Savage Wings: Book Three of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 18

Taken from the journal of Benjamin Garrick, physician.

May 31st, 1692, Sozopol.

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I hath neglected my writings these past few days, for my time here hath been occupied so greatly that I have barely found a minute's peace to eat or drink, let alone put ink to page.

Peace is nought but a long-lost feeling, I fear, because there is no peace to be found in Sozopol and certainly none to be found in my heart nor my mind. Now, fear; that is something that is very much in existence here and it is fear that grasps me now, tightly by the throat until I feel I cannot breathe from its cold clammy grip.

When I arrived here, I came with the belief that I could save these poor people. I was determined to offer them some hope and yet after tonight's happenings, I find myself falling short of hope myself. I ask you, what good is a physician who carries no hope in his heart? All the scientific knowledge in the world cannot aid you if you do not believe you can help someone and I am no longer convinced that it is within my capabilities to save the people here.

I am worried for Petar. His condition still does not improve and he is becoming severely malnourished and dehydrated. I cannot force but one morsel of bread nor one drop of water down the poor man's throat. Oh how he suffers so! This night, not even the coming of dusk could ease his agony. In fact, if anything, he grew more agitated and when he was conscious, he did beg and plead with me in his native language. With Andrey needed elsewhere in the town, I was at a loss to translate much of Petar's mad ramblings but I did recognise the words 'gladen sam' to mean that he hungered. I, of course, hurried to prepare Petar something to eat when I heard a thump of noise and ran with haste back to Petar, only to find him on the floor, desperately trying to drag his skeletal body towards the door.

What a truly awful sight to behold! I tell you, that man is nought but skin and bone. The flesh doth hang loose from his withered frame and his body is ravaged horribly by raw patches of skin from all his time in the cot. When I tried to help lift his prostrate form, I was surprised to see the life suddenly spark in his eyes at my touch and he began to struggle in my arms.

Let me tell you I hath never seen such a face as that! It was not a man, but some animal, intent on overpowering me, for what reason I surely did not know but I admit to feeling terrified of Petar then.

Thankfully it was not hard to push him away and he did fall to the floor onto his back. His chest heaved in and out in the most violent of manners and his blood-shot eyes bulged from their sockets as if they might burst free from his skull. After a while, he grew still and I was certain that he must surely be dead, yet a gasp of breath did escape his lips and the poor soul continued to live.

When Andrey returned, I left with haste for I could not stand to remain there a moment longer. I am tortured by my inability to save this man and I am tortured to bear witness to his suffering. Nothing I attempt doth ease his pain and meanwhile all I can do is stand idly by whilst he grows weaker and weaker. I curse my own failure!

Should one pray for the death of another? Is it right, that a physician like myself who has sworn to save lives, should plead with God to take one? For that is what I hath done. These past few days, I hath verily prayed for Petar's suffering to end, but I wonder now, do I pray for his death in order to end his suffering or to end mine own?

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June 2nd, 1692

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Forgive me for my weak penmanship, for my hand shakes so as I write this. No amount of rum can strengthen my spirit nor steady my heart this night, as I sit here in my dwelling with the door bolted and drapes drawn. What good bolted doors and closed drapes can do against the irrational workings of a haunted and hysterical mind, I know not, but for some reason they offer me a small sense of comfort and I must take that comfort from wherever it may come, whether that be from inside a locked room or in the bottom of a rum bottle.