Monologue Of Eli

“Clue, sir?” Eli said. “He leaves them after each killing. It’s all in the files, Mr Walker.” Hugh took out another, smaller stack of papers which were rolled up. He handed them to Eli. The outer page of the roll was brown, and smelt of old smoke. Eli thanked Mr Stafford, and I bowed my head. Before we left his office, I leant in to Eli, my long black hair covering our faces, obscuring the view for any would-be lip readers present. Naturally, there were none. I pursed my lips, and whispered into his ear. “You should really thank Mr Stafford for handing you this case. Imagine what it could mean for you, Eli.” And so he did. Just before we left, the chief warned us of the dangers of getting too close to his man. He said that the trick was to catch him if we could, without ever getting in his way. He called him unmerciful, vengeful, hellish and horrid in his execution of those he chooses to take.

You might say that when he scooped me up from the ice-cold earth that night, he had in effect done nothing more than remove me from dark, dangerous, murder-filled city, only to plant me in another. You could say that a larger, far more dangerous city awaited me in London. At the very least, it was a murderous city. We’d faced death before, and we’d fled across the ocean. A perfect home, a perfect retreat. How perfect did it turn out to be, though? After leaving Woodland Point, and returning to London, we had a singular chance to rebuild our lives. We’d taken it, and we had a small, quiet, but safe lifestyle. Catching The Ferryman would catapult Eli into wealth, fame, and prosperity. We didn’t care too much for these things. Well, not really anyway. Okay, maybe just a bit. But, perhaps we shouldn’t have wished for them. After all, there was one Lajunas family member still out there. Considering what I’d started with, I was more than happy with what we had. I wanted good things for Eli, though. This was a good thing, I