The Fall: Illustrated Edition (An Anna Kronberg Thriller Book 2) (35 page)

He closed his eyes and leaned his face into my palm. I stepped closer and he punched all air from my lungs with his embrace. We just stood there, quite still, him holding me and blowing fragile breath into my hair.

‘What happened to you?’ I didn’t dare think of James.

He straightened up, took a step back, and answered, ‘It was a short fight. Moriarty was mad with fury and flung himself at me to throw us both off the cliff. He is dead now. I saw him fall.’

I touched his shoulder. ‘Was it dislocated?’

‘Yes it was. I set it.’

‘Let me see.’ Stoically, I took his other elbow and led him to a chair. The same chair I sat on as Moran and… I wiped the thought away.

‘Does this feel numb?’ I gently squeezed his deltoid muscle. He nodded. ‘The axillary nerve is injured, probably from an anterior dislocation. In normal language: You fell, caught some handhold and swung rather violently, thus dislocating your shoulder joint. But you obviously know that already. I’m amazed you were under so much control and did not lose your grip. The pain must have been overwhelming.’

‘I am amazed at how much you sound like me.’

I dropped my hand and walked to the kitchen, the numbness accompanying me while I made a fire in the stove and fetched the kettle to get water for tea. He must have searched the house earlier — dried meat and bacon were still on the counter. That and a few beans and rye were the only things I had. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ I said and left.
 

Death was still waiting. She smiled at me while slowly dissolving into the blood-red sky.
 

Purpose held me upright. I walked to my neighbours’ and back to the cottage, feeling as though I had no substance and the gentle evening breeze might blow me away. I carried a loaf of bread, butter, fresh ham and the hen Mary had plucked from the roost, swiftly beheaded, de-feathered, and gutted. Also the bottle of cider John had pressed into my hand, his face stern and puzzled. Neither had asked a question, not even as I took Wimp the goose with me. Holmes had spoken of James’s death, but no word about Moran. He might still be alive.

‘What…’ got stuck in his throat as I entered the cottage with arms full of food and a grey goose in my wake. ‘Wimp,’ I explained. ‘She will sleep on the roof, the best guard one can think of.’

‘A rather odd name,’ he remarked.

‘When they found her she was no older than two days and very weak. The name stuck and she was too nice to be cooked.’

The goose walked through the kitchen, a
flap flap
of webbed feet, a
rat tat tat
of her beak investigating everything she could reach, just before she left a dropping on the floor. Beating her wings, she announced her delight.
 

‘Time to sleep, Wimp,’ I said while picking her up. She pinched my earlobe in reply. We walked outside, I climbed on the bench next to the cottage, and lifted her up onto the roof. Honking softly, she settled down, and I wished her a good night.

‘I forgot the water,’ I said. His glance showed understanding. I couldn’t stand still now; a collapse would come soon, but only after everything that needed doing was done.
 

The moments of bustling and eating were over too soon. The silence lowered itself heavily. An uninvited, but necessary guest. Two exceedingly tired people and only one bed; the thought made me stiff.
 

Holmes had found my tobacco pouch — a cow’s horn with a rubber stopper from my laboratory in London. He rolled a cigarette. Avoiding his proximity, I declined his offer and made one myself. He poured the cider and I decided to get drunk; at least a little.

‘Moran knows I am still alive,’ he said. ‘At the moment he should be on his way to Paris, assuming I’d be there already.’

‘How much time do we have?’

‘Two days, maybe three. We should leave tomorrow.’

One day of peace, and I wished it were a year. Or a lifetime.

‘I need to tell you what I did,’ I murmured. The silence broke, a crack running through the space between us. He turned towards me, his expression soft.

‘Do you really believe I’d judge you for marrying Moriarty?’ he said. I stared at him in disbelief, holding onto my glass so as not to fling it at him.

‘I do not care whether you judge me or not,’ I lied. ‘I will pack my belongings tomorrow. I’m too tired tonight.’ With that I left the room to sit outside, with the crooked cottage wall at my back, and the forsythia drawing lines in the pale moonlight at my feet.

I heard him step through the door. ‘May I?’ he asked, pointing to the space next to me. I nodded. For a long time neither of us spoke.

‘I’d very much prefer if you’d let me tell you my secrets when I am ready, not when you have observed and deduced them.’

‘My apologies. It was not my intention to intrude. It pains me to see you so…small. I saw it happening gradually, but everything was explainable and logical. Then, at my lodgings, I told myself you were hurt and very tired. But on the train to Germany, I had to admit to the facts and I was shocked at how much you have changed. I knew you as an upright woman, both feet firmly on the ground, chin always a little high, defiantly set, knowing precisely what you wanted and what the
 
right thing to do was. Now you appear so fragile, smaller — for lack of a better word — and as though you have turned away from the world.’

I gazed up at the stars; Venus appeared — a flickering pinprick followed by others more faint.

‘I think that in an odd way, James loved me, and that breaks my heart. And although the love he gave was selfish, it was the only one he knew. Who am I to judge his loving as having less value than mine? He always loved himself first and thus never lost himself, never broke himself nor let anyone break him. He died with his soul intact, or as intact as it ever was or could be.’
 

I had to control my breathing. ‘He killed my father and I must ask myself how much of the guilt I carry — all or only half? Had I been able to love him, had I not betrayed him, would my father still be alive? On the other hand, had I told James from the start that I would not work on a weapon that could kill thousands of innocent people, would he have killed my father at all or only me?’
 

I gazed up at him. ‘What is the truth, my friend? Do innocent people exist at all? Don’t we all carry guilt? The child causes pain to its mother during birth, so should it feel guilty for the rest of its life? When a man loves a woman without giving her his heart, is he guilty of causing her pain every single day? Or is she guilty because she cannot love him? Because the only love she knows is the all embracing one? The one that must give up all to gain all? Where and when did I make the wrong decision? I cannot see it. And I cannot trust my own judgement anymore.’

‘May I?’ he said again, his hand offering to take mine. I shook my head. I wasn’t ready yet.

‘I am tired, Holmes.’

‘The thought of retiring has appeared very attractive to me lately.’

‘You would be bored within hours.’

‘Most likely,’ he said.

‘What did you plan for Moran?’

‘Not much for now. I find it more important to get you away from him than to try capturing the man.’

‘If I ever run across Moran again,’ I growled, ‘I will gut him. I might even enjoy it greatly.’

‘Precisely. Another reason to get you as far away from him as possible.’

‘How odd. Since I know you, I feel an urge to pull you close and at the same time the wish to run away from you. A constant push and pull.’

‘You will not feel better if you kill Moran,’ he said softly.

‘I almost lost my mind. I saw my own Death today. She was a woman. Isn’t that curious?’

‘Why did you try to kill yourself, Anna?’

‘I would think that obvious.’

‘No, it is not. You have succeeded in bringing Moriarty down, you gave me identities of men I had no clue were involved with him. In fact, the very heart of his governmental branch was revealed by you!’

‘I cannot find that very significant at the moment,’ I said.

‘Wasn’t that why you insisted on staying in his house?’

I laughed bitterly. ‘Yes. That was what I wanted. But now I weigh these small accomplishments against the too high price others had to pay.’

‘Many more people would have to pay if we hadn’t stopped Moriarty.’ He sounded a little exasperated.

‘It will happen anyway. Technological and scientific advances happen, regardless of what you and I believe is right or wrong.’

Silence fell. The goose had moved to the roof’s edge to sleep closer to where we sat. ‘It isn’t your fault that he murdered your father,’ he said.

‘I thought I couldn’t live, if he and you were both dead. What an odd phenomenon time is. Often, a single minute is insignificant. And then, the flightiest moment decides over life and death.’

‘Your revolver was wet.’

‘I would have taken a knife.’

‘You will have to live with the push and pull for a while, Anna. I will not let you out of my sight. You and I will pack our bags and go for a long walk.’ He said all this in his typical matter-of-fact fashion, as though any opposition would be futile.

‘What were his last words?’ I asked.

He cleared his throat. ‘Moriarty said that he was dying and would make sure you and I were taken down with him. I saw his blackened fingertips from the arsenide you had given him. How were you able to accomplish this at all?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
 

He tipped his head and continued. ‘He said his legacy will grow and impact the whole of Europe.’ There, he stopped and I got the impression he didn’t dare continue.

‘Tell me,’ I urged.

‘He said he enjoyed domesticating you.’

‘What precisely did he say?’ My voice quivered.

Holmes exhaled slowly. ‘My wife was a lovely toy to play with. A wild cat that needed taming, domesticating, and finally breaking. I enjoyed it greatly.’

My head fell into my hands. My shoulders began to shake.

‘I am with child,’ I whispered and it sounded as though I had screamed it, so overbearing was the reality as soon as the words were spoken. Then I broke. I grabbed his hand as though it were the only thing that could hold me, wept his shoulder wet and then his chest. How curious that one can endure so much when there is no alternative. But once safe again and the tale is told, reality rises to bring all the pain, guilt and shame. One is left to wonder: how did I survive all this? Maybe I did not survive after all and another self must emerge from the dark hollow I am in?

He whispered into my ear and I had to staunch the weeping to understand what he said. ‘Whatever happened, you are alive and he is dead. You have memories while he will be only one of them. You feel guilty, but he never felt remorse. You can go on and he will not. This is essential, Anna. He will not go on because you stopped him.’

(23)

Preview of
 

THE JOURNEY

— one —

Hear my soul speak.
 

Of the very instant that I saw you,
 

Did my heart fly at your service.

W. Shakespeare