Love Makes Us Monsters

The Gurneyman

“Another fire?” I asked an officer at the scene.

Before us, another Shoreditch home was up in flames. The blaze was beginning to die down. With how hot it still felt, I couldn't imagine how it would have been at full force. The policeman I was speaking to and his fellow officers kept the crowd back a safe distance from the inferno.

“Yes, ma’am, another one.” He sighed in frustration as he tugged at his cap. “This makes the fifth one within the last week. We are no closer to finding the reason or suspect than before, either.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

I went to scan the crowd. In my mind, I went through the common denominators of the scenes. I scanned the crowd again. This time I was looking for a small boy; a boy that had been in each crowd of every fire similar to this. After a minute of searching faces, I had found him and rushed to where he stood. He did not notice my approach; his eyes mesmerized by the flickering flames that still engulfed the building.

“Boy,” I placed a hand on his shoulder but he gave no response. I shook him lightly. “Boy, what are you doing here?” No response. His eyes were fixated on the fire. His lips moved but I could not hear the words. “Boy?” He turned his head towards me then, his eyes looking strange as the pupils were enlarged, and smiled.

“The fire burns it all away. Why can’t it make the other things go away?” His strange eyes started to well with tears. “He said it would make it all go away.” His smile turned to anguish; tears fell from his eyes. “I wanted it all to go away, but he keep coming back. Again and again, coming back. Coming back.”

I couldn't understand what he was trying to say, his words a handful of pieces to a puzzle. I did not know how to answer. I pulled on his shoulders, bringing him close, and held him in what I hoped was a comforting embrace. His soot-covered hands clenched fistfuls of my skirts. As he cried, he also used the skirts as a handkerchief, smearing them with snot and tears. I rubbed his back gently, thinking of what to do. I needed to bring him to the police station without alerting him to my intent.

“Do you have more? Do you have more of the tablets?” His puffy eyes looked up at me hopefully. Tablets? “I need them to get better. The Gurneyman says it will make it all go away.”

So that is what his odd behavior was for.

“When did this gurneyman give you the tablets, dear?” I tried to keep my voice calm, soothing, despite the panic that surged through me. I squatted down to be at eye level with the boy. Placing a hand on his cheek, I asked again. “When did you get the tablets?”

“The Gurneyman has been giving them for a while now. Do you have more? I need more…” His voice was so desperate, it caused an ache in my chest. This poor boy… Opportunity was knocking, though. A plan quickly formed in my mind.

“I do not. However, I will take you to your gurneyman and we shall have him give you more. May I carry you? You seem tired, darling.”

“I do feel tired…” the boy mumbled.

He looked to be about the age of eight. His frame was small with hardly any meat to him; merely skin and bones. His hair was matted and rumpled as if he had been on the streets for a whie now with no way to properly bathe. Had this boy anyone to take care of him? I smiled warmly at him as he sniffled. Quickly, I picked him up, realizing as I did just how little there was to him. The boy weighed practically nothing. He nuzzled his face into my neck, his breathing felt labored and irregular. Should I take him to a physician instead?

“Ma’am, is that boy alright? He does not look to be faring well.”

The crackling voice that spoke was an older man with white wiry hair. He had spectacles that were too large for his thin face. Age had not set in well for this man, as his ears had drooped and his face was cracked with many deep wrinkles. Something about this man struck me as odd. I could not explain it, but my other sense was setting off warning signals.

“I am a physician, ma’am, if you would not mind me taking a look at him?”

He tried a smile. A rotting, toothy smile that made my stomach churn worse. I felt the boy shift in my arms. He had turned his head to look at the old man that stood next to us. When he spoke to him, I understood why.

“Gurneyman, look, I did it. Do you have more? They keep coming back. More, please, sir? I need more…”

The old man’s rotting smile wavered as his eyes flicked to me. He was guaging my reaction. With being my father’s daughter, I had gained the skill of hiding my emotions and reactions when needed. Nothing like mastering the skill when your father was as strict as mine. I tightened my arms around the boy. The physician started to reach for him.

I ran just as he was about to get his claws on the boy.

Just in time.

“Get back here!” I heard him yell after us.

The boy clung to me weakly, then hid his face by burying it into the nape of my neck once more. I held him more firmly. I needed to get him to the police station. Inspector Daniels might know how to keep the boy safe. I turned sharp corners, still hearing the yelling of the old man echoing a ways from behind. I had to lose him or at least get to my destination. My boots felt heavy on my feet and hard to manuver in.

Ahead I could see the station, a pair of officers standing idly outside.

“Help!” I shouted to them waving an arm franticaly to get their attention. “Help us, please!”

The officers turned in confusion. I took a chance to glance behind me. The old man was gone. The usual bustle of the street continued as if we had not been chased moments ago. I hoped that meant that we had lost him. I rushed over to the officers. They all blinked at me as I took a moment to catch my breath.

“Is Inspector Daniels…here?” I managed after a minute. My heart still pounded in my chest. I held the boy closely, praying he would be alright.

“Daniels? He is not in today, ma’am. Is there something that we can help you with?” one of them asked.

“Please. I need the Inspector.”

“He should be at home, ma’am.”

“Can someone please, please go and fetch him? A physician as well.”

I ambled up the stairs and into the building. One of the officers from out front had followed. He brought a chair over for me to sit. A kind gesture, as my legs felt wobbly now that the adrenaline was gone from the chase. I sat and muttered a thank you.

“We sent for the Inspector. He should arrive within the hour. A physician will be here as well within that time. May I ask what happened, ma’am?” It was the same officer that had gotten me a chair. He held a cup out to me with steaming tea. Gratefully, I accepted and downed it within seconds. It was hot going down for sure. It did the job, though, quenching my parched throat. The boy had managed to fall asleep in my arms; his breathing still labored but more regulated than before. Sleeping off the effects of the tablets he had spoken of most likely.

“I have reason to believe that there is a physician that is using this boy for criminal means.” I did not want to delve into the details. When would the Inspector get here? “That reminds me. Keep an eye out for an old man. Large spectacles. White hair and a rotted-out mouth. If your men do see him, I suggest putting him under arrest for the Inspector to question later.”

The man nodded.

“I understand, ma’am. I will alert the other officers.”

With that, he was gone. I held the sleeping child for what felt like an eternity. Where was the physician I had asked for? Had they found the old man that chased us? Where was Inspector Daniels?