Chapter 1: Blackfriars Bridge
It was the end.
As Igraine looked down from Blackfriars Bridge, her eyes tried to pierce the darkness to see the dirty water below. The river’s surface was already covered with a layer of fog that grew thicker with every minute, making it impossible to estimate how long her fall would be. She doubted that the impact alone would kill her, but the shock of it, combined with the icy temperature of the water, would finish her off for sure. If she waited until the Thames was cloaked into heavy fog, it would be easier to jump, not having to overcome her fear of heights.
It would take just one small step. The grey cloud would swallow her silently, and the world would move on as if she had never existed. On such a night, only few boats were on the Thames, so probably no one would fish her out of the water to save her. She felt a sudden coldness spreading through her chest, and she knew that it had nothing to do with the October winds that swept over the bridge.
She had not planned this, not even thought about it before. She had walked the streets of London for hours this night after spending the evening in the National Portrait Gallery. She had gone to one of the upper floors and visited the large collection of Tudor paintings, displayed in a dimly lit corridor. History had always fascinated her; faraway times and cultures so different from this world, tales from people who had lived and breathed, loved and died with passion although life had been short and full of hardships.
The long-deceased men and women on the paintings had looked down their aristocratic noses to watch her while she moved about; their lifeless eyes following Igraine. They seemed to mock her, a woman in her thirties, who was spending what should have been her wedding trip on her own. She was walking the silent, lonely corridors of the gallery at night while the streets around her bustled and hummed with life.
Having left the gallery, her steps led her automatically towards the river. Going east, following the embankment, she saw the red-and-white wrought iron arches of the bridge looming in the distance and knew that this was her destination. Finally, she climbed the stairs to Blackfriars. It was blocked off for traffic due to renovation works, but she just ducked under the barrier and walked up the sidewalk until she reached the middle of the deserted bridge. She went to the railing and looked over at the nearby remnants of a demolished old railway bridge. Pairs of massive red columns protruded from the river like the teeth of a dead whale.
Maybe it was something she had read about this bridge which had led her here. In Victorian times, it had been a popular place for desperate women to commit suicide. Most of them had fallen from grace, impoverished and without hope, often pregnant with an unwanted, illegitimate child. The dignified presence of the bridge had separated them from St. Paul’s, a symbol of faith and purity.
Igraine looked to the north, where the cathedral’s gloomy dome stood guard over the city. Suddenly, she realized how many generations of people had come and gone here, and she knew that it didn’t really matter what happened to her. The world would have forgotten her very soon. She was nothing but a light breeze that had moved the leaves of a huge old tree just for a short moment, then vanished into the air, never to be remembered.
She leaned against the railing and buried her face in her hands, her ragged breath rapidly turning into deep, painful sobs. There was only one question in her mind, growing louder and louder until she wanted to cry it out to the night, demanding an answer.
Why? Why couldn't he just love me? I did everything I could to make him. What is wrong with me?
She knew how foolish this was, like a little girl who couldn't understand why someone she loved had left her. Rationally, she knew that it had not been her fault, that he simply was a lying, betraying jerk who wasn't worthy of her love.
However, a little voice inside her head told her otherwise; said that she was just not the type of woman to attract a man’s love; that she would never be good enough, no matter how hard she tried. And what was worse, she knew that this belief was embedded so deeply inside her heart that it would always end like that if she hoped to find love. Anger rose in her. She hit the cold metal of the balustrade with her fist until her hand was bruised and bleeding, a most welcome feeling. The physical pain felt good; much better than the one burning inside her chest that threatened to rip her apart. It hit her with the might of a storm, wave after furious wave. She didn't want to hurt anymore. Feeling nothing would be a blessing.
Igraine straightened her back and leaned forward, looking down into the swirling fog. In that moment, everything inside her knew how wrong this was. No. Don’t let him win. You’ll find a way to shield yourself, to survive this. She hesitated, starting to retreat to the safety of the bridge. It was just at this instant that she knew that she was not alone.
Somebody was watching her.
She looked around, checking both sides of the bridge. Nobody. But she was sure that there had to be someone. The skin at the back of her neck began to tingle. Shivers of awareness ran down her spine. The ice-cold wind brought tears to her eyes and blew her long curls into her face, so she could hardly recognize anything. Suddenly, she felt vulnerable; frightened like a small animal, while a predator lurked in the dark, waiting for the right moment to kill his prey.
Igraine directed her eyes to the columns of the demolished bridge. It was too dark to see clearly, but on one of them a large black shadow that had been crouching there slowly rose against the starless sky. It could not be a human being. How could anyone have gotten onto that ruin, with no way to cross the deep chasm between the bridges? But it stared at her as if it wanted to look right into her soul, she was sure of that.
She whirled around and started to run for her life. Only a few moments later she heard a deep, heavy thud behind her that made the bridge vibrate under her feet, but she did not turn back. Then she heard the sound of footsteps. Someone was coming after her, and he was fast like the wind that tore at her body and hindered her progress. Yet Igraine managed to make it almost to the end of the bridge. Almost.
She never saw it coming. She was thrown down to the ground by a heavy weight, driving the breath out of her lungs, so she couldn't even scream. Panicking, she struggled to free herself, but to no avail. Suddenly, a smooth piece of fabric covered her head, and she became rigid with fear. My God, he will choke me to death, she thought. She tried to speak, to beg for her life, but every sound was suffocated by a piece of fabric that felt like pure silk against her skin.
But isn’t this just what you wanted? Be careful what you wish for, lest it come true. The self-mocking thought was her last before a merciful darkness came upon her and swallowed her whole.