Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(112)

The stench was strong enough that my eyes watered and I could no longer hold back my nausea. I turned and vomited the pitiful contents of my stomach, thankful I hadn’t desecrated any other body. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, cringing at the sour taste of bile.

A lone bulb flickered above, sending shadows skittering. The room teemed with movement, though it was likely a trick of the light. I was not being watched by ghosts, even if a part of me wondered if spirits were haunting this murder castle, waiting for justice.

My stomach tightened again at the thought.

I closed my eyes against the image of a hundred pale faces emerging from darkness. No doubt the owners of these skeletons were seeking their revenge.

Would they come for me, too? I thought of the many times my blade sank into flesh, the jolt of joy I’d tried unsuccessfully to tamp down. I delighted in my work, marveled at the secrets revealed to me. Perhaps the dead didn’t wish to tell me their troubles. Perhaps they thought I was as wicked as the man who’d strung them up, their bones rattling in the gentle breeze.

My mind latched onto that realization with ferocity. The breeze. There shouldn’t be any wind down here, unless… I spun in place, forcing myself to see beyond the forest of skeletons. My quick movement had them clattering together again, the sound setting my teeth on edge. I ignored the fear clawing up my spine and focused. There had to be—there! Wedged behind a trunk—its contents I refused to consider—was a large grate.

Hope rose from the ashes of my soul. It was small, but it wouldn’t be impossible for me to wedge myself into it and crawl to the outdoors. Air flowed in, meaning it most certainly flowed out. If I could only work the grate free from the—My excitement dwindled as I got closer.

I stared numbly at the giant railroad ties that secured it to the wall. There was no chance I’d be able to work it free, even if I ripped my fingers to shreds in the process. I considered sticking my cane in the grate and using it as a lever, but it would snap.

Defeat reached out, begging me to collapse in its waiting arms. Giving up would be so easy. I could sit here quietly waiting for the Ripper. If I gave him what he wanted, it might be over quickly. Perhaps he’d be disappointed to not find me cowering in fear.

I wondered if that would enrage him into carving my body into his finest horror yet. The pain would be unbearable, but if he stayed true to his previous murders, he’d strangle me or slash my throat before his real work began. Either way I’d lose consciousness within minutes, followed by my life. Maybe this was the way the darkness always meant to claim me. Maybe I was supposed to die on the Etruria. If I’d been living on borrowed time, I did not regret the weeks and months I’d gotten to spend with those I loved. With Thomas.

I recalled the way it felt to share my whole self with him, the way his eyes shone with the same love I felt. Our wedding was terrible, but at least I’d seen him at the altar. If I died, I would focus on that. His radiant smile, his unsteady breath. How close we’d come to being husband and wife. My memory taunted me with images of my father next. Followed by Uncle and Aunt Amelia and Liza. I’d be leaving them all behind.

I sagged against the doorway, no longer listening to the bones play their chilling death march. I had no hope of winning a physical fight. And the realization that I would never see my family or Thomas again, never press my lips to his and hear his heart pound in time with mine… it was almost too much to bear. I suddenly wished to call out, to beg for death to come swiftly.

But I kept seeing Thomas’s face. I heard my promise to him. And I remembered why I’d ventured here to begin with. I straightened, slapped hopelessness away, and marched over to the grate. I would find a way out of here.

I stuck my fingers through the openings and tugged, really pulling with all my weight, and almost fell on my behind. The grate didn’t budge. Refusing to give up, I tested its strength again, wondering if I could find something to pry it off the wall with. A few threads of an idea began to weave together. The Ripper had made a mistake when he’d left me here. He imagined the corpses and skeletons would terrify me. I’d wager anything he was counting on it. He wanted horror to override my senses. I was certain nothing would please him more.

He must not realize how much I craved the knowledge hidden between layers of flesh. I might not make cadavers to carve as he did, but I enjoyed the process no less. Since I understood the process of death, I understood the grandest mistake he’d made yet.

This room was used to clean bones. He probably had some scheme where he sold full skeletons to academies. It was the only reason I could see why he’d take such good care of them, bleaching the stain of his sins from each bone. It was revolting—the way he’d not only murdered for his pleasure but then profited from it. Shoving my disgust for him aside, I refocused on this chamber. If there were metal wires used to tie the bones together, there must be shears to cut them.

And if there were hooks nailed to the wall, there must be a hammer to set them there. And if there was a hammer, then the opposite end of it might be the perfect pry bar.

At the very least, this butcher of women must have a decent blade he used to dismember them. If he was careless enough to leave me down here with my

cane, he might have made another fatal mistake. My pulse sped. If there was an axe, I’d break through the damned wall and chop off his head if he dared to attack me.

I put pressure on my good leg and searched for the object I was sure was here. Unfortunately, this seemed to be only a storage room of sorts. I didn’t want to venture back into the chamber with Minnie’s corpse, but…