Humboldt drew the straight razor across his cheek removing the last of the dirt encrusted beard that he had suffered during his years of incarceration. Wiping streaks of soap from his chin he inspected the clean shaven face reflected in the mirror. The haunted face of a haggard stranger inspected his in return. He felt older than his years, much older, each and every one of those years weighed heavily upon his weary shoulders. Physical and mental torture by both Henry and the doctor had brought him down low, lower than he had ever been. Having witnessed the love of his life brutally murdered right before his eyes had pushed him beyond despair. A promise given to Jessica as she lay dying in his arms to save her son from Henry's wickedness was the only reason he had denied himself the quick surrender that would have allowed him to follow her to that distant land beyond the horizon of this world. He must continue to linger on, for now at least.

With tears of sorrow gathering at the corners of his eyes Humboldt hacked at his matted hair until a brush could pass through what was left. His face clean, his hair combed, he felt almost human once more, rather than the beast they had reduced him to. Wiping away the tears of grief with the palm of his hand Humboldt turned, and stepped over the rapidly cooling corpse. Humboldt avoided the dark red stain that had spread out around the doctor. Pulling on the dead man's jacket and hat, he hoped it would be enough of a disguise to afford him the time that he needed to find Henry and escape with the boy without drawing any unwanted attention.

Humboldt hadn't intended to kill Victor, but the doctor had forced his hand.

'Doctor, have you seen Henry, is he here at the prison? I must know.' Humboldt hardened his tone, and was ready to use force.

Victor gave Humboldt a knowing grin that chilled his heart 'Henry? Yes I've seen Henry. He came back here oh, about an hour ago. He seemed to be occupied with something, so I left him to himself '

'Occupied, occupied with what?' Humboldt felt time was slipping away from him. He knew he must hurry.

Victor swung his arm and pointed towards the double doors 'He was carrying a rather large bundle down into the solitary wing under Block B, across the way there' Victor smiled coldly with knowledge of something secret.

Humboldt disliked this man intensely; he shivered every time the man spoke, but he knew he had to ask him for more,

'A child, was there a child. Did he have his son with him?' Humboldt commanded urgently.

Flippantly, the doctor teased 'There may have been a child, I wasn't paying much attention'

Humboldt flew at Victor, taking hold of him by the throat, he screamed in anger.

'DID HE HAVE A CHILD WITH HIM, YES OR NO?' Humboldt's face was so close that his spittle sprayed Victor's face.

Falling back under Humboldt's sudden attack the doctor threw out his hands to steady himself. His fingers brushed over medical equipment that had scattered across the workbench. Quickly he palmed a scalpel 'Yes, yes there was a small boy. Henry took him down into solitary confinement also.'

Humboldt let Victor sink down into a chair, and stepped back already lost in thought. He now knew what he had to do to save the boy and the boy's future. Humboldt readied himself for what was to come.

It soon became apparent to Victor that after Humboldt had dealt with Henry, the man had every intention of disgracing him and ruining his reputation. His life's work would be destroyed. He could not allow that to happen. And so in desperation Victor had tried to distract Humboldt and began to shout for the guards and raise the alarm. Then taking his chance he had lunged with the hidden scalpel and made a glancing blow across Humboldt's raised defensive hand. Wrestling with the doctor and avoiding another strike aimed at his face, Humboldt brought a knee up into the man's stomach knocking the wind from him. He then sank his teeth into the doctor's hand making him drop the knife. With a swift head butt to the bridge of the doctor's nose Humboldt retrieved the scalpel and with no remorse plunged it deep into Victor's throat, severing his windpipe and lodging the blade into his spine.

Looking down at the dying man Humboldt felt no sympathy for him. 'Well doctor,' he said, 'it seems you lived by the scalpel and you died by the scalpel. Fitting, don't you think?'

From direct experience Humboldt knew that the doctor had no conscience, no moral compass, therefore no rules and no limitations. It made him a dangerous man. The world did not need a monster such as this, especially a medically trained monster. The world was better off without his kind. At least he had divulged Henry's whereabouts and the locations of solitary before attempting to kill him. No sleep would be lost over this doctor of death.

Humboldt was now ready to deal with Henry. Wrapping a piece of cloth around his bleeding hand he drank his tea. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had anything warm to drink, it must have been years. And so he wasn't going to rush the sensation of warmth in his stomach, not even for Henry. Once the cup had been drained, and his stomach strengthened against the bitter cold, Humboldt took what he felt was to be his final steps towards justice. Or was it revenge? Did it really matter anymore? Either way Henry had to die tonight. He knew it was the only way.

Slipping what looked to be a bone saw from the workbench into the waistband of his newly acquired trousers, Humboldt pushed his way through the double swing doors and stealthy crept back up the slipway and into the dark. Night had fallen, and so had the temperature. His labored breath clouded before his face. Shadows pooled around the outer walls of the deserted yard that separated the two cell blocks, creating avenues of secrecy. He could see the battered and worn door to the lower level of solitary standing in what remained of the partially demolished cell block B. Lost in the middle of a mountain of rubble and brick, it was in danger of being swallowed up, all traces of its existence and all that was within would be erased, gone.

Hurrying along an avenue of night, Humboldt kept to the shadows, keeping his eyes and ears alert for any signs of patrolling guards. The startling metallic clang of an Iron Gate slamming shut hit like thunder. The sound reverberated all around the prison, masking its origins. Making his way slowly along, Humboldt prepared himself for discovery. Sudden movement up at a barred window caught his eye, he froze. Looking down in his direction was a prison guard. Humboldt recognized him as Officer Stiles, the governor's right hand man. Keeping calm and staying in character he tipped the brim of the doctor's hat in Stiles' direction and continued on his way towards the door as if all was well. Officer Stiles neither waved nor acknowledged him. Neither did he suspect that the doctor was in fact an impostor, barely pausing for the next Iron Gate to open fully, Stiles rushed through the narrow gap and disappeared. On reflection, Humboldt thought that Stiles look upset. Something was up, Humboldt hoped it wasn't him. Putting Stiles out of his mind and concentrating on matters at hand he raced across the final stretch of lit ground and arrived at his destination without further incident.

The blue ramshackle door was already ajar. Slipping inside, Humboldt stepped into a darkness that disturbed him. He could smell fear and despair here. Extending out his arms to either side, he rested his hands on the passage walls. Carefully letting his fingers glide over the rough brick surface, he guided himself along. His nerves were on edge. Humboldt sensed that somewhere in here things had gone terribly wrong. Like a physical barrier trying to hold him back the air was thick with malice. Closing his eyes he willed himself to take each step, and forced himself through the unsettlingly atmosphere. Coming to a halt, Humboldt stepped cautiously through what felt like an open steel gate. He pushed on towards a very faint glow that emanated from out of the floor further up ahead. He shuffled his feet along the rubble strewn floor, testing his way. Moments that seemed to last forever passed him by, and then his foot found clear air as a gap appeared in the ground before him. The faint glow had grown and brightened with a subtle flicker, giving life to the shadows. Looking down he could make out a short flight of stairs that would lead him down to another dim passageway below. Apprehensive at what was to be revealed to him once he descended, he took each step one at a time and hoped that this was the passage that Henry had taken and where he would find Jessica's son, hopefully alive.

Humboldt reached the bottom and picked up the source of the illumination. An oil lamp had been left burning on the last step. Again, he let his fingers trace along the wall, through its damp, greasy slime covered surface. The sound of dripping water leaking down into the subterranean dungeon echoed sharply around him. For that was exactly what this place was Humboldt thought, a dungeon, a dark, dingy and dead, a place of torment and torture. Mould and rot hung in the air. The taste of it as he breathed sickened him. Making his way along the passageway the smell of death washed over him like a wave of putrid gaseous meat. Dizzy with the cloying stink Humboldt buried his face into the crook of his elbow and sucked air in through the jacket's tweed cloth. Trying his best to take shallow breaths he moved on. At the far end of the passageway, past two rows of evenly spaced wooden support beams that were holding up the unstable roof, another glowing lamp sat upon the floor. In between the two lamps stood six black openings, three either side of the passageway. Beyond them a seventh opening was shrouded in shadow. Pulling himself along the slick wall he found and entered the first doorway to his right. It reeked of death. Holding up his lamp Humboldt inspected the cell and found it empty except for a pile of dirt covered clothing. His eyes narrowed as he noticed unsettling details.

'Oh dear God, Henry what have you done?'

Chained to a wall was the emaciated body of a man lying face down on the blood wet floor, dead, his throat cut deep, ear to ear, a flash of white bone visible. Stumbling several paces back Humboldt turned and hurriedly left the corpse in its dungeon. With a growing dread he stepped across to the doorway opposite and entered. A familiar stench enveloped him. On the floor was the body of another man lying in a pool of blood chained to the wall. Again the throat had been cut 'Oh Sweet Jesus!'

Making his way down the passage towards the second lamp Humboldt entered each cell in turn to find the single dead body of an inmate; chained to the wall their throats cut and their blood spilled over the floor. Humboldt was aghast at what Henry had done here. How had he sunk to this level of wickedness? Had his soul always been corrupt from birth or had he turned to evil? More worrying to Humboldt was what role the pendant had played in this. Had it somehow lured Henry, and seduced him into committing these depraved acts of evil? Humboldt did not know and probably never would. With each step he took into the inky blackness, shadows reached out to him like wraiths pleading to him for release. The stench of death and rot was unbearable. Humboldt had to stop and rest his head against the wall to give his mind a moment to overcome the urge to flee. He desperately needed to get out of there. He begged his legs to carry him out into the clean, cool air of the night, so he could cleanse his lungs of the suffocating smell. But he knew he had to stay, he had to go on. This had to end. It had to end now, tonight.

Without any warning the deafening silence of the underground hell was shattered by the terrified screams of a woman begging for mercy, and the mercy for another.

'FOR GOD'S SAKE, HE'S YOUR SON!'

Jolted out of his dizzy stupor Humboldt ran down the shadowed passageway towards the screams of the woman and hopefully the boy. Skidding to a halt outside the last door of the hell hole he knocked over the lamp on the floor and spilled its oil. Thrusting forth his own lamp, the devil was revealed to him. Its hand raised high above its head holding a stained knife, poised to strike the terror stricken woman. Clutching at a small struggling child the woman closed her eyes, not wishing to see her terrible end. Although he had expected to see exactly what was before him, still he couldn't help but gasped in shock.

Humboldt cried out 'HENRY!'

Henry smiled to himself with the knowledge that it had all been so easy. No trouble at all. He had dealt with each inmate one at a time. Gathering their strength and remembering their memories. He became more potent and powerful with each kill. And now it was time to finish it once and for all. Holding a knife above the terrified pair Henry was prepared to bury it in the heart of the young boy cowering in the bosom of his nanny. Henry thought she looked so fragile, so afraid, just like Jessica had. But don't they all? The boy cried out at the sight of his monstrous father wielding the knife and hid his face in his nanny's bosom once again. Alice clung to the boy even tighter.

Henry knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this offspring of a rapist must die and so must she. No one must know this boy was spoiled at birth. No one can know that his wife had subjected herself to defilement at the hands of Frank Gregory. The bitch, she had concealed this from him and had expected him to raise the bastard as a Newhart. The humiliation and shame would have spelled disaster for his family's legacy, his business dealings and especially any aspirations of a political career. These two must disappear, it was the only way. At last he felt that the end to this whole affair was within his grasp and now he would be able to build a new life on the ruins of the old, just as this very building was fated to suffer. It all seemed right and proper; meant to be.

The knife began its descent. Henry's hand guided its path towards his charlatan son. The silver blade caught hold of a single flicker from the oil lamp and sent a glint of white light stabbing sharply into his eyes. It felt like a frozen icicle had been forced deep into his brain. And for a fraction of a second Henry was allowed a moment of pure clarity. The sound of constant laughter that had been ringing in his ears ever since Jessica's death had stopped. He was now on the outside of everything taking place; separated from events, looking inwards. He was able to see all he had done and all he was about to do. Shock and revulsion struck him to the core and threatened to overwhelm him.

'My son, Oh dear God what's happened to me? What have I become?'

Despair raged through his mind. A whirlwind of guilt cut a swathe through his thoughts and gripped his heart, squeezing until he could no longer breathe. With shame Henry lowered the blade and stumbled away from his victims, tears running down his ashen face. With his face buried in his hands Henry wailed out loud 'OH DEAR GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE?'

As if God himself answered, a voice broke through his despair and boomed.

'HENRY!!'

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