The Bleeding Ruby

The Bleeding Ruby

  by

  Mark R. McAnaney

  *copyright. All Rights Reserved. Phantom of the Sound 2012.

  All rights reserved. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Letter from Jacob Riley to Dr. Edwin Walters; dated 5th February, 1894:

  Dear Dr. Walters,

  I do not believe I was meant to live much longer. The things I've witnessed of my own existence have become far too much to stand, and I haven't the nerve or the stomach to handle any of it at all. Is it all so meaningless that life can come to such morbid preponderances? Even you, doctor, could not save me from the daemons inside of this cursed treasure of mine. You, whom I've searched out to reach my cold and trembling hand to in desperation, could not help that which cannot be saved. You, the best psychologist in all of Europe. Why else would a patient in London need to seek out a physician based in Prague? I do thank you for the efforts though, the constant travelling across the continent to my aid may have been a worthless and non-productive deed, but at least you tried.

  My indecisiveness leaves me with the bitter, yet inviting taste of gun oil in my mouth. I want to do it badly, my thirst for my own blood drives me madder and madder with self-hatred by the hour, and I fear that by the time this epitaph of mine reaches you, I may no longer be.

  I owe all of my misfortunes to this damned alien piece of unknown metal on my finger, adorned with the hateful and life draining glow of the cursed red gem of death. The inscription is still not in the slightest bit clear to me, as I have not yet successfully decoded even a mere fragment of the unearthly language engraved on the underside of the horrid object of my demise. It has not even left me with any memory of the past three months, save for a few mere blurs more likened to fleeting nightmares than to any actual memory in the traditional sense. It even escapes me how we've met, and any trace of how I've come across your address escapes me. All I do know is that I've found this address in the top right hand drawer of the desk in my study and your name has such a familiarity to it that I know you may be able to help me. Amnesia is not an easy thing to deal with, but I know from my personal notes that you must me a significant person in this stage of my broken life, however it may be that I've arrived here in this place. In all my studies on the matter of physics, I've not heard one professional of the subject mention a proven possibility of time travel, as it is merely a far-fetched theory. I do apologise for the blatant insanity on my behalf, but it is the only idea that aids me in making any sense of my life right now!

  My last memory of significance is that cursed ring! I remember gazing into it, not being able to look away. The ring's unforgiving black whisper seemed to be shot directly into my soul, leaving me emotionally crippled and unable to fight back. It had a message for me that I wish I had never received. It showed me this point in my life. The vision appeared in the centre of the gem, as I felt every part of my being being pulled into it. I was so utterly helpless that an overpowering feeling of nausea overwhelmed me. The experience was one which I'd never imagined with even the darkest mad parts of my soul. It completely took control of my existence at that dark moment and the world around me faded into my own black abyss. The strongest sense of self-loathing, and yet there was the overpowering element of the highest freedom in the universe, crippled me with the strangest blending of hell within a human that must be possible in the known understanding of mankind. What it showed me was unspeakably disturbing to me, that I will not write to you all the details, as I am not sure how comfortable with a possible stranger I really am. I write to you this letter out of complete desperation alone.

  Vaguely though, it showed me the day in which I take my own life. I obviously have no real memory of my own death at my own hands, but the feeling of looking into my abysmal future felt like a memory of past true events. My morbid curiosity overtook me and I could not look away from the death locked gaze it had on me! It showed me as I am now, today as I write you this memoir of a life gone so horribly wrong.

  I was sitting here, intoxicated both by the madness scurrying through my disease-warped mind and by the two handles of whiskey I've polished off in a short hour. Perhaps I wanted to save myself from the pain of death, in case such a pain is felt while the brain is in its final moments of lively function. The need to escape whatever unknown pain this gem forced into my brain overwhelms me as it has for several months. The pistol is loaded and cleaned and ready to be used as the automatic death machine that it was meant to be. The saddest part is, I have little clue as to how I ended up here. Crazy as it sounds, I feel as though I've time travelled both from the past and future simultaneously to arrive here.

  Maybe it is all the damned ring's fault. I have no idea how I've come to possess it, or rather how it came to possess me, but I must lock it away where I can never see it again. I urge you though, come back to London and hope I am still alive, and this cursed gem is gone. Time is of the essence, and I know not what I may do at my own hand!

  Regards,

  Jacob Riley

  Letter from Jacob Riley to Dr. Edwin Walters; dated 3rd March, 1894:

  Dear Dr. Walters,

  No amount of gratitude will suffice for all you have done for me! I am writing you once again to thank you for your urgent visit nearly one month ago almost to the day, though I owe you so much more! The ring is still locked into a safe place which remains undisclosed to me, as I have locked it away and given it to my fiancé, the lovely Angel McIntyre of Belfast, to hide it from me where I shall never see it.

  I will again re-utter all which you have convinced me in our emergency therapy session on that dreadful night one month ago. The ring, so you've revealed to me and I've accepted, is nothing but a mere family heirloom. It is a near worthless inheritance from my impoverished grandmother who had nothing else of even remote value to give. Her grim fate at the hands of her own mental illness had nothing to do with the ring either, as it was in the asylum's possession at the time of her demise and not in her own. I must never see this ring again, as it triggers the mild disease within my own mind, which was inherited from my grandmother as well and not caused by the ring. This disease of mine, so you've told me, is nothing to be shameful of and it matters not what the world thinks, as my disease is a mild obsession based illness and it is manageable and will not destroy my life as it does other more severely afflicted people.

  This I believe now with most of my heart, though I do admit the sickness in the more primitive animal-like parts of my brain causes it to bleed and cry out from my denial. The illness continues to feed me the lies I have poisoned myself with, though I just think again of our therapy session and all you have revealed to me and I can manage.

  Again, I cannot thank you enough for saving my life, and I will continue to follow up with you monthly in therapy to reinforce the truths you've revealed to me. I should be seeing you soon!

  Thanks again,

  Jacob Riley

  Letter from Jacob Riley to Dr. Edwin Walters; dated 28th March 1894:

  Dear Dr. Walters,

  I write to you this time, not of concern for myself, as you have aided me through the dark times of my life, but in concern of the love of my life. Angel has been acting very strange lately. Only a mere shell of the vibrant beauty I have come to adore with all my being exists within her now. Just a fortnight ago, I remember her as the most wonderful happy free spirit I have ever encountered. She woul
d always have a charm about her unique to the angelic spirit within, her deep crystal blue eyes and perfect white pearly smile constantly reflecting the purest gaze any creature can emit. Her dark olive skin feels of silk as she embraces me with the most gentle tenderness, and the sweet scent of her long, wavy black hair always entices me into forgetting all about the cruel perils of the world.

  All I've seen as of late is a broken spirit crying out for solitude, her hair in tangled mange-like mats, her eyes red with the burning irritation of tears. The woman I love will not even speak to me, and it is crushing to the point where I commonly lose the will to live myself.

  I have no idea what has gotten into her. She knows nothing of hardship, being the perfectly gentle feminine spirit she is, and the first encounter with the unforgiving world must have defaced her, and so I am in need of your services yet again.

  I must warn you though, dear doctor, that this will not be any ordinary case of sudden depression. Both of our lives may be at peril, in fact. Just three nights ago, she has tried to take my life. The love of my life attacked me under a spell of the most intense insanity I have ever imagined! She was completely unrecognisably clutched into the hellish grasp of insane blind rage and nothing I said to her seemed to