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THE GODDESS: A DEMON'S VENGEANCE
CHAPTER 12. WHAT WAS ON THE BED

CHAPTER 12. WHAT WAS ON THE BED

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And there we were, the five of us, men standing in silence for a moment, each with his own mix of emotions. Inspector Symonds and his colleague seemed surprised, tinged with something else. They exchanged hushed words before the Inspector made a move toward Miss Moore, an action that didn’t sit right with me. I stepped in front of him.

“What’s the matter, sir?” I asked. “What are you trying to do?”

He glanced at me with suspicion, then turned to the constable stationed in the passage to the outer door.

“Why are these people here? Didn’t I tell you to let no one in without orders?”

The constable looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, sir. The young lady slipped past me before I could stop her, then this gentleman here practically shoved me aside, and the others followed. It all happened too fast for me to do much.”

The Inspector wasn’t in the mood for excuses. “That’s no excuse. You should have been more vigilant. I expect strict adherence to my orders.”

He turned back to me. “Mr. Ferguson, you’re treading on thin ice. This isn’t behavior expected from someone in your position. You don’t want to find yourself on the wrong side of the law.”

“Thank you for the concern, but I know where I stand. And as for you, don’t overstep your bounds. It’s a common mistake for someone in your role.”

“Move aside, Mr. Ferguson. I need to speak to that young lady directly.”

“Speak from there,” I insisted. “She’s not well and doesn’t need unwanted attention.”

“Not well? What’s wrong with her?”

“I could ask what business that is of yours, but I’ll tell you she’s experiencing hallucinations.”

“Hallucinations? Really?”

His tone irked me. He addressed Miss Moore from across the room. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t know,” she replied softly.

“You don’t know your own name? That won’t do. Tell me.”

“She’s telling you she doesn’t know,” I interjected. “You’d do well not to doubt her.”

“Let go of me,” the Inspector snapped. “If you won’t tell me who she is, and she can’t, then I’ll have to keep her here until we figure it out.”

“Keep her? What do you mean?”

“She forced her way in here and, in case you missed it, she’s admitted to being involved in this man’s death.”

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His colleague added, “She did say she killed him.”

He covered the dead man’s face again. The constable added his input.

“I apologize, sir, but she’s been acting incredibly strange in the other room. From what she’s been saying and doing, it sounds like she witnessed the murder and is reenacting it to herself. She mentioned using a large knife,” the constable explained.

“You heard her confess to using a knife?” the Inspector clarified.

“Yes, several times. These two gentlemen and that lady heard it too. She said she intended to kill him all along, described how she struck him in the back with a knife, and how he fell forward on his face,” the constable added.

“Given that statement, I must detain the lady,” the Inspector asserted.

Before he could continue, I interrupted. “I say the lady will not be detained. I’ll prevent you, Mr. Symonds, from making a grave mistake. Miss Adair, please escort the lady out of the room. I’ll ensure no one interferes with her. Now, constable, step aside.”

I moved toward the constable, who quickly made way for me. The Inspector stepped in.

“Mr. Ferguson, be cautious. Dr. Hume, would you explain to this gentleman the consequences of obstructing the police? And perhaps enlighten him on the futility of such attempts,” the Inspector requested.

Hume, who had been near the door, approached. His demeanor had shifted since I last saw him; he appeared older and struggled to maintain composure.

“I assure you, Mr. Symonds, I have no intention of obstructing justice. However, I know this young lady and am certain she’s not involved in this crime any more than I am. The constable’s description of her behavior is far from accurate. She’s currently dealing with a mental condition. Arresting her could worsen her state significantly, for which you would bear responsibility. Let me finish, Inspector. If you release her entirely, you’d also carry a heavy burden. I guarantee she’ll be available as a witness or in any required capacity until it’s clear she’s not connected to this incident.”

“First, what’s her name, who is she, and where does she live?” the Inspector inquired.

“She’s Miss Bessie Moore, the actress, residing with Miss Florence Adair at 22, Hailsham Road, Brompton.”

“I’ve heard of Miss Bessie Moore. I wasn’t aware of her...” He gestured to his head.

“I certify she’s currently mentally unfit, and arresting her would jeopardize not just her sanity but her life,” Hume emphasized.

“Understood. And you guarantee her availability when needed?”

“I do,” Hume confirmed.

“And Mr. Ferguson agrees?”

“I do,” I affirmed.

“Where is Miss Moore going now?” the Inspector asked.

“Back home,” Hume replied.

“A police escort—” the Inspector began.

“No police escort,” I interjected.

Hume echoed, “She won’t be needing one.”

“As long as she can be produced when required, Miss Moore is free to go for now,” the Inspector concluded.

We left the room, the women leading the way with Hume and me following. Miss Moore stayed quiet during the discussion with the inspector. Once we were in the corridor, she turned to me.

“Where am I going? I need to talk to you,” she said.

“You should go back to Mrs. Peddar’s room with Miss Adair, at least for now. I’ll join you shortly,” I replied.

“You’ll come for sure?” She touched my arm.

“Absolutely. I’ll be there almost as soon as you.”

Hume approached. “I need to speak with you too.”

“You? No! I don’t want to speak to you—not to you!” She recoiled from him as if he were contagious.

After they left, Hume turned to me, his eyes holding an enigmatic expression. I didn’t try to decipher it then, but there was a strange sense of curiosity about whether the doctor might be losing his mind himself.

“What’s your plan in this game? Are you planning to save yourself by sacrificing her, along with Philip Lawrence?” That’s what he said to me. “To save my neck”—those words echoed in my mind as I headed back towards the housekeeper’s room. They sparked an idea in me.