Redemption

He hadn’t meant to scare the child. In fact, Conlin Nightingale had not even intended to be in the derelict building. He had felt himself inexplicably drawn to the decaying edifice despite the poor prospects of any reward for his efforts. Now he was disoriented, with a terrified girl cowering at his feet.

The tiny girl muffled a squeal as she shied away from him, her hands raised as if she expected him to strike her. “Please, Sir, I just want my teddy bear,” she whispered, her voice high pitched from fear. “I shan’t do it again. I promise.”

“By God, girl,” said Conlin, pressing himself flat against the peeling wallpaper. “You scared ten years off me.”

A Iifetime spent in the dark had given Conlin the night eyes of a cat, but the girl crouched before him now was little more than a shadow, barely discernable in the dark passage.

“You are not one of them?”

“One of who, girl?”

A crash of doors, and heavy footfalls deep within the dark answered his question.

“The professor, and those horrible men,” said the little girl, frightened. “If you are lucky, they will hit you.”

“Why?” Conlin was as confused now as he was frightened a few moments earlier. “What is this damned place.”

“If you are lucky, that is. Sometimes they do much worse.”

“Is there any way out of here, girl?” he said, glancing furtively over his shoulder as another door crashed in the dark, closer than the last.

“Oh, there is no way out, Sir.” The girl was adamant. “When they bring you here. They have you for ever and ever.”

“No such thing,” said Conlin.

“Ever and ever.”

He could hear voices down the hall now, indistinct but angry. Getting closer.

“Quickly,” said the girl, reaching out to him. “We must hide.”

Taking her hand, he was surprised by her strength. Half-dragged, half-running, Conlin followed the girl. She passed through a broken doorway, into a room even darker than the hallway. Before he could say anything, he was dragged into a large, rickety-looking wardrobe. The door would not close completely with him inside and Conlin could discern the yellow glow of gas lanterns growing in the hallway.

Soon the glow became a stinging glare, and the voices more distinct. “Where is that ugly little slut?” The words were half hissed and half growled.

“She’ll be even uglier after I slit her guts. The bloody dogs can have her,” said a second man

Though he could not see the girl in the dark of the wardrobe, he heard her fearful whimper.

Holding his breath, Conlin clenched his eyes shut. Even so, he could feel the hot glare of the lantern as it washed over their hiding place. “What was that?” the first voice said. “I heard something.”

The second wave of heated light passed over them. “Only a rat,” answered the second. “Little girl making you jumpy, Cutter?”

“Fuck off, Cracker, you tosser,” Cutter retorted. “She won’t get away this time.”

When the wave of illumination had passed, Conlin chanced a peek through the crack in the door. They were both big men, several inches taller than him. Their faces, partially revealed by the glow of the miner’s lanterns fastened to their belts, carried the pudgy broken nosed features which identified thugs the world over.

Cracker merely laughed. The same heartless rumbling that would accompany a dirty joke, or a man dying at his feet, without distinction. Conlin knew that sound from bitter experience. They would be armed, and confronting them now would be futile, probably fatal.

When the glow of their lanterns began to fade, Conlin crept from their hiding place. Peering around the cracked doorjamb, relief flowed through his body as the lights turned and faded around a corner. He felt rather than saw the girl at his side. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Iris, Sir.”

“Don’t call me, Sir. I might be a bastard, but I am not a Sir. Call me Conlin or Con. Anything but Sir. Why do they want you so badly anyhow?”

“I don’t know, Sir… Con. I just want my teddy bear. I can’t leave until I find him.”

“Well I want to get out of here,” said Conlin, looking toward the disappearing lights. “Tonight has been a real wet arse and no fish.”

Iris stepped quietly into the hallway. “Come, I can show you a way you can leave.”

Con followed Iris down the hallway, pressing close to the wall, listening intently for any sign of their pursuers. After turning down identical looking corridors Iris stopped. “It is not far from here, but we must be careful. Those bad men are always nearby.”

“Well, let’s get out of here then, eh?”

At the next intersection, Conlin motioned for Iris to wait. “Wait. Something doesn’t feel right. Let me check.”

A dull squeak of metal on metal dark corridor burst into glaring light. “Hullo, bastard,” said Cutter. “Where are you going with our little girl?”

Conlin sensed, rather than saw the billy club arcing toward his head. He threw himself sideways, exhaling sharply as the club glanced off his right shoulder. He heard Iris scream as his momentum carried him across the passageway where he braced awkwardly against the wall. “Run, girl,” he said as Cutter advanced from the glowing haze of raised dust, club raised.

He ducked under the blow when it came, easily evading the wooden club then driving his elbow into the large man’s midriff. He spun away as the bigger man staggered, but didn’t drop. He fired a fast left-right to Cutters kidneys, hoping to drop the big man. Instead, he roared and swung round, leading with his elbow. Conlin felt his nose crack under the blow and he was helpless to keep himself from overbalancing, landing heavily on his back. Through watering eyes he watched the hazy shape of Cracker grab Iris by her hair. “Got you now, you ugly little bitch.”

“Con. Help me, please,” she screamed, as the thug dragged her to the floor.

“You’re fucked now, the pair of you,” said Cutter, grinning as he swung the club at his head.

Throwing himself to the left, Conlin caught the stick on his right shoulder a second time. He rolled back, knocking the club from Cutter’s grip before shooting his foot up into the big man’s crotch. Cutter groaned and doubled over, clutching his groin.

Rising, Conlin said to the incapacitated thug, “You are bloody lucky I have other things to do,” and kicked him in the knee. Cutter howled and dropped to the floor trying to hold both his injured knee and testicles at the same time.

Cracker dragged Iris backward, laughing at the tiny girl’s terror. “Mister Paine knows just what to do with little pixies like you.”

Ignoring his throbbing face, Conlin rushed at the big man and leapt on to his broad back. He wrapped his left arm around Cracker’s thick neck, pulling his head back. Taken by surprise, the thug let go of Iris’s hair and grabbed at his own throat, trying to pry loose the arm.

Conlin locked his aching right arm in behind the brute head, turning his body into a vice. Uttering a strangled grunt, Cracker lashed in vain at the smaller man’s face, seeking his eyes. He then threw himself backward against the wall, trying dislodge his rider. His face planted firmly in his mount’s back, Conlin clenched tighter as rotten plaster caved in around him.

Eventually the big man’s struggling began to subside, and his huge body sagged. As soon as his feet were planted on the floor, Conlin released his two handed grip. He stepped back as the unconscious man slumped to the floor, where he lay motionless.

“Iris,” he said, stinging his fingers on the hot lamp strung on the knocked out Cracker’s belt. “Where did you get to, girl?”

“Hurry. This way,” came the answer.

Wrapping the handle of the lamp in Crackers cap, Conlin followed her.

“I see you again, I’ll fucking kill you, you little pansy.” Cutter was struggling to rise.

“You better see me first then, Hoppy. It won’t be your knee I break next time,” said Conlin as he turned into the next corridor.

Another turn brought them into a hallway lined with boarded windows. Holding the lamp in one hand, Conlin went from one to the next, testing each for a weak spot to make an exit.

When he pressed his weight against the final panel, the screws gave way with a tired groan. He made a gap large enough to fit his body through. Pushing his body out into the night air, he took a cautious look around. The nearby houses were dark and no one was on the street. Much simpler that way. Pulling the board away from the crumbling brickwork, he reached back through. “Iris, come on. Let’s get out of this dump. I’ll get you home.”

“I cannot leave.” Iris appeared in the wan light of the lamp. For the first time since he had found the girl, he saw her face. The puckered dark burn mark extended from her hairline, enveloping the left side of her face.

Caught by surprise, he paused. In that moment, her eyes locked with his and Conlin saw disillusionment wash over her face. Knowing he wasn’t the first to react this way upon seeing the girl, he felt shame burn under his skin.

“I must find my teddy bear,” Iris said.

Shouted curses rose from the darkened hallway, and when he looked the glow of a lantern became visible. “Take my hand, Iris. We can be away from here right now.” When he looked back she was gone. “Iris?”

“I’m going to cut your heart out, you little pissant.” Cutter limped along the hallway, lamp on his belt wobbling with each uneven step.

“Iris.” He repeated. “I’m sorry, girl. We must get out of here now.”

“She ain’t going nowhere, mate,” Cutter said, malicious glee in his voice. “She belongs to us now.”

Knowing he could not do anything now to help her, Conlin tossed the lamp at the advancing thug and climbed across the loose roof tiles and soon was lost in the shadows.

***

“You left that poor little girl in that place?” Adelaide Bledloe said, incredulous. “With those and who knows how many other thugs?”

Conlin pressed the lump of bloody raw liver against his bruised face. “I didn’t exactly leave her there. She took off on me.”

“Suffer the little children,” said Father Donnell from the next stool. “I don’t remember the rest right now, but it will come to me. I’m not a very good priest.”

Careful not to drip blood in his mug, Conlin took a swig then said, “It’s my own bloody fault. She almost trusted me enough to come out of there with me.”

His companions remained silent as he finished his drink. “I shouldn’t have baulked like a bloody Sunday school teacher when I saw her face.” He shook his head. “No offence meant, Padre.”

“None taken, boyo. They are a bunch of damp hankies, to be sure.”

Adelaide put another mug in front of him. When he reached for it, she refused to let him have it.

“No,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Dellie, luv. There’s no point. She’s long gone by now.”

“Conlin.” Her stare was implacable.

After a moment, he threw his hands in the air, spraying blood around the bar. “Alright. You win. I’ll go and get the little bugger.”

“I always do,” Adelaide said, grinning. She let him have the ale.

“Can I at least have a kip first?” He said as he lifted his new drink.

***

It was just after dark when Conlin returned to the crumbling hospital building to search for Iris. The kitchen level window he had slipped in by the previous evening had been re-boarded since last night, prying it open again might attract more attention than he wanted. Looking for an alternative, he went to the street side of the building.

Though there were still people going about their business in the street, no one seemed to spare him any attention as he surveyed the run down façade, evaluating it as thoroughly as he would for any job.

Windows lined each of the three floors, and from his position, they all looked well secured, including the one he had exited by the previous evening. He checked the front door. The heavy chain securing the double doors was unfastened, hanging limp.

“Oh, that’s convenient,” said Conlin under his breath. “This rat is smelling a trap.”

Reaching into his satchel, he brought out his miner’s lamp and fastened it to his belt. He then pulled out the short-barreled revolver that he kept for special occasions and checked it was loaded.

“Well,” he said to himself. “This rat is about to go hunting the cats.”

Pushing the doors open, he went inside.

The entry hall was empty, as expected. Only an amateur would spring an ambush so close to an exit, and Conlin sensed that his foes the night before were not amateurs. Revolver pointed, he climbed the staircase. To keep the stairs from creaking, he stayed as close to the wall as possible.

“Iris,” he called as loudly as he dared when he reached the first floor. “Are you there, girl?”

No answer.

He crept down the hallway, quickly checking each room. “For Christ’s sake, girl. I am not going to hurt you.”

Except for the scurrying of rodents, the floor was silent. He went to the next floor.

He had only checked a few rooms when something scattered newspapers stacked deep inside one of them. “Iris, is that you, girl?” He entered the room.

A familiar voice greeted him. “Hullo, mate. Mister Paine thought you might come back.” Several lamps blinked into flame as Cutter limped into the yellow glow. Blocking the narrow doorway. “You’re trapped like a bloody rat now.”

“Five cats for one little rat.” Disappointed at being caught off guard two nights running, Conlin quickly scanned the men surrounding him

Cracker was among them, carrying a snapped off billiard cue. Three others had joined them tonight, each one as ugly as the next.

“So, rat,” said Cutter. “What are you going to break now?”

“Not sure yet, but it’s going to belong to you.” He quickly aimed and fired his revolver at the lamp on the belt of one of the new thugs. Taking advantage of the deafening report and the small bloom of blue flame at the man’s waist, Conlin charged at the heavies blocking the doorway.

He knocked the first off balance with an elbow to the chest as he rushed past. The second tried to grab him in a bear hug, but Conlin was a small target, moving quickly. He hit the brute full in the chest, and brought his head up quickly, striking him under chin and snapping his head back. They hit the floor together. The big manstayed down, but Conlin was up and running immediately. He turned a corner and twisted the iris on his lamp closed, enveloping the hallway in darkness. He had bought himself a few seconds to get away, but now he could hear the confused rabble mobilizing, and Cutter roaring and cursing at their head.

Moving as quickly as he dared, Conlin sneaked along the hall, looking for a place to hide.

“Con,” Iris whispered from a cluttered room as he passed.

Ducking into the room, Conlin said, “Iris, where have you been, girl?”

“There’s a place to hide.” She pointed to a ventilation grille behind some collapsed tea crates. “I used it hide in there sometimes when they hurt me.”

“Huh?” He turned to look at her, she was gone again and he could hear his pursuer approaching.

The grate pulled away from the wall easily, and Conlin wormed his body through the tight gap into the wall cavity. He turned his body enough to pull the grille back into place behind him. The lights of his pursuers filled the room. He held his breath as dusty tendrils of light intruded into the wall cavity.

He heard a few muttered curses and the lamplight quickly faded. Conlin pushed his body further along the cramped gap, trying get a view through the rusted metal grate. His bruised shoulder bumped into something wedged into the cavity with him. Cursing under his breath, he brought the little miner’s lamp up and twisted the lens open. Dark empty holes stared back at him from a small desiccated face, partially enveloped by a dark puckered scar. Conlin’s heart lurched as though falling, “Oh, God, Iris,” it came out as a muffled groan. “What the hell did they do, girl?”  His breath caught in his throat and he was forced to swallow a sob.

Willing the vision to disappear, he closed his eyes for a moment, regaining his composure. When he opened them, the tiny shriveled body was still in place, a threadbare teddy bear clutched in withered fingers. Blinking a tear from his eyes, he tentatively reached out and took it from her unresisting fingers. “You wanted me to find this all along didn’t you?”

He examined the tattered bear. It was old and much of its stitching was loose, allowing tufts of cotton stuffing to bulge through. He stuffed the bear into his valise. “I’ll make it right, darlin’, somehow.” He edged his body to the grille and pushed it out. He pushed his lamp out into the room and followed it, squeezing the top half his body through the small gap.

“For a bloke who does this for a living, you ain’t very good at it, are you?” said Cutter, standing off to the side, out of view from the hiding place. “You left great plodding footprints in the dust, you pillock.”

“Oh, shit,” said Conlin before Cutter hit him. Everything went black.

***

Conlin winced at the brightness behind his eyes. Attempting to rub his throbbing scalp, he found his hands were bound to his sides. Fibrous rope wrapped around his bod and old wooden chair, it wobbled a little as he tested his bonds. The room slowly swam in to focus. The contents of his satchel lay scattered on a bench close to the tiled wall. Iris’s teddy bear lay mangled in a pile of its own grey stuffing and yellowing paper.
“What the hell?” he said, struggling against the ropes.
“Ah, you are awake.” A man stepped into view.
“Who are you?” Conlin asked.
“I am Professor Robert Paine, of course. This crumbling edifice was where I did some of my best work.”
“Work?”
Paine sighed. “Are you dim? I have spent a lifetime studying the human brain and the affliction of madness.”
“Why am I tied to a chair?”
Paine plucked the yellowed papers from the bench. “This, my good man, is why you are tied to a chair in my old operating theatre.”
“What’s that?”
“You know very well what this is, you blackmailing piece of filth.”
“I’m not a bloody blackmailer.” Conlin’s head pounded harder now, as anger rose to meet the pain. “But once I get out of these bloody ropes I’m going to be a murderer.”
Paine regarded him curiously. “You are telling the truth, aren’t you?” He threw his head back and let out a braying laugh which reverberated off the tiles in the small room, making the throbbing in Conlin’s head more acute.
“These notes were written by that awful child’s mother, many years ago. She threatened to expose some of the more controversial experimental treatments I performed in this placer. That simply would not do.”
Horrified, Conlin said nothing. Paine continued.
“She was quite mad of course, and no one with any sense would believe her. But I could not afford that risk. She died in this very theatre, babbling like the loon she was.”
“Oh my God, you are a madman.” Said Conlin.
“Quite the contrary. I am the very model of mental health.” Paine laughed, though the sound had no humour. “I have always admired the pluckiness of the working class. Soon your struggles will be in the past.” He turned to the bench behind him and unfolded a leather wallet. Lamplight reflected in the edges of several razor sharp blades.
Conlin pushed against the ropes, hoping to loosen their grip. The chair wobbled precariously under the movements. He watched Paine take each instrument from its sheath, entranced by the golden light reflected in each blade as he examined its edge.
Shifting his weight from the rickety chair to his feet, Conlin lifted himself and the chair then dropped his full weight on it. He was rewarded with a woody groan. He quickly did it again. The chair collapsed completely under his weight, dumping him on the tiled floor in a pile of broken chair and loosened rope.
“I assure you, there is no sense struggling,” said Paine as he turned around, scalpel in hand. “Oh.”
The broken chair leg flew across the room and hit him between the eyes.
Attracted by the noise, Cracker threw the operating door open. The big man swore and raised his wooden billy club. Crouching over the unconscious Paine, Conlin plucked the scalpel from his unresisting hand, and quickly flicked it underhand at the approaching thug.  The razor sharp blade struck him just about the shirt collar, burying itself deeply in his throat.

Cracker forgot all about attacking Conlin. Instead he clawed frantically at his own throat, but his blood slicked fingers could not grip the small amount of scalpel handle not buried in his flesh. He dropped to his knees, croaking and dribbling blood.

Ignoring the bloody hoodlum as he slumped to the tiles, Conlin went to the bench and grabbed his satchel. He selected a long post mortem knife from the roll and stuffed the rest of them into the bag. The yellow papers followed the blades. Wincing at the surging pain in his head, he bent down and picked up the collapsed teddy bear. He gently wiped a smudge of blood from it before placing it in the valise. Fastening the dead man’s lamp on his belt, he started for the door, before he noticed the rope soaking up Cracker’s blood.

Conlin struggled down the hallway with his load. His deeply bruised shoulder protested in harmony with the split in his scalp. He came to the first staircase and paused, willing himself to climb. He managed the first two steps, grunting at the exertion. When he stepped on the third, the silent dark of the stairwell was shattered by a pistol shot.

Half falling, half rolling, Conlin dodged behind the wooden bannister as another bullet gouged a splintery hole in the stairs. “I’ve got more where that come from, you little prick,” called Cutter from the landing.

“Enough of this shite,” said Conlin, under his breath. Leaving his load at the foot of the stairs, he rushed toward the giant gunman.

He didn’t hear the first shot, over the blood pounding in his ears. The bullet hit him in the left side of his chest, glanced off a rib and buried itself in his left arm. “You bastard,” he screamed as the next shot hit him in the right thigh. He landed on his belly on the landing at Cutter’s feet.

“Hullo darlin’,” said the big man. “Roll over and let uncle cutter see your pretty face.”

Wincing, Conlin rolled over to face the large thug.

“I’m going to shoot your bloody eyes out, ponce.” He grinned a wide, toothy grin.

“I wish I had something clever to say right now,” and whipped the post mortem knife up across the standing man’s lower calf muscle, slicing the tendon off the bone. Cutter howled and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the floor next to Conlin’s head, spraying his ear and scalp with stinging splinters.

He rolled away and swung into a crouch as the big man dropped to his knees, revolver still pointed.

“I have you now, you little bastard,” Cutter spat the last word. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Conlin lashed out with the knife at the same as the little revolver discharged. Stinging grains of burning gunpowder spattered his face as he lunged through the cloud of acrid smoke engulfing them. Grabbing Cutter’s wrist, he twisted the big man’s arm and pulled it down over his raised knee. The bones gave way with a satisfying snap. The thug squealed and dropped the revolver.

“Told you I would break something else for you, you giant prick,” said Conlin, and crunched his right fist into his foe’s face. Cutter toppled backwards, flailing limply over each step until he came to rest at the bottom.

Conlin picked up his revolver and began gingerly descending the stairs. Cutter lay at the foot of the stairs, his head jutting at an unnatural angle on his broken neck. “I told you I was going to break…” He waved dismissively. “Never mind.”

Attracted by the sound of the skirmish, the remaining two thugs appeared out of the shadows. Standing bloodied over Cutter’s corpse, he pointed his handgun at them. “Which of you two goes first?”

Pulling up, they looked at the scene before them, then at each other before simultaneously turning and running in the opposite direction. When he could no longer hear their footsteps, he grabbed his load and continued, groaning up the stairs.

***

“Are you comfortable, Professor?”

Professor Robert Paine woke in darkness to the sound of Conlin’s voice. Attempting to move, he found that his hand and feet were bound with rough rope. Panicking, he tried to locate his former prisoner but the restriction of his bindings was compounded by the cramped space in which he found himself. He tried to answer but the handkerchief stuffed in his mouth and tied in place allowed nothing more than a muffled groan.

“Don’t speak, Professor,” said Conlin, seated on one of the dusty crates by the grate set loosely in the wall. “You’ll have plenty of time later.”

The professor fell silent.

“You have spent your life seeking to understand madness. Well now you have your chance to feel the fear and helplessness to goes with being mad,” Conlin said as he stood, wincing at the pain of his injuries. “And you will learn this all at first hand, in the very place that a little girl learned it while you were doing… such great work.”

He kicked the crate against the grille and walked from the room carrying the light, sheet wrapped bundle in his throbbing arms.

In the tight gap, the only sound was the professor's own breath, amplified by confined space. Tears coursed down his lined face, and by the time he could smell smoke rising through the wall cavity, Conlin was too far away to hear his muffled screams.

***

Conlin stood silently, Adelaide by his left side, her arm gently linked through his. They had chosen a quiet corner of the churchyard, where the sun shone brightly in the late afternoon. Father Donnell stood over the tiny grave stone. “Jesus said, Suffer little children,” he said, gazing at the couple standing nearby. “And forbid them not, to come to me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven. Amen” He smiled at them.

Leaning on the walking stick that concealed a sword blade, Conlin smiled as he felt the tiny hand slide inside his. No trace of the puckered burn mark shadowed Iris’s fair skin as she smiled at him, and held his hand. After a moment she looked toward the bright spot of late afternoon sun. A tear rolled down his swollen cheek as an expression of joyful recognition came over her face. She smiled up at him once more then withdrew her hand and ran to the golden spot of light, where she disappeared from his sight, leaving nothing but her remaining warmth in his hand.

“You are a good priest, Father,” said Adelaide. “The best kind.”

She looked at him. “Conlin, are you alright dear?”

He looked back at her, his crooked nose covered in sticking plaster and bruised eyes, faded to yellow and purple stains. His ripped and gunpowder tattooed cheeks rose as he grinned and wiped away a tear.

“Honestly, Dellie darlin’, I’ve never felt better in my life.”