Sins of the Father Read online

  “I have to tell you something. I was coming to see you even before I found your note. I’ve acquired some information that could be invaluable in putting an end to these murders. In fact, I know who’s responsible.”

  “What?” Flannery bellowed so loudly our driver turned and peered through the window. “Bloody hell, Gilman, why didn’t you say something? What’s his name?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t tell you. Not yet. There’s something I must show you first. At my house.”

  Strong hands grabbed me by the lapels. Flannery gave me a shake, banging my head into the back of the seat in the process.

  “Tell me, or so help me God—”

  “I’ll tell you everything, I swear. But it won’t make sense now. You need to see for yourself.”

  One of his hands slipped toward his baton and his eyes narrowed.

  “The only thing I’ll see is you on a slab next to your professor friend if you don’t tell me everything right now.”

  I tensed, thinking he’d decided to beat the answers out of me. Then he let go of my jacket and leaned back, his face still tomato red and his chest heaving. After several moments, he banged on the window for Anderson’s attention.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Change of plans.” Flannery spat out my address, all the while keeping his dark eyes fixed on me. The fury behind that gaze let me know what my fate would be if he didn’t believe me. Alone in my house, with no witnesses, I’d likely suffer a most unpleasant thrashing. My hand brushed against the pistol in my coat pocket and I prayed it wouldn’t come to that. But if it did, I was determined not to let anything stand in my way of destroying the evil beneath our city.

  Even if it meant killing an officer of the law.

  Still, by the time the carriage came to a stop, I was tempted to just leap out and run for the hills. Sweat dampened my hands so badly I doubted I could even hold my gun if I had to.

  Inside, I didn’t bother removing my coat. He’d believe me or not; either way, I’d most likely be heading back out again in a hurry.

  I turned on all the lamps in the room and motioned for Flannery to sit down.

  “Forget the damned pleasantries, Gilman. Spit it out or face the consequences.”

  “Do you remember those bruises on the necks of the dead men?” I asked, pulling up my sleeve.

  “How could I forget? No doubt made by some of those goddamned monsters. Fucking awful way to go, strangled like that.”

  “It’s worse than you think.” I held out my magnifying glass to him and pointed at the mottling on my arm. “Look closely.”

  “Are those…? How did you come by those marks?” His eyebrows went up when he recognized the signs of the beast upon me.

  “Just look.”

  He did, peering through the glass. “What am I supposed to see?”

  “In the center of each circle,” I instructed him. “A dark spot. Do you see them?”

  Flannery started to shake his head, then stopped. Looked again. “Yes. What about them?”

  “They’re injection sites. I first saw them on the victims when I examined their necks in the morgue. The same men who later came alive and attacked my friends and me that night. The night when you saw….”

  “Those bloody things inside them.”

  I nodded. “The creature that does this, he doesn’t just kill his victims. Within those tentacles, the suckers, there is something like a needle. It can inject a powerful drug to render someone unconscious. Or…it can do something much worse.”

  “Worse? You mean….” He put the glass down and regarded me with dawning realization rather than anger. “Are you trying to tell me that’s how these things breed?”

  “Like parasites, yes. They deposit eggs into their victims. At least, one of them does. I don’t know about the others. But the master, he can do it.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I’ve seen firsthand what he’s capable of. And there will be more of them. Many more. That’s why I was coming to you tonight. We have to stop this before it’s too late.”

  The suspicious look returned to Flannery’s eyes.

  “You keep saying he. Who in blazes is it?”

  The time had come for me to tell him everything. I both dreaded and looked forward to it. I needed to unburden myself, release the poison inside me. But I still feared his reaction, even though he seemed inclined to believe in the existence of monsters.

  Would he retain that belief when he received information far more unbelievable than what he’d seen with his own eyes, information so inconceivable it could make a person question the very teachings of God?

  There really was no choice. Not if I had any hope of gaining his assistance in my upcoming war.

  Wishing I had a whiskey to calm my nerves, I took a deep breath and began my story.

  “The night I was attacked in the alley and found that book, something happened that I never told anyone….”

  * * *

  For several moments after he finished reading the note my father left me, Flannery remained silent, his eyes closed, his head still tilted down. As I’d recounted everything that happened over the past days, I’d moved to one of the chairs in the sitting room and he’d done the same. I still craved that whiskey, more so than before. My hands trembled in my lap and my throat was dry as a dusty shelf. I remained seated, though, awaiting Flannery’s reaction, my nerves stretched to the breaking point. I remembered how he’d caught me unawares during his interrogation of me, changing from calm to violent in the space of a heartbeat.

  Finally, he opened his eyes and set the papers down.

  “Your father is alive. He found a demon beneath Innsmouth and it turned him into some sort of half-man, half-beast. And now he wants to take over the city using an army of the living dead. Is that what you want me to believe?”

  The inspector’s words hit me like a punch in the stomach. I sat back. So, this was how it would be. Henry Gilman, lunatic. Even after seeing the impossible with his own eyes, Flannery still couldn’t—

  “Bloody fucking hell. Silas Gilman. I was right all along.”

  “Er, what?” Had I heard him correctly? “You believe me, then?”

  “My da used to say Innsmouth’s not like other towns. He was a copper here in the old days, during the plague.” Flannery eyed me in a queer way. His words didn’t answer my question, and I waited for him to continue. He pursed his lips beneath his thick mustache, as if trying to decide what to say next.

  “I was there when they arrested your father.” The sergeant’s voice took on a cold tone. “I saw what he did. A monster, he was, playing Frankenstein with innocent lives. A real cold-hearted bastard too. Never expressed any remorse in court. If anyone could find a way to open the gates of hell and make a deal with a monster, it’s Silas Gilman.”

  His abrupt change of topic confused me, but his acceptance of my story overwhelmed any questions I had. A feeling of intense relief came over me, draining the strength from my body and the air from my lungs. He believed me! Had it been anyone else sitting across from me, I might have leaped up from my chair and shouted with joy. Flannery’s callous gaze kept me grounded, however. I inferred from it that he cared not one nickel about my gratitude, held no sympathy for my status as the biggest victim of all the dire atrocities carried out by my father.

  “How do we find him? And more importantly, how do we kill him and stop his disease from spreading?”

  His words made one thing perfectly clear: I was nothing more than a tool for Flannery, a weapon to be wielded against the forces of evil threatening his town. Which was fine with me. We wanted the same thing, he and I. For different reasons, to be sure. He wanted an end to the new plague threatening the town. I desired that as well, but even more than that my motives were based purely upon self-preservation. I’d never be safe, never be able to
live my life with Flora, if my father remained alive.

  “I can help with both of those,” I said. “But we’ll need maps of the city. Including Old Innsmouth. And fuel oil. Apparently fire nearly killed the beast once, long ago. This time we’ll finish the job.”

  Flannery stood up. “Aye, fire, that’s the ticket. And mayhap something more, to make sure the job is finished this time. We’ve got maps at the station. You show me where to go. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  I rose as well. “On one condition. I want to be there. I want to see him die with my own eyes. It’s the only way I can be sure.”

  He nodded. We didn’t shake hands, didn’t smile. We weren’t comrades, nor would we ever be friends. But we’d become allies of a sort, joined by a bond of mutual hatred. How would things be between us after we accomplished our task? Would he share the victory with me or cast me aside and hog the glory?

  I found I didn’t care. I no longer craved status as a hero, a clearing of my name.

  Because once my father was dead, I still intended to take Flora and get as far from Innsmouth as possible.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Time is running out.

  I stared at the maps of Innsmouth and Old Innsmouth spread across the table and tried not to listen to that inner voice, the one that kept speaking to me in time with the ticking of the clock in Flannery’s office.

  Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick.

  Time – is – run – ing – out.

  Except I couldn’t stop it. Not time, not the voice. I’d been staring at the maps for hours, while Flannery paced back and forth and occasionally tried to jog my memory by asking me yet again which direction I’d been headed, how long I’d been walking.

  I’d thought I’d remember enough of the details to pinpoint a block or two; narrowed down that much, it would be easy to find the building I’d entered.

  However, no matter how hard I tried, I continued to draw a blank. My memory, usually so precise, had chosen the worst time to desert me. Once over the bridge, I couldn’t even guess at which streets I’d taken, other than a fair certainty I hadn’t been headed toward the ocean.

  The maps were more than adequately detailed, including one that showed the major sewer openings. I’d used a ruler and pen to mark all the possible ingresses and egresses into Old Innsmouth and I’d connected them to all the locations where murders or disappearances had occurred. Then I’d drawn a circle around the area, using the intersection of all the lines as the center point.

  Except that area turned out to be more than ten blocks in diameter. Far too large for the three dozen or so officers Flannery had assembled while I struggled with my task. As far as they knew, our plan was a simple one: find the lair, shoot anything that moved, and destroy everything with fire.

  I knew it wouldn’t be that easy, however. So did Flannery, although he didn’t let on. He’d told his men we were after a gang of ruthless murderers who were hiding out in a cave where there also happened to be dangerous sea creatures. To their credit, most of them didn’t believe him, although none challenged him to his face. I caught more than a few murmuring to each other and making the sign of the cross. The officers who’d witnessed the events at the morgue had no doubt spread the word of what they’d seen, even though they’d been told not to. I hoped none of them decided to back out before we commenced our attack; already a fear of being outnumbered had taken hold inside me.

  That my father continued to build his own ranks was evident from the reports the station had received over the past three days. Dozens of men who hadn’t returned home from work, or never showed up for it. People missing from their beds. Children waking to find their parents gone.

  After a particularly disturbing message from the hospital – ten bodies disappearing while awaiting transport to the morgue – Flannery came to a halt beside me, his face pale and his eyes haunted.

  “Your bastard father is amassing an army.” Left unasked was whether I’d come any closer to locating the entry point we so desperately needed.

  I shook my head. What could I say? My father was fulfilling his promise. Three nights of infecting innocent people with his foul seed. And us helpless to stop it, at least until daylight. We’d decided the best time to move against Silas would be at noon, when he and all his spawn would be gathered in the cavern, awaiting nightfall to begin their assault on Innsmouth. We had no idea when or where my father would begin his act of war. Our only chance of victory lay in trapping them in one place, destroying general and soldiers alike in a single fell swoop.

  Flannery cursed and slammed his palm against the table. “We can’t let it happen again. Think, damn you!”

  This was his nervousness showing, the same way mine did through the tapping of my fingers against the table or the way my palms continued to sweat. Did the inspector’s bowels threaten to let loose every time he thought about facing the demon in the cavern? Did his heart clench in terror from imagining he might end up as one of the walking dead?

  For the first time in my dealings with Flannery, I wondered if perhaps his bluster and anger simply served as a cloak for his insecurities. Was that his secret to leadership? Turning his weaknesses into what people generally perceived as strengths?

  That line of questioning led to another. Had he, in fact, ever faced a situation that truly tested his mettle? It was one thing to engage in fisticuffs with some ruffian or scoundrel on the street, or risk a gunshot while breaking up a tavern brawl. Even murders in Innsmouth – before my father’s serial actions – tended to be crimes of the moment or simple burglaries. In most instances, the perpetrator was either caught red-handed and captured without much struggle, or simply shot dead while trying to escape. There’d certainly never been a murder spree the likes of which we were currently experiencing, even without a supernatural cause.

  The mayor and police chief had to be leaning hard on Flannery to put an end to the worst serial killer in history, far worse than someone like Thomas Piper up in Boston. Would he crack from the pressure before we even made it into the tunnels? Or worse, would he be unable to keep a level head when face-to-face with the beast from Hades lurking down there?

  And how would his officers handle such a profane sight? My own reaction had been one of abject terror so intense I’d nearly gone mad. If that happened in the caverns and his men deserted, the rest of us would be sitting ducks.

  Perhaps those same thoughts had taken hold inside the good inspector. Wondering if he could trust his men not to break ranks and run. If he could trust himself.

  If he could trust me.

  “Fucking hell. I should be out there, not pacing the dad-blamed floor like a virgin on her wedding night.”

  I opened my mouth to remind him we couldn’t do a damned thing if we couldn’t locate the beast’s lair, and that’s when the truth of his distress hit me. Yes, he might be a tad nervous, but it was his sense of duty more than anything that had his knickers twisted.

  I’d never imagined Flannery, he of the short temper and heavy fists, actually possessing a conscience. That being an officer of the law was more than just a job to him.

  He truly would rather have been out on the streets risking his life trying to stop another innocent from being killed than standing safe inside—

  Out on the streets.

  I dropped my pen as the answer to our problem appeared in my head. How could I have been so stupid?

  “What is it?” Flannery’s eagle eyes missed nothing, it seemed.

  “We’ve been wasting our time.” I pushed the papers aside. “I know how to find his lair.”

  “Spit it out, man.” He moved as if to grab my shirt and then dropped his arm when I stepped back.

  “You said it yourself. He’s out there—” I waved my hand in the general direction of the exit, “with God knows how many of those dead men. Gathering more.”

  “Tell me something I
don’t know.”

  “But come daybreak, he’ll return to his lair. And to do that, he’ll either cross the river or use the sewer tunnels that run beneath the city.”

  “And?” Flannery’s anger clouded his thinking; I’d expected him to see where I was heading.

  “All you have to do is place your men throughout the riverfront and waterfront areas, to keep watch for my father or his ghouls. Then simply follow them.”

  Flannery’s eyes went wide and his face grew even redder behind his beard. Had I said something wrong? I feared he might reach out and strangle me, and I prepared to dodge to the side. Then he did the one thing I didn’t expect.

  He burst into laughter.

  Not a bellow or a guffaw, more of a bark. Were it anyone else I might mistake it for a sick cough. But it was indeed laughter, because Flannery actually smiled as he choked out that hoarse sound.

  “Gilman, that’s genius! You’ve earned your pay this night. Show me on the maps the most likely places a man might make such an escape from town without being seen.”

  Thanks to the hours I’d already spent studying the layout of the city, I was able to quickly pinpoint several sites I thought would be appropriate. Flannery added others, based on the locations of the disappearances and the murder scenes. All were in close proximity to either sewer openings or places where catch basins dumped into the Manuxet.

  Teams of two were dispatched to each place and told to remain out of sight. If anyone or anything went underground, they were to follow at a discreet distance and then return with the directions. Each team would carry a map and pen to mark their way.

  “Whatever you do, don’t let them see or hear you,” Flannery instructed his men. “We don’t want them to know we’re onto them.”

  I wondered if Flannery would warn the officers they were risking not just life and limb by entering those tunnels but their very souls. He didn’t, sending them off with only a last admonition to ‘keep their blooming mouths shut’. He shot me a look as he said it, warning me to do the same. Perhaps it was wrong of him not to caution them about the perils they were about to face. Perhaps not. Danger came with the job. I understood that, just as I understood his reason for staying silent – you couldn’t risk having someone turn yellow at a critical moment. I didn’t envy him; if cops ended up dying tonight or tomorrow those deaths would be on his conscience.