Scarecrow of 1889
Chapter 48: Belonging to the shadow

Chapter 48: Belonging to the shadow

Music Recommendation: Gehenna - Thomas Newman

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Jane felt the air knocked out of her lungs as a voice emerged from the shadows of her room. Her lips quivered at the realisation that he was there, in the same space. She spun on her heel, her eyes sweeping through the room, but she couldn’t see him.

"What are you doing here?" Jane demanded, her voice tinged with apprehension.

"I thought you wanted to see me, hermosa," Ricardo’s voice echoed, though she couldn’t pinpoint his location. Was he behind the curtains? In the bathroom? "Else why would you visit the café we spent hours in, which you skipped all these days?" he added.

He had been watching her. The thought sent a sliver of fear down her spine. "The officers and everyone else are looking for you," she informed him, knowing he was likely already aware.

"I am aware," Ricardo’s voice softened, almost tender.

"Where is Sylvester?" Jane asked, stepping further into the room, her pulse quickening.

"Do you not enjoy talking to me anymore?" Ricardo sounded slightly hurt.

"I didn’t say that. I was just wondering if he and the others are with you," Jane replied, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she heard something creak behind her.

"You look worried, perhaps even scared. Are you afraid I will harm you?" Ricardo asked, then added, "I would never harm you. You have no reason to fear me—"

"You killed those men and women," Jane reminded him, the horrific images of the victims’ bodies flashing through her mind.

"For a reason, never for joy. And it wasn’t entirely me. All of us live by rules," Ricardo answered. Then he went silent, leaving Jane in a tense, unnerving quiet. Before she could ask anything else, her maid appeared with a teacup.

"Milady?" the maid knocked on the door, then entered. Seeing the worry etched on Jane’s face, she asked, "Is everything alright, Lady Jane?"

Jane nodded quickly, "Yes, everything is fine. Leave the cup on the side." Once the maid left and Jane locked the door, she turned back to the room, her voice trembling slightly. "Where are you?" she asked, her heart racing as she braced for his reply.

"I think it’s better for me to stay in the shadows. That’s where home is now," Ricardo murmured, his voice drifting through the room as Jane tried to follow its source. "I know death isn’t the answer, at least from what Dr. Hall tried to tell and teach me."

"Is that your way of saying you had nothing to do with the recent death of the woman found in the back alley of District Six?" Jane asked, moving towards one end of the room where the curtains hung. But when she got closer, she found nothing but emptiness. The dim lighting didn’t help, casting eerie shadows everywhere. She reached out to touch the curtains, when she heard him say,

"Hermosa," a slight warning in his voice, which made her quickly withdraw her hand.

"Show yourself!" Jane demanded, her voice firm. She was beginning to feel as if she were hallucinating, the whole situation making her queasy and bringing back memories of her mother’s disappearance. "I want to see you," she insisted.

Suddenly, the shadows on the curtains began to shift. Jane turned to look behind her, expecting to see someone due to the movement of the shadows, but there was no one. Her stomach twisted into knots. When she turned back to the curtains, he was standing there.

Startled, Jane stumbled backward before catching her footing. She stared at the man before her, a chill running down her spine as she took in his appearance. Half of Ricardo’s face was still handsome, but the other half looked as if it had been burned, the skin scarred and disfigured.

Initially at a loss for words, she finally managed, "W-What happened to your face?"

"Was it the asylum?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, filled with a mix of fear and concern. Or did he get into an accident?

Ricardo raised his hand to his face, feeling the shrivelled skin before a calm smile spread across his lips. "The asylum was annoying, but they didn’t do this. This has been here for a long time. It took time for us to understand, but everything is clear now. You should sit down. Drink your tea before it turns cold."

The tea was the least of her concerns, Jane thought. Something was deeply wrong here, and Ricardo was speaking in riddles. "I have questions..." she said, her voice trembling slightly.

"I will answer them for you. Who else would I answer, if not you?" Ricardo offered her a smile, though he could see the shock in her eyes. "Please sit." She noticed how his english had improved.

Jane’s hands clenched, uncertain how to handle this man who had eluded capture and punishment. She cautiously made her way to the chair, her eyes never leaving him as he watched her patiently. As she sat down, she heard him say,

"You know, I was trying to be good, taking up this whole ordeal of ’healing’. Do you think anyone truly heals when they go through a dark tunnel? Did you ever forget the pain your mother left you with? Yet, I went along with it. They wanted to bring us together, and then they lied," his voice dropped to an angry whisper. "Imagine my shock when I found there was an electric chair waiting for me. To burn me while spectators and people on the radio listened to my screams of agony."

"Their decision was wrong," Jane agreed, remembering her own discontent when the judgment had been made. "But that doesn’t invalidate the public’s anger. You took people’s lives."

"Men and women of sin are to be punished," Ricardo’s voice subtly shifted to a colder tone, a nuance that went unnoticed by Jane. "I took on a role that many people, even those of status, couldn’t. Hell is right here where we live, so it is only right that I serve justice as I always have all these years."

"That’s like saying you’re God..." Jane murmured, a note of disbelief in her voice. How much of progress had really been made inside the mental institution? From what she heard, it took several years before a person was healed.

Ricardo softly chuckled at her words, his face almost empathetic as he smiled. "God, no," he said gently. "I’m just the one who decided not to wait for divine justice to act. If you want to know about the recent murder, I have nothing to do with it. I never knew the woman."

Jane had already suspected as much. But the public and the officials would never accept it as truth, especially given the man’s prior record of killings. She then asked him the burning question—the one that lingered in everyone’s mind.

"How did you get out of the asylum?"

"The same way I got into your room, Jane," he replied, his expression solemn.

"And... how did you get inside my room?" Jane asked, watching as he made his way towards her.

"Through the door. Turning the knobs. In the shadows," he answered cryptically, his words hanging in the air like a riddle. And when Jane continued to stare at him in question, he said, "With the help of Scarecrow—the fourth presence among us. Though I’d say it’s less of a person and more of an entity." He raised his hand, revealing the branch-like fingers.