Chapter 8 - A Late Night

The interior of the bookstore is still and quiet, a lantern by the door flickering softly as if the oil is running low. The door behind the reception opens quietly and Irene steps out, her face a picture of exhaustion.

“Has she fallen asleep?” Andrew’s exasperated voice barely whispers, from his position tucked into the corner by the window. 

“More like passed out, but yes.”

“Irene, what do we do now? I’m lost here.”

“I think what we need to worry about is how David was affected by this, their house is nowhere near the quarantines and he has no attachment to this except for a minor one through Ida.” She fumbles through her bag for a minute before taking out a small silver cigarette case, pulling one and lighting it swiftly. “This leads back to our major issue of not knowing what is enabling this control of sorts.

“Do you think we should go see if he’s still alright? From the needle?”

“Do you? Who knows what those people can endure whilst in that state, clearly enough to snap tendons and rip muscle just moving in that horrible way.”

The two of them shudder in unison.

“Let’s not spend too much time thinking about it or we’ll end up wallowing and not getting anywhere. Thinking about options, there is the Thackery house, where William went missing?” Another long drag of her cigarette.

“But we’ll have to make our way through the quarantined area to get there, and we’ve no idea what we’re even doing once we are there.” Andrew idly thumbs the gem in his pocket for a moment. “And what about Ida? Will she be alright here alone?”

“She knows about as much as us now, and sadly although I’m sure she needs it, we can’t sit around babysitting her whilst this spreads who knows how far.”

Andrew sits up quickly, his elbows hitting the table in front as he scrapes his fingers through his hair frustratedly. 

“I’m sorry Andrew, but we have to do something.” She lays a hand on his shoulder carefully. 

“It’s not that Irene, I’ve just realised what our next step should be and I hate it.”

Irene raises her eyebrow, confusion clear on her face as she pulls back slightly.

“The safest opportunity for us to figure out how to navigate around these things would be to find one isolated right? And now we know where one is that is already injured and locked inside a house away from anyone else.”

“You’re thinking that we should experiment on your sister's fiancé?”

“Not experiment Irene, god no, observe from a safe distance if possible. In addition, we may be able to find some answers that will help tie things together.”

Irene flicks her cigarette butt into the ashtray off to one side. “You may well be right. It is our best shot.”

-

A moonless night, scarcely broken by a few soft glows from houses down the street, and a hand-held lantern out the front of a tall townhouse. The two figures silhouetted by the lantern are hesitating a few paces away from the front door, seemingly bickering between themselves. 

The front door, dark blue with a clouded glass window, is illuminated very faintly from the inside, perhaps a candle left lit for a few hours that is mostly burnt down. The small light is casting a shadow against the window, of a slightly hunched figure that is pressed almost fully against the door. The hushed bickering stops for a moment as the figure shifts slightly, the door creaking in protest to the pressure.

“Remember, we aren’t taking risks, nor are we looking at anything reflective at all. Look -” Irene points toward the second story. “We can get in through that open window.”

Andrew reaches to stop Irene moving forward, placing a hand in front of her. “Before doing anything, we need to know what information we’re looking for.”

“Our largest priority should first be to understand how or why David was exposed to this. Secondly, how can we move around these things without getting attacked.” Irene pauses for a moment, murmuring inaudibly under her breath before continuing. “Ida said he was in their bedroom, so that needs to be where we check first.”

“That is on the same floor we are entering, so at the least it is far away from where he is right now.”

“I think I could reach it if you can boost me high enough, I’ll pull you up after. We just need to be quiet.”

Andrew snuffs out his lantern, and the two of them cautiously move closer to just below the window, letting their eyes adjust to the dark. He presses his back against the cold brick wall, and hoists Irene up on his knee and shoulder, letting out a laboured wheeze with the effort. Reaching up carefully, Irene manages to grab the window ledge and hook a leg up before disappearing into the darkness of the house.

-

The bookstore has been eerily quiet since they left. The bedroom upstairs is decently large, although not much detail can be made out in the darkness of the night. Ida is sitting up in the bed, her head against the wall as she stares out the window on the wall to her right, the dim light of a passing cart illuminating it  for a moment. 

A few minutes like this, with Ida just staring out the window, before she is snapped from her stupor by the sound of something downstairs. It’s considerably dampened, but it sounds like it could be someone knocking on the door. Ida shifts the blanket off, stepping to the side of the bed into some oversized slippers. She shuffles toward the window, peeking down as far as she can to try and get an angle on the front door, but the street below is empty. The muffled noise continues, and as she starts to step away from the window, it stops. Ida halts in place, eyes focussing on the door on the far end of the room.

“What the-” 

She flinches forward in a start as there is a loud knocking on the glass of the window behind her. She stumbles in the dark on her hands and knees to the opposite side of the bed, hunkering down in cover from the window as the loud hammering persists for a few seconds longer, before reducing down to a light tapping.

She is quivering, gripping her hand over her mouth as tears start to run over, her other hand gripping at her chest in fear. The tapping slows even further, and Ida’s breathing starts to steady. She slowly raises her eyeline above the bed. For a moment, there appears to be the reflection of a fist drawing away from the window, before a cart passes by outside, the light reflecting off the window as Ida reflexively flinches away.

-

“Andrew… Andrew?” Whispering carries out from the darkness of this room, Irene moving with her hands outstretched to feel where she is walking. She stifles a scream as her hand brushes something clothed in front of her, and it only worsens as she begins to pull away and a hand reaches out to grab her wrist. Gently.

“It is alright, Irene. It’s just me.” Andrew’s hushed tone comes from that direction. “Sorry but stay quiet for a moment, I heard that god-awful creaking from downstairs, I think he’s moving.”

Rather than respond, Irene reaches up again and gives Andrew’s hand a soft squeeze of reassurance before stepping back, listening.

The silence of the house is deafening, the soft roaring of blood in the ear the loudest noise that can be heard. Until a creak, that can only be described like stretching leather way too far, echoes up from downstairs. Accompanied shortly after by a suitably agonised groan.

Silence again. Irene reaches out in the void in front of her, grabbing the back of  Andrew’s shirt, and the two of them start moving, as slow as they can.

“Do you know where it is? The bedroom?”

“Just across the way, there’ll be a dim light in the hall from the candle downstairs so we should be able to see a little better.” Andrew reaches forward for the door handle of this guest bedroom, fumbling for a moment before finding it and turning it unbearably slow.

The door opens with the slightest click, and a tiny stream of light cuts through the darkness, revealing the barest details of this guest bedroom. Mostly dominated by a bed in the centre of the room, the open window on the far wall looking all too inviting. Andrew peeks into the hall, pausing for just a few beats before shifting his weight and opening the door the rest of the way. Thankfully, the hinges seem to be well kept.

The two of them place one apprehensive foot in front of the other, each step accompanying a small pregnant pause, listening for anything that could suggest the man downstairs is moving. The hall has a soft rug of some pale fabric down the centre, the truth of its colour drained like everything else here by the lack of light, but it is dotted with dark patches that could only be blood. Andrew has his eyes locked on the door wherein the blood trail seems to be coming from, ajar and even slightly off its top hinge, as it is hanging a little out of place. 

Irene, however, has her eyes wide and focused on the stairs, following Andrew closely but never quite looking away from the steps that are descending off to their right.

Both of them freeze as another protracted creak can be heard from the floor below, this time accompanied with a horrific wet popping noise. It ceases once again and they move into the bedroom, avoiding touching the door at all given its precarious position.

The eerie silence of the house is different here, instead replaced with the quiet but audible ticking of a clock from somewhere in the room. 

“Use the hood on the lantern, point it down and do not look directly at anything that catches the light.” Irene remains calm, despite the situation, explaining quickly and concisely. 

She levels her own small lantern, pulling a sheath of well-oiled metal over the light to smother it, and points the remaining beam down. The room before them, as they take stock, is in disarray; the majority taken up by a large ornate bed with a navy-blue cushioned headboard. The sheets are completely pulled off, half-dragged across the floor and stained with sprays of blood. 

The closest wall to the door houses a large chest of drawers, with a small and neat pile of knitting supplies atop it. Across the room, a dressing table with a beautiful black jewellery box and a- 

Irene flinches away as she catches the reflection off a mirror in her periphery.

“Do not look, but there is a mirror on the dressing table. I’m going to cover it.”

“Alright Irene, I will check the other side of the room.” Andrew points his lantern low, scanning the hard-wood floor. Strewn about there can be seen a bloodied knitting needle and a few sheets of paper, one of which is folded as if it was previously in an envelope. Andrew kneels down slowly, avoiding the small pools of blood, his well-kept fingernail gently scraping against the wood floor to get under the piece of paper. Scanning it quickly, he turns to check on Irene, who has covered the mirror on the dresser with a shirt and is thumbing through the contents. He turns back to the letter, reading fervently.

No more than a minute passes before Andrew finally speaks.

“I found it, one of his family members went missing in a quarantine nearly a month ago. It must be something to do with this that he would be exposed.”

“Good find, Andrew. Take it, we can look into more details back at the store.”

“Are we ready to leave? What else do we need?”

“Nothing, let’s go.”

The two of them snuff out their lanterns, meeting back at the door and then moving quietly into the hall. They barely make it a few steps to the door before the two of them freeze.

He is barely lit by the orange glow. Standing silhouetted on the stairs, his back to the pair of them. David’s hip cracks and his leg creaks as he lifts it unnaturally to the next stair.