Day heard Jack sniff. The atmosphere changed, like a breeze blowing in from another direction, and the tiny underground cell seemed to grow colder. Day felt fabric rustling against his right leg, the leg he could still feel. There was the sound, once more, of rending cloth, and then the feel of air against his skin.
There was another sensation that caused chills to move up his body.
“You don’t mention my mother,” Jack said. His voice was low and very quiet. So quiet that Day could barely hear him over the sound of blood pounding in his ears.
“You cut my other leg.”
“I’m sorry. I really am, but you made me do it.”
The realization that he’d had hope almost broke Day. He felt his throat close up and his eyes sting and he couldn’t breathe. He’d been holding on to some belief that he might make it out of the catacombs alive, and now that belief left him in a rush and he knew the hopelessness of Jack’s victims.
“This is what they felt at the end, isn’t it?”
“Who? Who are you talking about, Walter Day?”
“Those women, those five women that you murdered.”
“Only five? Funny how little you know, Mr Policeman.”
“How many, then?”
“Oh, so very many. I’m weary. But I slept in a bed today. Did I tell you that?”
“No.”
Day felt moisture trickling down his right leg and knew that he would soon lose the feeling there. Even if he managed to free himself from the shackles, he would be unable to walk back to the street above them.
“I slept, Walter Day, as men sleep. In a real bed. And I had the most interesting dream. Would you like to hear it?”
Day didn’t answer. Without hope of escape, there was no reason to talk to Jack or listen to his ravings.
“In my dream, I transformed five people. I don’t know whether they were men or women. I honestly don’t remember that part of the dream. But they died during the transformation, as they so often do. And then I brought them back. I brought them all back from the place I’d sent them. I forgot to say, three of them were bad people and two of them were good people. The good people thought that they were going to visit a magic kingdom in the afterlife. They thought they deserved such a thing because of the entirely unimportant little decisions they’d made on this sphere. But all five people came back terrified. What they had experienced on the other side was too much for them. And do you know, the bad people became good. They thought that if they mended their ways, the next time they died they would perhaps have a better experience. But the good people gave up all hope and became indifferent. They did bad things after that. Do you see? They all experienced the same thing, but their individual perception of who they were changed everything. Their perception of what they deserved changed how they lived their lives. Those two good people learned that there was no justice or consequence.”
Day raised his head and looked at the shadow next to him.
“That’s why the Karstphanomen will always fail,” Jack said. “Because justice is not a thing one can pursue. It is a perception.”
“What did you do to Adrian March?”
“March? The policeman? Would you like to know what he did to me, what beautiful art he created on my body over the past year or so? I could show you.”
“I only want to know what you have done to him.”
“I think he might be alive. I’ve tried, at least, to keep him alive. You have to give me credit for that.”
“If you’ve killed him. .”
“What, Walter Day? If I’ve killed him, you’ll be unhappy with me? What is he, your mentor? That’s what he is to you, isn’t he? Your father failed in certain critical ways, and so Adrian March has become important to you.”
“Don’t speak about my father anymore. That is not your right. If I am not to speak of your mother, then-”
“Ah. Touché, as the Froggies say. You’re right about that, and I ought to allow you to cut me in return, oughtn’t I? You see how I think about things? How thoughtful I am? I think it’s time for you to have a new mentor. Is it too forward of me to put myself out as a possibility?”
“If I am ever free of this place,” Day said. “I know it’s not. . No, but if I ever am, I will see that you are brought to justice. Then you’ll see what a real thing that is. You’ll see that justice is a thing to strive for, not a thing to be mocked.”
“Bless your heart.” The shadow was quiet again for a long time, and Day began to drift off. Then Jack spoke.
“I have an offer for you, Walter Day. A thing I will do for you, if you wish. To make up for having dragged your father and mother into our dialogue. It was wrong of me to punish you for mentioning my mother when I had already mentioned yours.”
“Why me? Why do you keep talking to me? What did you do to the man in the next cell?”
“He wasn’t special.”
“And I am?”
“I see potential.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Do you think you’re better than the man in the next cell?”
“No.”
“Do you think you’re worse?”
“No.”
“Believe it or not, that makes you unique. You don’t judge them, those many many people out there, all of them rooting about in their own messy fleshy lives, never looking up. You try to understand them.”
“Maybe you should try, too, instead of killing them.”
“I don’t kill them. That is only your perception. I try to help them understand themselves, to appreciate what is always there beneath the surface. I transform them. They are caterpillars, unable to see beyond the leaves they eat and shit upon. There’s an entire tree waiting for them if they would only look up and see it.”
“You judge them, but praise me for not judging.”
“Only because I used to be like you, Walter Day. I am fascinated to watch your journey unfold. I’d like to see if it turns out like mine did.”
“So you’ll take these shackles off?”
“No. I think you’ll free yourself without any help from me. And soon, too. Maybe not soon enough. We’ll see, I suppose. Maybe you’ll continue to bleed and you’ll die down here after all. But that’s not for me to say.”
“Then what? You said you would do something for me.”
“If you ask me to, I will go to your home and I will remove your wife and your unborn child from the sphere of your responsibility.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know what that means. I can free you, Walter Day, in more ways than you intend. I can do that for you.”
“Don’t you touch her! You stay away from my Claire!”
“Claire? What a beautiful name. She sounds lovely already. All right. I promise I’ll leave her for you. You have my word. But you didn’t mention the baby, and that makes me think perhaps you’d like to take me up on at least part of my offer. You don’t want to follow in the footsteps of your valet father, do you? Oops, I brought him up again. Do forgive me.”
“Leave them alone.”
“We’ll see. We’ll see. I’ll give it some thought and determine what might be best for you. But for now, you just rest. You’re going to need your strength if you’ve any intention of getting out of here.”
“Undo the shackles.”
“No. But I have every confidence in your abilities. After all, you have a lockpick. Good-bye, Walter Day.”
The shadow melted away into the gloom of the tunnels. The lantern was extinguished, and Day could not be sure whether Jack had left or had simply stepped back against the wall and was even now watching him. Nor could he be sure whether Jack had meant to leave the hood off this time. But he did his best to enjoy every breath he took of fresh air.
And he wondered which would be his last.
50
The boy led them to a section of houses on Phoenix Street. He parked his bicycle next to a black wrought-iron fence, hopped off, and waited. A door behind him opened and a girl came outside and stood in her little garden behind the boy, watching their wagon pull up in the lane. All was quiet. The horse snorted. Inspector Blacker climbed out of the wagon first and looked up and down the street. Inspector Tiffany followed and stood beside him. They looked at the boy, who shrugged back at them. When Hammersmith, in his blue uniform, hopped down from the wagon, a door opened opposite the boy and his bike. An old lady ran out and waved them over. She pointed at the next house, with a red door and an untended garden in front.