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As Lawrence spoke, I found myself wondering where the line was between truth and fiction, sanity and madness. I couldn’t pin it down then, and I can’t now. His wild speech and manner clearly showed his mind was in disarray; his brain was aflame with delirium. Yet, there was something in his story that rang true, some kernel of reality amidst the madness. His life of excess had likely taken a toll on his health, and his body’s decline had affected his mind.

Despite his craziness, there was such conviction in his words, a method to his madness, that even his wildest claims seemed to have a basis in fact. We were captivated, listening to his fantastical assertions, enthralled by tales that seemed to come from a dream world, yet told as if they were everyday occurrences.

He raised a finger, repeating his last words as a question. “Hark! Don’t you hear her laughing now?”

I don’t know what we heard. We had been following his descent into madness so closely that our own minds were teetering on the edge. But I thought I heard a woman’s laughter, and it seemed to come from behind the screen. I moved to uncover whatever was hidden there, but Lawrence jumped in front of me.

“Don’t!” he cried. “She’s there! You’ll see her, I’ll show you at the right time.”

I could have pushed him aside, but something about him stopped me. When the lady placed her hand on my arm and drew me away, I let him continue his story in his own way. He wiped his brow, as if trying to gather his thoughts.

“Time went on, without bringing me any peace, until Bernstein wrote to my brother, asking where it would be most convenient to present the bills that were about to fall due.”

“Just standard procedure,” interjected Bernstein.

“Standard procedure, Bernstein says, and I’m not denying it. When Philip got the letter, he came to me, furious, asking what it meant. I’d had a rough few days and nights and was already on edge when he showed up. His sudden arrival caught me off guard. Seeing the anger in his eyes and the tension in his hands, I got scared. I lied, saying I had no idea what Bernstein’s letter was about and that any bills he held had nothing to do with me. I could see Philip doubted me, but without solid proof, he left, warning me of the consequences if I was lying. It was a comfort to know what I could expect—if he found out I was lying.

“I went to Bernstein, begging for mercy, knowing full well that mercy from him was as rare as water in a rock.”

“I’m a businessman! You had my money! I run a business!” Bernstein retorted.

“He showed no mercy. I found young Moore and told him that certain bills bearing my brother’s name had been discounted, and since he had signed them, I would have to tell the truth to defend myself.”

“When I signed them, there was nothing on those bills—not a word; I swear it. They were just five blank slips of paper, on my sacred honor. He filled them out himself, then tried to pin it on me,” Moore protested.

“Yes, it’s odd how I tried to blame everyone but myself; very odd indeed. That night I was troubled. I had a conversation with The Goddess, which gave me some comfort, though not much. The next day, I steeled myself for the inevitable, as men tend to do when they know the reckoning is at hand. That evening, I played cards with Ferguson. You remember?”

“I remember. You cheated me.”

“Yeah, I did. Odd thing, too, because it was the first and last time I ever cheated at cards. You left thinking you owed me £1880, realizing that your so-called friend was just a crook. Knowing you saw me that way was a real blow. I always wanted to keep your respect, and it felt like I’d failed. After you left, I turned to The Goddess for comfort.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“I brought her from my bedroom and placed her on her stand. I was about to ask her to perform one of her incredible tricks when I saw a woman standing in the open doorway. That woman is here now.”

He gestured towards Miss Moore. She seemed to recall the moment.

“I remember. I knocked on the door a few times, but no one answered. I tried the handle, and the door opened. You were there.”

“Which was lucky for me. I saw an entrancing figure in a stunning cloak, with a face that would haunt any man’s dreams. It was late for such a vision to visit a single man, but when I learned she was Tom’s sister, it made sense. I understood even more when she started talking. Sometimes even the most enchanting visions have plenty to say. Dear Tom had shared his version of events.”

“Everything I told her was true. I swear it.”

“No doubt you do. But as she told me the story, it seemed surprising. I had no idea I was so deep in sin and that Tom was so innocent. She made it sound like I had corrupted him completely, even teaching him to forge signatures. It was strange to hear. I knew Tom a bit and started to wonder if she really knew him at all. But it was nice to know such a lovely lady had such a virtuous brother, despite his dubious friends. She was in the middle of sharing her opinion of one of those friends when the door opened again, this time, I think, without knocking. My brother was the uninvited, unwelcome guest who interrupted our chat.

“I knew instantly that the game was up and it was time to face the music. It was written all over him. He had this way of swelling up when he was furious, like his rage inflated him. I’d never seen him so large before. He was trembling, but not from fear. His fingers were opening and closing, a sign that he was on the brink of losing control. His lips were parted, he was taking deep breaths, and his eyes seemed to bulge. One glance told me he knew I had lied, and now it was going to get ugly.

“I can’t say if he noticed I was with a lady. If he did, he didn’t show it, not even by tipping his hat. The moment he saw me, he started edging into the room with these jerky movements, which I knew from experience meant an explosion was imminent. ‘I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!’ He repeated it like a mantra, half to himself and half to me, in a voice that was truly terrifying.

“My first thought was of The Goddess.”

Lawrence moved with a dramatic flair, knocking the crimson screen onto the floor. He spread his arms wide and shouted, “Behold! The Goddess!”

I had no idea what to expect, nor did the others, I imagine. My mind had conjured up some vague horror, something neither fully alive nor dead. What I actually saw surprised me. A moment’s reflection made me realize I should have seen this coming. Lawrence’s words had pointed directly to it. Yet, this sight didn’t fully explain everything, especially the weird vision I’d had in my dream.

The screen had hidden an idol, a Hindu goddess. She was squatting on what looked like an ebony pedestal, about a foot or so off the floor. The figure, nearly four feet tall, depicted a woman with her arms crossed on her chest, fingers interlaced. Two things stood out: the entire figure was a bright scarlet, and the craftsmanship gave it an uncanny lifelike quality. Lawrence pointed this out.

“See how alive she looks? Just a touch and she’s filled with frenzied energy. That’s what she waits for.”

It was exactly what I had noticed. The figure seemed ready to spring to life with just the slightest provocation. I couldn’t tell what it was made of, but it wasn’t wood or stone.

“As Philip charged at me, I moved toward The Goddess. ‘Be careful,’ I said. ‘Don’t be a fool! There’s a lady here!’ He didn’t seem to notice, or care. I doubted if he even saw The Goddess. In his rage, he was like a maddened bull, focused only on me. ‘I’ll kill you!’ he kept muttering, his voice rough with fury. ‘Don’t be stupid!’ I shouted back. But he was beyond reason. Then he rushed at me like a bull at a matador, and instead of me, he met The Goddess. If not for her, I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.

“The Goddess was between us. I had this little cord in my fingers—you see it here. Philip didn’t consider her an obstacle. He tried to smash her, but she wasn’t so easily dismissed. As he rushed at her, she leaped at him—like this.”

Lawrence threw out his arms and shouted, “Take me, for I am yours, O Goddess of the Scarlet Hands!”

What happened next is still hard to believe. As Lawrence sprang forward, the figure rose to its feet and came to life. It opened its arms, revealing knives at its fingertips. It grabbed Lawrence with its steel-clad hands, an unbreakable grip. Blades emerged from every part of its body, and it pressed him against them repeatedly, spinning him around and cutting him all over. Knives sprang from its eyes, mouth, and nostrils, stabbing at his face and head. All the while, the eerie sound of a woman’s laughter echoed, just like in my dream.