Page 23 of Razors & Ruin
The pieces of Marianne’s skin look deader than ever now, and the vibrant glow of the fire isn’t here to give them some movement. Only the cool filaments of the low lamps keep the gloom from seeping into our bones in this forsaken place. Who knew rock bottom had a basement?
Nellie Lovett wants her picket fence. She doesn’t understand that she cannot be kept that way, clean and safe in a home with four walls, a roof, and a crucifix on the bedroom wall. She killed a woman, but was it for her or me? I don’t know for sure, and in a way, it doesn’t matter.
But a crazy notion refuses to die.Family. We could be happy in our own way. Boxed up pretty, with a bow, and offered to my poor Johanna. Is that the deal? We’ll be human, my little princess, but only for you.
Fat chance. I dropped pieces of a dead woman in the Thames only an hour ago. There is no tender bosom of love to which my child might return, even in my imagination.
All that exists here is Nellie, who is all hard edges, just as I am. No mother she, and no father I.
Which is not to say I can leave it alone. I never had much talent for avoiding pain. I like to inflict it, but I aim not to be a hypocrite. I will do what I must to discover Johanna’s fate, and it starts with the Beadle. He’s merely a catalyst, and although I hate him, I must tread gently for now.
God’s judgement will come when the time is right, but I dare to hope to be His instrument, if he deigns to use a creature such as I to do His works.
“The Beadle better have something for me tomorrow,” I say. “I need chins to shave and heads to cut.”
“Off?” Nellie shoots me a grin as she checks the drying strips of flesh. “Or just a trim?”
“Don’t fucking tempt me.”
I go to her side and take her collarbone beneath my palm. “Once I make some money, we can see about getting you some better stock. That said, are you quick on your feet? You needn’t wait; I can equip you with a burlap sack and a piano leg if you fancy a skirmish through the back alleys.”
“Urgh. Don’t mention it again. At least the wealthy cunts in that place were clean.”
“All depends on what you have an appetite for, doesn’t it, treacle?” I turn her neck so I can see the marks I made. “That reminds me.”
I reach into my pocket and extract a thick band of velvet and white lace. “Marianne won’t need this anymore. It couldn’t keep her silly head on her neck, but you might have better luck.”
Nellie’s cheeks burn, and she pulls her hair up from her nape so I can tie the choker in place. “Thank you,” she says. “I’ll give ita wash. It’s inviting an Anne Boleyn comparison that, under the circumstances, might be best resisted.”
I can’t help but smile at that. I’ve noticed a change in her patois since we first ran into the well-spoken Marianne; an uptick in her vocabulary and syntax, a nod to a better education than I’d suspected.
It’s more than that, however; it speaks to her festering insecurity. So unsure is Nellie of her value in the world that she must absorb it from others, like a vampire.
So empty a vessel deserves to be filled, and I have my ways.
“A besotted king who had his woman beheaded when she displeased him? I see no contradictions. We simply don’t know where we are in the story yet.”
I rest my hands on her shoulders, feeling the chill of her skin. It won’t do to give without taking something away; the balance must stay with me.
She makes me think of such dynasties; the warrior barbarians of old who, despite their wealth and pomp, were savages to the core.
Civilization and bestiality run always into the same seam, just as the river carries effluent through the heart of London and out into the killing sea.
“I’m not afraid of you,” Nellie whispers, facing me. “Not in the way you think.”
I grip her chin, my other hand sliding around her waist. “I know what my pretty little hellion wants. You think I got away from you today, and now you’re ready to drag me back.”
She nods, dark eyes glittering, but she doesn’t smile. “That cunt had nothing to offer you. I’ve given you everything, Mr. T. What have you got for Nellie?”
“I wanna hurt you.” I bite her cheekbone, and she buckles in my arms. “You gonna let me have my way? Show me why it has to be you?”
“Yes.” Her eyes are closed, her voice distant. “Yes.”
“Wrong answer.” Her lids fly open. “It’s a quiet night and very late now. There’s no one around. Take a lamp and leave; you have one minute before I follow. If you make it through the park, I’ll find you at the other side and, on bended knee, demand your hand.”
Her jaw drops. “And if I don’t make it?”
I release her and step away. “Time’s a-wasting, treacle.”