Of Monsters and Madness (23 page)

I find Edgar’s coat on the floor of the armoire, just as I remembered. Shaking my head, I gingerly pick up the crumpled piece of clothing. But the sound of crinkling paper stops me.

Carrying the jacket over to the window, I look inside the pocket and find a small slip of paper. There are several lines written on it.

The last line is circled. I turn the paper over and find more scribbles there in a heavy hand.

And then just a single word:

I drop the paper like it just singed my fingertips.
Mr. Williams’s heart was missing, and it was later found beneath the floorboards
.…

Edgar had been planning that murder. He is the one responsible.

I go to the bed and remove Mother’s book from beneath my pillow, stroking the worn cover as I think about what to do. It repulses me to have to touch that piece of paper again. But if I don’t put it inside the coat, Edgar will know I have found it.

With a grimace, I pick the paper up from the floor and carefully place it deep inside the pocket. Edgar sits waiting with an impatient expression on his face when I return, and I toss the coat toward him. “There you are.”

He catches it neatly and stands. “You know, you have further need to thank me.”

“You shall have a very long wait, then, because I see no reason to thank you for anything.” I’m so upset that I forget I’m still clutching the zodiac book.

“Even though I have spared your father?”

His words give me pause. “Spared my father from what?”

“From being hanged as a murderer.”

“How have you done that?”

“It was rather simple. Your maid … Maddy … is it? She was the answer. When Mrs. Tusk’s body is found, she’ll be clutching a locket. A locket that belongs to the person who murdered her.”

He cannot mean …
“You intend to place Maddy’s locket on Mrs. Tusk’s corpse?”

Edgar tips his head at me. “Do you not think it brilliant?”

“How did you even come upon it?”

“I found it in the kitchen. She should be more careful where she sets her things. But then”—he shrugs disdainfully—“what do you expect from the help?”

“I will tell everyone the truth.” A blinding rage so fierce I have never felt the like comes over me, and my hands start to tremble. “I will tell them that you are the murderer. That I saw you standing over Mrs. Tusk’s lifeless body.” I grip Mother’s book tightly so I don’t throw it at him.

“I know what you did to Mr. Williams, as well. I have found your thoughts on murder,” I hiss. “In the pocket of your overcoat.”

“Not just me.” Edgar wags his finger. “You shall
have to tell everyone what your
father
and I have done to poor Mr. Williams.”

My stomach lurches. I’m going to be sick. “How could you?” I stare at him, and he grins delightedly.

“It was just another name on a long list, my dear. Williams was well acquainted with Mrs. Tusk, it seems, and they wanted to blackmail your father for money.”

The apothecary shop Mr. Williams was the same Mr. Williams I overheard Mrs. Tusk talking to Father about? Can it be true? Did he really have something to do with their deaths?

I am horrified by my thoughts.

The slip of paper with those horrible words written on it falls from Edgar’s coat pocket, and he stoops to retrieve it. He stares down at it in reverence. “These are not merely thoughts on murder. They are the beginning of a story.”

“A story? You are recording your horrors?”

“How am I to accurately write about something unless I’ve been a firsthand witness to it?”

I tear the paper from his hand and crumple it in my fist. “Have you no shame? These words are disgusting.”

He looks amused. “I wonder if you would think that if someone else had written them? Perhaps Allan—”

“Allan would never write such filth!”

“Wouldn’t he?” Edgar slowly reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small glass vial filled with brown liquid. Right before he uncorks it and puts it to his lips, he says, “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Twenty-Two

A
s soon as Edgar drinks the liquid, he starts to convulse. His body shakes so fiercely that I fear the vial will be crushed within his clenched fist. He throws his head back, and his jaw snaps shut. Deep moans rattle from between his teeth.

The sounds are horrible. It is like listening to a dying animal.

His head bows, and the bones in his shoulders creak. A ripple runs beneath his shirt and he slowly stands up straight. The convulsing continues and then he lifts his head.

The hint of a beard is no longer there, and the lines that were once etched deeply upon his face begin to fade away. His eyes soften, changing from small pinpoints of darkness to a deep brown that I’ve seen before.

The shaking stops. He blinks. And I realize it’s no longer Edgar standing before me.

It’s Allan.

“What’s happening?” Allan’s face is filled with confusion. “Annabel? How did I get here? I was just—”

My mind cannot comprehend what I’ve just witnessed.

“How did I get here?” he says hoarsely.

“I … I don’t know.” I’m as confused as he is. How can this be? Where did Edgar go? How did Allan come to be standing in his place?

“What happened?” He takes a step toward me, and without thinking, I draw back. Surprise comes over his face, and then it turns to horror. “Dear God …” He looks down at his hands. “What have I done? Annabel, please, you must tell me. What have I
done
?”

“N-nothing.” I take another step back, but then chide myself for doing so.
This is Allan. I’m not afraid of him
. “Do you remember anything? Edgar was here only moments ago and then he—”

“Edgar? How do you know that name? I don’t like to use it. It brings back unpleasant memories.”

Understanding dawns on me. “
Your
name is Edgar?”

“My proper name is Edgar Allan Poe. The only person who knows me as such is your father.”

I put a hand to my cheek. I’m burning up. I must be overly tired and delirious from the excitement of the fire last night. There is no other explanation for what has just transpired. Glancing down, I see the crumpled paper in my hand. “Have you ever seen this before?” I hold the paper out to him and he slowly takes it from me.

Smoothing the creases, he’s silent as he reads. Finally, he says, “Where did you get this?”

“From Edgar’s coat.”

Edgar’s overcoat is still lying at Allan’s feet and he bends to pick it up. His brow furrows. “You said this was in
his
coat?”

I nod.

“But this is
my
coat.…” He shifts his attention back to the paper. “Have you read what’s written here?”

I nod again, hesitantly. “Several days ago, I met someone in the library who said he was my father’s second assistant. And that he was your cousin, Edgar.
We have met several times, and just now … moments ago … he was here. He was taunting me, asking what I would think if
you
were the one who had written the words on that paper.”

“And what would you think of me if I were to write such things, Annabel?”

Before I can answer, he turns away. “You would think me monstrous.” He grips his head. “I think it of myself. Why should I want to write of death? But in my darkest moments, I find that I am drawn to the macabre. To the underbelly of things we do not understand. Only when I lose myself can I write so freely, and the feeling is terrifying. To have no control, no remorse, no remembrance of events …”

He turns back to face me. “This is the truth of it: These
are
my words, Annabel. My darkest vice. My most dangerous secret. I am him, and he is me. I’ve never seen Edgar, but I know he’s there. I have no control over this. Over … 
him
. But whatever he is, he gives life to my words. Edgar is the worst of me, and the best of me. Without him, I am nothing.”

“I don’t understand. How can you be—”

Allan’s hands start to tremble. He clenches his teeth and his fingers curl inward. “I can’t stop it,” he
mumbles. “I haven’t taken enough.”

“Enough of what?”

“Tapping, at my chamber door. I cannot stop this tapping. I must …”

A deep moan cuts off his word. I reach for his hand. “Allan?”

He pulls away from me, convulsing violently. Shoulders hunching, back bowing, he lets out another inhuman groan and clenches his fists so tightly I can hear his very bones creaking. When he looks up again, his eyes are hard. His jaw shadowed. Deep lines mark his face, and I know that somehow,
some way
, it’s now Edgar standing before me.

Edgar reaches for the cane at his feet and twirls it once before affecting a casual stance. Smoothing back the hair that hangs in his face, he watches me shrewdly. “I expected more from you, Annabel. You are not surprised? Terrified? Repulsed by his weakness?”

“I …” My thoughts tumble so quickly over one another that I cannot keep them straight. Visions of Maddy’s mother fill my head.
Is Allan like her? Is he mad?

“You have no interest in how we became this way?”

I try to put the pieces of this puzzle together. “I
have heard of morbid changes in the brain that cause certain … afflictions,” I say slowly.

“An
affliction
? Is that what you think I am?” He laughs. “I am not his
affliction
. Although it was your father who ultimately released me, I guess you could say I’ve always been there, just below the surface.”

Edgar smirks. “Do you know that your dear Allan is quite mad? I’ve seen what’s inside.” He taps the side of his head. “All the bits and bobs that make him
tick
.”

With every word, he moves closer.

“He is nothing without me,” Edgar continues. “We are two halves of the same whole. Like the conjoined heart in the laboratory. But now I’m the only part worth saving, and it’s time to burn the chaff.”

Edgar moves swiftly then, grabbing my arm so hard I fear it will bruise. “I will not be controlled like this anymore. You will do as I say, or the next time I set fire to this place, it won’t be just your father’s laboratory. I shall start with your bedroom.”

“
You
started the fire?” My voice is barely a whisper.

“Your father made me very angry. He refused to do as I asked. So I took away the one thing that meant the most to him—his laboratory. Of course, the fire was supposed to have taken care of Mrs. Tusk’s body, as
well. Pity it didn’t burn entirely. Now she will be found clutching her murderer’s locket.”

Edgar started the fire.… And Grand-père was the one to pay the price
. Tightness wraps around me again, gripping my insides. “What did you want Father to do?” I finally manage.

“I want him to set me free. So I no longer rely on this cursed serum whenever I wish to come forth.” He holds up the empty vial from which he drank and smashes it on the ground. “Allan takes it after your father’s experimentations on him, to keep me away, but I want a cure so that when he drinks from it the next time,
I
am the one who stays.”