Tess Gerritsen - The Bone Garden - A Novel

She tried to shout for help, but she could not draw in a deep breath and her voice was muffled beneath the heavy oilcloth draped over her and Billy. And the dog, that noisy dog, kept barking and scratching, drowning out what meager cries she could produce. She heard the horse trot past, and then the sound of the hooves faded as the rider moved on, never realizing that his inattention had just condemned a woman to death.

The carriage door swung open.

— Damn it, I thought I heard something. One of them is still alive! — Eliza said.

The oilcloth flew off. The man grabbed Billy's body and rolled it out of the carriage. Rose sucked in a deep breath and screamed. Her cry was immediately cut off by a thick hand over her mouth.

— Hand me my knife, — Burke said to Eliza. — I'll shut her up. —

— No blood in the carriage! Just throw her in the water now, before someone else comes! —

— What if she can swim? —

His question was answered by the sudden rip of cloth as Eliza tore Rose's petticoat into strips. With brutal efficiency she tied Rose's ankles together. A wad of cloth was stuffed into Rose's mouth, then the man bound her wrists.

The dog's barking became frenzied. It circled the carriage now, howling, but it stayed just beyond the reach of their kicks.

— Throw her in, — Eliza said. — Before that bloody dog draws any more— — She paused. — Someone else is coming. —

— Where? —

— Do it now, before they see us! —

Rose gave a sob as the man hauled her out of the carriage. She squirmed in his arms, her hair whipping his face as she tried to thrash her way free. But his arms were too powerful, and it was too late for him to entertain any second thoughts about what he was going to do. As he carried her to the railing, Rose caught a glimpse of Billy, lying dead beside the carriage, his dog crouched beside him. She saw Eliza, her hair wild and windblown. And she caught a view of the sky, the stars muted by a haze of smoke.

Then she fell.

NORRIS HEARD THE SPLASH, even from Lechmere Point. He could not see what had just fallen into the water, but he spotted the carriage stopped on the bridge ahead. And he heard a howling dog.

As he drew closer, he saw the boy's body sprawled beside the carriage's rear wheel. A black dog crouched beside it, teeth bared and growling as it held off the man and woman trying to get near the fallen man. It's Billy's dog .

— We couldn't stop the horse in time! — the woman called out. — It was a horrible accident! The boy ran straight in front of us and… — She stopped, staring in recognition as Norris climbed out of the shay. — Mr. Marshall? —

Norris yanked open the carriage door but did not see Rose inside. From the floor, he plucked up a torn strip of cloth. From a woman's petticoat.

He turned to Eliza, who stared at him, mute. — Where is Rose? — he asked. He looked at Wall-eyed Jack, who was already backing away, preparing to flee.

That splash. They'd thrown something into the water.

Norris ran to the railing and stared into the river. He saw rippling water, silvered by moonlight. And then a shudder, as something broke the surface, then sank again.

Rose .

He scrambled over the railing. Once before, he had plunged into the Charles River. That time, he had docilely surrendered his fate to the whims of providence. This time, he surrendered nothing. As he flung himself off the bridge, he stretched out his arms as though to seize this one last chance at happiness. He sliced into water so cold it made him suck in a startled gasp. He surfaced, coughing. Paused only long enough to heave in and out several deep breaths, washing his lungs with air.

Then he plunged, once again, underwater.

In the darkness, he flailed blindly at anything within reach, feeling for a limb, a bit of cloth, a fistful of hair. His hands met only empty water. Out of breath, he popped to the surface again. This time he heard a man's shouts from the bridge above.

— There's someone down there! —

— I see him. Call the Night Watch! —

Three quick breaths, then once again, Norris dove. In his panic, he did not even register the cold or the growing chorus of shouts above. With every passing second, Rose was slipping away from him. Arms churning, he clawed at the water, as frantic as a drowning man. She might be only inches from his grasp, but he could not see her.

I am losing you .

A desperate need for air drove him back to the surface for another breath. There were lights on the bridge above, and more voices. Feckless witnesses to his despair.

I would rather drown than leave you here .

One last time he dove. The glow of the lanterns above faintly penetrated the dark water in shifting ribbons of light. He saw the shadowy strokes of his own arms, saw clouds of sediment. And drifting just below, he saw something else. Something pale, billowing like sheets in the wind. He lunged toward it, and his hand closed around cloth.

Rose's limp body drifted toward him, her hair a swirl of black.

At once he kicked upward, pulling her with him. But when they broke the surface and he gasped in lungfuls of air, she was limp, as lifeless as a bundle of rags. I am too late. Sobbing, gasping, he hauled her toward the riverbank, kicking until his legs were so exhausted they would scarcely obey him. When at last his feet touched mud, he could not support his own weight. He half crawled, half stumbled out of the water, and dragged Rose up the bank, onto dry land.

Her wrists and ankles were bound; she was not breathing.

He rolled her onto her stomach. Live, Rose! You have to live for me. He placed his hands on her back and leaned in, squeezing her chest. Water gushed from her lungs and spilled out of her mouth. He pressed again and again, until her lungs were empty, but still she lay unresponsive.

Frantic, he tore the bindings from her wrists and turned her onto her back. Her face, smudged with grime, stared up at him. He pressed his hands against her chest and leaned in, trying to expel the last drops of water from her lungs. Again and again he pressed as his tears and river water dripped onto her face.

— Rose, come back to me! Please, darling. Come back. —

Her first twitch was so faint, it might only have been his desperate imagination. Then, suddenly, she shuddered and coughed, a wet and racking cough that was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Laughing and crying at once, he turned her onto her side and brushed sopping hair from her face. Though he could hear footsteps approaching, he did not look up. His gaze was only on Rose, and when she opened her eyes, his face was the first thing she saw.

— Am I dead? — she whispered.

— No. — He wrapped his arms around her shivering body. — You're right here with me. Where you'll always be. —

A pebble clattered across the ground, and the footsteps came to a standstill. Only then did Norris look up to see Eliza Lackaway, her cape billowing in the wind. Like wings. Like the wings of a giant bird. Her gun was pointed straight at him.

— They're watching, — Norris said, glancing up at the people who stood on the bridge above. — They'll see you do it. —

— They'll see me kill the West End Reaper. — Eliza shouted toward the crowd: — Mr. Pratt! It's Norris Marshall! —

Voices on the bridge rose in excitement.

— Did you hear that? —

— It's the West End Reaper! —

Rose struggled to sit, clinging to Norris's arm. — But I know the truth, — she said. — I know what you did. You can't kill us both. —

Eliza's arm wavered. She had only one shot. Even as Mr. Pratt and two men from the Night Watch gingerly worked their way down the steep bank, she was still standing there, undecided, her gun swinging between Norris and Rose.