Fallen (7 page)

The bird fluttered and squawked
disapprovingly upon Tom’s arm.

Tom scolded the bird. “Now off with you and
tell Mr. Sinister I’ve brought someone special to meet him. Brody
West from America.”

The bird took flight, bouncing Tom’s arm
with its weight as it leaped away. The bird flew out of sight among
the clothing high above us. I very nearly leaped out of my skin,
turning to find a tall lanky man standing almost on top of me.

The man stood nearly seven feet tall,
wearing dark trousers and a coat. He was unshaven and had dark
circles, like streaks of soot, under his eyes. A black derby sat
upon his dark shaggy mop of hair. He smiled at me with perfectly
white teeth that reminded me of a predator. He extended one of his
hands, which had been hidden behind his back. Long black nails
reached down to take my small hand in his. “It is a pleasure to
make your acquaintance, Mr. West. I am Mr. Sinister.”

I stood there speechless. His sudden and
menacing appearance unsettled me more than I can say. Had I
searched the entire world for a description of the man, I would
never have found one so fitting as his given name.

Mr. Sinister regarded Tom standing next to
me. “It seems Mr. West is quite speechless, Tom. Perhaps you can
enlighten me as to how he came to us?”

Tom motioned toward the door in the building
to our right. “Come on, Brody. We’ll get you something to eat while
I talk to the boss.”

I tried to turn and follow Tom, but my eyes
kept peeling back to look at Mr. Sinister. He seemed the sort of
fellow who might cut your throat as soon as you weren’t looking. He
continued smiling at me, though his thin lips had now come down
over his teeth. As I came through the door, darkness engulfed me.
Only the light from the alley, through the doorway, penetrated the
room. I looked back, wondering how close Mr. Sinister had followed.
The door slammed shut, seemingly of its own volition.

“Tom, where are you?” I cried in the
darkness.

An oil lamp’s flame rose in intensity across
the room, revealing Tom. “This way, Brody.”

He stood next to another door. Junk lay
everywhere around me—old papers, books and ragged clothing. I
walked through the twisted path cut through the heaps and came to
where Tom was already opening another door. He went through with
the lamp in hand. I followed.

“What happened to Mr. Sinister?” I
asked.

“Oh, he’ll be along in a moment.” Tom
stopped and turned to me. “Brody, Mr. Sinister is a very important
and powerful man. One piece of advice—don’t cross him.”

I stammered for an answer, wondering why
such advice should be given, or how I might cross the man. After
all, I was only seventeen years old and posed little threat to
anyone, least of all Mr. Sinister. Tom turned, continuing down a
narrow hallway leading to a circular stair rising through the
ceiling.

We ascended the stair and came directly into
a room filled with sewing machines on small wooden desks. Behind
each, a woman sat sewing material resembling burlap. Other women
labored at worktables cutting the coarse brown cloth into patterns
vaguely human in shape—each having two arms, two legs and a
head.

When two halves of the pattern were sewn
together, more women stuffed them with sawdust from a pile next to
their workstation. A hole remained over the heart of each crude
doll and into it went the stuffing. The final item added came from
a small pile of knick-knacks and accessories. Leather wallets,
handkerchiefs, hairbrushes, pendants, earrings and other sorts of
personal belongings lay there. Once one was selected, a woman
placed it into the hole, down in the sawdust, then stitched it
up.

I tapped Tom on the shoulder as we passed
through the large workspace. “Are they making some sort of
dolls?”

Tom shot me a sly grin. “Yeah, that’s just
what they’re doing. Nice aren’t they?”

I didn’t answer. In truth they were hideous.
Very poor workmanship. And they were as big as the women sewing
them. The hair was made of stitched-on straw and they had big
button eyes.

“Who in the world would want to buy one of
those things for their children?” I asked.

Tom patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,
Brody, it’s a very exclusive market we serve. Now, let’s get some
food into you.”

I followed him through, taking one last look
at the women and their handiwork. The whole scene became even
creepier to me as I noticed the expressions on their faces. They
seemed to be in a trance. Their eyes never fell to their work, yet
they completed the tasks as though born to them.

The woman nearest me worked a sewing machine
running two halves of fabric under the bobbing needle. I gave her a
little wave as we passed. She ran her hand right under the sewing
machine needle and stopped. She did not scream, even though blood
oozed out of her wounds. She simply backed up the needle, removed
her hand and went back to her work like nothing had happened. Her
eyes never ceased staring straight ahead toward the wall.

I stepped back from the little desk into
Tom, who had stopped and come back for me. “There’s nothing to see
here, Brody.”

I looked at him, my horror written all over
my face. I started to complain, but his stern look told me it was
best not to bother. Another life-sized doll flew from a worktable
to the growing pile in the corner. We moved on.

Tom and I took another two flights of stairs
upward toward the attic of the building. Here a host of children,
all boys of various ages, lit upon plain wooden bunks, rickety
chairs and even the rafters above. All of them wore the same shabby
apparel.

Most of them looked our way when we came to
the top landing and stood. Some of the boys smoked hand-rolled
cigarettes, still others smoked clay pipes. None of them looked
pleased to see us, which meant they were not pleased to see a
stranger among them—namely me.

Some of the boys, nearly a dozen of the
fifty or so present, sat huddled upon a long table near the middle
of the room dipping into a sizzling skillet of sausages. Someone
spoke up from behind them in a low voice and they scattered like
cockroaches, revealing Mr. Sinister seated at the head of the
table.

He spread his left hand to me invitingly.
“Welcome, Mr. West. Please sit down and have something to eat.”

Said the spider to the fly,
I thought
to myself. Still, how could I refuse?

Tom ushered me into the room toward the
table where Mr. Sinister sat at the far end. The boys watched me
from every corner of the room. I sat down on the opposite end of
the table. Several sausages waited in the iron skillet, their heat
fading. I reached for one. Roaches skittered across the table,
racing to the meat in the pan. I withdrew my hand in disgust,
trying not to be obvious.

“I’m not really hungry at the moment, sir.
Thank you, anyway.”

Two of the other boys moved on the pan and
emptied it quickly. Mr. Sinister’s eyes never left me. Even when a
cockroach crawled over his fingers resting upon the table, he
simply raised his hand near his face, waited for the insect to
reach his fingertips then flicked it into his mouth. It gave a
sickening crunch as he bit into the insect, but his gaze never left
me.

“What brings you to London, Mr. West? I
understand you are an American,” he said with interest.

I found myself nodding absently. His eyes
were like a serpent’s—hypnotic. “I came with my father.”

“And where is your father, Brody?”

“He was murdered two days ago, sir.”

“Oh dear, how terrible for you,” Mr.
Sinister said, the grin never leaving his face.

“I ran away…afraid. I didn’t know what to do
or where to go. The constable thought I was helping Tom and the
other boys, so they threw me into prison.”

Mr. Sinister’s eyes narrowed slightly as he
smiled even wider. “Yes, Tom certainly has been a naughty boy, but
how fortunate for us that we should make your acquaintance.”

I looked at Tom. He stood against the wall
nearby.

“Well, at any rate, I’m very glad that Tom
saved me from the hanging. I saw a boy hung upon my arrival in
London. It was terrible.” Tom frowned at me while his eyes dodged
to the back of Mr. Sinister’s head.

I knew immediately that I had given away
something I shouldn’t have. For his part, Mr. Sinister never
stopped grinning at me, although his eyes did squint slightly at
the mention of the hanging. “Really, Brody? I’m afraid Tom didn’t
mention that
yet.
”

“I was meaning to tell you,” Tom interjected
hurriedly. “Only it slipped my mind what with Brody coming to meet
you and all.”

Sinister ignored him for the moment, his
gaze never leaving my eyes. I had the distinct impression Mr.
Sinister could literally look beyond my expression into my mind to
see what I was thinking. Gooseflesh rose on my arms as a nervous
trembling attempted to overtake me.

“Tell me, Brody, exactly what happened when
Tom saved you…how did he ever manage it?” Now his eyes narrowed on
me. I felt Tom’s sidelong gaze upon me as well, probably wondering
if I would give away anything else. My only problem was that I
didn’t have a clue what parts of the story could be told and what
Tom meant to be kept a secret. I supposed our crossing into the
place Tom called Faerie must be completely off limits, but there
was little else to be said besides it.

I stammered, but at least came up with, “I’m
not really sure how he did it, but I am very happy to be
alive.”

With his eyes still narrowed, Mr. Sinister’s
smile vanished a little. “I’m sure you are, Brody.” He held up his
hand and snapped his fingers. “I think you could probably do with
some sleep, hmm?”

One of the other boys appeared with a
tattered blanket, waiting to lead me away from the table. I looked
out the windows. The gray sky hid the sun. I guessed it was only
dusk. Still, I didn’t want to anger the man. After all, Tom had
warned me not to cross him.

“I suppose, sir, if you think it a good
idea.”

“I do.”

My sleep that evening was fitful at best. I
had been tucked away in one of the bunks formerly used by the boys
who had been hanged while Tom and I had escaped. I didn’t ask if
Charlie had been sleeping here, but something told me he had.

I dreamed of them that night—the boys
sitting next to me while awaiting the hooded hangmen to come for
us. I remembered Charlie’s final questions about the pain he was
about to endure.

Then we were standing in a row again. The
Noose was placed about our necks. The switch was thrown. Charlie
looked over at Tom. Tom flashed the boy a devilish grin as a tomato
flew past him, hitting me in the chest. Then the floor gave way.
Charlie and the other boy—I had never known his name—dropped
through. Tom and I disappeared from before his eyes along with the
nooses about our necks.

Charlie hung there, wondering what had
happened to us. His neck burned—I could feel his pain radiating out
through his limbs. His head felt like a balloon about to pop as his
face turned blue. The boys dwelling beneath the gallows laughed and
jumped at his legs, fighting for a turn to add their weight to his.
Two boys latched on and his spine gave way with a sickening crack
that rang in his skull.

After the deed was done, as the bodies were
being removed, no one questioned the absence of the other two boys
who had previously been strung up with these two corpses. Any
evidence of our existence had been erased. We were not even
remembered.

The dream shifted, as dreams often do.

I walked down the cobbled streets of London
now. Dark figures loomed all about me—unmoving—like statues.
Thousands of ravens, like the one that had spoken to Tom, flew
overhead. Many more were perched upon nearly every surface—the
buildings, rails, lampposts, everywhere. And they were watching me
with an intensity that made me very afraid. They looked hungry.
Their raucous chorus filled my ears until I thought my skull would
split open from it.

One by one, the birds began to shake
themselves. Their feathers molted away as their bodies took new
forms. The ravens burst suddenly—the feathers, beaks and claws
swirling like living tar that became men.

The one nearest me became Mr. Sinister
himself. He had the same predatory smile on his face, the same
hunger in his eyes. He wanted to kill me. Whether he said it or
not, I knew it was true.

The other ravens transformed into men like
Sinister. They began to walk toward me, but I could not see
anything about their faces. Only their white teeth and devilish
eyes were visible in contrast to the darkness they had coalesced
from.

I started to run, but quickly collided with
one of the statuesque people standing in the street. I backed away,
pleading for help. A doll’s burlap face and button eyes stared back
at me. I screamed as it reached out to grab me. The burlap mouth
opened, revealing a cord-like tongue that lashed out, ensnaring me.
I was pulled inside like a fly into the mouth of a toad.

I screamed myself awake…only I wasn’t inside
the tenement with the other boys. I was mired in a pit full of
grayish mud. It stank like sewage and barely allowed me to move.
Thankfully the pit was not deep. I struggled to my hands and knees
against a sensation that the mud was sapping the very life out of
me.

A giant’s hand wrapped itself around me,
plucking me from the pool of muck like a ripe berry. He laughed as
he brought me up to his huge head to inspect his handiwork. His
ears were the size of an elephant’s and his bulbous nose was like a
huge tortoise upon his face. He also had two prominent bottom teeth
that jutted out from under his bottom lip like tusks. “Another
little mud man to make sport for us,” he bellowed.