The Grimm Dossier

Chapter 34 - The Innocence

England, West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
St George, Skirrid Inn
5 November 1898, 5:47 p.m.

Benjamin watched as the dull cone of light from the lantern bumped against Kyle's back. His figure disappeared into dim darkness, lit only briefly by a flash of lightning outside the house, followed by a loud roll of thunder. Then Ben pulled out the flask again. He looked at the polished silver. As always, when he took a sip from it, he thought of his lost friend. Not of his death among blood and suffering, but of the man with whom he had laughed and experienced so much. It always reminded him how quickly life could come to an end. He tasted the desert sand on his tongue at the thought and remembered the metallic hue of his blood. Ben raised a glass to his old friend, then took a deep swig and slid the bottle back into his breast pocket.

The rain increased and swelling drums beat excitedly against the windows. Crowford had climbed the narrow stairs that led up at a steep angle.

He, on the other hand, watched the glow of light at his feet. The flickering glow of a prancing flame. No shadow of feet to interrupt him. Perhaps the room was empty. Despite the background noise, Ben heard the sound from inside the room. Rain and the rumble of thunder quickly swallowed it up, however.

The doctor stared at the wood. Then he slowly pulled back the hammer of his gun. The cold metal pressed into his thumb, leaning against it, but he pulled relentlessly until it slid back. The ominous click was swallowed up by the rattling rain. The drumbeats of an orchestra rose toward a climax. Very slowly, he leaned closer to the door. He listened strained.

The wood swallowed up much of the sound, the rain blurred the timbres and they seeped away like waves in the sand. They left only a few inklings. A loud bang rent the air, outside a flash of lightning lit the area and a howl drove air through cracks and draughty places. Then he heard it again. A low, hoarse moan, as if someone was suffering severe pain. A groan or a creak.

His heart stumbled. Images and premonitions flashed before his inner eye. What if Kyle was right? What if Elly had cleaned and opened the window, but had been attacked? If something pushed the priest off a tower or sent a wolf to snatch a girl.... Ben thought of the pretty fawn eyes and how she might have been lying there in her blood. He thought of the girl, Sandra, and her condition. How she hung there, between roots and foliage. He thought of the boy lying in the grass beneath his fingers. So pale, with no heartbeat, no breath.... all the water and dirt from his lungs. Drowned because there was no one there to protect him. Just like he couldn't protect any of his comrades. How he had almost seen Crowford die because he had been too late there too. What if Elly was lying there, on the floor, needing help?

When he thought of all these things, of her pleading eyes and how she had begged him to protect her... it flipped a switch in him that he didn't even know he possessed. Benjamin stepped back and braced his foot against the opposite wall to secure more footing. Beneath his jacket, the former soldier's muscles tensed. Formed firm, hard strands. Pulling his shoulders sideways, he pushed off with a flourish, and with a loud bang, he crashed into the locked door.

Cracking, the lock broke from its hinge. The old wood was no match for a man of his stature. Wood splintered, and the door slammed open and crashed against the wall behind it with a loud bang. Benjamin staggered from the momentum two or three more steps into the room, only then did he manage to catch himself. With a roaring in his ears and a pounding heart, His eyes traveled around the room. They glided over every nook and cranny, every deeper shadow, and every spot illuminated by the light. Adrenaline made his senses buzz. And then he froze. A corpse hung from a thumb-thick rope. It turned slowly in the breeze pushing in through the window and the rope groaned dry.