The Lost: Book Two of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Epilogue

A/N: I couldn't leave without an epilogue, could I? For those of you who have asked, this isn't the end of The Whitechapel Chronicles. Book three, the final instalment in the series will be out in 2015, however if you want to keep yourself up to date with news of book three, including access to exclusive teasers and sneaky snippets, then please do come along and join the Facebook group The Chapelite Asylum:

 https://www.facebook.com/groups/TheChapeliteAsylum/

 I hope you enjoy this last glimpse into Megan's world until she returns in 2015, please do hit that vote button and leave a comment if you do. Thanks once again for all your unwavering support, you guys simply are the most amazing readers I could ever wish for.

 With love,

Cinnamon xxxx

 

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Garrick?

I called out into the darkness.

There had been a whisper of him. Some small sense of his presence here, so soft like the scent of his skin carried on a breeze, only when I searched for him, it was gone and I wondered if it was my memories that haunted me and not Garrick himself.

I ached for him. I ached for his smile. I ached for his scowl. I yearned for the way he would smooth back that long outgrown Mohawk. I yearned for his wisdom and for the way he always made me feel safe.

He was here somewhere. I just knew it. And so I continued my search, asking those pale ravaged faces if they had seen him but they all shook their heads and went on wailing their tortured lament until I reached out, soothing them with my touch.

Soon, soon, I said, be patient, judgment will come, but first.......

I carried on, a pinprick of light in the eternal dark seas of Purgatory, wading through the tide of souls, comforting those that pleaded and cried. The dark, twisted ones kept back, afraid of the light but I could feel their hatred burning in the shadows, I could hear the hiss of their curses but nothing was going to stop me.

Since we had arrived at Josiah's home, an old disused Baptist church in Holborn, Harper still hadn't regained consciousness and I was starting to lose hope that he ever would. I had tended his wounds; refusing Josiah's assistance in fear that he might take the opportunity to wring the last bit of life from Harper's neck, but I knew instinctively just how much damage had been done. Too much blood had been lost, his injuries too severe and it was now all down to fate. I had even tried to make him drink from me, as I had with Garrick, biting at my own wrist and letting the drops of blood fall into his mouth, hoping that the taste would awaken him and bring him back to me. But he had remained as still as he had since Josiah had helped carry him into the house and laid him in this small, sparse room with its cobwebbed corners and dust bunnies under the bed.

It wasn't my room. My room had been Josiah's room, or wherever he decided that I would sleep and that was usually close to wherever he might be. I think he enjoyed torturing me, knowing that I didn't want to be parted from Harper but I had gritted my teeth and bore it with exhausted submission. I had insisted, however, on keeping Lucius with me and it was by his side that I now lay, my fingers curled into his palm as he slept.

I couldn't resist the pull of Lucius' touch. Garrick had been on my mind constantly. Every now and then, as I cared for Harper and tried to revive him, I would feel my skin prickle intensely and had this feeling that if I turned around; Garrick would be there, watching us with that mischievously glint in his eyes. I couldn't fight the notion that he was treading those dark waters and that I was meant to find him somehow. And besides, I knew that if I did find him, he would tell me what to do. Not before rolling his eyes and cursing me for getting myself into this mess, of course, but that I could cope with. In fact, I could have coped with anything just to see his face again.