Everlast

CHAPTER TEN

The Creature sat in the jail cell, behind the safety of the cage. Refusing to take his coat off, he popped the collars up, a wall designed to keep him in the shadows. He crouched on the floor, head resting against the brick wall. Not many officers had noticed him as they went about their business.

He opened his stark yellow eyes to see the limp body of Mrs Putney. She flicked her eyes open.

"The king of the freaks," she taunted, her collar bone popping out.

"Ah yes, the father of freaks," Mr Putney scorned, seated next to John, blood flowing from his temple.

John closed his eyes; he knew this was in his mind. Lavinia snarled. "I imagine you're handsome in your dreams," she laughed, "you grotesque animal."

"STOP!"

"Mr. Clare."

He gasped, glancing up to see Miss Everlast, her hands resting behind the bars. He stood, using his hands on the wall to support his weight.

"I need to know," she asked, her eyes watering. "Did you work for Putney Wax Works?"

He stammered, his voice closing up. He nodded.

"Did you kill them?" she whispered, her voice breaking. His silence held her answer. She turned to the side.

"Please do not recoil from me, Miss Everlast," he begged, his hands inches from hers.

"Why?" she placed her hand on his, tears escaped her hazel eyes. "There's an inspector looking for you. He wants the paperwork. You have stated you only worked at the theatre. There's no mention of the other place and that should stall him."

John saw her downcast eyes, the pain he had caused at this betrayal. "I owe you an explanation. But please do not think of me as a malicious creature." He paused. "I should tell you from the beginning, about my birth, my abandonment, a broken promise and why I – killed them."

"Not here," she said. "I've come to let you out. Remember you're not actually detained. I've arranged a place for us to stay."

The journey to their safe haven took an hour by carriage. Their duration fell into silence. John could not muster the courage to talk, to say anything to fill a void. Monica focused on their destination and wanting to know the truth. He was a killer and she should have reported him, but an unexplained feeling had occurred. She should have felt betrayed, yet she sat with him, helping him.

A disused farm house upon a lonely hill did not attract attention. Monica made sure the driver stopped half a mile away. They left and walked though the bitter cold. Again not one uttered a word, expect Monica telling him the direction and he obeying.

An hour before sunset, Monica cleaned the cobwebs and brushed the floor. John arranged and fixed the broken furniture, not one of them said a word. With their tasks complete, Monica took a seat near the hearth, warming her hands.

"Relax Mr Clare," she said, blowing onto her hands, focusing on the fire. He sat opposite her, the fire light flickering, highlighting the scars running down his right temple. "Do not leave anything out."

"Why?" he asked softly. "I often prayed I could forget the worst I've endured."

"I need to understand how someone as compassionate as you would commit such a crime. What drove you to act this way?" she paused, staring at him. "I want to know your story Mr Clare."

John took off his coat, resting it to the side. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, his exhale shaky.

"It is clear to see Miss Everlast – I am not a human, but a man created from the flesh of other men. Nothing of this visage is my own, expect my soul and yet I question if I have one."