingers closed tighter around his weapon. The clicking sounded through the empty hallways, then another. When Jack opened his lashes, Rose was laughing.
"So, this is how it is. Saved by the bell, yet again, Inspector."
He tossed the empty weapon away and let his arms sink.
"I guess you win," he said. "You murdered my sister and now it's time you killed me, isn't it?"
Jack suppressed a cough, while his eyes darted to Elaine's corpse. He hadn't had time yet to find out how he felt about his tormentor having passed away. The body of the hangman lying to her feet snapped him out of his dark thoughts. His pistol still shook in his hand, while he battled down the anger rising like bile in his throat.
"Your sister was executed by the State of Victoria for murder," he explained as calmly as he could manage. "And you will be arrested and trialled as the law demands."
Jack took a step closer, while a wave of his head prompted two Constables to close in for an arrest. They moved slowly, as if they were scared of Rose, but the Inspector was fully concentrated on the man who had sent him and Phryne through hell.
"And trust me, it is not for a lack of desire to shoot you down where you are standing," he added, his jaw set.
The man smirked. Then something golden flashed in Jacob's hand; a shot fell, tearing the tense air surrounding the group of men in half. Jack stared in horror at his attacker, while Rose's eyes widened. Then he slowly dropped to his knees, still trying to aim Phryne's gun at the Inspector. But his quickly weakening hand couldn't hold onto it, as he collapsed to the floor. Jack was by his side before his flailing limbs had fully stretched out on the ground.
After a moment of feeling the lifeless man's throat, Jack dropped his head, looking for an appropriate feeling in his chest. But all he found was fatigue and sadness.
"He's dead," he said to no one in particular, while Rose's blood soiled his shoes. Then he picked up Phryne's gun and stored it safely in his pockets, before turning to where Collins still stood, blankly staring at the weapon in his hand.
"I shot him," Hugh said quietly, seemingly waking from a dream. Jack only nodded, taking the pistol from him.
"So you did, Collins. You also saved my life," he prompted, gently taking the Constable by the shoulders and turning him away from the sight of the dead man on the floor. Slowly they walked towards the group of people huddled around where Eddie's leg wound was currently being bandaged with a piece of Phryne's skirt. Mrs. Robinson looked at her husband with eyes that promised him a sharp berating for confronting Rose by himself and betrayed endless relief that he hadn't been hurt.
"I thought it would feel better," Hugh admitted quietly.
Jack glanced at him, tightening his grip on the Constable's shoulder to try and give some comfort.
"It never does. But sometimes you do what needs to be done."
Collins nodded, watching on in silence, as Jones and Arnold dragged another one of Rose's men down the stairs and thinking of Dottie and their child. He would go home with blood on his hands today. But at least it wasn't the Inspector's.
He saw Robinson crouch down beside his wife, whispering something into her ear. She didn't take her hand from where she was assisting Mac in trying to save her friend, but turned and pressed a kiss to his lips. There was something akin to tears in her eyes that made Hugh want to weep along with her.
"Well done," George Sanderson said, patting his back, before leaving, doubtlessly to sort out the politics attached to what must be 20 bleeding men littered over the floors of Pentridge. Hugh didn't manage to answer, his throat was too tight.
"Playing the big hero, are ya?" a voice said behind the Constable. He turned to see Dahle grinning at him.
"Nothing heroic about it," Hugh replied after a beat. "Sometimes a man just does what needs to be done."
With that he left the gaping Constable standing at the steps and walked down the stairs, carefully avoiding to look back.