Whitechapel: The Final Stand of Sherlock Holmes Read Online Free Page A

doctor like you.”
    William hugged him tightly. “When you are old enough, if you still want to be one, I will train you to be as I am.”
    One evening, as father exited the cab he was met by a man and his son. The man introduced himself, and William shook his hand, gesturing for the two of them to enter the house.
    “Monty?” William said, opening the door to let the others in. “This is Mr. Jack Reed. He is the new manager of the farm next to us, and his son Clifton is your age. Come say hello so you can make friends.”
    Clifton was handsome and tanned. Monty smiled and they waved to each other quietly. “Can you play cricket?”
    “No,” Clifton said.
    “Come on and I’ll teach you.”
    Clifton was instantly better at the sport that Monty was. The boy was strong and sure of himself after spending his entire life on one farm or another. He had been helping his father scythe wheat and chop wood since he was old enough to hold the tools. The only consolation Monty could find was that Clifton knew every possible thing about animals that Monty could think to ask, and could describe in intimate detail how cows were butchered and how chickens behaved when beheaded.
    Clifton had also seen several cow births, and at Monty’s insistence, related the colors of the juices that spilled out of the animal’s orifices, and the gelatinous sack the newborn calves slid out in.
    One day the two boys were playing in Monty’s room, and Clifton was complaining that he was tired of telling the same stories over and over, and no longer wanted to play cricket or any of the other games they knew. “Do you ever want to become lost from everyone around you? To hide yourself so that no one may find you?” Clifton said.
    “I have one place,” Monty said, “but it is a secret place and you must swear to never tell anyone you were ever there.”
    Clifton nodded eagerly and Monty took his hand, leading him down the hall toward the staircase. He instructed him on tiptoeing silently around the jars and toiletries. He told him which steps to avoid stepping on and keep them from squeaking.
    As soon as they were in the room, Clifton surprised Monty by kissing him on the lips. Monty stepped back and swiped his hand across his mouth in disgust and said, “What did you do that for?”
    “It is just for practice, Monty,” Clifton said. “So you can do it right when you kiss a woman for the first time.”
    Monty looked down, feeling his cheeks grow hot. Clifton came closer to him, pressing his chest against Monty’s and lifting his chin. Their lips touched again and Monty relaxed, letting Clifton control him. He lost himself in the embrace, not hearing the door open behind them.
     
    ~ * * * ~
     
    “Do you like how you look?”
    Tears spilled hot and thick down Monty’s face. He could not bear to look in the mirror. Ann snatched him by the back of his neck, shaking him. “Look! Look!” she screamed. She swung the thick belt across his bottom again, stinging one of the open wounds. Monty howled in pain.
    Porcelain dolls lined the shelves of the room. Rows and rows of wide-eyed, evil-looking, ceramic children stared at Monty in all his humiliation. None of them had been touched since Georgiana took a running leap past the bed and out of the window.
    “Look at yourself, in all your filth,” Ann said, grabbing a handful of Monty’s hair.
    Monty finally looked in the mirror, seeing the bright yellow flower print of Georgiana’s dress. For a moment, he thought he saw his dead sister’s face, wearing the dress and winced. Georgiana looked as she had the day she died, face swollen and blood-stained. This face, however, was Monty’s own, covered and smeared in the makeup his mother had forced him to apply.
    “Do you like being a girl?” she demanded, shaking him.
    “No,” Monty said.
    “Do you want to be a girl?” she screamed, bending so that her mouth was directly in his ear.
    “No!”
    “Do you like wearing your sister’s dress,