Kronberg Crimes 01 - The Devils Grin

steered myself there, dropped down, and rolled up like a pickled herring.

Chapter Twelve

    The following day at noon, I had an appointment with Professor Rowlands, superintendent of Guy’s, and a reporter from The Times . I had dreaded this moment of making a show of myself. And I had dreaded the upcoming article, which surely would have little to do with what I would say during a predictably interminable interview. Unfortunately, the one reporter turned out to be three, who seemed to proliferate during the course of the day.
    It was very late when I finally left the hospital grounds. Three months of hard work with close to no sleep were taking their toll — my head was aching badly and I felt sick to the bone.
    My way home seemed endless today and several times I almost lost my orientation. Eventually, I made it into the small chamber at Bow Street. Lying flat on my stomach, I rested my head on the cold floor and fought the urge to puke. After a while I felt a little better and got up to replace my trousers with a dress to head home.
    As I slowly walked down Bow Street again, trying to avoid puddles of half-melted snow and mud, I spotted a group of young men. They were new to me. The streets were almost empty now and not a familiar face was in sight. The boys watched me approaching and I crossed the street to put some distance between us. My hair was standing on end when I noticed them following me.
    At the corner of Endell and Wilson I started panicking. I could see no one in the street except my pursuers. And that was the moment they chose to start running. Memories of the rape pushed themselves into my pelvis and I almost fainted, which annoyed and shocked me enough to wake me from the victim’s stupor. I started running as fast as I could, trying to picture a forest around me, to make me feel safer or more self-assured. The icy rain drove needles into my face and my feet slammed through ankle-deep puddles.
    The distance between them and me grew shorter and despair cut my breath short. After three blocks, the boys had caught up, and threw me onto the dirt road. For a second I thought how ironic it would be to drown in a puddle somewhere in London after having crossed the vast Atlantic twice. Almost amused, I realised that they wanted to steal my shoes and coat, while ignoring the purse with my money in it.
    Something hit me on the back of my head and the world started squealing silently. The boys’ shouts were dull throbs and the night turned from a dark grey into screaming red and orange. I could see only flashes of the things happening around me. Someone punched my face and abdomen, but the pain came with delay and felt oddly harmless. I felt the tugging on my clothes and shoes but it didn’t matter much to me.
    Then I heard the screeching of a tortured steam engine and saw a familiar face — a bear of a man with flaming orange hair sent the boys flying. Curiously, I got the feeling that the street and I were melting into a glutinous and sore mass, with the cold pinching ground and flesh into one. Then I flew, too. It took me a while to realise that someone had picked me up and carried me away. It was Garret.

    ~~~

    I saw his lips moving — his face was flushed and anxious. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. My vision was limited and I had the feeling of looking through a narrow tunnel. I meant to speak, but couldn’t hear myself making a sound.
    Garret brought me to a place that was unfamiliar to me. He laid me down and my ribcage hurt as he did so. Gradually, my senses returned. I noticed the cold, wet cloth wiping my face. The back of my head was throbbing badly. I managed to get my right hand up there and pain shot through my chest. I touched the raw mess just above my neck. My fingers pushed and probed but no bones seemed to shift — a fracture of the skull wasn’t likely. The knowledge relieved me greatly until I noticed that my hand was covered in blood.
    ‘Garret?’ I mumbled. ‘My head? Just look. No touching.’
    He turned me gently on to my side. I heard him breathing and it took a long minute before he turned me back again. His face was a mask.
    ‘Ya need a surgeon,’ he stated.
    ‘Don’t know one.’
    ‘Don’ ya act like a maggot, Anna, or I’ll eat yer head off!’ he barked at me and I flinched. Dimly I remembered that Garret always got angry when he felt helpless. ‘Yer a nurse, ya ’ave colleagues,’ he added apologetically.
    I could not think and could not come up