The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

Chapter Forty

 There were mostly abandoned buildings on Hope Road. The windows had been shattered, and some of the walls were crumbling under the weight of the collapsed roofs. The gaslamp posts were unlit. How long had it been since someone bothered to use them?

As Trinket and Booker made their way down the street, she caught sight of a lone figure. He stood in the shadows at the corner where Hope Road met Vale End. As they drew closer, she found it was impossible to identify him with his oversized cap pulled down low and his collar turned up to keep the lower half of his face hidden. He kept his eyes trained on the ground, even as they approached. She couldn't imagine it would be anyone but the Resurrectionist standing in the middle of a dark road surrounded by abandoned buildings. A person would only meet here if they had specific business to attend to.

Booker gripped Trinket's arm, and she could almost feel the excitement radiating off of him. She sucked in a breath and gave his hand a squeeze.

Something moved by one of the abandoned buildings.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

Was it a person? Or a hallucination?

Without being too conspicuous, she glanced behind her. Nothing. Had it been in her head? She recalled the dancing shadows in her room and cursed her broken psyche for its ill-timing. Now was not the time to be seeing things. She needed to be on alert and aware of her surroundings.

You're going to fail.

You'll ruin everything.

The disembodied whispers did not give her much confidence.

She and Booker stopped before the lone figure. He gave a curt nod, and Booker returned the gesture.

"I see you took my advice and did not try to remove the beetle yourself?" Booker said, a mocking smile tugging at his lips.

The Resurrectionist shook his head slowly and turned his eyes back to the ground. Booker had clearly frightened the young man enough that he wasn't even willing to speak. This seemed to please Booker, as his smirk grew, though it was hidden in the darkness of the night.

The minutes ticked by, and they continued to stand in silence. Trinket's mind persisted in playing tricks on her, making her believe there were voices whispering in her ears or that there were shadows lurking behind the shattered windows of the abandoned buildings. She knew it would be foolish to brush the movement off as a figment of her imagination, but as she looked to Booker for some sign that he had seen them, too, he barely registered her attention. His fingers tapped restlessly against her arm, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"You did get in touch with him, didn't you?" Booker asked the Resurrectionist, his patience wearing thin.

Another wordless nod.

The silence wore on, and Booker became increasingly restless. Trinket's heart pounded in her ears as the shadows distracted her and the voices grew louder. She closed her eyes and swallowed, hoping she could will it all away. Holding on tighter to Booker's arm, she focused on the Resurrectionist. She at least knew that he was real, and perhaps this fact would help to ground her in reality.

After another minute or so, someone came running down the street. However, it wasn't Booker's friend. It was a young urchin girl. Her bare feet padded soundlessly down the road, and it was only her hacking cough that alerted them to her presence. There was a note clutched in her hand, and she made a beeline for Booker.

As he took the note from her, something dark and leathery darted in front of Trinket's face. She flinched but assumed it was a hallucination. That is, until she saw the Resurrectionist swat at it, lifting his lip in a snarl and revealing his yellowing teeth.