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Through the Fog

Through the Fog The morning sun rose higher in the overcast sky; the dense town of Cloisterham came into the eerie state of existence of a new day. The mysterious haze that rolled in overnight strangled the town. The sun appeared, as if it were trying to burn through a fogged window; the brightness of the day was merely the glowing of the haze. A sluggish day it would be, as the townsmen awoke slowly. The few early risers stomped like walking dead on the cold streets, neither a sleep, nor awake, dead or alive. The stiffness of the haze shrouded the town with an uncertain mysteriousness, like a dark figure lurking around the corner. Jasper fell into the every new day, which had become a hell to him. With the ominous anniversary pushing closer every minute, no longer did daylight provide freedom from his nightmares. Previously, he had only been vulnerable during his sleep, which currently, he rarely received. Lately he held had no safe haven, his nightmares consumed the days. The two years of pain melted into one horrible day, repeating itself over and over again. After resigning from his position as choirmaster, he spent every day wading through his deep depression, his great conscience sat upon him, suffocating him of the little life he still held. He had few visitors, but many watchers. So frequently he checked over his shoulders that concentrating on any task became impossible. As the murderous haze swept in under his door and billowed against the window, he enclosed himself in a world of fears, which proved never to release him. Below the postern stairs, Mr. Datchery prepared for a new day. He opened a cupboard door to retrieve a cup and grinned when he saw the hundreds of chalked lines. At this great score, he knew that the truth would soon surface. A knock on his door interrupted his thought, opening, Helena walked into the room. Surprised, Datchery exclaimed, “What are you doing here? Someone could see you.” “I got word that you needed to speak with me. I became worried, so I couldn’t wait until later.” “Soon these two years of work will fall into place. There exists no way of telling what will happen, alas, it will be very dangerous. All the more so if you refuse to leave town…” “Then you must stay very close to Rosa, and both of you stay close to Mr. Tartar. He has remained here all this time for your protection. And a fine job he has done, so allow him to continue. Finally, be sure that Rosa never finds out about a word of what is to come; it would frighten her far too much.” “I worry about you, brother. These have been two long years.” “It has been a long life; once this mystery has been solved, everything will be better. Now you must leave, for if anyone discovers who I am, especially after such a long time, I will be destroyed.” “Good luck, my brother.” “Go,” he said to her retreating form. The sun had set, but there still existed a sense of tension in the town. The haze that came in the night before had not yet lifted, leaving a stale stiffness to the atmosphere. The twilight contained no breeze and the haze suffocated all the moon’s light. There was a knock on J.P.T.1747, and Grewgious’s expected visitor entered his small office. The visitor removed his hat and let his coarse white hair out. “I will not miss wearing this horrendous wig,” said the large man as he ran his fingers through the hair. He took a seat at the desk where Grewgious had been sitting. “Mr. John Jasper has made his trip to London.” Grewgious leaned back in his chair with a sense of relief; things were going as expected. He sat staring at the gazing as he thought through each step of the evening. A small momentarily flashed upon his lips, resuming his serious expression, he replied, “You are certain that Jasper will return this night?” “I have spoken with his haggard lady friend many times; and she has been sufficiently prepared. As a secondary measure, Deputy has been given orders to follow Jasper. He will not be out of our sight at any point this night.” The visitor sat very tense as the crucial night bore down upon him. Thinking for a moment, Grewgious ordered, “We all meet in Jasper’s chambers at ten to-night. There, we will wait until our man of the evening, returns. Go now and rest, it will be a long night.” With those words, the visitor slipped out of the door, as suddenly as he appeared. In another part of the thick haze, Jasper arrived at his destination, and entered the house. The old woman met him immediately, as if she had been waiting for him all evening. She quickly hustled him though the dark room and onto the bed. Beside the bed, awaited a pipe, already prepared and for its visitor. Without uttering a word as of yet, the disheveled woman handed the pipe to her visitor and held a match up ready to light it. Confused by the anxiousness of his host, Jasper held the pipe in his lap, asking, “Woman, why such haste? Why hurry? No other smokers are in here.” Finally realizing the demeanor in which she had been acting, she knelt on the floor beside the man, looking up at him, “I sense a storm tonight, always gives me that anxious mood. I ‘pologize, my dear.” She was on her feet again as though she could not bear to look at her visitor for more than two minutes. Striking a spark, she lit the pipe. The magic smoke began to creep up, twirling and dancing with the thick air of the room. Sensing no apparent trouble, Jasper raised the pipe to his lips and took one long deep puff. No words were spoken, and the old woman refilled the pipe with a pinch of the strange substance when it appeared to flickering out. Soon, Jasper’s eyelids begin to flicker with sleep’s weight. He fell backwards upon the bed, and began to speak, “No vision to-night. No dreams anymore, only nightmares. My life is trapped in a nightmare. Nearly two years now, my nephew gone.” Jasper paused for a moment, turning his head to the host. Fighting off the drowsiness, he stared at her momentarily, “Yes, dead, I suppose.” Again pausing in thought, recollecting himself, he continued, “Still after this time, the killer has not been punished, and my searches bring no new findings.” “Deary, I’m confused. You mean that they have not found you, yet.” Very alarmed, Jasper burst up into a sitting position. He stared at the host with scared and confused eyes. The trembling eyes gradually glazed over; he blinked violently to regain his vision. “What did you say? You imply that…” momentarily getting lost in his thoughts. He sharpened his glare at the woman, who sat coolly and silently, with an expression of anticipation on her face. He very slowly stuttered, pointing a trembling finger, “You imply that I k-killed my nephew.” Her face remained cold. “You forgot the many times you have shared your dreams with me? You says that you never would let him take Rosebud from you. You says that his death would bring her to you. All those visions were of him dying. That’s what you says to me. Then call me ‘unintelligible’ when you think I don’t get it, ah dearie, I do.” Jasper remained frozen, thinking deeply. He fought the smoke that began pulling strongly on his thought. Squinting his eyes, he strained to remember, “No! No!” He jumped up, and started for the door, but stumbled, falling upon his face. Struggling to regain his footing, he scrambled out the door, and into the dead night. Blood trickled out of his nose, as thunder began to growl in the distance. Staggering along the curb, his arm was grasped and guided by a man’s firm grip. He fought ferociously in his head, but his body had no response. Then he was thrown him into a cart, which suddenly lurched into motion. With squinted eyes he tried to make out the driver. All he comprehended were two dark blobs, one considerably larger than the other. The world appeared black, the rough roads rocked him about in the cart, until finally his dreadfully heavy eyelids overpowered him and he fell into a sleep. -Above, and Below, the Postern Stairs- A heavy thunder rolled in the skies above Cloisterham. The stale night gained an eerie glow as the clouds began to drain. Periodic flashes ignited the air with an eerie glow. Through the foggy window Neville, in Datchery’s fa�ade, stared up at the incoming storm. During one of the brief, glowing flashes, he saw a figure ascending the postern stairs. A following flash revealed the individual to be none other than Mr. Grewgious. Checking his wristwatch, Neville saw that Grewgious had arrived nearly half an hour early. Thinking little of this, compared to the excitement yet to come, he returned to watching the storm. After a short while he saw another figure ascend the postern stairs. Knowing this to be Crisparkle, he crossed the street and also climbed the postern stairs. On the other side of town, Jasper awoke from his opium slumber by hitting the ground. Regaining consciousness, he recognized the sound of a cart clattering off in the near distance. Standing, he found that his vision had improved but his senses and thought remained clouded. As he began stumbling home, he was forced to stop periodically and recollect himself. He became aware of the cracking thunder that grew louder with each strike. Understanding the impending storm, he quickened his pace. The entire time, the words of the haggard woman circled in his head, her accusation stabbed at his heart, and his mind scrambled to make sense of it all. Finally reaching the postern stairs, his greatest desire remained to sleep off the strange night and tomorrow make sense of it all. He saw a light a-glow in his residence, more confused and frustrated, he did his best to scramble up the stairs. Falling several times, the blood from his nose began to flow again. Wildly flinging the door open, he stood, momentarily waiting for his eyes to adjust to the bright, new light. He paused with eyes squinted, holding to the doorframe for balance, and blood dripping from his nose. As the world began to start to settle around him and his vision focused, he was appalled to find the three men waiting for him. The men sat in chairs surrounding the fire, which Grewgious had taken the liberty of kindling. A single vacant chair remained, apparently awaiting Jasper’s arrival. The three men turned to the anticipated new comer, Mr. Grewgious spoke in a slow deliberate voice, “Mr. Jasper, we have been expecting for you. Please, have a seat.” Afraid that his face would express his guilt, he shuffled over to the empty chair with his head down. Gently easing himself into the chair, he leaned forward and began to warm his hands against the fire. Touching his nose, he became aware of his injuries. Removing his handkerchief, he began patting the wound; all the while trying to sneak glances at his visitors. All six eyes remained fixed on the flustered Jasper. Each eye searched him from head to toe and read every expression that may have flashed upon his visage. Soon, Grewgious spoke, “Quite candidly, I know of no other way to begin this except by getting directly to the point. It has been nearly two years since young Drood’s disappearance. Over these years, many of us have been searching for clues and answers. At this point we all have come to the same conclusion.” Jasper paused his wound tending and sat stiff, still the handkerchief remained clenched in his blanched white fist. Without any change in expression or tone, Grewgious continued, “I am reluctant to say that all clues direct us to you as the guilty one.” Jasper’s eyes shot up in a frightened expression. His face, wild and glazed, stared with fear at his guests. He began to stutter, when suddenly there was a booming knock on the door. Crisparkle flew to the door to find Sapsea and Durdles standing drenched from the horrible rain that had begun. A large crash followed by a bright flash of light made the visitors cast ominous shadows across Jasper’s frozen face. Stomping into the room, Sapsea declared in a booming voice, “I, Thomas Sapsea, the Mayor of this city, among other things, have the great displeasure to announce a most grave discovery this very night. I have been informed by a very trust worthy citizen here, Mr. Durdles, that the body of Edwin Drood has been found.” The entire room erupted into an uproar. Everyone jumped from their seats as Jasper fell to the floor with a sudden thump. The men rushed towards Sapsea as they try to obtain more information. During the confusion several police officials entered the room, noticing Jasper flat on the floor, they picked him up and began reviving him. He soon aroused and stared at the commotion with a white face. His nose had begun to bleed again. Standing upon a chair, Sapsea overpowered the group with his voice, “Everybody must calm down. Silence. There is no need to fear. Your honorable Mayor Sapsea will conclude this mystery this very night. As for the body, officials are removing it from the crypt as we speak.” After the group settled and found their chairs again, Crisparkle spoke up, “It is very ironic that this should happen, Mayor, however, also very convenient. Prior to your arrival, the three of us; Mr. Datchery, Mr. Grewgious, and I were just confronting Mr. Jasper with our belief that he in fact killed the late Mr. Drood.” Sapsea’s eyebrows rose at this notion, as he replied, “This sounds as though no better time to make these accusations heard, now that I am here, that is.” Grewgious begins in a low voice, “I suppose that I will start with the evidence, as I must present a testimony on account of Miss Rosa Bud.” Suddenly another knock sounded heard at the door. One of the police officials opened it to reveal Rosa, Helena, and Mr. Tartar standing in the doorway. “Well, I suppose that Miss Rosa can present her own testimony now.” Said Sapsea. Stepping forward, Rosa began in a trembling voice, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I heard the great commotion that had developed this evening, including the discovery,” she began to cry and shake lightly, “and I heard of Mr. Sapsea’s determination to resolve this to-night. I feel that I posses information that may help do that.” “By all means make it known, my dear,” consoled Sapsea. “Shortly after the death of my beloved Eddy, Mr. Jasper approached me with a horrific threat. He declared his obsessive love to me. He implied that his Nephew, Ned, stood in the way of us…” she shuddered of saying this, “being together. He went further to threaten the life of any other lover that I may hold.” “Why the silence all this time, my dear?” inquired Sapsea. “The wicked man threatened the sanity of my Helena should I tell.” A murmur flowed around the room, as several more townsmen made their way into the chambers, attracted by all the commotion. Still disoriented and not yet thinking clearly from his earlier visit to London, Jasper sat with his head in his hands. Not believing that any of this could be happening, but still trying to distinguish what existed as real, he shook his head, scared to look up. Could this all be true? Had he done what they accused? He could not remember anything. “I have now established a motive for Mr. John Jasper. However, the question remains whether this gentle man actually possesses great enough evil and hate to actually kill? Soft-spoken, he presents himself. Never have I seen him angry,” pointed Sapsea, while he paced around the room in a calculated motion, his arms moving in-sync with his spoken words to help amplify their effect. Pushing through the crowd appeared the small boy. Stepping into the center of the group, he gathered their attention by raising his small hand. Jasper looked up from his bowing position, to discover the boy was Deputy, the one who lurked the Cloisterham streets at night shadowing Durdles, but being privy too much more. Curious at what the boy might present, Jasper suddenly remembered as the boy began, “One night before the killin’ I sees him steal crypts key from me pal Dur’les. He sneaks into them crypts and is gone a long while, huntin’ for a spot I bet. I says nothin’, just watch ‘im. After he comes back, ‘n me pal wakes, I go a chasin’ Dur’les back home, likes I s’pose to do. Jarsper gets all red with evil, then I get lifted off my legs and choked and all busted up. He’s a yellin’ ‘bout som’fen’, all woopin’ mad at me. If Dur’les not been there, I would a been killed by ‘im, jest’ like Drood.” Hearing the boy’s tale, Jasper immediately recalls the entire event. Just as the boy throws an icy stare in Jaspers direction, the memory of the fateful night pierces Jasper’s heart like a dark scepter. The room fell into another murmur, as Sapsea questioned above the loud murmur, “Could this be valid, Mr. Durdles?” Stepping out of the shadows along the wall, Durdles looked at no one, except for the questioner, Sapsea. Closing his eyes for a moment, as if trying to remember exactly what all he wanted to say, he replied in his low voice, “Yes, it is, Sapsea. That night Mr. Jasper wanted me to give him a tour of the crypts. Not thinking much of it, I did. I take a nap and when I wake my key was out me pocket and on the ground. When Jasper sees Deputy had followed us, he gets real mad, and scared. He asks me, ‘Has he been following us all this time?’ I reckoned he had, so he grabs the boy by the collar. Wicked mad, he is lookin' like he’s going to kill the boy, I stepped in to get the boy let go. Strange night that was.” Jasper’s face faded to an even whiter state. His mind became a flood; his body shook in violent tremors. Surrounded by everyone he knew, all accusing him. He was told that in his “visions” he spoke of removing his nephew. All that could save him was falling memory of that crucial night. Yet, all was foggy, everything appeared so unclear, as though he not been awake that night, so long ago. Could he have smoked that night? Was he in his right mind? The violent anger that flushed him that night at the crypts: Could that have attacked him again? What was he doing in the out with Durdles? The pain of loving Rosa stabbed at him like millions of needles, the vision of Edwin and Rosa kissing under the tree. The needles became hot knives, stabbing deep into his stomach, and twisting at his aching heart. The violent shaking grew worse; he felt all the glares on him, like fingers poking him. Hiding behind his arms, he tried to shield himself from their stares, but nothing he could do would change any of their probing. The world had gone silent, but his ears rang of visions, Edwin’s voice calling out Rosa, then suddenly a scream, a horrible scream, a murderous one. Never once stopping for breath or anything, the scream kept pounding in Jasper’s bleeding ears. Suddenly Jasper recognized the scream, the noise intensified, nothing could be heard but that… Which proved to be the murderous scream of Edwin Drood. With hands on covering his ears, knives in his heart and stomach, he lost feeling in his legs; he could not tell whether he stood or sat. In his tear-blurred vision, blobs appeared to surround him. Through the haunting visions he saw flashes of definite light, a serene clearness that he desired to be a part of. With all his might, he ran to this salvation, faster and faster, the unrecognizable blobs flew by him, closer he came to the clearness. Suddenly, a large crash resounded. The room silenced as they watched the crazed John Jasper jump from the window into the storming night, then fall upon the wet, glistening cement many feet below. A wonderful Christmas day it was, the storm had past through the small town of Cloisterham, taking with it the persistent, dense haze. Along with its departure, a sense of wickedness had been cleared from the small town, yet on the gentle hills of the city’s edge a new haze lurked silently. A strange mind-frame held the townspeople, a feeling of relief, as though a tension had been cut clear of everyone’s conscience. Rosa sat in the iced-over garden, flashing a carefree smile that had not been seen in two years. Mr. Grewgious watched from a window with a joyful grin, happy to see his Rosa smile again. Behind him Helena and Neville sat at a table. No longer did Neville require any fa�ade; his secret investigation that consumed two years of his life had finally come to an end. Crisparkle stood beside his dear friend Grewgious, with a warm heart, feeling that he helped rectify an evil wrong that had befallen the town. On the opposite end of town, Sapsea prepared the wording to be placed onto a plaque, “Commemorating His Mayor Thomas Sapsea’s great achievements in solving the mystery that plagued the peaceful city of Cloisterham.” As the new sun began to poke through the stony window, Durdles finished off a large bottle filled with a potent liquid, the newest gift from Mr. Grewgious. Humming among the town, the heavenly voices of the choir could be heard as they prepared for the Christmas day celebration, directed by the newest choirmaster, Mr. Tartar. Grewgious strolled into his room, gently closing the door behind him. The new Christmas sun cast a bright ray of light through his window, leaving a glowing through the dust suspended in the air and creating a dark shadow across half his face. Sitting at his great wood desk, he leaned down and opened a deep bottom drawer. From this, he heaved up a small safe and set it upon the desk as quietly as he possible. Quickly turning the dial several directions, he unlocked the small door, then dug into his deep pockets producing a key. Holding the key before his face, a single ray of light hitting it, sent a sparkle to the man’s eyes. Then reaching into the dark metal box, unlocking and then pulling from it a small object cradled in his hands with the most delicacy. Opening his hands in the pure unadulterated sunlight, he revealed a bright sparkle, the immaculate ring of diamonds and rubies, which had been presented to Drood several years ago. Holding the ring as one would hold a delicate egg, Grewgious whispered to it, “The boy did not deserve my Rosa. He did not hold her in such high regards as I. She has come to me as a resurrection of her mother, who did not receive what she deserved in life. Young Drood’s mere existence would have tugged at my dear’s heart. I freed her. Jasper, oh what a dark, evil shadow on this town and on my dear Rosa he was. A brighter place Cloisterham is today, as well as Rosa.” Following these words, he gently replaced the ring deep within the small safe. The door slowing creaked open, and into the room stepped a divine silhouette. Grewgious’s heart clenched momentarily as he saw the fleeting image of Rosa’s mother. The beauty radiated from the mature curves of the woman. The smell and memories of her beauty flooded the aging man’s heart and stomach. Letting out a brief gasp, he relaxed, falling back into his chair and showed a gentle smile, as he lovingly inquired, “How are you today, my dear Rosa?” Bibliography:

Word Count: 4076

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