Coming From the Shadows Series
The grimy streets of Soho reflected the gaslight in oily puddles, each footstep of James Rutter echoing in the narrow alleyway; he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing; a cog in the Imperium’s dark machine that gnawed at the underbelly of London; tonight, that wolf was fat from his latest collection – wads of paper money buddled together, stained with ale and desperation; it bulged his coat pocket; ‘Protection Money’ he referred to it as – though ‘extortion’ was a much more honest descriptor
Rutter smirked, his mind already picturing the lavish dinner he would be treating himself too at the Royal Oak Public House in Victoria; running a hand over his pocket, he pulled some free from his pocket the paper crinkling like a crackling fire; he was so absorbed in his greed that he barely registered the shift in the alleyways ambiance – the familiar smells of stale beer and rotting refuse were suddenly overtaken by a metallic tang, sharp and unsettling.
A scuffling sound echoed from the depths of a passage ahead of him; a rat or perhaps a stray dog; it didn’t matter, he continued onwards, his boots crunching on broken glass and discarded bones of the downtrodden – then it came again, it was closer this time, a distinct clatter of metal against stone.
“Who’s there?” Rutter’s voice was a low growl, laced with the confidence of a man accustom to wielding power; no response came, just the oppressive silence of the alleyway and the insistent; drip, drip, drip of water
His curiosity piqued; Rutter pressed on, perhaps some foolhardy street urchin trying to pilfer a few coins; an easy target to vent his frustrations on; he revelled in the thought, the prospect of teaching some street rat a lesson.
He rounded a sharp corner and the alley opened up into a small, enclosed courtyard, shrouded in shadow; a broken crate lay on its side and near it, a glint of metal – as he moved closer, his hand instinctively reached into his coat pocket for the heavy handled knife he kept with him.
“Alright; come out” he said, his voice was sharp, laced with menace “I haven’t got all night”
A soft weeping drifted from the far corner of the yard; Rutter’s smirk returned; ‘Perfect’ – a frightened girl, probably lost and alone, he made his way forwards – his footsteps being deliberately heavy “Don’t worry” he purred “Uncle James is ‘ere to help”
As he rounded another corner, he saw a figure huddled up against the wall, obscured by the darkness; she was small, her head bowed; shoulders shaking from sobbing – Rutter chuckled, a low, guttural sound, he was a master of intimidation, honed by years of enforcing the Cult of the Minotaur’s Will across London.
“Come now” he said, reach out to touch her shoulder “No need to cry; tell uncle James what is wrong”
The figure, slowly shifted; raising her head – it wasn’t a girl, it was a woman, her face pale and gaunt in the dim light “You” she said; her voice a low rasp, it sent a shiver down Rutter’s spine, her eyes made him uneasy “You’re James Rutter”
The realisation hit him like a physical blow; this was not a chance encounter, this was no frightened child – it was a trap.
Panic flared in his chest, momentarily eclipsing his arrogance, he took a step back, his hand tightening on the knife in his pocket “Who are you!” he demanded, his voice losings its confident edge
The woman didn’t answer; instead she smiled at him, a slow, deliberate curling of her lips that revealed her sharp teeth; as she raised herself upwards, Rutter recoiled, turning to flee.
As he turned intending to retrace his steps to the safety of the alleyway he stopped, his breath caught in his throat – the only way out was blocked by another figure; the figure stood there like a silent guardian guarding his only means of escape.
He was trapped; cornered like a rat.
From the outline, it was clear that this figure was a woman as well; while his heart was pounding in his chest, his adrenaline surged through his veins – he was the predator, he wasn’t the prey; he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
With a roar, he charged towards the woman blocking his way out; his knife flashed in the dim light; he aimed for her chest, brutal and decisive.
She didn’t flinch though; with a blur of motion; she had sidestepped him and his attack, her movement had been fluid and graceful – and like a striking serpent, she had responded.
Rutter felt the searing pain on a downward angle through his arm; what followed sent him reeling back; his own knife clattered to the ground as he moved his right hand to grab the warm, wet soaked limp as searing pain engulfed his left side; then, there was a second, burning sensation that engulfed his leg before he crumpled to the ground.
His hands were now scrabbling for purchase against the hardground; the woman, looming over him, her face a mask of cold fury, in her hand she held a knife; its blade serrated and gleaming within the gaslight.
He looked up at her; now illuminated by the faint filtering light that came into the courtyard; her face held a grim determination that chilled him to the bone; he could see the cold fury within her eyes, a barely suppressed rage that burned beneath the surface; this wasn’t about money – it was personal “Who…, who are you?” he gasped, his voice a mere whimper
She slowly crouched down; her face inches from his “My name is Cathryn” she said, her voice was soft, but laced with venom “And you Mister Rutter; your going to suffer for what you have done”
Terror washed over him; colder and more profound than anything he had ever experienced; he knew what she meant, he recognised her name – he new the atrocities he had committed in the name of the Imperium, the Cultists; the Lives he had ruined, families he had destroyed – he had always thought himself untouchable, protected by the Imperium and their power, but here, in this dark forgotten corner of London – the Imperium’s reach was meaningless
He tried to scramble away; to put distance between himself and Cathryn, but his leg betrayed him; his movement had caused his injury to send a searing pain rushing down; he cried out in pain, his voice echoed in the silence.
Cathryn smiled; cruel and predatory “Don’t worry” she said “It will be all over soon”
She raised the knife; the serrated blade glinting in the light, he saw the intent in her eyes, the cold, unwavering determination; this would not be quick, this was going to be slow, painful – a reckoning for all of the pain he had inflicted on others.
He closed his eyes, a whimper escaping his lips – He, James Rutter was an enforcer for the Imperium, he had terrorised the streets, extorted the weak and revelled in his power – but now, now he was nothing; just another victim of the dark, decaying heart of London.
The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was Cathryn’s face, her eyes burning with a righteous fury that would haunt him for eternity; then the knife descended, and the alleyway filled with the sounds of his screams – London had claimed another victim, and in the shadows, Cathryn cleaned her knife ready for her next target.
Written By: Westley H.
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