BIRMINGHAM, ENGLAND, 1921
MARTHA
10.
Martha tried to control her breathing as she followed him, hiding in the shadows of the buildings that lined the street. The night was dark and empty, not even the moon offering a glint of light. A thin fog had accumulated so that she could hardly see her feet beneath her, moving without being told to do so. In fact, in her mind she questioned whether this was the right thing to do, but something pushed her forward, giving her no other choice.
It was him. She was sure of it, couldn't have mistaken it if she'd tried.
"I'm going to find every single one of you and kill you." That's what she had said, what she had promised. This was the start of bringing her family back together, slowly mending what was torn by these men. They deserve to pay, Martha bargained with herself. They deserve to feel the same pain we did.
His silhouette grew even more obscure as the distance between them increased. Martha shook all thought from her head and focused on keeping him in her sight.
Suddenly he ducked round a corner, disappearing between two narrow houses. Martha cursed under her breath, sped up until she was running. The air was bitter, biting at her chest, and as she turned the same corner, Martha was plunged into darkness.
She didn't know these alleyways. Her hands trailed the side of the wall, guiding her. She paused for a second, held her breath to listen, but it was silent. She continued, stepping through the dark night as best she could.
If this was London, Martha could've ran through the streets with her eyes closed and landed back at home in time for tea. The ones she ran through now, though, were alien to her and impossible to navigate. At the end of the alley lay three more, each leading off in separate directions. There was no sight of the scarred man anywhere.
"Fuck," she breathed, damning herself for losing him. This was her chance, one of her only leads on Josephine. She wanted to sink to the floor and cry but her sister's face appeared again, followed by Sabini's, and then the scarred man's, and she knew that her only option was to find him and chase him, even if it took her until the sun came up. She would not stop until she had her sister back.
She asked Josephine which alley to take, found her body running through the left one. It led her straight towards the canal, the one she had traced and retraced earlier that day. She took another left, careful not to run too closely to the edge of the water, her hand still running across the brick wall to her right. Her palm stung and for a second she wondered whether it was bleeding, but the thought did not have time to pause in her head when she saw a figure in the distance.
He was not moving. She slowed down completely, caging her breath in her chest so it wouldn't give her away. As she got closer, it became clearer, the scene in front of her.
Two men. The scarred man - who was short and thick and burly - stood the furthest away. There was just enough light from the lanterns of the boats to make out his purple face and the way his eye leaked and squinted. He stared nervously into the barrel of the gun that pointed at him, held by another man, taller and slender and turned to the side so that Martha could not see his face.
She was so close now that she could hear his voice. The man with the gun spoke without emotion.
"You're one of his. You know what's going to happen to you now."
The scarred man gulped loudly, his tongue swiping his lips crazily like he had in Martha's bedroom as he pulled Josephine away from her. The thought of his disgusting hands on her made it flare up again, the instinct to hurt him. It was primal, something she'd never felt so intensely before, that rattled deep in her stomach. It made her lose control. Martha had built her entire life upon caring for her sisters. Without them she was nothing, and she would be nothing forever if she couldn't save them. If this is what it takes, she thought as she unclipped the bag Ed had given her and held the pistol in her shaking hand, then this is what I do.
She held it just as Ed taught her, both hands wrapped around the metal, her finger resting gently over the trigger. Her arms weren't shaking like she expected them to, her breath didn't hitch in her throat, she didn't feel sick to her stomach. It was easy to say that this girl wasn't Martha Smith at all.
She locked eyes with Sabini's man, whose face dropped in shock, giving her away. Suddenly, the man with the gun turned and pointed his weapon straight at her.
Thomas Shelby stood in front of her, his pistol drawn in between her eyes, and hers aimed at the centre of his chest.
"Drop the gun," she breathed, her voice surprisingly strong. She couldn't think about his narrowed eyes or his clenched jaw or the way he didn't cower under the threat of her weapon. It frustrated her. Why wasn't he afraid? But then again, he could've asked the same of her - she refused to be frightened by the gun pointing directly at her.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Drop the gun," she repeated, willing him to comply. After all, it was not Thomas Shelby that she wanted.
"I asked you a question," he spat, his voice rough like fine gravel.
Martha sighed and bit her tongue in irritation. She silently pleaded him, staring into his cold eyes. "Just drop the fucking gun," she growled.
The scarred man began laughing - a drawn out, evil sound that made Martha's skin crawl. She wondered what Thomas was thinking, prayed to God that he didn't think Martha was trying to help Sabini's man. If she didn't have to do this herself, she would've gladly watched Thomas kill him.
There was a long pause, both of them holding their breath. Tommy weighed out his options, and with a small nod, dropped his gun to the floor. It clattered loudly and Martha kicked it harshly to the side, listening as it splashed into the canal.
Thomas held his hands out slightly, unsure of her next move. With the gun still held in the air, Martha moved forward, turning her attention to the scarred man. Tommy breathed as he stepped to the side, out of the way.
"Where is she?"
The man laughed again. "I remember you, sweetheart. How could I forget?"
Martha's body trembled with fury. Every word from his mouth made her feel sick.
"Where the fuck is she?" Martha seethed.
He blinked and licked his lips, a grin spreading across his face.
"I'm surprised to see you've come all this way."
Martha cocked her gun and stepped closer, the sound ringing loudly across the dockyard. "That's not what I asked you."
"Alright," he gulped. "I know where she is."
"Go on."
"The boy won't last much longer whether we kill him or not, but the girl, well, we've grown quite fond of her."
If Martha's gun was shaking, she couldn't tell. All she could see was Josephine being hurt by him, by the disgusting creature that cowered in front of her now. She wanted to put a bullet in his head the moment she saw him, but he knew where Josephine was - it was her lifeline as much as it was his.
"Where's that other little sister of yours? The blonde one."
"Fuck you," Martha spat.
"You don't know, do you?"
He tore her heart open with every word. Bessie was safe, she knew it, safe with Ed and Beth where no one could touch her. She had to be. But what if they'd followed her?
"We've got her. Your little Bessie. For an eleven year old she's smart, but she's not very strong."
He fell to the floor before she realised what had happened.
It was so loud that her ears rung and she could hear her heart thumping loudly in her chest - if it wasn't for that, she would've thought she was dead. She was numb, completely, as though her body turned to concrete.
Thomas stood beside her, his arm outstretched, a pistol smoking from the bullet that had just left it.
The scarred man lay there, his head a mess of blood and skin and tissue. She had never seen something so horrifying and yet, strangely enough, the sight of his faceless corpse was less nauseating than his appearance when he was alive.
"No," she murmured. "No, no, no."
She looked wildly at Thomas, who stared back at her, trying to figure her out.
"You've killed him. Why did you kill him?"
"You weren't going to do it," he shrugged, and if her body would've allowed her, Martha would have screamed in fury.
She was so shocked that she couldn't fight back. "He knew where she was," she muttered quietly to herself. "He knew where she was."
Tommy took a step towards her.
"Who are you?"
She didn't answer, didn't even look up at him. Her gun hung loosely in her hand as she sighed. Tears slipped from her blue eyes, reminding him of rain, but she didn't notice. Her hair stuck to her face and in the moment she looked like someone that he couldn't put his finger on. He wanted her to look at him, but she stared only at the body of the scarred man, driven insane by the murdered hope of saving her sister.
"Telephone," she muttered. "I need a telephone."
Thomas paused for a moment.
"There's one at mine," he spoke quietly, as though he was forcing the invitation from his mouth. "Down the road."
"I need it. I need a telephone, I need to call on her now."
He took another step closer.
She suddenly shifted; stepped backwards, raised her gun at him. This time Tommy didn't hold his hands up, instead just staring back at her.
"You killed him. You fucking killed him."
She sounded defeated. Her grip on the gun was still loose, like she knew she wouldn't kill him. Even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't. Thomas Shelby was now her only lead back to Josephine.
Her arm fell and she closed her eyes. The sky above was lightening, a few birds still swooping through the air, unsettled by the gunfire. The clouds had thinned enough to show the moon, which looked down at them both with a sad smile. Martha's only solace at this moment was that, somewhere in this big city, Josephine would be staring up at the exact same sky.
"I need a telephone," she repeated, a little stronger this time, opening her eyes to see Thomas staring back at her. He swallowed, nodded and gestured her to follow him. And in the dark silence, she did.