Chapter 2 - Irene Baxter

Andrew looks up from a small pile of papers, the contents appearing to be new patient recommendations, to check a clock on the far wall. It is nearly seven.

He lets out a deep sigh, pushing further away from the desk.

“I’m not sure why I keep getting sent referrals, I thought I made it clear I was taking an indefinite leave of absence.” He lets out a huff, finding himself staring idly at his certification that hangs on the wall next to the clock.

Something taps lightly behind him, like a fingernail against glass, causing him to stiffen in his chair, his head craning that direction slowly. His breath quickens, the tapping echoing once more merely a moment before he fully turns. Nothing there. The wall and space behind him entirely empty. The room stews in uncomfortable silence, the absence of Andrew’s breathing as he holds it, and the lack of the tapping fills the air with anticipation.

 The clock chimes, breaking the eerie quiet and causing Andrew to gasp audibly, slamming his hands back down on the desk with a start.

“I must be going mad.”

The chimes come to an end, his breath catching as he double checks over his shoulder at the blank wall. Still nothing. His eyes roll and his breath begins to steady.

“Has it really been three days already?” He mutters to himself, standing and stretching his arms across his chest. The papers are shuffled and thrown into a box before he pulls the scarf back around his neck, lifting the lantern from its place and tucking away the pendant. Locking the door behind him, he leaves the office and the darkened mirror that hangs in the open space on the wall behind his desk.

-

Butcher’s Street is dingy, its cobbles slick with rain, the darkness of this early evening leaving it hard to distinguish features of the buildings. The previously heavy rainfall is fading now, out to a faint drizzle, highlighting two lantern lights that approach each other, out in front of a two-storey.

Dr Bentley’s tall frame is bastioned against the darkness. He stops a few feet from another silhouette, of a slight woman that is nearly a head shorter than him and holding a large, dark grey umbrella. She has fine and sharp features, mostly hidden behind a wide-brimmed, crimson felt hat; matching the full-length dress she wears.

“Ninety-three Butcher’s Street, 8pm. Right on time, Mr Bentley.” The woman’s voice is surprisingly husky, perhaps a regular smoker.

“Doctor Bentley, Ms Baxter. Before we start, I hope I am not prying by asking, are you in fact an employee of the Mayweather Estate? I couldn’t find any records of your work.” Andrew’s face fails to hide his suspicions as he eyes the building they stand outside nervously.

“Of sorts, I suppose. Should we head inside out of the rain? We can have a proper conversation then.” She gestures with her lantern, toward an oak door. The light reflects off the side windows, revealing nothing of within.

“Right, yes, of course, can’t be keeping a lady out in the rain.” Andrew coughs awkwardly as he follows Irene through the opening, turning his own lantern out as she places hers on a hook. Irene quickly takes off her hat, carefully hanging it on a rack just off to the left, revealing a tightly wound bun of light blonde hair.

“Wait there a moment, Doctor, leave your things by the door. I’ll get some candles lit so we can see what we are doing.” She hurries off into the dark of the room, getting a few candles burning alight in different areas.

Shortly afterward, she sets a low volume record of some opera playing, humming quietly to herself as she moves the furniture to accommodate a meeting. Andrew’s eyes quickly start flicking to different notable features of the room, first to the carpet that sits atop an old wood floor, it is a deep grey; almost purple, thick and soft.

Three cushioned chairs are arranged around a mid-sized dark wood table near the window immediately to the right of the door, the window itself draped with a thick woollen curtain that prevents any prying eyes. To the left of the door as you would enter is a reception desk, with shelves behind it lined with books and jars filled with unknowable substances. There is a walled off room taking up most of the space on the left beyond the reception, and the right of the store retreats into darkness, with just the barest outlines of what appears to be standing aisles leading further back.

“Over here, Dr Bentley, please, take a seat.” Irene has by this point lit just enough to see the front of the store and to keep the table she now sits at bathed in dim flickering light.

Andrew pulls out a chair, settling in, with a faint creak sounding in response to his weight.

“I should preface this conversation with a warning, and a request. I request that you trust I have no intention of lying to you, and you should be warned that everything I say here is dangerous, and you’d do well to keep it to yourself.”

“Please continue, Ms. Baxter, if you have information pertaining to William, I simply must have it.” Andrew shifts nervously in his seat, the wood creaking once again as he leans forward, placing his elbows upon the table.

“Firstly, some context. I have been working ‘officially’ as William’s personal secretary, taking care of organising his meetings and such, however more accurately I spend my time furthering his research. I’m sure you know that William was hired by the Mayweather Estate as an expert on infectious diseases?”

“From your phrasing, Ms. Baxter I assume my information is incorrect?”

“Not so much incorrect as incomplete, Doctor, you see, to start with you have been intentionally misled. You, as I am sure the majority of the public of this city will know the Mayweather Estate to be a privately funded institute that studies in and provides medical care and advice to both the authorities and citizens of the city. This is not the whole truth at all.” She stops to gauge his reaction. “In fact, William was hired based on his prior research on something he named the ‘Burning Stolen Light’, I sent you his book to read if I recall.”

“William wrote that? I only read a few pages, and it seemed like occult ravings.” Andrew’s brow furrows in confusion, and most likely irritation, considering the evidence suggesting his partner has been lying to him. “Why would the Mayweather Estate hire someone based on Occult knowledge?”

“I was getting to that.” Irene lights a thin cigarette off one of the nearby candles. “Because, in fact, the Mayweather Estate specialises in, and is often involved in, the destruction or containment of various Occult situations, be it sacrificial cults or otherwise.”

Andrew leans back in the chair, his hands trembling as he covers his face. Irene takes a long drag of her cigarette, exhaling a small cloud away from him, before continuing.

“William specialised in the research of a particular cult; one he named the ‘Burning Shards’. Who, evidence suggests, deify an unknown entity. To the point of attempting to bring its influence about in our fair city.” The low volume song comes to an end, the discordant noise of the needle grinding freely before coming to a stop as it winds down. The sound of gentle rainfall keeps the silence at bay as Irene allows Andrew to take in the information. “I am sorry to be the one to tell you all this.”

“If this is all true, where has William been this last year?” Andrew's somewhat sheepish voice escapes him, not moving an inch.

“The last case he was sent on was to investigate an ‘infection’ that began spreading in one of the neighbourhoods toward the docks, the origin was thought to be the house of one Thomas Thackery. There had been several cases of an infection spotted nearby that location that match the reported activities of the cult.”

“Why exactly has no-one else investigated this Thackery’s home for an entire year? This cannot be real.” The obvious frustration mounting as he leans forward.

“I assure you that is not the case, Doctor; the truth is any investigator that was sent by the Mayweather Estate since, has not returned.” She leans down and pulls from a briefcase below the table what appears to be a small leather-bound book. “Hence the quarantines that are steadily expanding down that way.”

She pauses, taking a moment to snub her cigarette out in an ashtray before continuing.

“Unfortunately, I am not an official investigator, or I would have gone myself. My hope is that if the two of us can work together, we could go and search, once we have made the correct precautions. I have compiled all of William’s notes and research over the years that I can find, as well as some I have personally made on the area in which he has gone missing.” She opens the book, revealing intricate notes, detailing the Thackery house, amongst some illegible symbols and images. One such symbol is that of the five-pointed star, the eye in the centre.

“That one, the symbol with the eye, I’ve seen it also, I think William believed it was protective in nature?”

“More than just protective, that symbol is a badge for those of us in the Mayweather Estate and elsewhere who tangle with the occult and eldritch, it helps us keep our sanity when facing insane things. I was more interested to know if you have come across anything like this.” Turning the page, she points toward a symbol reminiscent of a burnt or burning hole.

 Andrew’s whole body stiffens as Irene points it out, a startled cough making it past his lips.

“I… um, haven’t found any information to do with that per say, I think I have seen it, but it must be a coincidence.”

“I have found, good Doctor, that coincidences are few and far between. Where did you see this symbol? It is directly related to the ‘Burning Shards’.”

“It was in my office; it showed up on a sheet of paper that I had fallen asleep atop. I think I was having some kind of nightmare, but I can’t recall it. When I woke it was there on the desk.”

“In your own personal office? You have to show me, now. This is…unnerving.”

“Ms Baxter, I assure you it’s just a sheet of paper, I must have left it too close to a candle, I was extremely tired from the day.”

“Doctor, if that is the case, why are you all tensed up and pale? I am not asking for anything extreme; I just want to check it out for your own safety.”

Andrew lets out a breath of exasperation before responding.

 “Right, very well, but I don’t expect you’ll find anything.”

Irene blows out the candles, lifting the lantern back off its hook and grasping her umbrella as Andrew collects his things.

“Before we leave, I can see you brought your lantern, did you wear the pendant as I requested?”

“I have it in my pocket, is it important?”

“Wear it, I don’t know how or why that symbol has appeared in front of you, but I fear we may be in danger if we do not approach this with utmost care.” Briefly pausing, she appears as if she wants to say something, before turning and leaving, unfurling the umbrella outside.

The two of them step out into the rain, a whisper of wind whips between them, causing Andrew’s scarf to flap in the open night.

“Lead the way, Doctor.”

“Right, this way.” He pulls the scarf over his mouth and nose, taking a deep breath as he begins walking.

-

The office building is dark, the doors locked as they approach, Andrew pulls out a small ring of brass keys. The door opens immediately to a set of narrow stairs, the lantern light only revealing the first few, however past the landing of the stairs a faint glow can be seen from further in.

“I don’t suppose there is someone else who works in this building?” Irene’s hushed voice comes from behind Andrew, his hand still holding the key in the door.

“It’s been just me for months now.” Returning the whisper softly, he takes the first few steps inside. The building is echoing with quiet sobbing, the sound carrying uncomfortably down the hall, creating a haunting and mournful ambience. Andrew proceeds in front, his hand out protectively in front of Irene.

The light ahead is faint, coming through the glass window from his office on the left, the other doors still dark as expected. Irene gently reaches her hand forward to stop Andrew, his body freezing for a moment at the contact.

“Allow me to lead, Doctor, be ready for anything.” She whispers, the corners of her mouth curving downward subtly as she moves around him, dimming her lantern as they near the door.

Sobs continue to resound from the office, each one accompanying a shiver along Andrew’s skin. It is just barely ajar. Irene leans toward it, looking inside carefully.

Through the cracked door, the office is gently lit by a candle, backlighting the silhouette of a shorter woman in a full-length dress who is standing, facing the mirror on the wall. Irene pushes the door further open, allowing Andrew to look inside from over her shoulder.

“Oh, bloody hell, Ida, you scared the li-.” Irene’s firm grip on Andrew’s arm interrupts him as he goes to move into the room, her eyes glued on Ida’s figure as it turns slowly toward them. Irene’s tense grip lessens gradually.

Ida’s eyes are red and puffy, with makeup running in lines down her cheeks. Irene quickly studies her face and the room for a moment, before letting go of Andrew’s sleeve.

“Oh, Andrew, you’re finally back, I’ve been waiting for hours now.” Her voice is cracked and hoarse. “I had to tidy this place up just to keep myself distracted.” The room no longer has the haphazard paper and boxes covering the floor, now piled neatly against a wall. Andrew shrugs away from Irene, going forward to embrace his sister.

“Ida, you scared the life out of me, what’s happened?”

“Oh, I just had an argument with David, I came here to get away for a little bit.” Ida looks toward Irene, who is hovering in the doorway. “Who is this?”

“Sorry ma’am, I am just an acquaintance of Dr Bentley’s. You two clearly have a lot to talk about, and I will leave you to it.” Irene straightens her dress out, slipping something unseen back into her purse. “Doctor, if it is ok with you, I will return tomorrow at dawn, we still have much to talk about.”

“Of course, I am terribly sorry, Ms Baxter, I will see you tomorrow. Be careful on your way back.” Andrew calls back, turning to look at her from the embrace, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as Irene curtseys quickly toward Ida, making a swift exit.

“Alright then, Ida, what’s this all about then?” Andrew’s fears seem temporarily abated by his concern for his sister as he gestures her to take a seat on the couch. The night is spent talking, and eventually, falling asleep uncomfortably.