1 Name: Psythirus : 2009-01-22 16:41 [Del]
[Please forgive a newbie if I violate any traditions of posting to gurochan. If you point them out, I shall do my best to correct myself in further posts.
* This story contains yaoi, medical themes, torture, and murder. Although it has a historical theme, it's set in an alternate universe, and so the New London timeline and culture is slightly different from the ACTUAL historical London timeline and culture. This has been done purposefully, and later sections of the story get more heavily involved in this. There ARE historical anachronisms in this story (such as the fact that heroin was not invented until six years later, in the real-world timeline). Hopefully, nothing too out-of-place should appear.
Characters:
Mr. Erik Bennett -- A recently licensed adjudicator
Mr. Edward Cutworth -- The Bennett butler
Mrs. Townsend -- The Bennett housekeeper
Mr. David Halbrook -- An assistant medical professor at Oxford.
Terms:
Adjudicator -- In this timeline, because of the population overflow and the number of criminals outnumbering the jail space, there are licensed torturers called "adjudicators", who exact state-mandated torture on criminals in the hopes of reforming them, or at least deterring them.
The Debauched -- An entire section of the nobility of New London have lost their mind (for reasons to be explained later) and become sadomasochistic hedonists. So as not to confuse these well-to-do nobles with the peasant-insane, they are referred to as "the debauched".
Well, I hope that's everything. It's a bit wordy, but hopefully that fits the feel/theme of the story. Thanks for reading!]
****** GENTLEMEN MONSTERS -- Part One *******
I have known Erik Bennett since we were both lads. My mother was the housekeeper to the Bennett estate and, being that we were approximately the same age, he and I became fast friends from our youth. Mr. Bennett's father allowed us to be schooled together until it came time for Mr. Bennett to head to university. I stayed at the estate and swiftly rose in rank to head butler, which pleased my mother fine enough in her aged retirement. So much so that she hung herself from the rafters of the pantry several weeks later. I would say that she didn't wish to be a burden to me, but in truth I am fairly sure she was hoping we would eventually sever our ties with the Bennett family,
since their friends, family, and servants tend to meet gruesome ends.
Women tend to be overly dramatic sometimes, I find.
But, I suppose I should begin my story in all due haste. It begins in the Newgate District of New London, 1885, fourteen years after the devastating Second Fire of London destroyed our aged city. Most families of means had moved to the country, but the Bennetts retained their estate by necessity, as per the requirements and offices of the Lord Adjudicator. Nonetheless, Mr. Bennett's parents had removed themselves to their spring cottage (which was actually bigger than their New London mansion), and Mr. Bennett's sister, Amadine, had recently married Lord Alfred Halton. With the elder brother, James Bennett missing, as per usual, the house was quiet and empty, and
I spent my days preparing for Mr. Bennett's return.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
"Mr. Cutworth, they've brought wenches again, all dirty and whatnot. And Peter's all upset that the horses will get terrible lice like last time. I won't stand for keeping them here. This is not the proper place for such loose-moral criminals, and I shudder to think that a proper lady should call upon Mr. Bennett someday and see such
goings on..."
Mrs. Townsend liked to talk whenever I am having morning tea. But, over the years I'd grown used to her chatter and could mostly drown it out, if necessary. It was understandable. She didn't have a whole house full of servants to gossip with anymore. Just me, the two scullery maids, the cook, and Peter the stable-boy.
"Where is the paper, Mrs. Townsend?" I asked as I stirred a few drops of honey into my tea. It's a luxury, but I permit myself that and a morning's reading of the paper. A man must start his day correctly.
"...and if your mother had seen such a thing, she'd roll in her grave at the sight. Imagine. Imagine!" Mrs. Townsend leaned in to whisper the next word as if saying it too loudly might cause the entire estate to break into alarm. "Street prostitutes. Here."
I glanced up, irritated both that Mrs. Townsend hasn't answered my question and that she thought it better to have murderers or traitors at Bennett House than street wenches who must ply their trade in order to eat. "Deputy Adjudicator Mason will move the women by noon. His cells are merely full due to that factory riot. And where is the paper, Mrs. Townsend?"
"Oh, I don't know. Like as not, the girls got ahold of it or Peter..." The dumpy woman stood up straight, her wrinkled hand flying to her chest. "My god. It's Saturday! Mr. Cutworth! You should have told me!"
"I was unaware my duties included telling you what day it is."
But, my wry comment went unheeded. Mrs. Townsend was already set to full steam, waddling out the kitchen door in search of our scullery maids. Though, I couldn't imagine what would need emergency cleaning, considering they kept the place spotless on a day to day basis.
Without the paper to distract me, my tea was emptied quickly. Or maybe it had nothing at all to due with my lack of distraction. I wanted the morning to move faster. Mr. Bennett hadn't been home since his sister's wedding, and at that time he'd really been too busy to spend much time with his family, much less me. But, now that his studies
at university had concluded, and Bennett House as well as the position of Lord Adjudicator was his...
Still, we'd been close as boys. Perhaps as adults he would no longer have much need of his old friend, now servant. Perhaps I should have listened more closely to my mother's rambling and taken a position as a cobbler's apprentice, or something else singularly dull and desperate. Perhaps I entertained fantasies which could never rightly exist. Perhaps. But, I found no way to dissuade myself from such.
I heard screaming from the stables, likely Mr. Mason applying the lash to get those girls into the wagon. Any other day, I'd have greeted the man and made certain he had no other needs our household could meet. But, today I left the honor to the frazzled Mrs. Townsend as I stood, pushed in my chair, and made me way back to my quarters.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
I re-adjusted my cravat in the tiny, rusting mirror my mother had bequeathed me upon her death, bending at the knees a little to get a better look at my face and hair. When had I become so tall? Before Mr. Bennett left for university, I used to have to draw myself up to my fullest height just to see my eyes in the mirror. But, now the person who looked back at me was for all purposes a much-grown man of twenty and three years.
Sure, I had some amount of blackness under my sunken eyes, and my pallor was not as healthy as a country boy, but that was only to be expected living in the depths of New London. Everyone had suffered a little from the ash and smoke of the fire, not to mention the grime of these new factories, and the diseases which haunted the streets of the city like plagues of old. But, though I was pale and angular, with unruly black hair and somewhat severe lips, surely I still had some redeeming qualities in my appearance. Mother always said I had eyes so blue that indigo dyers wept upon seeing me as a boy. Perhaps not so blue, now, but...
"The carriage! Mr. Cutworth, the carriage!"
Mrs. Townsend's voice broke my reverie. I adjusted my coat once more and rushed out of my barren room to climb the steps up to the main floor of the estate. By the time I found myself by Mrs. Townsend's side on the front stoop, the black carriage was already coming to a halt. Suitcases and trunks that had been purchased years ago for
Mr. Bennett's schooling now had worn edges. They were affixed to the top and back of the carriage, and I tried my hardest to focus on how best to unload them, rather than on the growing excitement of seeing again the carriage's sole occupant.
But, then the door opened.
"Ah. It's good to be home."
I was staring at him, speechless, rooted to the spot. Ladies had always adored Mr. Bennett because of his rather angelic looks -- the blond hair, the faint childlike glow of rose on his cheeks, the good-natured expression of his lips and eyes. But, unlike those shallow wenches, I knew the truth of Mr. Bennett, that he was a discerning gentleman, a scientist, a thinker and inventor. And true, he had a dark side, but then, he had been raised to have a hidden and sadistic demeanor.
There was some conferring between Mr. Bennett and the driver, and then between Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Townsend. I could not recall in the slightest what was said, too busy were my thought processes in taking in the changes in my old friend and new master. His clothing seemed to completely engulf him, and I remembered that Lady Bennett had mentioned that most university students do not eat well in their final months, so
absorbed are they in their studies. He looked tired, even burdened, against my expectations that he'd be more jubilant. When he turned to me, I sensed such sadness upon him that I forced a rare smile.
"Welcome home, Mr. Bennett."
"Thank you, Cutworth. Please bring my things to my quarters. I shall also be taking over father's study and library, so my books and instruments may go there." I found myself in quick possession of Mr. Bennett's gloves, which he had pulled off whilst speaking. The leather was soft, and more importantly, still warm from being worn. The sensation almost brought me to the point of distraction, but I forced myself to answer after a pause.
"Yes, Mr. Bennett."
"Tea in the solarium, Mrs. Townsend." He turned away so abruptly, it startled me. In the next seconds, Mr. Bennett was making his way past us into the house. I let my gaze follow him for only the few moments I dared, and then I turned to assist the driver in unloading the trunks and suitcases. Thankfully, the driver had little to say, and focused dutifully on his work, giving me a few blissful moments to enjoy my
own thoughts, and the pleasure of the warm pair of gloves now tucked into the breast pocket of my suit.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Mr. Bennett's room had always been a far simpler affair than any of those kept by his family, except perhaps for his younger sister Amadine. He favored a dark paneling, several oriental carpets over the wood floor, and drapes and bedding in white or cream. As with most of the house proper, copper fixtures held gas lamps a safe distance from the wall, allowing Mr. Bennett to read or work on correspondence late
into the night. Among his most prized possessions were the brass telescope given to him by his father, and several heads of prey sent along from Africa by his wayward elder brother James. I found the lifeless animals, locked in time by the best taxidermists in New London, to be a bit ghoulish, personally. Mostly because I knew
James had sent Mr. Bennett the dried head of a savage girl he had bedded and killed.
Thankfully, Mr. Bennett had the good taste not to display the most unusual prize.
Mr. Bennett's packed things seemed to fill the room which had been empty for so long. I set the traveling trunk at the end of the bed, and opened the drapes so as to let the late-morning light into a room which so often felt a little dismal compared to James Bennett's insane bedchamber, or Amadine's frilly quarters.
For a minute, I stood at Mr. Bennett's writing desk, sorting his correspondence into various piles of urgency and familiarity, occasionally staring into the street below. Newgate was certainly no Mayfair, but it seemed as if lately far more rabble and scum had taken up residence in the area, despite the proximity of the Lord Adjudicator's residence and the constant vigilance of local police.
But, then, wasn't it the same everywhere in New London? No, generally worse. From the grime to the criminal activity, from the old diseases to the new debauchery, things had certainly not improved since the Second Fire. Sometimes, I wondered if...
"The drapes..."
I hadn't even noticed Mr. Bennett enter the room. But, his voice shocked me from my reverie, and I turned to the side to find him sitting, somewhat slumped, on the side of the bed. Without his hat, wisps of blond hair escaped the hasty tie at the nape of his neck, causing his face to be haphazardly encircled in an aura of light and
gold.
After closing the drapes for Mr. Bennett, I realized I still had his gloves in the breast pocket of my suit. Fishing them out, I placed them on the dresser next to his hat. I hesitated again as I turned to regard him. He hadn't moved a hair, and if anything, appeared to be slowly turning a sickly grey color.
"Will there be anything else, Mr. Bennett?"
"Yes." The tired word barely reached my ears. "Edward, I... I've done something foolish. I don't know how to..." Mr. Bennett's hand went to his face, covering a face which each second became more pained and lost. "...there were injuries." And then only in a whisper, "I've been injured. At the men's residence at Oxford, we...."
"I will summon the doctor straight here, sir."
"No..." He shrugged out of his thick suit jacket without much effort, and as soon as he did, I could see the marks of dried blood which had seeped through his white shirt. The pungent smell of new wounds filled the heavy air.
"Who has done this, sir? The constabulary must be alerted. If you've been attacked, then..."
"I let it happen."
By this time, I had pulled up a chair to the bed, and had begun unbuttoning Mr. Bennett's shirt. The fabric, stuck to the wounds where he hadn't lamely attempted to bandage himself, pulled terribly at his flesh, causing him to draw air in through his teeth every time I tugged another small section free.
"Such a beautiful thing," he moaned, his voice growing more fragile and haunted by the second. "Truly, I thought it was love, Edward. He was depraved in chasing me, desperate... Surely nobody can fake such palpable need. The way his fingertips pressed into my flesh when we coupled..."
I felt my teeth grinding, my jaw clenching. "Perhaps you shouldn't speak, sir."
"I trust you, Edward. Our friendship is sacr...AHGHHH..."
As I pried the fabric from Mr. Bennett's tortured left nipple, I clasped my hand over his mouth to stifle his reaction. The last thing he needed was a busybody like Mrs. Townsend investigating, and then letting loose this debaucherous gossip across half of New London. The pain apparently distracted Mr. Bennett from his thoughts, at least
long enough to give me a moment of silence to investigate his wounds. They were deep. Deep and painful, and in several places it looked as if a potato peeler had been used to lift strips of skin directly. These, for the most part, had been bandaged, though it must have been some time before, considering the yellowed condition of the gauze
bandages.
But, more surprisingly was the mish-mash of older deliberate wounds, made by some sharp edge, many of which were fully healed into shiny pink scars. It took quite a bit of effort not to drag the underside of my thumb across them, to explore these newly formed ridges of skin.
When we were boys, his skin had been so smooth, so...perfect. It reminded me of images of Christ on the cross -- chest bony and frame slightly underfed. But, now, now...
"I'm sure David must not have meant it. The stress of exams. The pressure of family," Mr. Bennett babbled as I attempted to remove his similarly wounded arms from the shirt-sleeves. A long blue and purple bruise was revealed near his shoulder. I frowned, and wadded up the bloodied shirt to stuff it in my jacket. I doubted it could be salvaged. It would probably have to be burned.
"I will fetch the antiseptic, sir." And linens. Bandages. And possibly needle and thread. I'd never actually closed a wound before, but I'd seen Lord Bennett do it a dozen times. Usually, there was a lot of noise if you didn't administer morphine.
Ah, morphine. My wits had not yet left me.
My gaze fell once more over Mr. Bennett before I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me. From behind, I suppose one could have almost mistaken him for a girl, what with that long straw-silk hair and the narrow waist. Whomever this David was, he had been mistaken to damage Mr. Bennett so roughly, and then throw him aside
like some street wench. Thoughts of vengeance stirred in me even as I grabbed the old linens and rummaged in Lord Bennett's cabinets for the medical bag.
This...person who had done this... It seemed likely that he would haunt Mr. Bennett for quite some time, if not forever. Obviously, my old friend had placed his trust in this individual, this sadist, and willingly given of himself in an attempt to... What? Impress the other man? Was it some sort of game played by the intellectual set? What sort of depravity, what depth of loneliness required such a sacrifice of the flesh to obtain love? Hmph. I knew little of love, but I knew it had nothing to do with the acts of intimacy which could be purchased on the street for tuppence.
When I returned, Mr. Bennett was still sitting on his bed, now completely nude, but had one arm wrapped around himself, as if to protect his flesh from the chilly air. Or perhaps out of modesty. Though considering what I had just learned of the man, I doubted modesty was his foremost concern.
(When we were boys... Young boys playing in the countryside at the Bennett cottage, we'd stripped to nothing to preserve our clothes against our mothers' wraths, and dived into the cool spring to thwart the terrible heat. And between laughter and splashing and boyish boasts, our lips had met, our wet bodies collided, hands pried and clawed at the secrets whispered by the debauched. First to
touch. First to taste. First to -know-.)
(When we were boys.)
I locked the door from the inside, and placed the key on the dresser before moving to sit on the chair in front of the bed.
"Mr. Bennett, your wounds must be cleaned and closed. It will be quite painful, considering the extensive damage. I recommend that you allow me to administer morphine..."
Green eyes met mine, green eyes lost in the depths of sorrow. "Edward... Am I repulsive? Disgusting? They say that the smell of an adjudicator is... That we smell of fear and pain. Even as he was using my body for his pleasure, he said it...over and over. 'Erik, you make my bowels churn with nausea. How I loathe your righteous morality. How easily you corrupt yourself for me...like a common whore, begging for every last drop... Beg for me now, Erik. Show me how a noble adjudicator can beg like a flea-ridden dog... Beg on your knees.'"
It was obvious that I wasn't going to get much assistance from Mr. Bennett. And, in a way, it just made it easier to administer the morphine. How desperately I wanted him to stop speaking of this...monster. With every sentence, red tinged my eyesight, and I
could feel my very muscles tightening in rage.
I tried to remember every step in administering the morphine properly. How to clean the long needle with alcohol and fire. How to carefully draw the liquid from the amber colored bottle of sulphate of morphine. How to flick at the top of the syringe and then press the air out. Mr. Bennett barely flinched when I tied off his arm and searched for the proper application spot like his father had shown me. The needle dented the skin as I pressed, and for a moment, I thought it would not puncture. But the barrier of skin was no match, and within seconds, I had injected the drug into Mr. Bennett's arm.
He was soon leaning against my shoulder, limbs and body heavy with the morphine. I dropped the spent needle into the medical bag, and attempted to manage Mr. Bennett's weight against me as I fished out the antiseptic. The green bottle of carbolic acid emitted a sharply acrid scent as soon as I uncorked it, and I had to double-check the label to make sure I wasn't about to attack Mr. Bennet's wounds with something deadly.
He hissed as I pressed the linen-soaked carbolic acid into the first wound. I soon discovered that the more I scrubbed the injuries, the tighter Mr. Bennett clung to me. His hands kneaded restlessly at my waistcoat, and I could feel his distractingly warm breath creating a slick spot against my neck... It would hitch with every new application of the carbolic acid. Despite Dr. Lister's high praise of this particular antiseptic, rubbing it into a wound was sometimes as painful as the initial wound itself. I couldn't blame the man for
reacting, even through his drugged stupor.
"It stings, Edward."
"Never so painful as having to cut away putrefied flesh, sir."
"I like it."
That revelation caught me off guard enough that I almost spilled the contents of the bottle onto the expensive oriental rug.
He had said he permitted it... Permitted that monster to do these things to him. But, for pleasure?
I was about to chalk it up to the morphine when Mr. Bennett shifted his weight. He had all but climbed into my lap on the chair, legs around my waist, and now... Now that distinct hardness of his erection was crushed against my stomach. I held my breath, resolved myself to ignore the poor man's plight, and moved to more diligent and urgent scrubbing of the wounds. I had thought that doing it more quickly would end the situation sooner, but it only complicated things.
"Sir, you really must lay back so that I can bandage your..."
"Don't. Don't talk." A hand grasped lamely at my jaw, fingernails scraped at my cheek. His hips rolled impatiently, without any hesitation. My chest... The exhilaration could only be compared to the first ride on a train, rolling through the countryside at speeds
no mortal should experience. Especially when he moaned, that long impetuous wail filled with forbidden lust... So beautiful, and yet so torturous.
Because it wasn't for me at all.
"More...just a little...more." A hand snaking between our bodies to firmly grasp that straining cock. My hand, I'm sad to say. His gasped response turned my blood cold. "....ah...please, please David...I need..."
My grip on the bottle of carbolic acid faltered, and the pungent liquid spilled out onto the wounds on Mr. Bennett's leg. I suppose that's what did it. His sharp shout of surprise turned into a keening moan of desire, as hot his fluids coated my fingers, smudged my suit, and dribbled between us onto the too-expensive rug.
He didn't move much after that. I listened for his breathing, and it was there, albeit shallow. Despite what had transpired, my lingering desire for my master, and my rage at the beast who twisted him so thoroughly, I managed to clean the man of his fluids, finish
scrubbing his wounds with the antiseptic, sew closed the worst of them, and bandage everything else without much further protest.
He was fast asleep as I gathered up the medical bag and tucked the spent linens into a ball. For a moment, I considered staying... Perhaps even laying next to him. But, there were more pressing items of business to attend.
Outside the door, I found Mrs. Townsend, one hand on her chest, looking thoroughly concerned, or at least doing a good job of imitating thorough concern.
"There were noises... Is Mr. Bennett...?"
"He has an illness," I explained blankly as I locked the door from the outside and shoved the key into my pocket. It would not do for Mrs. Townsend to attempt to nurse the poor man, in his...particular state. "Fever. Hallucinations. I've given him laudanum. He should sleep for a while now."
"But, a doctor would be..."
I raised one hand to cut her off. "It is not Mr. Bennett's desire. He may have picked this up at the university, and he doesn't want to start a scare if it turns out to be nothing." I surprised myself at my ability to so easily lie. But, when protecting Mr. Bennett, it seemed to come fairly easily.
"Oh yes. Very well then." Mrs. Townsend smiled, albeit with a tinge of skepticism, and motioned towards the ball of linens. "Shall I clean them?"
"No, no. I'm going to burn them. No need for you to get ill as well, Mrs. Townsend." As best I could, I took her by the shoulder and began to steer her down the hallway, away from Mr. Bennett's room. "What I do need is for you to find me a very sturdy potato peeler..."
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Finding the name and address of Dr. David Halbrook was as simple as going through Mr. Bennett's attache case until I found correspondence between the two. Mr. Bennett had saved all of Dr. Halbrook's letters, despite most of them being rather pedestrian in nature. I considered burning the letters along with the linens, but... Considering what
I had set my mind towards doing to the person of Dr. Halbrook, I thought I would leave that one token for Mr. Bennett to cling to should he come to need it.
The apothecary suggested that the best way to subdue a hyper child who did not wish to stay in his bed would be with a dab of chloroform, rather than laudanum, considering recent studies of Dr. Lister and others. And who was I to debate the learned men of science who surely knew more about putting things to sleep than I? I purchased the
bottle, and listened diligently as the gentlemen explained the application of the substance. The vapours of the liquid applied to the nose and mouth would be enough to render even a large man unconscious for a time. I thanked him, bought an extra parcel of hard candies for Mrs. Townsend, and made my way towards the dormitories of Oxford with
much on my mind.
Evening and time did not treat kindly the alleyways between the residence halls, and many a strange figure, male and female both, loomed in the shadows. Some plied their wares, some sold their bodies. One man even had a cart full of dead bodies, which he assured me in his sing-song voice were perfect for those students interested in human anatomy. I scowled, and glad that I had not yet applied the chloroform, held my handkerchief over my nose as I passed.
A consumptive coughed as he grabbed at my leg, begging for coin despite the blood leaking from his mouth. I kicked him away gently and peered up at a building perched at the intersection of alleyway and alleyway. This was it. The residence of Dr. David Halbrook. Monster. Ruiner. Dead man.
His apartments at 1B were easy enough to find, and I knocked resolutely, without hesitation. No uncertainty plagued me. No fear of retribution. Only a sort of dead-calm laced with the righteous certainty that this man should not continue to exist in any state but pain. He should regret. He should fear.
The door opened to reveal a man of no particular immediate striking qualities. He was shorter than me, and wider than me, but most men were. He had a bit of a hooked nose and what I convinced myself were beady black eyes. Though, in truth, it was probably just the dim light which made them seem so. He had an apron over his dark pants and mustard-yellow shirt, an apron smudged with dark streaks that could have been blood, or could just have easily been some other grime, bodily or not. He looked slightly older than Mr. Bennett. Not old enough to lose his hair, but old enough to have more wisdom than a man in his early twenties. Probably some sort of assistant to a professor, or somesuch.
"Yes?"
"Doctor Halbrook?"
"Yes. May I help you?"
"My name is Shelby Lovelace of the Bayer company. A pleasure to meet you. A friend referred us that you might be interested in some of the new products we're introducing...including heroin, which in our tests has shown to completely cure morphine addiction..."
I was rather glad of how religiously I read the newspaper. You could find all manner of interesting tidbits about new ideas and new products between those inked pages.
"Ah. I didn't think it was released yet." The man tugged at his own haphazard beard and waved me inside. "Come in, come in. Lovelace, was it? Please don't mind the mess. I often bring my work home..."
And indeed he did. The front room contained none of the creature comforts of a home fit for living. Just two wooden tables, a desk, shelves, and a single chair. Jars of formaldehyde-preserved organs had been stuffed into every odd place. Along with skulls. Medical books hastily open to diagrams. Uncleaned instruments in bins, bits of flesh
still rotting on serrated edges. Most prominently displayed was a two-headed fetus, floating in a large jar of yellowing liquid, the crown of one head breaching the briny top of the fluid as if in permanent birth.
I did not know, then, if the man was a glorious genius, debauched, or just plain psychotic. For but a moment, I felt a pang of sympathy for my dear Mr. Bennett. To be shown such a world would surely change anyone. Doctors. Butchers. Apothecaries. Adjudicators. Anyone who dealt with the flesh of man had an insight on the larger world
others would never comprehend.
Nausea. That I should be interested in this...creature. This beast which had brought such pain to my...to Mr. Bennett. I put my hand to my mouth, afraid that the rising bile might make itself present on the man's filth-covered floor. Thankfully, the good doctor didn't notice, and instead made his way into the next room, a tiny kitchenette designed for schooling bachelors.
"Will you have tea, Mr. Lovelace?"
I mumbled something akin to "yes" as I walked among the gruesome jarred taxonomy of mankind. The jar marked "liver" presented an object much different than I'd imagined. Large and dark and smooth. Could such a thing really be inside a man?
"Do tell me about the heroin. Acetylized morphine, isn't it?"
"Yes, it's quite miraculous how..." My lips moved, repeating the things I'd read in the paper. But, my hands worked the cork out of the chloroform bottle. How much had the apothecary suggested? This much? More. Maybe more than that. Enough to make my handkerchief damp. Yes, good. No, a little more.
I did shake, just a bit, with nervousness as I snuck up behind the man. Someone might hear, or...more worrisome, some acquaintance might come calling. I needed to keep my wits strongly about me. Mr. Bennett had always said that I had good sense, and an unfailing British practicality. I had to wonder if he'd been wrong.
When I slipped my arms around the man and brought the chloroform to his face, he struggled, knocking the teapot onto the squat little stove, causing steam to rise and hiss as the boiling water put out the wood-fire. For a moment, I thought I might not be strong enough for the endeavor, winded as I was by his elbow impacting with my lowermost
rib.
He struggled, but with each passing moment, the jerky movements became less and less pronounced. When I lowered him to the floor, I removed the handkerchief to find the man breathing deeply and with proper rhythm.
"There now, good doctor," I murmured as I dabbed at a speck of drool forming at the corner of his mouth, "Let us prepare you for surgery."
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
What the tables lacked for restraints, they made up for being being the proper height and sturdiness. In the end, I could only find enough cord to bind the man's hands out the the way, so I fashioned knotted ropes out of linens, and tied his feet down that way. I kept the chloroform close by as I worked, perhaps paranoid that he should suddenly wake, attempt to jump off the table, and flee.
His mouth, I decided, would be quite the problem. So, I gagged him with strips of that soiled butcher's apron he'd been wearing, quite satisfied in myself for having found such a decent solution to the problem.
I found the used instruments to be a bit disgusting, so I fetched what little remained of the boiled water in the kettle, and poured it in a bowl so I might clean the ends I would be holding. The sharp end did not matter, of course. He would not be living long enough to worry about infection.
"Doctor Halbrook, do wake up." I punctuated my request with a sharp slap to his face, and when he didn't immediately rouse from his slumber, I added a few more in increasing degrees of urgency. His eyes opened and focused only by slow degrees. Only after a good minute did he appear to recognize his predicament. Fear grew in his eyes and his body jerked, testing my makeshift restraints.
"...nnngh...oo....rrr oo?"
I arched an eyebrow, amused that I actually understood the question.
"I believe the more pressing question, Doctor, is who are YOU? What manner of man deceives another into romance, uses a person so roughly they require medical attention, and then casts them into the abyss of sorrow by cruelly laughing at a love freely given?"
I don't think it dawned on him immediately. Which only caused me to assume this was not the first time he'd done such a thing.
"Erik Bennett." I held up some rusty surgical tool to the nearby gas lamp. It had odd grooves, but wasn't particularly sharp. The next one had a hooked end, probably good for prodding and pulling, but wasn't exactly what I needed. "I've come about Mr. Bennett. You recall him?"
The man's eyes widened. He nodded slowly, and then began making noises against his gag. Whining, questioning noises I couldn't fully interpret. Either he was promising me anything I wanted, or he was making excuses or...
Well, it didn't matter, really.
"Quite ungentlemanly, your actions. Say, this is sharp, isn't it?" I held the squat little knife close to his face, letting him get a very good look at the flecks of gore still dotting the blade. "I hope you keep your instruments very sharp and very clean, doctor. Of course you do. You're no common butcher. Pardon me for even questioning your technique. The mere thought that I, a common butler, would presume to know anything about the scholarly world, is just ridiculous."
I forced a laugh, but even to me, it sounded dry. Dry and choked. I could wait no more. The medical instruments would come in time, but first...first...
I pulled the metal object from my pocket.
"I only know about household things. For instance. This, dear doctor, is a potato peeler. I've peeled so many potatoes in my time. See the little groove there? That makes it all the more effective on curved things. Much better than a pocket knife. At Bennett House, we keep our potato peelers in fine condition. I sharpen them personally thrice a year."
I put the peeler to his forehead, and pulled downwards towards his eyes. It was not as easy as I had thought it would be. The skin gave more than a potato, and didn't pull away as cleanly. Well, this and the fact that he moved his head, and startled me with the scream gurgled into his gag, made the first attempt rather regrettable.
But, with very little practice, I got the hang of it.
The blood was far more copious than I expected. But then, head wounds do tend to gush a bit. The potato peeler became slick to the handle, and by the time I had removed all of the skin on his forehead, I found that I was holding onto the thing merely with excessive grip and the stickiness of the drying blood. I gave up on that implement and moved to one of several scalpels. They provided far more control as I pried the skin away from his eyes, and slowly cut off his eyelids.
His screams turned to panicked grunts quickly. Pain is one thing, but the inability to blink is quite another. By our nature we feel safer when we can close our eyes to shut out the monsters. But, due to the skin on his face being dropped, bit by bit, onto the floor, he no longer had that particular option.
"Does your pain now match Mr. Bennett's, doctor? Ah, yes... You're gagged. Why don't you blink if you want me to stop. Just blink once, and I'll make it all come to an end." I brought my face closer to his, surely smiling slightly at my own joke, my own cruel triumph. "I guess you want more."
I'm not sure how long I stayed there, tormenting that man, exacting vengeance in repayment for the sweet soul he had surely destroyed. He must have expired somewhere between the part where I smashed the joints in his pretty surgeon's hands with a hammer, and the part where I attempted to find out if a man really could contain a liver like the one in the nearby jar.
(It can, but the doctor's was a bit smaller. Perhaps the preserved one was an animal liver of some sort.)
My hands were slicked with gore, by the end. I could only stand by the edge of the table, looking at the ruined body, contemplating how brief the deed had seemed, how pungent the smell of blood and piss and formaldehyde. But now, at least, I knew for certain that I would do anything to protect Mr. Bennett.
My Mr. Bennett. And only mine.
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"Excuse me. You there...with the cart."
The man looked up, a long-since extinguished cigar hanging limply from his mouth. I wondered where he procured the corpses for the medical students to examine. Maybe at the asylum. Maybe from the gallows. "Yeah?"
"I think I've learned all I can from this one. Interesting specimen. I extracted his liver only to find..."
"Yeah, yeah, I don't need the details. What do you want from me?"
I flopped what remained of Dr. Halbrook's body onto the top of the cart. "If you could possibly get rid of it for me..."
The man held out his hand. "For a coin. Nothin' so easy to get rid of as a body, ya know."
"Quite so?"
"These days bein' what they are. I hear they even sometimes end up in meats, peoples is so desperate an' all."
I leaned in, lowering my voice. "Any meats in particular?"
"Wuster's Polish Kielbasas down on Fletcher Street."
I added another coin to his outstretched hand. "Good to know."
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