Page 79 of Molly Boys
As he approached, he could see light streaming from the slightly open door. Harold quickened his pace, his temper flared. Edmund had to fix this. Whatever he’d done this time, Harold couldn’t help; he had almost bankrupted himself when the Royal College had accused Edmund of a serious breach of misconduct. While Harold believed that Edmund should clean up his own mess, he couldn’t afford the scandal. He’d already lost the contract to supply the royal household. If the depth of his son’s depravity had been discovered, it would’ve ruined him completely. So he’d paid, and it seemed he was still paying, even now.
“Edmund!” He hissed as he burst through the door and shut it behind him. But when he spun around, he found himself addressing an empty room. His son’s satchel was there, as was his coat and hat, all neatly hung on the coat stand, but Edmund was nowhere to be seen.
A sudden gust of air danced across his skin and rippled his hair. With a frown of confusion, he crossed the room and followed the breeze back to its source. Beside a battered old bookcase was a vertical crack in the wall. Digging his fingers under the edge, he pulled and a secret door was slowly revealed.
The hint of a voice echoed somewhere below. Raising the lamp he still held, Harold moved forward into the dark passageway. A moment later it opened up onto a metal platform overlooking a huge open space. How had he not known this place existed inside his own factory? There had been whispers that his grandfather had supplemented his income with illegal activities, but Harold hadn’t had any idea of how.
A staircase to his left spiralled to the floor below. Edging toward the railing, Harold looked down and gasped, his eyes widening at the sight before him.
It was a scientific laboratory that put his son’s sham of an office to shame, but what was truly horrifying was the half-naked man strapped to a table. Not seeing his son anywhere, Harold set down the lamp on the ground, no longer needing it thanks to the gas lighting around the huge room.
He hurried down the spiral metal staircase and crossed the room to the man. He was conscious but shivering violently against the leather restraints. His skin was pale, and his lips were almost colourless.
“Help me,” he croaked.
“My god.” Harold rushed forward, not knowing what to touch. There seemed to be several needles inserted along the man’s arms, each one attached to a thin rubber tube which fed into conical glass flasks sitting on a surgical trolley.
“Pull them out,” the pale blonde man whispered, his eyes slightly unfocused. “Quickly, before he comes back.”
“I don’t…” Harold wrung his hands, panic tinging his words. “I don’t know what to do, I’ve never—”
“Just grab them and pull them out”—he gritted his teeth—“or I’ll bleed to death.”
Harold reached over the man’s body and grasped each needle along his right arm, pulling them out and letting them fall to the floor. He reached for the left arm and got two out before a loud, menacing snarl filled the air.
Harold paused, his eyes wide and his hands trembling. Whatever had made that noise sounded big, and vicious, and very, very close.
Harold backed away slowly, his eyes darting around like a frightened creature.
“No!” The man cried out weakly. “Please help me!”
“I-I-I’m sorry…” Harold stuttered. “I ca–”
The words died on his lips. Feeling a needle pierce his skin, he reached for his neck but his palm met with a cold hand gripping a syringe. He staggered forward as the needle slipped free, turning to look behind him.
There stood his son. All false traces of humanity had been completely stripped away, leaving not a hint of remorse in those shiny black beetle-like eyes. He simply cocked his head and watched indifferently as Harold’s legs crumpled beneath him and he crashed to the floor.
“Wh–”
“What did I give you?” Edmund asked the question for him as Harold’s vision began to waver. “Cyanide.” Edmund held up the now empty syringe. “A lethal dose. Right now you’re probably struggling not to lose consciousness, and I imagine it’s becoming quite difficult to breathe. It’s probably best not to fight it, it won’t do any good anyway. In a few moments your heart will stop.” Edmund glanced over at the man on the table. “I really wish you hadn’t chosen now to interfere,” he lamented dispassionately. “I hadn’t planned on killing you so soon—I’d taken out a nice little insurance policy on your life—but as I’ve said before, a good scientist knows how to adapt to changing circumstances.”
Harold didn’t hear another word as his eyes slid closed and everything went black.
* * *
Ev heard a loud rattling breath from the man who’d tried to help him, a truly awful and distressing sound, and then silence.
“Hmm, seems I’m now an orphan,” Baxter remarked callously as he tossed the empty syringe on a nearby table and approached the table Ev was still strapped to.
The frightened man had managed to remove all but one of the syringes from Ev’s arms, slowing the rate of bleeding and at least buying him some time, but not much. He was already starting to feel the effects of blood loss.
“What a mess,” Baxter tutted as he saw the discarded needles and the spots of blood lining Ev’s arms. “Let’s start again, shall we?”
“No.” Ev tried to wriggle away but it did him no good. The straps held him fast and he was getting light-headed.
“Hold still,” Baxter muttered as he picked up the discarded needles and tubes. He re-inserted one back into Ev’s left arm and was just reaching for the other when he paused and cocked his head as if listening. Suddenly, he looked up to the platform at the top of the spiral staircase. At first Ev didn’t know what caught his attention, but then he heard it. A voice calling out.
He couldn’t make out the words, but it was another person. Someone had found him!