Page 18 of Across Space and Time

“Spring-Heeled Jack.” The words sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth, and Hugh thought that he would not have been surprised if his commanding officer thought that he had gone mad.

Reardon snorted. “Spring-Heeled Jack? What sort of a fool do you think I am, Danbury?”

“No fool, sir,” Hugh said with a frown. “But I swear that I did.”

Reardon laughed, slapping his thigh as if Hugh had told a most thrilling joke. “Are you on opium, Constable?”

“No, sir. I know it seems unlikely, but I swear that it was Spring-Heeled Jack, as clearly as I see you before me now.” He debated telling Reardon that he had seen Spring-Heeled Jack at the site of Toby Kelly’s murder as well, but he realized he wouldn’t sound any less mad than he already did, and that he would be admitting to lying on his report about finding Toby’s body.

Reardon snorted again, and Hugh imagined him as a large ferret-faced bull in a pen. “You are obviously overworked, trying to solve the other cases assigned to you. Take the rest of the night off.”

“But, sir-”

“That’s an order, Constable,” Reardon said firmly. “Go, now.”

Hugh opened his mouth to protest, but Reardon just gave him a pointed look. Hugh closed his mouth again, nodding and getting to his feet. He hadn’t been dreaming or overworked. He knew he hadn’t been. He could still feel the heat from Jack’s blue and white flames on his skin as it ignited the charging monster that would likely have torn him apart the same as it had that young man.

He nodded to Depesh and told him he was going home on Reardon’s orders and would return tomorrow to check in with Dr. Ledbetter about the autopsy before stepping outside and onto the quiet, gaslit street.

It was the middle of the night, and very little stirred around him. The sounds and smells that normally accompanied the daylight hours were absent now. No hackneys and their horses and drivers, no vendors selling wares, only a few people walking the streets, and most of them were swift, keeping their heads down and their eyes up, watching for footpads or other ne’er-do-wells. He looked around but saw no one waiting for him, either in the shadows or atop the rooftops. Perhaps Jack had vanished in the chaos that had ensued after the other constables had arrived on the scene. He headed for his flat, keeping to the light from the streetlamps as much as he could. He turned off the main thoroughfare and onto a more residential one.

Hugh nearly leaped out of his skin as Spring-Heeled Jack suddenly slid down a pipe attached to a fire escape to land gracefully and nearly silently on the pavement next to him. It was no wonder that people were encountering Spring-Heeled Jack and being so frightened by him. “H… Hello,” Hugh said, giving him a smile as he tried to calm his racing heart.

Jack nodded to him, and Hugh still found himself fascinated by how tall the man was. “Have the police combed the scene?”

“They have.” He gazed back at the man in front of him. Perhaps Reardon did not believe him, but the spectre before him was solid as any man. Of that, he was sure. “My sergeant does not believe that I was saved by Spring-Heeled Jack.”

“Ah. I am not surprised,” Jack said with a bit of a chuckle. “It is hardly the sort of thing one encounters on the streets of London.”

“Neither is that creature that attacked us,” Hugh said, not sure why he had suddenly used ‘us’ instead of ‘me’ in that statement. The creature had no doubt been coming for him, and might have reached him too without Jack’s interference. “I… thank you, for saving me.”

Jack nodded and waved his hand with a dramatic flourish. “It was my pleasure, Hugh.”

“What was that thing?”

Jack suddenly stepped back into the shadows and lifted his cape up to shield himself, seeming to become no more than a shadow in the mouth of the alley as a middle-aged man walked past Hugh. “Good night, constable,” he said, touching the brim of his hat politely. Hugh returned the gesture. The man did not seem even slightly aware that Spring-Heeled Jack stood less than two feet away. When the man had walked on beyond earshot, Jack stepped out of the shadows again. “Is there a place where we may go? I would be delighted to answer all of your questions, but surely the middle of the street is no place for such. Tea is not required.”

Hugh glanced around. He too was suddenly feeling the need to get out of the darkness and fog, and into some place warm and familiar. “My home is just a few blocks away.”

“Excellent,” Jack said and started to walk off at a fast pace. Hugh raised a brow. How did Jack know where his rooms were?

“Have you been following me home?” he asked.

“Of course. I’ve been following you everywhere.”

“What? Why?” Hugh asked, having to jog to catch up to Jack’s longer, more rapid strides.

“All in good time,” Jack replied.

Hugh frowned. His room was on the fourth floor of the building, but knowing Jack’s ability to easily jump up and down from great heights, that was not reassuring. “Have you been watching me at home?”

“Oh, muskrat’s whiskers, no,” Jack said, giving him a polite smile. “Your home’s privacy and virtue remain unmolested by my eyes.”

Hugh’s cheeks went red. Jack followed him around all of London, but he drew the line at peeping in Hugh’s bedroom window? At least Hugh kept the bedroom curtains closed when he slept, so he didn’t have to worry about Jack finding out about the times he had woken up in a sticky mess after dreaming about Jack pushing him against the alley wall.

They reached his building, but Hugh could already hear some voices in the hallways and foyer. “Can you put your cape over your horns or something?”

Jack looked affronted. “Don’t you like them?” he said, a tease of mischief in his voice.

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