The Lost: Book Two of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 1

A woman's laughter cut through the thin membranes of my slumber.

It had a girlish quality, with a light and lyrical tone but there was something about it that made me frown, as if it sounded wrong somehow, like when you listen to someone singing off-key. When the voice whispered so close to my right ear, my eyes snapped open, sure that whoever it was now lay next to me, but all I saw was the grey, cracked plaster of the asylum wall.

To my left, Harper lay on his side, with his back towards me and that great dragon tattoo encircling his hip bone, a constant reminder of the beast that waited just beneath the surface of his heavily-inked skin. I could still spy small beads of perspiration on his body and I vaguely wondered why I was freezing cold, when he was clearly still emanating heat from before when we had clutched each other as if it were the first time all over again.

It had been a rough, desperate attempt to grasp onto something tangible; a furious need in me to shake off the terrors that Lucius had imprinted on my mind and instead focus on something feral and untameable. I had wanted to lose myself in the heat of Harper's desire but had found myself instead feeding the insatiable hunger of my own needs, biting into his throat until his blood covered my chin and ran down my breasts, smearing our skin as our bodies pressed firmly together.

He had cried out in pain and I had enjoyed it, mostly because he reciprocated soon after with a bite to my inner thigh, his fingers exploring as he sucked hard on my flesh. I had held his head there against my skin, grabbing handfuls of his hair with both hands and arching my back as dual shots of pleasure and pain made me writhe beneath him. When he finally pulled me onto his lap, I kept my eyes open the whole time as I moved against his firm body, because I needed to see only him and because I knew the moment I closed my eyes, I would see them.

And now my body ached but it was nothing compared to the sharp shards of pain that stabbed at my temples. I sat up and massaged my head, moving my thumbs in circular motion and it was then that I heard the laughter again, this time coming from somewhere down the corridor. I stared at the open doorway for a moment, feeling the light touch of anxiety as it ran its fingertips across my neck and scratched its nails down my spine. Reaching for the closest piece of discarded clothing - Harper's t-shirt - I pulled it over my head and carefully, so not to rouse him, I stepped over him and padded over to the door. The cold of the tiles quickly seeped into the soles of my feet and I tiptoed across the floor like some blood-stained ballerina, performing the most macabre dance routine.

Soon I reached the main passageway. To my left, I could see the distant orange glow of the hearth in Benjamin's old room, flickering shadow-puppets across the walls. It was as inviting as it always was, a small pocket of warmth in a dismal reality, but instead of walking towards it, I turned right and followed the laughter as it continued to echo through the corridors. As I walked, I trailed my fingertips along the wall, feeling for the voice, searching for her under the flaking paint that crumbled under my touch. Every time I thought I had found her, she slipped easily out of my reach and I would hear that maddening laughter further away, as if she were goading me, luring me onwards.

I began to quicken my pace, breaking into a light jog and hearing my bare feet slap against the floor and the sound of my breath, whistling over my dry cracked lips. The lights blinked overhead, went out for the briefest of seconds and then came back on again and somehow the shadows seemed darker and denser than before.

Finally I turned a corner and found myself in Garrick's bedroom. Harper's blood brother was nowhere to be seen. The sheets on his metal-framed bed were crumpled and one pillow had fallen to the floor. By the side of the bed, on a tall wooden table, his tatty leather-bound notebook sat open and I felt its pull from where I stood. I was surprised that he had left it unattended. Garrick never went anywhere without that damn book and he certainly never let it out of his sight.