The Unexpected Occurrence of Thaddeus Hobble (5 page)

‘I am but 16 years of age, you old dog,' Molly snapped back, slapping Stephen across the face. ‘You are old enough to be my father.'

‘I am not yet 30!' Stephen gasped. ‘Peter is older than I am,' he hastened to add, noting the coy look the pair had just given each other.

‘I may appear forthcoming, but that is just my nature. I am not to be
had
by any man, least of all either of you wrinkled old toads,' she finished.

‘Very well,' Peter responded with some sadness, ‘not that that is the intention of either of us. No, we are at you to dig deeper into the mystery of these murders.'

‘Why do you call them the culling?' Stephen iterated.

‘That is simply what I overheard at the Aubrey residence.'

‘Aubrey residence?!'

‘Yes – I am employed as a handy girl. I can put my hand to any task calling.'

Stephen and Peter didn't need to look at each other or utter a single word to know what the other was now thinking – Darren Aubrey had turned to murder. They both jumped the gun, conjuring up images in their minds that showed Darren actually doing the deeds. Were these to prove to be real or imagined would be the next discovery that these intrepid investigators were hoping to uncover.

* * *

Peter jotted something in his notebook, swiftly pocketing it as Stephen attempted a glimpse at its contents.

‘You may well be a fool scribing all of these happenings,' Stephen mused, half seeing the secrets within those pages via The Space's help. ‘They could fall into the wrong hands.'

Peter raised an eyebrow, thinking it unwise to do anything else. In fact, most of his energy was being used up trying to keep his mental wall up to deter prying from Stephen and others into his mind. It was becoming exhausting. The pair crouched down behind some shrubs outside Aubrey Manor – a rather grand title for a building which equated to far less than Hobble's abode. Nevertheless, Darren had managed to achieve minor wealth and enjoyed a relative life of comfort and ease due to activities likely enhanced by his connection to The Space. The man himself looked on from a small window in the roof, knowing full well what Peter and Stephen were up to. Next to him stood Anthony the silent, his bottom lip gaped and moist. His bulky arms lay clumsily by his sides as he stared vacantly at the inclined wall of this attic room. Darren clicked his fingers at the encroaching, yet dormant, giant and immediately Anthony turned to face him.

‘They are here, Tony – they have come to disrupt our enjoyment of things.'

Anthony frowned, which made Darren smirk all the more. He turned momentarily from Anthony to gaze upon a portrait of a brightly coloured parrot. Its beak open, and mirth and merriment writ upon the rest of the feathered face, Darren couldn't help but pet the image with a pat and a chin tickle. Anthony did not watch, instead focussing on anything and nothing. Perhaps he saw more than anyone else did – perhaps he saw nothing at all.

At that moment Molly walked in with a moist brown rag and proceeded to swing it loosely about the cobwebbed room.

‘What are you doing in here, girl?' Darren snapped, his attention taken from both the parrot portrait and the men outside in the shrubbery.

‘Cleaning,' she responded joyously, a twinkle in her eye.

‘Tis not needed here, the dust helps preserve my painting – move along and spruce other areas of my building.' He tapped his chin, adding: ‘Prepare a cold meal for Anthony… his concentration is beginning to slacken.' Molly huffed and departed, the door closing behind her. ‘Petulant thing,' Darren sulked, turning once again to look down on Peter and Stephen. They were gone. ‘Living off seeds,' Darren pondered, turning back to the parrot portrait, ‘what an existence.' Now he thought about Peter Smith, and he felt overwhelmed with loss. ‘He judges me,' he told the portrait, ‘he stands in judgement over me, yet The Space came to me also. Peter is as righteous as the rest of us – oh indeed!' He turned towards Anthony, to find the silent one had moved closer to him. ‘You are loyal no matter what miseries I wage upon you,' he said of the bigger man. ‘I see many miseries waged both upon and by me – are the two kinds any different?' There was no answer from Anthony save for a vacant stare. ‘Pity.'

* * *

Peter and Stephen had reached the building and were scurrying along it. The former was leading and pushed a huge thick bramble out of his way, which sprung back and caught the latter right across the face.

‘Careful,' Stephen winced as he pulled the thorny growth from his skin. Peter kept on moving forward. ‘Count yourself lucky you are to die in a few days,' he mumbled under his breath.

As he looked up ahead at Peter moving steadily along, his mind filled with the plain woman. It was as though both men were not actually attempting to gain access to Darren's house at all, but were instead in competition to reach her. He saw her just beyond Peter – who was nearer than he – and he quickened his pace, feeling he should have the lead and not his competitor. Faster he moved, desperation taking hold as he sensed Peter holding the advantage. It was not really to his true advantage, however, as his face was the first to meet with the huge log that Anthony swung at them from around the corner of the house. The Space had not warned them, and Stephen was not quick enough to react; he too went tumbling to the ground upon finding his face smashed with the heavy rough object. Darren appeared from behind his man to survey the carnage as Anthony lifted the log into the air, ready to bring it crashing down again upon the men. His master gently eased it down.

‘No, not yet – first we bring them inside,' he whispered joyously to the silent one. ‘I have made plans.'

* * *

‘The culling is a necessity, though I am not the perpetrator,' Darren explained as Peter and Stephen lay flat out on stone beds. Their arms were secured above their heads and their legs below, stretched out as tightly as Anthony could manage to pull. He now stood and watched from a distance in the dark stone-walled room as Darren waxed lyrical. ‘The deaths illuminate a very salient point of mine – The Space aides us only in bad.' He stepped up to Peter, poking his finger into one of the bloody gashes on his face. Peter cried in agony. ‘Not one accurate vision of the murders has been delivered to any of The Great Collective, nor indeed was a vision of the impending smashing of your faces. Bad is good.'

‘No, lies,' Peter yelled out, twisting his body as he tried desperately to free himself.

‘He's right, Peter,' Stephen whimpered, overcome with pain and apparent epiphany. Darren roared with joy.

‘The identity of the murderer isn't at all important here, it is the demonstration of The Space's preferences that we must focus on.'

‘It is a reflection of us,' Peter tried to argue.

Stephen began to weep. ‘You are truly right, Aubrey. Truly, truly,' he sobbed.

Darren nodded to Anthony, who came over and loosened Stephen's bonds. The pair helped him off the stone slab and eased him onto his feet. ‘You will join us, the new Great Collective – controllers of humanity's destiny.'

Stephen nodded in agreement.

‘No, no, NO,' Peter kept on.

‘Oh do be quiet. Tis a shame, you have a superb mind when pointed in the correct direction,' Darren cooed. ‘You have what, six, seven days left to live? You will live them down here in my dungeon, bound and starved. I trust you shall suffer… with any luck.'

The threesome made their exit, sealing the door shut and leaving Peter to his fate. He lay there, stretching his mind toward The Space, wondering whether it best he indeed just stay down here to rot. He had suffered before, and would suffer again – there was nothing he couldn't handle. In a way he felt quite pleased that Darren had removed him from the outside world to perish down here. It saved him having to do anything else.

The Space was at once with him, he knew it. He saw everything that ever was, is or will be rushing through his mind – the overbearing completeness crushing him down like an avalanche. It was all too much to comprehend, all too much to try and pick out what he wanted to know. It dawned on him that he didn't
want
to know anything – he wanted to die right there and then and never return. What he had witnessed so far in his lives was enough to set him wholly against this ‘gift' from The Space. The good was drowned out by all the evil, which far outweighed its counterpart – even the good, Peter now saw as a tiny step away from cruelty. He was completely resigned, completely accepting of the total extinction of himself.

From out of the shadows emerged a true guardian angel, the abundance of curly golden reddish hair falling about as she struggled to undo the binds Anthony had tied. It was Molly, come to rescue him. Peter wanted to feel devastation at this easy escape, but he couldn't help feeling some kind of appreciation for Molly for risking her own neck to do it. He now pushed The Space away in an attempt to block any intrusion from Darren into what was occurring. He could escape, he could solve the murders… he could make a life with Molly. No. He had just a week to live. He could make nothing whatsoever with Molly, or anyone else for that matter, and it was this that hurt him the most. There was the plain blonde woman – she would save him. Molly, who was currently saving him, helped him to his feet.

‘Your face looks a sorry sight,' she remarked, unable to take her piercing blue eyes off it.

‘Thank you.'

‘What now?' Molly wondered, aiding Peter's pained steps toward the door.

‘We inform Hobble that we have found our murderer.'

‘Master Aubrey? But, I heard, he says he was not responsible.'

‘That may be, but you can collect the reward and we can cause some trouble for Darren,' Peter chuckled through gritted teeth. ‘You will be your own kept woman with the money.'

‘And what about you, you will surely want some coin?'

‘Not I.'

Molly looked distrustingly at him. ‘What about doing the right thing? The real murderer will remain at large.'

‘Maybe Darren did commit them, perhaps he is lying?'

She moved from Peter ever so slightly. ‘You have changed.'

‘I am seeing more clearly now,' was his quick response.

‘You are seeing what you want to see, not what you should see.'

Peter narrowed his eyes, responding with: ‘You are saying what you think you should say, not what you-'

‘Do
not
speak to me like that,' Molly snapped back.

‘You are but a girl, I shall speak to you as I see fit,' Peter roared back, growing annoyed by this canon in front of him.

She slapped him sharply, which sent him tumbling to the floor. There he cried, unable to stop himself though not knowing why.

‘Now look what you made me do,' she huffed, folding her arms to keep them from doing any more damage.

‘You are so beautiful,' was the lump of flesh's sad reply.

‘And you are ugly,' she shot back. Peter looked rather accepting of and agreeable to this. Molly suddenly felt she had been a bit harsh. Yes, she did not find him attractive, but to hurt the man at such a weak moment for him wasn't the nicest thing to do. ‘Is my physical state the only thing that sets me apart from any others your sight may fall upon?'

‘I do try to see beyond the mere physical,' Peter flubbed, clearing his tears. ‘Such a thing is a difficult task for men.'

‘And for women,' Molly added.

‘Then, perhaps, we are on an equal footing?'

‘We are not equal,' she laughed, sticking her hand out towards him. At first he flinched, but eventually accepted her aid and got back on his feet with her help. ‘We shall go and see Hobble, but only to warn him about Aubrey and not accuse him.'

Peter nodded.

* * *

‘You come here to warn me about Aubrey, yet fail to deliver the name of my wife's slayer?' Hobble flounced as Peter and Molly stood in his doorway. ‘I am both perplexed and intrigued, and remain ill at ease as a brutal beheader remains at large.' His eyes flitted back and to into the distance above their heads. He stood aside and beckoned them inside. There, at the foot of the grand staircase, stood Willemina with her back to the guests. Her silence seemed deafening to Peter, and her stillness like a mountain top crashing into a valley below. He could not understand this piercing siren and had no time to dwell on her further as Hobble swept them into a side room.

Before he knew it, Peter found himself slouched in a ruby red chair with a glass of wine in his hand. ‘Tis the finest wine to ever pass my lips – do you feel honoured to be given it freely?' Hobble questioned, hovering over him.

‘Nothing is ever free,' Peter pondered under his breath, taking a sip. It did taste pleasant enough but nothing special. His eyes slid across the room to where Molly was seated. Hobble was suddenly now next to her – Peter had not seen him move. He poured the liquid into her glass and turned to smile at Peter.

‘You think me a foolish man to trust in Darren Aubrey?'

‘He is a wicked man, bent on wrongdoing of the highest order,' Molly answered, before Peter could even open his lips.

‘Yet you say he is not the murderer?' Hobble again asked Peter, a brief flicker in his eyes directed down at Molly. Peter cleared his throat, sitting up somewhat. ‘One is of course overjoyed at your warning of the aforementioned rat,' Hobble carried on just as his male guest tried to speak. He slowly slinked across the room to Peter, undoing his red velvet waistcoat. Out flopped a coin purse on a string and the seated one watched as it dangled in front of him. ‘Your reward.'

‘That is of no use to me,' Peter responded, his hand instinctively stretching out to take it. In an instant the sight of his own outstretched hand became blurred. ‘Give it to the girl.'

‘I fully intend to,' was Hobble's reply as he pocketed the purse and smiled.