Chapter 3 - The Bookstore

The next morning.

The rain is stronger today, the heavy pitter-patter of it on the slate roof stirring Dr Bentley awake. Ida left earlier in the morning, leaving some change for food on the desk and a small note simply reading “Thankyou”. A half-cocked smile upon his face, and clearing the sleep-dust from his eyes, Dr Bentley rights himself on the couch and moves to sit back at the desk. 

The neat piles of paper stacked on the desk are a stark contrast to the previous mess of the office, however Dr Bentley’s concern is not of the desk, instead he begins to fish through the waste basket off to the side.

“Oh thank god, Ida didn’t empty the bins.” Dr Bentley sighs with relief, pulling out the sheet of paper, the small burn hole still dead centre. 

The ink that was previously wet and dripping off onto the desk, runs in multiple lines down the page making an odd pattern. Dr Bentley studies it for a while, the conversation from last night running over and over in his head, disbelief apparent on his face. 

“It’s just a sheet of paper with ink and a burn, it can’t mean anything surely.” He mutters under his breath, pulling the red gem out once again, it quickly becoming a comforting presence for him.

Barely an hour passes, Dr Bentley spending some time tidying himself up in the mirror, combing his curly hair out from his face, before a gentle knock sounds on the glass door.

“Doctor, are you in? It’s Ms Baxter.” Irene’s quiet voice warmly reaches out. “I brought some things I think you’d like to see.”

Andrew moves to the door quickly, straightening out his shirt, opening it with a tired smile. 

“Good morning, Ms Baxter, please come on in, luckily my sister cleaned the place up a bit so you’ll have somewhere to sit.” He chuckles softly. 

Irene steps in, she’s wearing a dark grey blazer over a long, olive green dress. Setting down a large bag, matching the blazer in colour, onto the couch and sitting gently next to it. 

“I hate to cut greetings short, but I have been up all night worrying, do you still have the sheet of paper you told me about last night? I’d like to place my heart at ease if possible.” Irene’s discomfort obvious in the faint red rings under her eyes, she clearly hasn’t slept at all. 

“Of course Ms Baxter, I appreciate your concern.” Andrew picks it up from the desk, handing it over and sitting down at the other end of the couch. “I spent some time looking at it in more detail this morning, and as far as I can tell the onl-“

Andrew is cut short by the fear on Irene’s face as she looks over the paper.

“Ms Baxter?” His voice timid, reaching a hand out to steady her as she looks almost close to fainting. 

“Sorry Doctor, I’m fine, it just took me by surprise.” Irene gently places her hand on her chest. “This is indeed the symbol of the Burning Shards, at least from what I can tell. You see how this ink has run off in these long lines?”

“Um… yes, I saw them, I was saying how they were the only thing I thought off about it.” Andrew carefully eyeing Irene, his hand still hovering, just waiting to make sure she is really alright. 

“The lines are figures, Doctor, hundreds of people, surrounding the burning light. Trust me once you’ve seen this symbol once you’ll never be able to forget it.”

“Good god.” Andrew, as if seeing it for the first time, takes the sheet of paper. Looking closely, the way the lines branch and fall off the edge, it looks like the silhouette of a large number of figures. They’re standing shoulder to shoulder, all of them looking up toward the hole burnt in the paper. “What does this even mean? How could it be on my desk?” Panic slightly choking his voice. 

“I can only assume this means you are being watched Doctor, the cult must have found out about your connection to William somehow and were threatening you.” Irene places a hand on Andrew’s shoulder softly, looking him in the eyes. “This is incredibly dangerous, if they know you work here it is no longer safe. The building we met at last night is something of a safe-house, if you’d feel safer staying there.”

“I appreciate the offer, Ms Baxter but I can’t just up and leave, this is where I have all of my research as well as this is where my sister knows to find me if she is in trouble.”

“I understand your concern, if you give me your sister’s details I can warn her not to come here. To be honest, I am going to be continuing my research. It has been fruitless so far and I need your help, if you’re willing to give it.” Her expression looking somewhat desperate. “I owe William a great debt, and I need to pay him back no matter what.”

Andrew’s face screws up, conflicted, he reaches down into a pocket, making a fist around the gem. He takes a moment before finally responding.

“I’ll need some help with my things, but trust me when I say, I will do anything to bring him back Ms Baxter. Anything.”

“Sounds like a partnership to me. Call me Irene, let’s get your things and get out of here, for now I’ll leave a note on the door for your sister. I’ll send something along a little later.”

-

In the dull, grey light of midday in the city, fog still hanging in the street air, the building Irene and Andrew met in previously is revealed to be an old bookstore. 

The front of the building is dark brick with thick painted black wooden support beams bordering the windows on either side of the door. Dr Bentley’s harsh breaths cut through the otherwise silent atmosphere of Butcher’s Street, as he is carrying in the last of a number of boxes. 

“If that’s the last of them, Doctor, lock the door on your way in, I want to compare our notes.” The last box causing a dull thud onto the floor just inside, sending up a small cloud of dust. 

In the light of day, the inside of the store is much easier to see, the standing aisles leading to the back are loaded with rows upon rows of books, mostly leather-bound and carefully ordered. The room beside the reception has an open door now, and it appears to be a set of tan, carpeted stairs leading out of view. 

“Should you need somewhere private to sleep, there is a spare bed upstairs.” Irene is sitting at the table in the corner, she seems to be carving something into a wooden board with a long thin knife. 

“Right, yes, thank you ,Ms Baxter.”

“Irene.”

“Yes, sorry, Irene. What is this place? It looks like a bookstore.”

“Well it used to be, but it was purchased by William and myself to use as a place away from the Estate to conduct our research. Not that we didn’t trust the Estate, it was just to avoid bringing too much attention to our research.” She pushes the board aside, seemingly finished with the carving, a number of intricate and unique symbols now adorning it. 

“Would you mind hanging this on the door?”

“Not at all, may I ask what it is for?” Andrew remarks curiously, taking the board and hanging it on a small nail. 

“William used to make me place these anywhere I slept, he never really did say why.” Irene meanders down the aisles toward the back of the store, her voice raising as she gets farther away. “I intend to go and investigate the neighbourhood around the Thackery house sometime next week, provided I feel prepared enough, if you’re interested in joining me.”

“I really don’t have any other option but to follow you and hope we can find clues to bring him back at this point. Will it be dangerous?” He opens his briefcase on the table whilst she is down the other end of the store, tucking the small locket into his shirt pocket quickly. 

“I honestly couldn’t say, but I am going to make a trip to the Mayweather Estate later, in hopes I can procure some bits and pieces we might use to defend ourselves.”

“Like… a gun? I’m not sure I’m cut out for that kind of thing Irene.” Andrew’s face paling slightly at the thought. “Although thinking about it, I recall William carrying his old Enfield pistol with him a lot of the time.”

Irene returns, holding a tall stack of thin dark-leather books, most of them appearing to be hand-written journals. Andrew takes one from the top, curiously reading the author's note just inside the cover. 

“William Hargrave, note journal three on the Burning Light.” He murmurs under his breath. “I cannot believe he wrote so much on this.”

“Well, get used to it, you need to get caught up on his writing, I’m going to busy myself reading your surprisingly in-depth notes on the Mayweather Estate. I must say, even had I not intervened when I did, I don’t think it would’ve taken you long to uncover the truth.” Andrew’s face blushing slightly in response, as he settles down to read the first small journal.

-

Hours pass, most of the time spent in silence, occasionally being broken by light conversation; mostly Andrew asking for clarification on some points, before Irene begins packing up a few things from the room.

“I’m afraid I must go collect some items we may need like I said.” Irene says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Should anyone come to the store before me I beg you not to respond, let alone even open the door, we don’t know how much they know about you.”

Andrew just nods in response, his nose buried in one of the books. Irene chuckles slightly, heading out through the door and locking it behind her. A thick, low fog clouds the streets at this time of day, Irene pushing through it doggedly in the direction of the Estate.

-

The Estate reception is mostly empty, a single girl manning one of the desks, in the same receptionist worker attire. Irene’s sharp clacking from her heels across the tiled floors resound from the arches in the tall ceiling, turning off through a dark red door on the right-hand wall. 

The room beyond is lined with desks, numerous tired looking people scribing notes out in small ledgers, stacks of books off to their sides. She briefly stops to say a few words to a small, wiry older man sitting behind a screen, taking what appears to be a long brass key from him.

Turning back and heading through the room toward a backroom, Irene uses the key in a smaller plain, grey door, and moves beyond.

-

Eerie quiet has taken the shop since Irene’s departure, Dr Bentley nearly nodding off into the many books piled in front of him. The book he is currently engrossed in is a detailed recollection of prior investigations into the ‘infection’. According to the scrawled notes set aside the books, William believed that the cult is using some unique infectious fungus to spread their influence and to terrorise the country at large, its most common symptom being short-term blindness followed by the fungus consuming the eyes of the victim. Or at least, that is what the recovered cadavers suggest. 

According to the research, William has never been able to find a cultist, or meeting places for such activity, however given the particularly sporadic appearances of matching iconography in places of ‘outbreak’ it is behaving similarly to some underground cults. Hence the conclusion of it being a cult’s activities.

The research done into the ‘being’ that the cult worships has turned up with minimal results, the Mayweather Estate’s extensive resources and experiences pertaining to the occult and eldritch showing no previous encounters with a ‘burning light’. As a result William concluded that, with regards to the infection, whilst the occult cannot be ruled out, he believed the chances are it’s a cult tactic to gain power through fear mongering.

“What sort of people would do such a thing? Blinding people en-masse just to gain some sort of political strength? That’s barbaric.” Andrew complains, his fingers curling into a fist in his hair, the disgust apparent on his furrowed brow. “Made all the worse by the fact it’s probably vulnerable people who have been indoctrinated into doing this. They don’t know any better."

Absent-mindedly he pulls out the small red crystal, spinning it on the desk with his fingertip. He pauses, pushing his palm onto the crystal to halt its spinning, the sound of a cart rolling past striking a panicked nerve. 

Dr Bentley sits suspended in a moment of tension, before an inspired look takes over his face, his left hand reaching out to his notebook from the briefcase. He quickly thumbs through the pages, the rough paper crinkling in his hurry, stopping at a page dated only a little over a year back that is titled ‘Charles Morris, Eleven, Traumatised, Suffering from delusions’. 

“If I recall correctly….” His fingertip tracing across the paper, stopping at a line regarding the child’s parentage. “‘…trauma as a result of running away from his family in fear of an infectious disease. As a result of this, Charles aggressively reacts to the sight of other people’s eyes. Must wear eye covers.’ His previous address is even within one of the quarantine areas, it must be connected.” 

Nodding to himself, Dr Bentley begins jotting down some details regarding Charles’ previous address, and finding a scrap of paper, writing a small note for Irene. ‘Irene, should you read this before I return, I’ve found a connection between this case and a previous one I worked on. Head to Queens Street across from the Fishmongers on Walkers Lane, I’ll meet you there.’

Grabbing his dark grey woollen jacket from the rack alongside his umbrella, Dr Bentley quickly reaches for the front door, his hand pausing a few inches short of the handle. The door is open, only by an inch or so, but a stiff breeze rolls through the gap. Fear gripping his stomach, his face pale as a sheet, Andrew turns slowly into the room, peering into the darkness of the aisles at the back of the store.

-

At the Mayweather Estate, Irene is carefully making her way through a large clutter of eclectic and unique items, beads of sweat forming on her brow, searching for something in particular. She seems to be actively avoiding making contact with some of the glass cases on pedestals to either side. 

The light of the open doorway behind her giving her just enough to see, she lets out a relieved sigh, reaching down to an open tray and pulling out the last of what appears to be a dark rosewood box, with tarnished silver gilding along the edges.

“Hopefully this works. Now just for some medical bits, and I’ll have to pick up some masks on the way back.” Mumbling to herself, Irene quickly double checks the contents of the box, revealing what appears to be an intricate brass knife. “Probably the best I can do for the Doctor, ”

Collecting a small leather medical kit from the inside wall of the room, she swiftly closes and locks the door behind her as she leaves, the darkness taking the room once again. She hands off the long brass key, curtseys briefly to the man behind the desk, and exits the building as quickly as she entered. 

The time spent in the Estate made the difference between evening and night, with the fog now obscuring most vision, the light of a few windows of residences down the street creating a loose path to follow. Irene manages to make it back to the store relatively fast, only to stop a few feet short of the door.