Page 109 of By Any Means

“What did you make him do?”

Raberding rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. He’s having the time of his life.”

It didn’t look like fun. But then August made a gurgling noise, throat-bound, and it took Chary several seconds to realize it was, in fact, laughter.

“Diacetylmorphine,” Raberding went on, self-satisfied. He hauled Sarah closer. “All the way from Germany, and as yet quite hard to acquire if one isn’t Bellevue Hospital. I could pull the trigger on him now and he’d go out giggling.” He chuckled. It was the evilest thing Chary had ever heard. “Best medicine in the world, unless you’re a fiend like this one. Industry hasn’t the only innovation happening.”

August’s gurgle stopped abruptly. “Morpheus?” he said, eerily clear, then slurred morosely, “H-Hiram shhhhall be ssso angry.” His head fell forward, chin on his chest, and stayed there.

Sarah gasped in surprise. Raberding snorted.

Chary stepped forward, instinctive. “No, no, he’d understand⁠—”

“Ah-ah,” Raberding scolded. “Stay.”

Sarah whimpered. Chary stayed. “But can he breathe?”

“Oh, yes. Trust that I’ve seen him through greater impediment than this.”

“You didn’t see him through a thing. You left him h-hurt and bleeding.”

August groaned out what was formerly his sharp cackle. “He… w-wishhh.” Saliva strung down from his teeth onto his lap. “Let ’er go, Tjo. Promised.”

Raberding lowered the gun in exasperation. “How are you still lucid, you mad bull? It’s supposed to be instantaneous.” Reaching, not letting go of Sarah, he pushed August’s chin up and back. “Ugh. Drooling mad, indeed.” He wiped his hand on Sarah’s maid’s uniform, grimacing. “If he told you he’s free of it, well, I hope this does to enlighten you. He isn’t.”

August, mouth dropped open again, eyes shut, appeared to have finally succumbed, lost to oblivion. But he did still breathe: his chest rose slowly, with heart-stopping pauses between. Maybe Raberding was right and it was pleasant where he was. Now that he couldn’t do anything about his being there, Chary hoped it was.

“Let her go, he said.”

Raberding sighed. “But I am a man of my word. Sarah, my dear.”

He widened his arms, shifting the barrel of the pistol to face August, at the same time releasing Sarah. “Better?” he taunted Chary. Then to Sarah: “Get his keys.”

Chary inhaled. “What?”

Sarah regained her footing on her heels, teetering; she reset her maid’s cap and stepped over.

“The keys, please.” She muttered, “Sorry.”

“You. It must’ve been you. You told him August was alive. When?” Chary marveled. He looked up to Raberding. “How long have you known?”

“The keys, Mr. Wright,” Raberding drawled. He gestured with the pistol. “He won’t even feel it. Easier than putting down a dog.”

Trembling, Chary handed them over. Without looking at him, Sarah snatched them, slipped through the door, and ran.

“You put a spy in my house,” Chary gritted out.

Raberding laughed. “No, I put out a press bounty. ‘Five hundred dollars silver to the man who can print the mystery of August Wright.’” Of course, this, Chary had known about; this was what Laurie hadn’t taken. “Sarah merely took initiative to spy on you all on her own. She’s some kind of, let’s see… first printing of Lawrence Tulley. A predecessor.”

“Sarah’s a reporter?”

“Yes, although she, like your Tulley, found August’s story unrelentingly boring.” He brightened. “My money, less so. Thankfully for her.”

“I won’t believe a word you say. What do you have on her?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? An investigative reporter probably shouldn’t have ready exploitables, should they? Tulley did very well with that until you came along.” He smiled at Chary’s glare. “What? I am supposed to leave the five-dollar bill lying upon the pavement?”

“What will you have her do, then?”