Iron Quill - Obsession - Sweet Janet

[Zac]

The red string was beginning to make a pattern. Simeon stared at the tangle of threads, willing them to coalesce into something other than a tangle of coincidences. The full picture hovered mockingly on the edge of his perception, like spots on the eyeball sliding out of view; visible until you looked at them. Simeon was sure the connections were there, he just needed to think like the murderer. Get into his head, then he’d see the pattern. But how? He was just a schoolmaster. He taught orphans for his meagre living, there was nothing he had in common with this creature. Simeon rubbed his red-rimmed eyes and fixed his gaze on the wall again. Pictures, newspaper clippings, old wanted posters. All of it joined together with red string. And Janet. Sweet Janet in the middle. The official line had been suicide, but he knew better.

+++

“There ain’t no reason for you to be out here sir, an it’s mighty dangerous on a night like this’n. Them trains’ll not even see yus if’n ya walk on the tracks in the dark.”

The night watchman was a dullard. Easily dispatched. Not what it was looking for. It needed to feed. Craved something more substantial. Something sweet and pure, not a gin-soaked layabout. A light was approaching. It ran down the tracks, away and into the darkness.

+++

A new day, a new cutting. It was break-time and the orphans were outside skipping. Simeon however, was in his study. Another dead. Two in one week this time. The monster was speeding up. The guardsmen were, of course, too dull to recognise the attack for what it was. It was clear to Simeon. The attack happened exactly where Janet had died, down by the railroad. The murderer was getting reckless now. Too confident. 

Simeon opened the study door and called down to the nurse. There would be no more lessons today. He needed to work.

+++

“Sir, please step out of the alley, with your hands up. Don’t make any sudden movements, and no-one will get hurt.”

How funny, it thought. No one will get hurt. Far too late for that. It dropped the young lady, sweeter than the watchman, but still a gin sot. The guardsman was taken aback when it stepped out. Of course he would be. Porcelain face drenched in blood. He only got off one shot. It didn’t do him any good.

+++

Of course the guard took things seriously now. Now one of their own was hurt. But it was too late. Too late for Janet. They didn’t have the pattern. They couldn’t see what was going on. Simeon stopped suddenly, read it again to be sure.

Three deaths this week. The murderer was picking up the pace. Was it some kind of ritual? Who should he warn? He ran to the wall. There wasn’t much time left. He needed to solve this. For Janet.

+++

“So then in walked a one eyed stranger, and when I say one eye, you’re probably thinking tasteful eyepatch, but this guy was… What? What is it? Is there something behind-”

The gurgling cut the monologue short, the other two revellers ran, but there was no way they would be fast enough. It swooped among them, slicing and biting, face a mask of blank white porcelain. Deep red splashed across its smooth surface. It drank deep. Sweet.

Sweet.

+++

They were worried about him. He could see that, but they didn’t see the importance of his work. There were patterns in the string patterns only he could see. Four deaths this week. What did that mean?

Simeon locked the door. The orphans didn’t need him today. The city needed him. He was the only one who could stop this monster. No-one knew it like he did. No-one else had been studying as long as he had. Since. Since Janet. Sweet, sweet Janet.

+++

“We’ve been worried about him for a while, sir, he’s always locking himself in, and he never lets anyone see what he’s doing.” The nurse seemed apologetic. “Only he’s never stayed in for so long before.”

“You did the right thing miss,” the guild sergeant checked his revolver. “Mr Simeon, for the last time, open the door, or we will force an entry.” No sound from within.

The sergeant nodded. An executioner stepped forward. Hands normally bedecked with blades had been replaced with huge mallets.

“I suggest you take a step back miss”

+++

The rubble cleared. Carefully two guardsmen stepped over the remains of the door, pistols drawn. The room was a mess. Wind from an open window rustled paper stuck to every surface. Tacked on with nails, glue, tacks. All of it connected with red string. In the middle sat Mr Simeon, string from every corner of the room attached to his shaking body. Tied into his hair, stuck to his arms with pins. He was sobbing.

The sergeant followed cautiously, executor behind. He stepped around one of the guardsmen for a better view. In the teacher’s bloodied hands there was a mask. White porcelain, flecked with spatters of crimson. He cocked his pistol.

The schoolmaster looked up. “It was the only way,” he said. “I needed to get into his head.”

The hammer fell.

+++

“I’m sorry old man,” Sergeant Blake holstered the Collier. It was the kindest thing, he was sure.

Turning to leave, something caught his eye. One picture among all the others, central, not overlapped at all. A face he recognised. The girl that had jumped in front of the train. The local rags had gone crazy for it.  Janet Greenwood, not thirty minutes through the breach before committing suicide. He shook his head. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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