Chapter Forty-Eight
Standing before her with a grin on his face and malice in his eyes was Doctor Charles Morton. “I don’t understand…You’re Thomas Clorren?”
“In the flesh, my dear Jaqueline.” He bowed to her, using his free hand to rip off his spectacles, then his beard, before he reached into his mouth and pulled out some padding he’d obviously had in his mouth cavity, padding out his cheeks.
And now without the disguise, she could see Thomas or the man she’d known as Tommy staring back at her.
Older, but she knew it was him. “Don’t you recognize me? ”
“You’ve aged,” Jack replied, glancing quickly over at Mrs. Thompson, glad the woman was standing firm, her gaze unflinching on Clorren. Jack turned back to face him. “But without your disguise though, I recognize you.”
“It was a good disguise, wasn’t it? Given you never suspected,” he continued. “Though I thought perhaps you out of everyone might have. I did after all give you a rather large clue.”
“‘A clue’?”
“My very name itself, my dear, was the biggest clue of them all. And you didn’t spot it,” he replied with a sigh.
“Your name?” Jack knew they were in trouble, with little way to escape the room, except through the door he was standing in front of. She had to draw him into the room to at least allow Mrs. Thompson to escape. But how, was the question?
“Yes. Charles Morton. It’s an anagram for Thomas Clorren. Did you not realize?”
“No, I didn’t.” She shook her head, seeing with clarity for the first time, the true madness in his eyes. “You did well masking that you were the Coffin Conjurer. Nothing but a pretend magician, butchering my father’s illusions by killing instead of performing the magic of resurrection.”
He pressed his lips tightly together, rage glinting from the depths of his gaze. “It’s the press who gave me that name. I prefer to use the name they gave my father, the Bloody Baron. A far more fitting name for my outstanding illusions. A name your family was instrumental in creating.”
Doctor Patterson moaned again from the chair and Jack glanced down at him, noting that the second strip of fabric she was still holding against his chest was now saturated in blood too. “You need to help him; he’s bleeding profusely.”
“Yes, you’re right, I suppose. I shall help him. He is my only friend, after all,” Thomas said, his voice oddly calm. “Back away to the far wall.” He motioned with his revolver to the wall, and Jack took a few steps backwards towards Mrs. Thompson, her eyes never leaving his.
Thomas walked over to Doctor Patterson and then reached down and yanked out her dagger from his chest, dropping it onto the floor beside his supposed friend with a shrug.
“I wish you peace, my friend,” he murmured as blood gushed from the doctor’s chest, soaking into the fabric of his shirt.
“Don’t even think about it,” he cautioned Jack, pointing his gun directly at her as her body instinctively began to move forward to help the doctor.
She paused and could only stare at Dr. Patterson as the light slowly faded from his eyes, replaced by the glassy gaze of death. “You killed him.”
“Yes. It was necessary,” Thomas said, almost as if they were discussing the weather. “While the dagger was stuck in his chest, it was keeping him alive, but as soon as I removed it, death followed practically instantaneously. The timing of which will be perfect, of course.”
“‘The timing’?”
“Yes. I shall make it appear as if you struggled with him while he was trying to set you alight as the Burning Lady, and just as he managed to light you on fire, you managed to stab him with your dagger too, killing him in the process of your own death. Staged all perfectly, of course.”
“You’re framing him?”
“I have to have a scapegoat for the Conjurer.” He shrugged lightly. “And given Ignatius is, or rather was, an orphan, the police will not question him being Thomas Clorren. His death will allow me to continue on with my own life purpose, without interruption.”
“You’re meant to save lives, not take them,” she accused.
“I am meant for a far bigger purpose than saving lives. Do you know how powerful it is to take a life? Anyone can save lives, but few have the dedication to kill. I didn’t want to kill my friend, but I had to.”
“You’re a monster!”
His jaw tightened at her words. “Don’t you dare lecture me on what I am! You have no idea of all that I’ve endured over the years. What your family made me suffer through.”
“My family did nothing to you,” she said with venom, raising her chin in defiance at him.
“They took everything from me!” he raged. “My father was locked up in an insane asylum! Do you know how everyone talked? How my mother was shamed? How we had to move from our house? How we had to assume new identities? How dare you say your family did nothing to me! They destroyed my life!”
“Your father killed my mother!” Jack yelled back at him. “My mother was everything that was good and kind in this world, and he took her from me and my father! And then you, you took my father from me also. The only family I had left.”
“Of course I took him from you,” he agreed.
“It was a poignant moment too, exactly on the fifth anniversary of the death of that whore of a mother of yours. Of course, before I set the fire, though, I spread the rumor of his financial difficulties, and then the rumor that he was thinking of killing himself! I must admit I thought locking you in that back room would have ensured your death too; however, clearly, that wasn’t the case.
I only found out a few years ago, which is what set all of this in motion.
I would have killed you earlier, but really, a twentieth anniversary to kick off my show seemed more appropriate.
So really, Jack, you are the one responsible for these deaths, not I. ”
“You deserve to be locked in an asylum!”
“You bitch!” he yelled, waving the gun at her before taking in a deep breath and another, staring at her intently while he seemed to be calming himself.
“But you will soon pay for your own sins, and those of your parents too. I think it’s worked out even better that now at least my parents can both enjoy watching you suffer while I kill you. ”
“Your parents?” She’d known the man was unhinged well before now, but she hadn’t known just how much, until now.
“Yes, my father is now in here.” He patted against his chest to where his heart lay beneath.
“You and the inspector made certain of that when you visited him. But I am content because I know he is with me always, forever watching me and constantly voicing both his displeasure and his approval of my actions. My mother is also here with us, and she praises my endeavors, as all good mothers should. Which is why I will avenge them both, and very shortly too, my dear Jack of Hearts. And what better way to do so, then in this, the twentieth anniversary year after your mother destroyed my father.”
“Your father was the one who killed my mother, Thomas,” Jack replied, noting that Mrs. Thompson had started to slowly shift towards the door. “My mother didn’t destroy him at all; his own actions did that.”
“You are wrong!” he yelled, stalking over to where Jack stood near the wall, spittle frothing at the corner of his mouth as he came to a halt in front of her, not noticing or caring about Mrs. Thompson.
“She was a jezebel, taunting and tempting my father, until he went mad from her spells. And you are the same! You taunt me and tempt me as I’ve never been tempted before.
” He paused, his gun still pointed at her chest, while he leaned his head against her neck and breathed in deeply.
Jack didn’t move a muscle, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how horrified she was of him. And perhaps if she kept his attention on her, Mrs. Thompson might be able to escape.
“Oh, you smell of jasmines. It’s such an intoxicating scent,” he continued to breathe in her smell.
“You know, I intend to possess you before I dispatch you to the grave, my dear darling girl,” he whispered into her ear, his breath sending an icy shiver of terror down her spine.
“Did you know that? I will have you as my father never got to have your mother, and in doing that, I will finally prove to him that I am worthy to be his son. Then I will kill you, just as he killed your mother. Though I will burn you instead of stabbing you. I did, after all, promise you that you would be my Burning Lady. And I am a man who keeps his word.”
Knowing this was likely the only chance she’d get with him so close to her, she faked a gasp as her eyes darted over to the door where Mrs. Thompson had been able to get to, pulling his gaze to that very spot too.
She moved with more dexterity than she ever had, hooking her fingers under the barrel of his gun and twisting her wrist to push the weapon downward and away from her.
Simultaneously as it moved, her thumb pressed the latch on the top of the revolver, opening the barrel with a click.
The cylinder swung forward, and the bullets fell out onto the ground with a clatter.
“No!” he screamed, realizing what she’d done.
“Run, Mrs. Thompson!” she yelled, pushing at Thomas with all her might as he stumbled backwards, his gun falling to the floor while his hands reached out and grabbed a hold of her skirts, pulling her down on top of him.
She scrambled to right herself, her eyes catching sight of her dagger just out of reach in front of her. Pushing herself from off him, she launched forward towards the weapon.
He grabbed a hold of her legs and wrestled with her, using his strength to twist her onto the floor, pinning her to the ground as pushed himself on top of her.
“You little bitch!” he screamed into her face, his breathing labored as he stared at her in fury and desire, his own hands pinning her wrists to the ground above her head.
She struggled against him, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Thompson grab the gun, then pick up a bullet, quickly chambering it before swinging the gun towards them.
“That’s enough!” Mrs. Thompson yelled, her voice piercing in its authority. “Off her! Now!”
She could see the frustration and reluctance in Thomas’s eyes as he turned to stare at Mrs. Thompson and the gun she was holding. With a curt nod, he slowly pulled himself off Jack and came up to stand.
“Good work, Mrs. Thompson,” Jack said, deftly jumping to her feet before turning and stepping towards the dagger.
“No, dear, please don’t retrieve the dagger,” Mrs. Thompson warned as Jack began to reach down.
The sound of the hammer of the gun cocking echoed loudly in the room, and Jack paused, glancing back to Mrs. Thompson, who now had the gun pointed directly at her. “What are you doing, Mrs. Thompson?”
“A mother’s duty, my dear.”