What Tangled Webs Page 10

CHAPTER 5

   

  JACOB RAN INTO the pub and there he saw the same set of scoundrels and his own tattered coat. He put it on and walked toward the door hoping it had all been a wicked sort of alcohol-induced dream. There was Bald-and-Fat. In some sick way, Jacob was glad to see him. His thick hairy fingers wrapped around the tiny wrist of a young girl and sneered, clenching his teeth as he whispered a list of horrid duties which spelled out her evening. It was precisely as he shoved her away from the table that Jacob walked by.

  Light from the oil lamp cast on her hair and face and he saw it was not the young girl with the black hair and dark eyes. This girl’s hair was a deep red, her eyes a vibrant green and she had a star-shaped scar on her chest, exposed by her whore’s costume. He stared in horrified amazement and briefly caught the aroma of Caitlin’s perfume. Maybe it was his hell. Maybe he was doomed to return to the place the wager was made, to relive the nightmare over and again. Caitlin excused herself and gave him an odd glance. She placed her hands on her hips and smiled.

  “Would you like to haffa go then?”

  She leaned over and pushed up her breasts. The scar shined in the pale lamplight. He closed his eyes hoping the scene would change if he opened them again.

  “It’ll be one quid for me mouth and two for the other. I’ll do you right, sir. Send you back to the wife wif’ a grin,” she said.

  His eyes opened to find it was no longer Caitlin. A woman with a rotten smile and dirty hair stood there. The scar on her chest was missing and her eyes were dark and drunken and bloodshot. Perhaps Caitlin had only been a remnant from the visions he’d had while passed out in the alley. 

  “No,” he said. “No I thought you were someone else, miss.”

  “No bother, love. They all do,” she said.

  Those who heard the conversation chuckled as the woman sat back next to Bald-and-Fat and reached for her drink. He popped her hand as if she was a child sneaking a cookie. The rest of Corrigan’s buzzed with swilling and gossiping. Jacob left, entering the world outside and buttoned his coat, preparing again for a long walk home. There was no urgency this time. The worst had happened.

   

  ..ooOOoo..

  JACOB SLEPT WHEN he got home. He slept for an entire night and well past noon the next day. After waking, he spent a good while scrubbing himself clean and then put on a fresh set of clothes. He was as sore as if he’d been beaten. His feet appeared scarred, but the blisters were healed, as if they’d happened weeks before.

  You’ve been gone for weeks.

  How was that possible? His mind was on Caitlin and young Thomas Hynes. He prayed they were alive and well. Jacob had no love for the arrogant boy, but didn’t wish him death, at least not burning at the hands of the Devil. He wished that on no one. He wished for a fair fight, for a fair chance, for Caitlin to be truly happy with her choice, even if Jacob wasn’t it.

  Rested and dressed, he left for town. In a rare victory, the sun had broken through the clouds and it was warm outside. The ocean smelled fresh and clean on the breeze. Gulls chattered over rooftops and sunned themselves. Folks he passed seemed happy and familiar. So much time hadn’t passed. Surely, it had been just a dream.

  It took half an hour of walking before he again stood at the foot of those very same steps. He looked up at the Delaney house and felt cold. The visions of what happened ran through his mind again and again. The home appeared empty and he pictured the ashes of dead Thomas in a pile on the floor and the muscled, green devil as it stood holding Caitlin’s beating heart in its claws. The feeling overwhelmed him. Had it happened? Had the monster been real? Had everything changed?

  He wandered the markets looking for familiar faces until the sun set and found none. No Caitlin, no Thomas nor anyone else he recognized. All were familiar, but none were certain…and none were friendly. He could not equate a single name to a face.

  Jacob crossed the footbridge that headed out of town and onto a gravel road leading to his house. As he took in a deep breath of the sea air, his mind wandered to memories of days spent as a boy, working on the boat with his father. He remembered the seafood stews and spit-roasted fishes that his mother used to prepare. Jacob felt a longing for those times, happy times, and was ashamed of the mess he had fallen into. He sat and cried for his love, Caitlin…for his loss…for his sanity.

  A glint of light shone in the moonlight. He focused on the shiny object in the distance and closing in found it to be not one but two yellow-green orbs.

  Eyes.

  He saw a large animal. It lay wounded, and whimpering. He’d seen such creatures in books, but wolves had been extinct from the island for close to one hundred years. He stepped closer with caution. It watched him while it addressed its wounds. At ten paces away, Jacob stopped. He knew how dangerous wild animals, especially injured animals, could be, but something pulled him toward the beast. He could not help himself.

  “What’s the matter, friend?” he asked.

  The animal’s head rose and it stared for a moment before continuing to lick its wounds. Every so often, it looked up to check on its spectator but never showed any aggression or any fear. Jacob took another step, then another. He saw a gash on one of the animal’s legs.

  “That’s a nasty cut you’ve got.”

  He took another step, ten feet away now. The wolf whimpered and struggled to stand, to move away, but couldn’t. It settled again and resumed licking a large wound in its side, then what appeared to be a broken leg, then the gash on its other leg.

  What is out here that could do that to such a large animal?

  Jacob checked his pockets and found his knife, a fishing knife that folded into its handle, a present from his father and something he was never without. He scanned the surrounding area for a stick or a large rock. The knife was a comfort, but would require he get closer than he wanted. He walked a step further, unable to stay away. It was more mercy than interest at that point. He felt sorry for the creature.

  “If I leave you here to die, will I be able to sleep?” he asked.

  Jacob turned to leave the animal but it howled in pain as if it wanted the attention, as if it understood he was leaving. Its whimpers and howls made sense in Jacob’s head…almost like words spoken aloud.

  The thought of using a rock seemed cruel. It was weak and his knife would be enough. He felt that, knew it as an instinct. Jacob pulled it from his pocket and unfolded it. It was a thin blade, but sharp. Approaching the wounded creature, he held the blade at the ready and slowly extended his hand.

  “Take it easy now,” he said. “I don’t want you to suffer.”

  The beast folded its ears back, a submissive posture, as if ready for the sweet relief of death. Jacob laid a hand on its head and stroked the fur once, then again.

  “Easy now,” he purred.

   On the third stroke he grabbed the nape of its neck and plunged the knife into its throat as deep as it would go. The wolf yelped and coughed shaking its head and fighting to throw the foreign object loose. It flailed, jaws snapping and finally finding purchase on Jacob’s left forearm. Blood flowed quickly from the neck wound and out of the wolf’s mouth pouring hot stickiness all over Jacob’s hands. He twisted the blade and ripped it across the animal’s throat.

  “I’m so sorry,” he muttered and his eyes filled with tears.

  The pointed teeth were deep inside the meat of Jacob’s forearm and he felt the fangs scraping the bone. Jacob’s own blood flowed in quantity. His muscles tore loose as the wolf shook its huge head first to one side and then violently to the other. Jacob grimaced and cursed, howling himself. The knife found its way through the wolf’s windpipe bursting an artery on the other side, and the beast went limp in his hands. He slumped to the ground. Crazed and exhausted from the searing hot pain in his arm, he let go of the knife to pry its jaws from his flesh.

  After a brief rest, Jacob pulled his knife from the animal’s throat, wiped the blade and put it away. He wrapped his coat as a band
age around his arm and secured it as best he could until he got home. The walk was agonizing and he was mentally and physically exhausted. Again, he wept for his sanity.

  How absurd, these days have been.

  Upon entering his humble home, Jacob lit an oil lamp and began to clean and wrap his wounds. He wiped the blood from his forearm with a moist cloth to get a look at the damage. After several swabs, he found the skin was clean—in fact there were no wounds at all.

  He pulled the lamp closer to inspect and saw two rows of tooth marks lining his arm. Not puncture wounds, but white circular scars. Nausea took him just as when he had touched Harry’s hand and he felt the urge to vomit, leaning his head on the table and dry heaving toward the floor. The feeling passed quickly and was replaced with adrenaline. Pulling the knife from his pocket, he positioned the oil lamp at the edge of the table for better lighting and then hardened himself for what he was about to do.

  Jacob placed the point of the blade on his forearm, inhaled and then sliced a deep valley into the flesh. He watched the skin separate revealing muscle underneath, watched the blood flow forth filling the wound and spilling dark hot rivulets onto the floor. The pain was breathtaking. He felt faint for a moment, angry the next. He was crazy and now, he was going to bleed to death. Just then, a strange pressure built in his arm and as he watched, the skin sealed itself leaving a thin line of scar tissue and he knew it was true. The devil. Caitlin. The wolf. It was all true.