Authors: George Barlow
“Life isn’t fair Henry. Get your head around that. Keeping the existence of magus a secret is part of magus law, you know that. Breaking those laws means death and, as an Inquisitor, your duty is to uphold the law.”
“You didn’t warn me.”
“I didn’t know. Just lucky you managed to charm some of them, but next time, do what you are told.”
“I won’t kill.”
“Then you will be killed and lose the protection the Inquisition not only provided you, but your friends and family. It’s your choice Henry.”
“As easy as that,” Henry said, turning to look out the window.
“Yes, as easy as that. If you care about anyone else but yourself, then you’ll do it. Anyway, that was the good news.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“To be allowed to stay in the Inquisition, all you have to do is catch Grendal.”
“There are a couple of things you need to get a hold of before we get there,” Gabriel said. “If anyone asks for your name, don’t give it. If anyone asks why you are there, say that it is on government business. And most importantly, don’t look like a pansy when you see the body. Sure, it may be in a bit of a state, but you need to look like that doesn’t phase you.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?” Henry said.
“Don’t throw up and don’t cry or get emotional. I guess the latter isn’t too difficult for you.”
“Don’t throw up, okay — got it.”
Gabriel pulled the car up at the end of the street, which was blocked off by police tape. He showed some sort of identification to the policeman who guarded the entrance to the street and Henry followed closely at his heel as they walked into a tall block of flats. By the time they were waiting in the elevator, they had passed multiple detectives, policemen and people dressed in white overalls, all scurrying in and out of the building. It was quite apparent that escaping if they were discovered was not really an option. Gabriel and Henry approached the door to the scene of the murder, which was blocked by a police constable, his white shirt gleaming beneath his stab-proof vest.
“My name is Jones and this is my partner,” Gabriel said, showing him the same piece of identification he had the first constable.
“Hang on a second please, Detective Inspector?” the PC called out into the flat.
A blond woman approached them, about 5 foot 6 inches tall, with hazel eyes that luckily didn’t transform into anything when Henry's gaze met them. She was wearing a purple blouse which, although fitted loosely, made no efforts to conceal her slim athletic build. Her shoulders were square and proud, but not a frame developed by some sort of sport like rowing, her physique was graceful as if through ballet or finishing school. Maybe Henry was reading too much into her, but the residing truth was that she was beautiful.
“Who are you two?”
“As I just said to this constable, my name is Special Agent Jones and this is my partner. And you are?” Gabriel said, passing the ID to the inspector.
“Detective Inspector Alex Stroud. Are the government trying to take over another one of my crime scenes?” Alex said.
“Far from it, we are just here to have a look around and then we will be out of your hair,” Gabriel said.
Alex turned her attention to Henry, scanning him up and down as if able to immediately know all of his secrets.
“And do you have a name?” Alex said.
Did he have a name? Of course he did, but he couldn’t use his, Gabriel had said that. That was rule number one, don’t give your name. Quick, think of another name.
“Henry Fellows.”
Gabriel flashed him a look. Damn.
“I know,” Alex said.
“Huh?” Henry said. “How could you-”
“You were at the Two Gates Club a few nights back. The owner knows you.”
“Byron?”
He had spoken instinctively and the sudden hidden pinch to his arm from Gabriel was a flashing sign for him to shut up.
“Yes, he spoke very highly of you,” Alex said.
How much did she know? Christ, was there any point in trying to cover anything if Byron had already given the game away? Henry remembered her now, she was the blonde he had been chatting up, unless she had been interviewing him?
“Henry is a blood splatter expert, but what he gets up to in his free time is not our concern. If you don’t mind detective, we would like to hurry this along,” Gabriel said.
Alex looked to consider this for moment, as if weighing up all the possible theories in her head.
“This way then,” Alex said.
The flat wasn’t big. There was a small hallway which branched left towards a bedroom and the only thing visible inside was the corner of the unmade bed. White walls were to be found throughout, a sign of the modern cheap decor of any newly built flat, alongside the abstract pictures of London that filled the place. To the right was the living room and, judging by the fact that was where the majority of people were, Henry guessed that was where the body was.
The living room, like the rest of the flat, wasn’t huge. It housed a single three piece sofa opposite a cabinet with a television perched on top, a glass table by the window and a small open plan kitchen on the other side of the room. All the lights in the flat seemed to have been turned off, the only source of light was provided by forensics spot lamps, which gave the place the brightness of day even though it was pitch black outside. The item that deserved the most attention in the room was of course the body, but Henry was trying hard not to focus on that. He had seen his first dead body a few days ago in the under-city, when the triangular building had exploded. Many people had died then, but the instinct to preserve his own life had been the prevailing concern. The body from his patrol with Tristan however, was another story. The face of the man he had killed was still etched on Henry’s mind and now there was another face to join his nightmares.
The victim lay on his back, surrounded by a moat of blood. He wore a pair of pyjama shorts that were soaked to a deep red colour, his limbs splayed out around him. The wound was beyond savagery and as soon Henry first took sight of it, his stomach churned violently. The slice went from one side of the neck to the other, the bright flash of windpipe stark against the red.
“You all right Henry, you look a little pale?” Alex said.
“I’m fine,” Henry said, before taking in another look of disappointment from Gabriel.
The thing that they never mentioned in the TV dramas was the smell, although maybe he was imagining it. It was a little like being in a butchers, which Henry knew meant he wouldn’t be venturing into one again any time soon.
“Does he have a name?” Gabriel said.
“Lewis Barnaby, aged twenty-four, no previous convictions. Works as a waiter at a French restaurant chain around the corner from here. Girlfriend found him,” Alex said.
“And where is she now?”
“Being interviewed by two of my guys, but I imagine she will be of little use.”
“What’s with the lights?” Henry said.
“Every bulb in the flat has blown. Must have been a power surge and, as you saw, it took out some of the corridor lights too. Weird thing is, we have been around the neighbours' apartments and all their lights seemed fine,” Alex said.
“This fits with the rest of the cases then,” Gabriel said.
“Yes, but if he’s causing it, we don’t know how,” Alex said.
Henry looked back towards the body and then to the splatters of blood the injury had caused. Besides the pool of blood in which he lay, there was a pattern spread up the wall at a forty-five degree angle that caught the sofa next to him. There was another one that appeared perfectly horizontal, marking the wall and window, with marks across the table at the far end of the room.
“The horizontal marks are from when he slit the throat, the others are as he fell and the sheer force of the blood leaving the wound,” said a man next to Henry.
Damn it, that was exactly the sort of thing Henry was supposed to say, given the title Gabriel had given him for this ruse.
“It suggests that he was heading towards the table when the attacker came at him from behind,” Henry said.
Of course it meant that, anybody could figure that out. Quick Henry, think of something more intelligent. The horizontal marks trailed off to the right, which meant that was where the movement of the knife ended...
“It also suggests that the killer is right handed,” Henry said.
“We already know that,” said the man in reply.
“But there is something quite curious about it. It is almost
perfectly
horizontal. Has this been the same in all of the cases?” Henry said.
“Chris…” Alex said.
“Yes they have, or at least close enough where there we have been able to detect the initial blood splatter. Most of the scenes were in more open spaces,” Chris said.
“The reason I mention this is that in order for the splatter patten to be completely horizontal, the killer must have been at the same height as the victim. If he stooped down, then we would expect there to be some angle to it, wouldn’t we?” Henry said.
Gabriel looked over to him and Henry could tell he was impressed. Henry wasn’t quite sure where that insight had come from, but it would do wonders, if it was right, for proving his credentials.
“You are correct,” Chris said.
“Do you have the other forensic reports with you? Maybe young Henry should take a look?” a voice said from behind.
Henry felt a breath on the back of his neck and nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Sorry to have startled you Henry. Good evening Gabriel, Alex,” the man said.
Henry turned to see a tall man, with pointed features. He wore a jet black suit that emphasised his slender frame and oddly, Henry noticed how impossibly shined his shoes were.
“Nick, how are you?” Gabriel said.
“Could be better, these killings aren’t really the publicity we need for the department. I trust everything is in order?” Nick said.
“We are handling it. Superintendent, you know these two?” Alex said.
She spoke sharply to him, definitely some undertone there, but Henry couldn’t tell exactly what.
“Good to hear Detective Inspector and yes, I know them both. You are to provide them with anything they ask for. Henry, you were saying?” Nick said.
Henry wasn’t sure who this man was, who appeared to already know both him and Gabriel. Henry looked back to the body and a memory flashed before his eyes, too blurred for him to make out, a reminder of something he had forgotten.
“The killer knows you can work out height from the blood splatter, and so masks this by bending down to the victim’s height,” Henry said, shaking the blurred vision from his head. “Means he must actually be pretty big, this guy is like 6ft 2 and the killer would need to be at least as tall.”
“Chris, why did you not notice this? How did-” A look of puzzlement came over Nick’s face, “what is that?”
Nick was pointing to a dusting of white powder in the corner of the room. Chris huddled over it, his huge frame blocking Henry’s view as he examined it.
“If I am not mistaken, I think it is ketamine. How did you spot that? We checked there, I’m sure we did…” Chris said.
“Keen senses, I was a detective for a very long time before I got stuck in an office you know,” Nick said.
“Like father like daughter,” Chris said, looking over to Alex.
Well that explained the awkwardness, at least that was one mystery solved.
“Are we thinking that drugs were involved detective?” Nick said.
“We weren’t, although that said, maybe there is something in it. Drew, you should tell Dimitri what we have found so he can ask the girlfriend about it. Also, might be an idea to create an action to check all rehabilitation centres in London for the names of our victims,” Alex said.
“I’m already on it,” said the man who Henry took to be Drew.
“We have a solid drug connection on one of the other murders,” Alex said.
“Is this new information?” Nick said.
“We are still pursuing that line of enquiry.”
“Are we thinking drug trafficking or some sort of deal going sour?”
Henry looked across to Alex, if she wasn’t thinking it, she certainly was now.
“Gabriel, the reason I am actually here is to speak with you. Do you have a moment?” Nick said.
“Sure,” Gabriel said, turning to follow Nick out.
“Wait!” Henry shouted as Gabriel stepped in a line of blood.
“Damn, didn’t see it.” Gabriel said, looking down at his shoe, now streaked down the side in blood. “It get you too Nick?”
“Looks like I missed it, you need to look where you’re going old friend...”
But Henry didn't hear the end of Nick's sentence. A dying memory had caught up with him, as the protection Meyer had put in place all those years ago began to unravel.
Henry’s mind was like a video played on fast forward, the memories that were once blocked from his mind now drenched his every though. Gabriel dragged Henry from the flats to his car, throwing him across the back seat.
“Stay with me Henry,” Gabriel said, frantically dialling his phone as the car sped off.
“Henry?” Gabriel said, but it was no good.
Using the cold iron railing to steady himself, Mark stumbled along the cobbled lane. The sound of his half breaths and laboured footsteps broke the silence of the bitter air.
Blood ran down his leg, warm and almost soothing. He had been too confident, he knew that now. With a sharp pop and flash of light, the streetlamp at the end of the lane was draped in darkness. A half second later, another shower of sparks as the next light blew. One by one, the lights succumbed to the veil of shadow surging towards him.
He needed to move quickly.
Mark took a deep breath and shouldered the gate into Greys Inn Gardens. It gave way with the rusty clang of breaking metal, swinging wildly as he lurched through it. He was burning though his energy fast, but it didn’t matter, he was almost there.
What had unfolded moments before was still a blur, the only sure recollection he had was that, if not for his subconscious taking over, he wouldn't have made it this far alive.
Reaching the other side of the gardens, a surge of relief had begun to fill Mark’s thoughts, when the knife plunged into his thigh. He turned to fight, but only vapour greeted him, his attacker a wisp in the night air. Another spasm of pain surged through the back of his leg as his hamstring snapped with a disturbing twang. Mark gave out a cry of agony as he fell, powerless, to the ground. Adrenaline failing to compensate for the pain, panic fought for control as he clawed himself across the last few feet of grass and onto the stone steps that led out of the gardens.
His wounded and bleeding body failing him, Mark propped himself up against the gate. There was no escape, nowhere left to run to. How had he let this happen, to him of all people? He had been ignorant for so long. Finally, he understood.
Dipping his finger in his own blood, Mark wrote on the stone pavement a message for those who would find him, a single word that had been both his obsession and his undoing. Finished, he withdrew his knife and forced the world into focus once again. For his next move to work, he would need to act quickly and without fear.
From the depths of the shadows, a pair of bright blue eyes stared out at him, unblinking. Mark smiled to the creature and, in a single fluid motion, spun the knife and plunged it deep into his own chest. There was the sound of his ribs splintering, footsteps rushing toward him and then… nothing.
Henry awoke screaming, not with pain, but with fear. His father had killed himself, taking the knife and driving it into his chest. Henry had relived it though his eyes, but was powerless to do anything, the vision nothing more than an echo of the past.
A slap to his face brought him back to the present.
“The memory is going,” Henry said, panicking.
“What do you remember?” Gabriel said.
“Gabriel, he didn’t stand a chance.”
“You have
Mark’s
memories? You mean
Mark
didn’t stand chance?”
“I…”
“Did you see who killed him?”
“Blue eyes, that’s all I remember.”
“Did you see a face?”
“No, but they didn’t kill him, Gabriel. The memories are slipping. What can I do?”
“Focus on my voice Henry, focus on my voice. What do you mean they didn’t kill him?”
“He killed himself and left a note behind.”
“What did it say?”
“
Blood
, but I don’t understand what it means. Gabriel, the memories are slipping.”
But there was nothing Gabriel could do, as quickly as they appeared, Mark’s memories were gone.
Henry passed out.
“Henry?” Gabriel said, slapping his face once again to wake him.
“Where are we?” Henry said.
“I would have taken you to Meyer, but I couldn't reach him by phone. What do you remember?”
“Only what I already told you.”
“Damn,” Gabriel said, frustration visible on his face. “I… brought you to your father's house… I thought it might help hold the memories, but it looks like we are too late.”
Getting out of the car, Henry stood in front of a brick build that rose three storeys above and one below street level. Gabriel supported Henry as they climbed the small set of steps to the black front door and, producing a mortise key, Gabriel opened it. Fumbling in the darkness, he flicked the light switch, revealing an internal porch and the corridor beyond.
Gabriel pushed open the internal glass panelled door into the hallway and Henry followed him inside. Ahead of them was a flight of stairs and to their right, two archways leading into large rectangular rooms. The first, at the front of the house, contained a single plump armchair angled toward an intricate fireplace, shelves covering every inch of the walls that were filled with a myriad of books. The middle room was barren in comparison, housing a solitary wooden table with no chairs surrounding it, newspaper cutting and files spread across its surface.
Henry flicked through the papers, unsurprised to find them all about the Grendal.
“I’m sorry I can’t remember anything more,” Henry said.
“It’s okay kid, nothing you can do,” Gabriel said.
“What do you think he meant by the message?”
“There are lots of possibilities.”
“And why kill himself?”
“You need to talk to Meyer, I have no idea what he was mixed up in.”
Was that a lie? He had hoped they had got past that point, but he still couldn’t really tell.
“Place is quite run down, he didn’t much care for interior decoration. He always used to say the aged look gave the place character.”
“Certainly does that, just not quite sure
what
character.”
There was a third room behind wood panelled doors, which Gabriel opened to reveal an office that looked as if it had been caught in a hurricane. Piles of paper were sorted in large stacks, in some places above head height, while the walls were plastered with more papers. They were pinned up with red string, joining items that at first glance, and second even, looked like the ramblings of a madman.
“Did the Inquisition not find anything?” Henry said.
“From what I was told, they scanned everything and are looking through it. Technically, this all belongs to you so they shouldn’t have taken anything,” Gabriel said.
“Doesn’t mean they haven’t.”
“No, of course not.”
Gabriel escorted Henry out of the office and down the stairs that led to the lower ground floor. A door and bookcase met them at the base of the stairs and following the corridor round, it opened into a large kitchen that combined the space of both the office and the room with the clipping covered table above.
The kitchen was bare and looked almost untouched. On the wall opposite the windows, a pair of double French doors separated another room. Henry pulled both in unison to reveal a small, half-size room that acted as an entrance way for the room beyond it, which Henry found to be a bedroom that time had forgotten about.
“Mark didn’t get a lot of guests,” Gabriel said.
“No?” Henry said.
“Mark’s room is on the top floor at the back, but I can’t imagine the others have been opened in years. So, what do you think of the place?”
“It’s quite something. Mark just left it to me?”
“You are his son, that is sort of the thing to do.”
“How can I afford maintain this place? Are there plans for it to be sold?”
“Not at all, Mark left money to cover all of that. The house has been in your family for generations, but if you try and sell it, you will get no money. The Inquisition will just reclaim it.”
Gabriel filled the kettle and put in on the stove, apparently Mark hadn’t been a fan of modern appliances. Finding two cups, after several attempts rifling through the cupboards, Gabriel poured them both tea. Sitting at the bay window table overlooking a cobbled courtyard, Gabriel took gave a long sigh as he stared out at the evening rain rattling against the window.
“How did you meet Mark?” Henry said.
“By… accident,” Gabriel said, something catching in his voice. “See, I didn’t know I was an alternate. I wasn’t born into an alternate family. I grew up in a flat in Peckham, only son of a mother struggling to keep afloat who died when I was 19. At the time, I as working as a sales rep in a car dealership and if I told you I could sell anything, then I wouldn’t be overselling myself.”
“Of course, you’re not one to do that.”
The pair exchanged a quick smile and Gabriel took a long sip of tea before continuing.
“I was driving home one night when…” he paused, “when I hit someone. I was travelling at forty miles an hour, I didn’t see him come out. Just hit him, straight on. The body flew up across the bonnet of my car, the beggar didn’t stand a chance. I followed him to the hospital, but there was nothing they could do. The guy had no family so, as things do in London, the police let the case fall by the wayside. As you can imagine, the whole thing put me in quite a mess. I started drinking, taking drugs and going on a self-designed spiral of destruction. That was until Anna found me, she was gorgeous and the smartest person I have ever met. I was confused at first why she was talking to me, she had found me in a bar down by Blackfriars. We chatted for hours that night, then somehow we became friends and eventually I told her what I had done. She wasn’t shocked or disgusted, just listened.”
Gabriel got up from his seat and perched on the window sill. Henry remained where he sat, respecting the fact that Gabriel was obviously struggling to get through this. If Henry didn’t like to show emotion himself, he sure as hell was terrible at comforting those who expressed it.
“Well, we got talking. I told her how I couldn’t forgive myself. I had killed a man, but that didn’t faze her, kept telling me it wasn’t my fault. She said she wanted to show me something and that was when I first was introduced to the alternate world. You see, the man I had hit had been wearing a dysprosium amulet, generating a distraction field around him. That was why I hadn’t seen him coming. He was part of a terrorist group, the one we now call Deliverance, and Anna had been chasing him. I’d done her job for her but, thinking back, a moment later it would have been her I hit, not him. She would have never of been part of my life.”
Gabriel turned his head so that it was cast completely in shadow.
“Unfortunately, there are no happy endings in this story. Anna showed me how to use my powers and told me about what she did. She was an Inquisitor. I met some of her friends, Mark being one of them. Then, as is common amongst Inquisitors, one day she came across someone who she couldn’t beat. She was killed. In a second, someone took her from me. As you can guess, my solution was straight back to drink, drugs and depression. That was until your father decided that wasn’t going to be my only option. He took me on as his partner, taught me everything I know, and that’s how we ended up here. We told each other everything, or at least I thought so. Good at keeping secrets your father was, too good it seems.”
“Christ, Gabriel… I don’t know what to say. Can I offer you something stronger than this tea?” Henry said.
“Now that, Henry Fellows, sounds like a very good idea.”