The Lost: Book Two of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 33

Wrenching my hands out of Lucius', I was immediately transported back into the room, back into the calm, steady stare of his blue eyes, back under the watchful gaze of Garrick and Harper who waited nearby. Garrick studied us with keen interest, hunkered down not far from where we sat. Harper, who clearly hated these little adventures of mine into the Underworld, stood leaning against one of Fenton's cars that had been moved into the garage, his knife held firmly in his grasp as he twirled it round and round, the tip scratching against the bonnet. His expression was wary, on guard, as if he half-expected me to return with the dead still hanging off my back and with the cold touch of them still imprinted on my skin, I wouldn't have been at all surprised if I had.

The second time wasn't any more successful than the first. In fact, if anything, it was worse because my first appearance had created such a stir, that when I returned, the spirits were already in a frenzy, searching for that light that they hungered for so much. Great cries and moans resonated through the air, wails of such torment that I clapped my hands over my ears to hear it as soon as Lucius' blue eyes faded into nothingness again and I was thrown right back into the thick of it.

They were waiting. Expectant. So full of tortured yearning for release that my previous brief visit to their prison had infuriated them and any joy I had witnessed on my first trip had been replaced with a desperate, needy rage. Their faces twisted with anger and impatience and I could feel the cold fire radiating from them in great violent waves.

And there I was, in the middle of them all, nothing but this teasing, tormenting light that could do nothing but deny them over and over again. And so once more, they swarmed towards me, pleading, begging, tearing me apart with their misery and once more I was overwhelmed by the force of the tide.

Wait, I cried out, trying to placate them, please, wait.

Help us, they replied angrily, you will help us.

This wasn't how it was meant to be. This wasn't how it was meant to happen. I was supposed to be helping them, I should have been comforting them like I had before but every one of my pleas fell on deaf ears. Every one of my efforts to calm them failed and only seemed to ignite the crowd even further.

Stop, I pleaded, stop. I will help you, I will find a way.

The way, the way, the way, they repeated but they didn't stop. I couldn't breathe. Bodies pushed against me, hands pulled at my arms, tugging, threatening to rip me apart and all the while, I was aware of them, the dark ones, their distorted, melted faces leering at me through the chaos. They embraced those souls closest to them, digging their yellowed talons into their shoulders as they whispered their lies and hatred into their ears, grinning with glee as they watched me flailing and panicking amongst the hoard.

The hands grabbed at me again, this time, some digging their nails into my flesh cruelly and I struggled to free myself from their brutal grip, frightened by how enraged they were.

I couldn't do it. I just couldn't.

Eventually, dismayed at my own dismal failure, I deserted them yet again, pulling away from Lucius and scrambling across the oil-stained floor until my back hit the wall, where I sat with my head in my hands, feeling the slick sweat on my palms.

Nobody said a word.

When two tiny brightly-coloured trainers appeared in front of me, laces knotted in a double bow and the tongue poking out over the bottom of his jeans, I glanced up to see Lucius standing there, his face blank as he looked down at me.

I groaned. "Please Lucius, no more. I can't do it."

Without replying, he sat down directly in front of me, with his feet just touching mine.