Red Winter in New York - Chapter 1

Absolutely shocked by the sight of the dead or dying man, I am struck motionless after my shout. Quickly, though, my senses return.
Instinctively, I rush to the man's side. I crouch down, my rosary dangling in front of me. I lean in close to the man, holding his hand, seeing if it is still cold.
I nervously glance at Alexandra, torn. If I send her for the police, I will jeopardize her safety... I ask her to stay, and I risk all of us and this man's only possible chance at survival. Finally, I speak.
"Alexandra, I will tend to him. Go, fetch to police. Hurry!"
With that, I turn back to the man, preparing to hear his last confession.

As Father Davies raises the man's head, he hears the faintest sound, as the last words leave his blood-stained mouth.
"...in...the...shel- >koff!< ... shelter..."
A cloud seems to settle in the man's gaze, and suddenly his body goes limp.
The priest can feel the broken bones in the man's corpse. His only hope is that this man is now seeing gentler landscapes, far from this forsaken city.

Dropping the basket of still-warm food, Alexandra turned from the grusome sight and bolted back the way they'd come.
"Police!" she echoed Father Davies' cry as she ran along the Bowery streets, frantically searching for some sign of life. "Somebody help, please!" she shouted.

After running to the nearest corner, Alexandra can hear the sound of footsteps running toward her and a police whistle's high-pitched alarm.
Harbor workers and other less-resputable individuals flow into the street from nearby pubs and licquor houses, attracted by the commotion. Alexandra is suddenly surrounded by a sea of dark-clothed figures smelling of licquor and ale. A horse is heard whining on the distance. The dock's fog-horn sounds like a ghostly bugle. And all the voices and languages overwhelm Alexandra's ears.

I pull a small decanter of holy water I keep wrapped in wool to prevent freezing, and bless the man's body, and pray for his forgiveness for any sins he had not the time to confess.
I quietly pray for the man's last rites, even if I am too late. Nearing the end, I rise my gaze to where he must have come from, remembering the shelter he may have spoke of.

The alley is long and narrow. The earth in it is dark and filthy, with many empty crates and barrels cluttering it up. Already people are starting to gather on both ends of it. As he listen to the voices of the crowd, Father Davies is suddenly reminded that his young protegé is alone amid those ruffians.

Alexandra shoved impatiently through the sudden knot of onlookers, making little progress but managing to get within reach of a police officer. Tugging his arm to get his attention, she pointed at the mouth of the ally.
"A man's been injured, maybe killed, in there," she explained hurriedly. "My friend is with him; he's a priest. Please, you have to help him."

As he finishes of the dregs in his glass and starts to consider the possibility of getting Robert to buy another round, Jose's wandering mind is brought back to reality with a thump. Not to distant cries and sudden movement of other Harbour drinkers puts the wind up him for a moment. He looks around.
'What gives eh Bobby Mac?'
He stands as sudden chill drains the warmth from both the drink and Robert's company.

Hearing the whistles and commotion, I stand up and start moving towards the door.
"What's goin' on out there now? You'd think people'd have more consideration of the weather before they went and started an uproar - bloody hell, Jose, let's go see what's happening! They might need some help if a fight just started!" A nagging sensation tells me that it isn't a fight. Then I realize that Jose is completely silent. "Jose, what's wrong with you?"

'I don't know, but... . Come on, unless the mildness of the weather scares you!'
Jose ducks past a large longshoreman as he heads for the street.

The policeman tries to shield the girl from the oncoming assortment of seedy types, all the while leading her (and being led) to the source of the commotion. Upon arriving at the scene, the law-enforcer is taken aback by the foul smell that has begun to emanate from the alley.
Alexandra sees Father Davies, a contrived look upon his face, closing the dead man's eyes. When he turns away from the body and looks towards the entrance of the alley, his face seems to relax upon recognizing that the girl is safe. His relief becomes a positive smile as he gazes past the girl, to recognize two figures in dark gray clothing standing right behind her. One is over six-feet tall, his pale complexion betraying his Irish heritage. The other is much smaller, almost the size of Alexandra, but of a tanned complexion, revealing a latin origin.
"Robert! José! Thank God for these familiar faces!"
Oblivious to the conversation, the policeman whistles for assitance, and asks to no-one in particular:
"What HAPPENED here?"
The alley is now completely engulfed by the night, with only a dim light from the streetlamps flooding from both ends of it.

'Eh, the smell. Poor fella must been dead for days!'
Jose side steps the policeman to try and see better.
'Dis is no place for you Alex! De dead are de dead.'

Alexandra turned, and a look of great relief passed over her face at seeing Jose and Robert standing behind her.
"I'd love to be anywhere but here at the moment," she agreed readily. She looked at the slightly pale policeman.
"We were walking by the alley," she explained, "And saw him lying there...like that. I don't even know if he was still alive then. Father Davies could tell you." She looked to the priest, keeping her eyes carefully on him and not the body.

MacLellan grimaces as he looks at the body - at least the poor guy's not feeling it any more.
"Officer, if you don't need the lady, I should take her home. This is no place for her to be."

With a nervous nod, the policeman takes note of everyone's names.
"Please be at the Police Station tomorrow morning for a complete statement."
As he motions for all to leave, he glances to the body and mutters to no-one in particular:
"... hope I don't get in trouble for this..."

'I don't like this one bit!'
Jose mutters to himself, glancing at the policeman, and then at the body.
He shudders and fingers his pocket knife. He looks again at the body. Shifting his position to improve the light he then bends down, still several feet away from the corpse.
'Eh!' He murmurs softly to himself.
He looks up, glancing down both ends of the ally.
He straightens up and turns away from the dead man.

I glance back at the poor, dead man, my face very worried. I turn back to Alexandra, Jose, and MacLellan.
"How very... peculiar..." I speak my voice hesitant.
"Just before he died.... I could've sworn...."
I blink, and shake my head briefly. I look at MacLellan, and nod, smiling somewhat.
"Yes. Alexandra should definitely be getting home. Thank you, Robert," I say, turning to Alexandra. "Alexandra, tell Allistair that I had some business to attend to, and I may be back later tonight. However, he shouldn't worry himself if I am not. Go with God, child."
With that, I smile, and turn back towards the alleyway for a moment, pausing at the sight of the poor man's body. I murmur a prayer in the rapidly chilling air (or is it just my imagination playing games with my old mind?), as I set off to find the local shelter and learn what I may.

"I'll tell him. Be careful."
Alexandra cast a look at the dark sky; all trace of twilight had long since vanished. It was late. "Robert, do you suppose my brother will fail to notice what hour it is when we get home?" She almost laughed at his expression. "I didn't think so either." She sighed in resignation. "Let's go."
She turned away from the alley-grateful to leave it behind-but marked with her eyes where it lay in the maze that was the Bowery...just in case.

"All right, Miss Alexandra, I'll get you home right away. Jose - you want to ride shotgun? I don't think there'll be any trouble, but this whole mess makes the night a bit less friendly, just the sort of time one wants a trusted friend with him."
MacLellan looked into the alley again, and grimaced at the grim spectacle that still had a crowd around it - although that same crowd was rapidly spreading out, the initial shock and thrill gone. Though the offer to Jose had been mainly out of politeness - and a sense that it couldn't hurt to have somebody else there if something went wrong on the way to the Doctor's house, MacLellan was now silently praying that Jose accepted - there WAS something in the air tonight, and not something one would care to meet. More like one of those things the Professor kept talking about. And MacLellan had never been too fond of THOSE stories...

What he had seen on closer examination of the body worried Jose. He glanced at the retreating figure of the Priest and paused.
'Ok Bobby Mac, if I can't keep you out of trouble nobody can!'
Jose's attempt to lighten the mood failed. He felt as though his guts had been twisted by an unseen hand.
He glanced around as they left, making note of several features so that once they had got Alex home he would be able to return quickly.

"Nobody exceptin' meself, of course. Now let's get movin', lad, I'm sure the lady's brother is worryin' himself sick over her!"
As he brought the carriage around for Alexandra, MacLellan couldn't help but sense that something was going horribly wrong - he would have to talk it over with the Professor.

The group huddles closer, trying to fight the cold wind of the night. As MacLellan pulls the carriage around Central Park South, the bare trees reach with deep shadows towards the travellers. The moon, a large white eye in the indigo sky, seems blind to the ominous atmosphere it sets.
In this dreary landscape, Alexandra is startled by every shadow, movement or wanderer she sees. Her already vivid imagination is that much frantic after the events of this day. But a more present threat occupies her mind now...
"Oh, Lord... Allistair is gonna KILL me..."
MacLellan and José can't help but smile at that.

Resigned to another lecture from her brother, Alexandra finally allowed her mind to drift back to the events of the evening. She would have to deal with what she'd seen eventually.
You weren't imagining things, she thought with a shudder. Those were claw marks--or something very similar--all over that man's back. Like he'd been attacked by an animal.
She glanced around at the clustered buildings and carriages they passed by as they neared home, cast into cold shadows and echoing with sounds of the city at night.
"What could have killed him?" she murmured. "There's nothing like that around here--not in the Bowery, not in New York." Maybe Preston would know. He was better with things of this sort than she.

Glancing from the chessboard to Allistair, Preston takes out a pipe and fills it with tobacco. After lighting it and taking a few puffs from it to banish away the anxiety starting to fill him, he looks back to Allistair.*
If Alexandra's with Father Davies, I'm sure she's alright. The man's priest for God's sake, whatever can happen to a priest?
Are we going to finish this game?

"Safe with priest... yes. In the past, maybe.
But recently there is a tendency to violence that seems to be unmoved by the words of our clergy. I need not remind you the case of the young chaplan that got mugged, only a forthnight ago, by that desillusioned immigrant. Got a mayor concussion on his head, though he declared his mission in full it did not soften the thug's heart. No, I do not put much faith in faith alone."
Allistair cast another look out of the window.
"Something is afoot. We better finish this before our guests arrive. Rook to A8."

Nodding to Allistair's words, Preston keeps his eyes on the board.
"Aye, I'll admit to that. And you know that I'm not one to have faith in faith's sake. And though I remember that incident, priests are still highly respected by the populace.
Alex will be okay and I'm sure she'll arrive soon. She knows better than to get you upset anyhow.
Queen to E4.
I'm sure Alex will be here soon " - glancing toward the window - "It's getting chilly."

"Hah. I have yet to notice her taking my concerns into account."
Allistair shakes his head, meanwhile bending over the board, studying the last move.
His eyes dart over the board, unsure of his next move.
"Hmmm. An unanticipated move. Yet again, logics seem to get defied in this game. You cannot possibly have failed to notice how I can take your lady with my bishop... Hmmm.
Bishop from A8 to E4..."
The queen dissapeared from the board, dropping into the little drawer that contained the other chess pieces, though Allistair did not look very satisfied with the take.

Hmmm I wouldn't have thought that of you, but, an acceptable loss it is, Cavalier (the horse) to E4... sorry Allistair.
Now, now, Alex is very mindfull of you and she knows that her lateness must be upseting you. I'm sure she'll turn up any moment now.
We should put some more wood in the hearth, there's a sudden chill.

Glancing at Allistair, who's taking an awful lot of time to decide his next move, Preston rises and walks over to the hearth to put some more wood in it. As he kneels and reaches to take a log and put it in the dying fire, the door to the study is open, sending a breeze of chilling air into the room...

Allistair finally moved one of his pawns forward. He shook himself, and walked towards the door, opening it to cast a look outside.
"Mrs Perth?" he called. The silence that from the hall showed Mrs Alberta Perth, Allistair's housekeeper, had already left for the evening. He shook his head. "She must have left a window open. Not something for her to do. Her mind is not on her tasks lately. Mind you, with the death of her husband a few months ago she makes over hours to get by."
He took the decorative oil lamp from the table. "I'll go down and shut the window, before we freeze to death, or one of the neighbourhood cats gets in."

Nodding to Allistair, Preston revives the fires, enjoying the almost sudden warming of the room.
Allistair must've closed that window...
Walking over toward the liquor cabinet, Preston ponders about Allistair's choice of "fatalities" that could've happen, while pouring himself a glass of brandy.
Dying of cold or a cat entering the house, I wonder which seems really worst to Allistair.
Returning before the hearth, warming himself with both the fire and the liquor, Preston ponders about what is keeping Alex and Robert and turns toward Allistair as he comes back.
So Allistair, no cats in the house?
The professor grins a bit, taking a sip of his brandy.

"Not likely."
Alexandra laughed and shot a quick smile at Preston as she stepped into the room, Robert trailing behind her. She carefully avoided her brother's face.
"Just us, Preston," she said lightly. "So sorry to be...late."

Turning to face Alexandra, Preston smiles and then finishes up his brandy.*
"Are you late?"
Grinning, Preston nods to Robert then looks at Allistair who's following Alex and his grin fade.
"Hmmm it would seem so. Where you with Father Davies? "
Preston puts his empty glass down and retakes his pipe, relighting it.
"So, since we can't do anything about the fact that you're late, mind you telling us what kept you out?"

Allistair face is dark, though something of relief shines through in his eyes.
"That was very irresponsible of you, young lady. I am wondering if you ever learn.
Getting out at night... what could have happened!
I would never had you go out if Davies hadn't vowed..."
He cast a look around, taking in Rob and Jose as they enter the room.
"Which reminds me... where is Father Davies?"

"Father Davies said to tell you that he had business to take care of, Allistair, and that he would possibly be back later tonight, but not to worry if he isn't," Alexandra replied.
She tucked herself into a chair by the fire--beckoning Jose and Robert to do the same--and allowed the heat to relax her a bit.
"We're late because I convinced Father Davies to stay in the Bowery to distribute more food. After that the situation was, I'm afraid, out of my control."
She related the events of the evening to them both quietly--from the dying man, the blood in the alley, the street crowded with onlookers, to Father Davies' abrupt departure afterwards.
Staring into the fire, Alexandra shivered despite the warmth. If he is not back tonight, I will be very worried indeed, she thought.

Nodding to Robert and José, Preston the listens to Alexandra's tale of the evening. At the mention of the claw marks and the blood, the professor makes a face of disgust and smokes his pipe, and then glances in Allistair's direction.