Alex Grecian - Devil's Workshop

He remembered that little boy, and he remembered the policeman, some of them better than others. The tall policeman in the cheap black suit. His name was Walter Day. He remembered Walter Day’s wife, too. Her name was Claire.

And he remembered where they lived: 184 Regent’s Park Road. In Primrose Hill.

And Primrose Hill was not far away at all.

He felt a presence in the cell before he heard the voice:

“Exitus probatur.”

“Is that you, Jack?”

“Hello, Walter Day.”

“Let us go free.”

“Hmm. Maybe. But no, probably not.”

“Then are you going to kill me now?”

“Look around you, Walter Day. Oh, that’s right, you can’t. That hood looks silly on you, by the way. I think I carried it off a bit better. Shall I describe our surroundings for you? Let us see. . There are chains here, dirt floors, and stone walls. There are no windows, there is no sunlight, no butterflies or chirping birds. For that matter, there is a distinct lack of shrieking and bleeding and weeping and piercing. We’re not in an abattoir or some dark alley in the East End. It’s quite dull here, actually. This is a dungeon, a prison, a sort of purgatory. This was a workshop for evil men, and I have taken it from them. They did not kill people here, and I do not mean to, either. This has become a sacred place, a birthplace. To be honest, though, I think I might have killed a man just over there on the other side of this wall. The fellow has stopped moving. I should look into that.”

“Do you mean-”

“In my rambling and contradictory way, I mean to say that I’m not planning to kill you, Walter Day. Not today, I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still thinking. I’ll decide about tomorrow when tomorrow comes.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. Today I desire intelligent discourse and I have my hopes pinned to you. It’s been such a very long time since I had a real conversation with someone who wasn’t screaming.”

“You said you killed someone down here. Was it Adrian March? On which side of me is the dead man?”

“Oh, I’ve killed so many people. Does it matter?”

“Was it March? I don’t hear him.”

“He’s sleeping. It was the other man I killed. That is, if I killed him.”

Day realized he was holding his breath and he let it out, took another breath. It sounded like a sigh.

“You can’t keep us here,” he said.

“I most certainly can. You don’t tell me what I can and cannot do, Walter Day.”

“People will be looking for us.”

“But will they find you? I’m aquiver with excitement. Will the detectives solve the mystery and rescue their cohorts? I can’t stand the suspense. Actually, Walter Day, I’ve spoken with your Inspector March, and there’s little reason to think anyone will search these tunnels. Nobody even knows you’re down here.”

“They’ll come looking for you. The Karstphanomen will. They’ll come for you and find me here instead. What do you think they’ll do then?”

“You’re not as stupid as the rest of them, are you, Walter Day? You present a problem for me.”

“And you present quite a problem for me, Jack.”

Jack chuckled and patted him on the arm. Day’s chains rattled with the movement.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” Jack said. “Let me ask you something. Are you ready for me to ask you something?”

“I think so.”

“Listen carefully now. Exitus probatur. ”

“You said that before. What does it mean?”

“Are you being coy, Walter Day? I can’t decide if you’re playing a game with me. I do like games, but I’m not sure I have the patience right now.”

“It sounds like Latin. What you said. Is it Latin?”

“You really don’t know what it means?”

“No. I swear it.”

“Fascinating.”

“What does it mean?”

“I’m not entirely sure, Walter Day, but some of your friends do seem to know what it means.”

“My friends?”

“Your man to the right of me, in the neighboring cell, Mr March. He knows what it means. And the gentleman to my left-he’s to your right, I suppose. He knows, too. Or knew. As I said, he’s stopped doing things and knowing things. Though it hardly matters. He’s not important to our story anymore.”

“You’re mad.”

“Quite probably. But that’s not important just now, either. The immediate problem you pose for me arises because I believe you when you say you do not know those words, Walter Day.”

“I don’t know them.”

“I already said I believe you. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“But what does it mean? Exit proboscis? ”

“You’ve misquoted me. I think you just told me that something’s coming out of your nose. And, now you mention it, you do seem to be having some trouble breathing. Are you having trouble breathing?”

Day nodded. When he moved his head, he felt the rough fabric against his chin and lips and eyelids. And he felt the stab of pain in his head, but it wasn’t as sharp this time. It was bearable. The fabric shifted and he felt pressure on his scalp, then the hood lifted away and cool air hit his face. He took a deep rasping breath and opened his eyes. He immediately closed them again.

“Is that better, Walter Day?”

“It is.”

“You should say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. And I’m glad you’ve found your manners. Though I did have to remind you.” There was a pause. “But I forgive you that because I remember how terribly stuffy this hood can be. It stifles the senses, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Day opened his eyes again, just a little bit, kept them partially closed and ratcheted his eyelids up a bit at a time, letting them adjust to the light. When they were open far enough that he could see, he was surprised to realize that the only illumination in the cell was indirect, the glow of a lantern in another nearby alcove. He could see the light from it reflected on the tunnel wall opposite his own cell, but everything around him was black.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Jack said. “The light, I mean. It stabs at your eyes.”

The way he emphasized the word stab sent a shiver down Day’s spine. He tried to turn his head to see Jack, but the shooting pain in his skull stopped him. The brief glimpse he had of Jack was disappointing, only a shape in the darkness.

“Do you see me, Walter Day?”

“No. I mean, you’re lost in the shadows.”

Jack laughed, sudden and loud, the bark of a rabid dog.

“You’ll forgive me. I’m a bit giddy today. But I am indeed lost in the shadows. And gladly so. I live in them. You’re merely a visitor.” The humor left his voice and he leaned in closer, though Day did not turn his head. “Tell me,” Jack said.

“I told you. I don’t know the words. I don’t know Latin.”

“No, tell me something else. Do they remember me? Above, in the sunlight. Do they remember Saucy Jack, or have I truly faded into the shadows?”

“You’re forgotten. No one remembers you in the slightest.”

Day heard Jack move, sitting back, his body creaking like old leather and rotting wood.

“No, I don’t believe you this time, Walter Day. I think they do remember me. I think I still frighten them. Am I a tale told to children to keep them in their beds? Do they see me at the back of their closets, under their beds, following them in the street at dusk?”

“Yes, if you must know. Yes. You ruined everything. You took away their trust and security. Does that make you ashamed? That you damaged the city so badly that nobody will ever feel safe again? Or does it make you happy?”