Breachers: Viento and Bycote

Chapter 3

Chapter One

Monday, September 28

The night was bitterly cold. The type of cold that always signaled more bad weather was coming. Sadly, the thin shawl she tried to draw tight about her did little to ward off the encroaching chill and damp.

It was because of nights like this that she hated having to sell herself on the streets. But it was her occupation. An act that she performed as many times per evening as she needed in order to ensure there was food in her belly and hopefully a roof over her head where she could rest.

Tonight, however, she was afraid. No, she was terrified. He kept following her, relentlessly pursuing. No matter where she turned, the footsteps continued to echo behind her, coming ever closer.

By now the air was like solid ice. She gasped for every breath, and moaned when the pain shot from her lungs to her skull, but it would be nothing like the pain she knew he would inflict if he caught up with her.

Another corner, another alley, and she pushed through the fog, stumbling on the rough bricks, and nearly turning her ankle. She reached out with one hand to steady herself, and it came away from the wall covered in mucus-like slime, which she wiped on the folds of her skirt.

There was no one around this late at night, no one she could turn to for help, and the police rarely ventured this far into this part of town. At first, she tried to find her way back to the pub where she"d spent the last two hours trying to drum up a customer or two. Unsuccessful, she"d ventured out into the weather on the slim chance she would find a mark there.

Her belly cramped, and she felt lightheaded. If she didn"t score soon, she might swoon from hunger. Then there was no telling who might come across her, or what they might do to her whilst she was unconscious.

Although the moon was three-quarters full, another fogbank had settled in for the evening, obliterating any brightness filtering down from the sky. Only the occasional glimpse of illumination from the corner streetlamp, or from lanterns framing the doorway of an establishment, provided what meager light there was to see by.

To her relief, a hansom cab pulled up beside her, and a short, stocky gentleman stepped down from its interior. He approached her, a shiny coin in one gloved hand and the other nicely tucked behind his back as he bowed in her direction.

At first, she smiled at the man and took a couple of steps toward him as she reached for the coin, when her suspicions alerted her. She paused, the smile frozen on her lips. Too many years on the streets had given her a protective sixth sense, and now it told her to turn and run!

run!It was him. The man who had been tailing her. Rather than try to overtake her on foot, he had anticipated her moves. Herding her from the safety of the coach like she was a bloody sheep until he got her where he wanted.

Now within range, he followed behind her, moving slowly but with long, steady strides, as if he had no immediate urge to overtake her. It was as though he knew the twisting alleyways better than she, for no matter where she went, he remained no more than a half-dozen heartbeats behind.

In her fright, her sense of direction became skewed, and she suddenly found herself at the dead end of an alley. Momentarily, the fog lifted, and she saw the outline of a door to a tiny apartment set into the wall. Frantically, she beat on it, calling out to whoever was inside to have pity and let her in, but no one answered, even though she could hear movement inside.

She pounded again on the door, yelling louder, and a shadow crossed the edge of her vision. A presence neared her right shoulder, and she caught a glimpse of the shiny coin once more.

It was not a coin.

The blade sank deep, thrusting upward as its finely honed edge sliced through her body with little effort on his part as his other hand gripped and crushed her windpipe. The knife parted muscle from bone until it found the underside of her sternum, then it skipped back down to her belly and began a route horizontally from hip to hip.

The surge of pain stunned her. She could feel her own hot blood pouring down her skirt, over her legs, and into her shoes as it steamed in the cold air. One muddied hand clutched the sleeve of her attacker, and she raised her eyes to gaze into his face, wanting to know, needing to know his identity as he slit her throat. Death began to take her sight, and she struggled to focus. Her legs gave way. With a little shove, her murderer sat her up against the wall, but she began to slide down the rough stone, her mouth still open to call for help.

Somehow she managed to lift her chin, trying one final time to see the eyes of the dark man. Instead, the shiny red knife went up, then came back down, aiming directly for her face and her eyes, and the scream she uttered rose in her throat, but never made it past her lips.

As her life slowly ebbed away, the last thing she was aware of was the man bending his face over the open wounds, and the loud slurping noises he made when he drank.