The Case of Notre Dame Cathedral

By evolution-500

Genre: Sci-Fi/Horror

Disclaimer: "TimeSplitters" is a property that belongs to Free Radical and Koch Media. I do not own the characters.

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language and dark themes/subject matter. Reader discretion is advised.

Epilogue: Dark Future

"No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be."

- Bram Stoker

Two months later...

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how I managed to solve the case."

As he finished recounting his story, Algernon watched as all the fancily-dressed men and women surrounding him in the parlor heartily laughed, some of them clapping in applause and cheering.

"I say, Algernon, old chap, you never cease to be such a fun character!" A rake-thin man in a grey suit and a golden van dye-styled mustache praised as he clapped the detective on the shoulder.

The detective dipped his head in deference to his friend. "You are too kind, Nigel."

"Oh, it is my absolute pleasure, old boy." Taking a sip of his sherry, Nigel raised his glass, "My friends, let us toast to the finest detective in all of England! May he continue to serve Her Majesty and gladden our hearts with his wonderful stories for many years to come."

"Here here!" Another gentlemen toasted, his glass joined with dozens of others. "To Algernon Underwood."

Raising his glass, Algernon toasted, joining with everyone as he downed his drink with a single gulp, relishing the taste.

Taking his pocket watch out from his coat, he studied the time.

"Well, Nigel, it has been a a wonderful evening," he nodded in appreciation, putting the watch back into his coat, "but I'm afraid that it is time for my leave." Algernon watched as the ladies and gentlemen awed, some of the former pouting, prompting him to raise his hands in placation, "I know, I know, but I do not wish to outstay our generous host's welcome."

"Nonsense, Algernon ol' boy, you are always a pleasure to be around!" Nigel assured. "Are you sure I cannot persuade you to stay a little longer?"

Beside him, his wife Theresa, a small, mouse-like woman with blonde curls, smiled brightly as she nodded in agreement. "Yes, we don't mind at all!"

Algernon shook his head, "You are both too kind, but I'm afraid I have an early appointment tomorrow, so I am going to need all the rest that I can get in these old bones."

Nigel nodded sympathetically. "Well, in that case, I'll have my servant Roger escort you." Algernon watched as he then proceeded to ring the servant's bell. Once he finished, Nigel then took the detective's hand and firmly shook it, smiling broadly, "Thank you very much for coming, old friend."

"And thank you for having me, Nigel," Algernon smiled back. "It is greatly appreciated. I'll be sure to provide you with a signed copy of one of my books to give to your son."

"Oh, that would be splendid! Ash will be absolutely thrilled!"

"I believe he has a birthday coming up, does he not?" Algernon queried.

Theresa nodded. "Yes, that is correct." Letting out a slight gasp, her eyes widened as she raised both hands to her cheeks, as if struck by an epiphany, "Oh! I just had a thought!" The tiny woman looked up at Algernon with a hopeful expression, "Would you be available for his birthday?"

"Oh Theresa!" Nigel lightly scolded.

"Hush, dear." She then looked back at Algernon, "It would mean the world to Ash if you would be able to come and meet him. He absolutely adores your adventures, so much so that he thinks of you as his idol."

Preening slightly, Algernon tilted his head in thought, stroking his chin. "Weeelll, I cannot promise anything right away. I will need to consult my schedule to make sure that I don't have any appointments, but I will let you know if I do. If so, I will gladly come."

"Ohh, thank you, Algernon!" Theresa beamed.

The detective smiled. "Oh, think nothing of it."

Through the throng of people, a black-suited man in his thirties with a beak-like nose approached, his hair short, dark and curly.

"You rang, sir?" he queried.

"Ah, Roger!" Nigel greeted. "Would you kindly help retrieve Mr. Underwood's hat and coat? I'm afraid that he has an early night ahead of him."

The servant obediently nodded, "Of course, sir." Turning back to face Algernon, Roger then gestured to the entrance, "If you would follow me please."

Nodding, Algernon complied, taking one last sip of his glass before handing it to a passing servant, who calmly placed it on the tray that he was holding.

As he passed by the rest of the men and women, the detective heard them all singing behind him.

"For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow,

For he's a jolly good fellow, and so say all of us!"

* * * * *

Stepping out of the house with his walking stick, Algernon made his way toward the four-wheeled horse-drawn carriage, stepping into the passenger seat.

Once he was more comfortable, he then cleared his throat and peered out the window of the stagecoach, addressing the driver. Once he finished providing his address, Algernon settled back into the red supple leather cushion, staring out the window at dark the fog-covered cobblestone streets of London, listening to the clip-clop of heavy hooved feet.

Through the fog, he saw several figures flit about, their outlines barely discernible in the darkness, the black silhouettes of buildings looming all around him.

Brown leather gloves crinkled as Algernon anxiously palmed his walking stick, his ears twitching at the slightest sound, a trickle of sweat breaking out as he quietly sat through the ride without making conversation with the driver, grimly silent as he reflected to himself.

When he had awakened, Algernon had found himself alone in the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital, where he had been treated for both severe hypothermia and a mild head injury. Thankfully the latter hadn't been too severe, although it had required some stitches and for Algernon to remain in hospital for a period in order to recover while answering police inquiries and recounting what had happened.

He had changed details around and omitted at least some information, mainly his more supernatural encounters, partly because he wanted to believe that what had happened was nothing more than a fever dream, and partly because Algernon frankly didn't want to think about those experiences.

Thinking about what he had seen sometimes made it difficult to sleep at night, and on those few instances when he had, Algernon would find himself staying awake for long hours thinking about what else was real, what other horrors existed beyond the veil.

What other horrors lurked and waited to be discovered.

Shivering slightly, Algernon adjusted his black overcoat as the wind picked up, a low whining that was slightly muffled by the stagecoach's windows.

To his disappointment, the harlequin had vanished along with his favorite bowler hat and jacket, leaving Algernon on his own to deal with French authorities, all of whom had been anything but amused by the damage done to Notre Dame cathedral. Thankfully, however, he was able to get the matter cleared up without any criminal charges leveled against him on the account of the rescued maidens, all of whom attested on his behalf, although the lead investigator, a stuck-up inspector with a serious chip on his shoulder, made it a point to let him off with a mildly-worded warning.

The detective snorted. Snotty little Frog.

Still, at least some good came out of it - not only had he been properly compensated by the families that had hired him, but he had also been awarded a gold Honor medal for courage and devotion for his efforts.

In many ways, Algernon felt satisfied with the outcome.

Jacque de la Morte and his cultists had been stopped, the maidens had been returned back to their families, Algernon had received payment for his services, and - last but not least - justice had been served.

...And yet, Algernon could not help feeling a tinge of dissatisfaction.

Turning his thoughts back to the harlequin, the detective felt his mood dim the more he thought about her.

While he had been grateful for her assistance, along with the fact that she hadn't taken any of his money, nor his father's pocket watch, Algernon still felt very crossed by the loss of his favorite items.

He supposed that he should be grateful to have made it out of that nightmare with his very life, that the harlequin hadn't killed him...and yet, he couldn't help feeling a little disappointed, if not feel somewhat...betrayed.

After all, while the harlequin was a woman of intrigue, with very peculiar habits, she had been a good companion who had always been by his side throughout that nightmarish ideal, a comrade in arms who had helped him locate and save those maidens from a fate assuredly worse than death.

Part of him was dismayed by the fact that she never made her presence known, let alone made any attempt at stepping forward and having her efforts recognized.

Algernon's eyes lowered, the old man letting out a weary sigh.

What was even more disappointing was the harlequin's lack of acknowledgment, of gratitude; she hadn't even bothered to tell him her name.

As Algernon darkly sat alone in the carriage, he closed his eyes and exhaled, his shoulders drooping as he rested his forehead against the handle of his walking stick.

I suppose it is too much to expect a little courtesy from a clown of all people, if not honor.

* * * * *

He heard the loud chimes of Big Ben echoing loudly as he climbed up the stairs to his office.

Taking out his pocket watch from his coat, Algernon took note of the time, then proceeded upward to the third floor before finally arriving at his destination.

Taking his key out, he unlocked it and stepped inside, relishing the familiarity of his home.

The room was large and spacious with green wallpaper, the walls lined with large bookshelves at the sides, the floors covered with Persian rugs of elaborate design. At the room's center was a burning hearth that warmed the room and provided comfort, while a long brown mahogany desk was positioned directly in front of a large window. Several shelves and filing cabinets lined his desk, while another smaller desk sat a few feet to its left, which was currently occupied by his secretary, forty-nine-year-old Ms. Cranston, as she busily working the typewriter.

Upon seeing her, Algernon's face lit up, his mouth pulled into a genuine smile.

"Good evening, Ms. Cranshaw," he greeted, drawing her attention as he hung up his hat and coat on a coat stand next to the door.

"Good evening, Mr. Underwood," she smiled, letting out a yawn.

"I'm surprised to see you still around. What's the occasion?"

"Ah, I was just finishing up some letters to your clients." She rolled her eyes, "Mr. Davis still hasn't paid the invoice for your services."

"Davis? Again?!" Algernon groaned. "This is ridiculous. Did you ring him earlier?"

"I did, but he hasn't answered."

He growled in exasperation, muttering, "I bet he isn't." The detective then gave her a curious look, "Have there been any calls while I was out?"

Ms. Cranston nodded. "Yes, a Mister Perkins wishes to consult you regarding a matter involving his wife," she explained. "I have booked an appointment for next Friday at ten o'clock. Also, a package had been delivered to your office while you were out."

She gestured to a large brown package on a nearby leather sofa, drawing his attention.

Algernon perked up slightly. "A package? Who is it from?"

The secretary shrugged. "I don't know. I couldn't find any name or address on it."

"Hm. Curious." Moving to the sofa, Algernon picked it up, angling his head as he studied the handwriting.

"'To Monsieur...Underwood,'" he read the words on the package.

"Any idea who it could have been?"

The detective glanced over at the old woman, shaking his head. "N-No." Algernon then cleared his throat, "Thank you very much, Ms. Cranshaw. Why don't you take the night off and get some rest. I have some things to do myself."

"Are you sure, sir?"

He nodded, offering her a small smile. "Quite sure."

Shrugging, Ms. Cranshaw then gathered her coat and purse. "Alright. Have a good evening, Mr. Underwood. Try not to overdo it now, okay? After all, you are still recovering from your injuries."

He raised a placating hand, "I know, I know. Have a good night, Gladys."

"You too, Algernon."

Smiling softly, the detective watched as she left, closing the door behind her.

He waited a few minutes, then a few more just to be certain. Finally, once he was sure that he was alone, Algernon turned his attention over to the package, regarding it with a certain measure of anxiety, dreading what he would find.

Using a letter opener, he cut through the brown packaging, tearing at the brown paper, revealing a small white cardboard box underneath.

Swallowing, Algernon tentatively thumbed the lid, lifting it up slightly to have a peek inside.

Furrowing his brown, Algernon blinked in surprise, his eyes widening in recognition before his mood did a one-eighty.

"Well I'll be! My hat and coat!" He exclaimed, taking the aforementioned items out from the package as he carefully studied them.

Lifting up the hat first for inspection, the detective tilted it in different angles, hoping to find something.

Nothing.

Not even a scratch - the hat looked good as new.

Plopping the bowler hat onto his head, Algernon grinned in satisfaction he relished its comforting and familiar warmth, turning his attention over to the jacket.

Lifting it up for inspection, the detective brightly beamed as he inspected the handiwork.

All the colors and materials were perfect - not a single burn, tear or stain anywhere for him to find. Not a single seam nor stitch was out of alignment.

Trying it on, Algernon felt his mood improve considerably as he relished the feel of his old coat.

Taking them off, he carefully placed them onto a nearby coat stand, making extra certain not to wrinkle them.

Once he finished, the detective then gathered all of the packaging together, getting ready to dispose of it all in a waste basket when a single letter fluttered down to his shoes, forcing him to come to an abrupt halt upon seeing it.

Hesitating, Algernon picked it up from off the floor, then blew on it, dusting it off with his hand before opening it.

'To my dear Detective Underwood,

Many congratulations for your being awarded with the Honor medal for courage and devotion; though I regret not being able to applaud you and attend in person during the ceremony, just know ahead of time that I am cheering you on from afar and that I have not forgotten your bravery. You are a credit to your profession, and you should be proud of receiving such a prestigious award. It has been a rare privilege to have fought by your side - I can see now why many call you one of the greatest detectives in England.

My apologies for not having contacted you sooner - for some time now, I have been hunting after residual traces of de la Morte's cult. It is nothing too dangerous nor significant; if anything, what's left are mere laughable scraps. Still, better to be safe than sorry. In addition, I am currently following up on some potential leads regarding de la Morte's masters at a undisclosed location, and while I cannot divulge my findings just yet, I do believe that I am making progress.

I also wish to apologize for my not having visited you in hospital as well; because of the nature of my work, along with the heavy police presence and circumstances outside of my control, visitation at the time had been difficult to accomplish. Regardless, I am thankful that you were able to escape from that night with minimal injuries, and I deeply hope that you continue to heal. I will pray for your full recovery.

And finally, as a token of my appreciation for everything that you have done for me, I have taken the liberty of having your hat and coat repaired. I hope the tailor had lived up to your standards. May God continue to watch over you and shine your way. Thank you for everything.

Yours sincerely,

Viola.'

Algernon stared in surprise at the signature at the bottom of the page, blinking.

Huh. Viola, is it? Interesting.

He couldn't tell if that was her actual name or if it was a pseudonym, but regardless of what the truth of the matter was, Algernon appreciated her making the effort and trusting him enough to open up, even if by a little.

Staring at the piece of paper, part of the detective couldn't help but ponder about the strange woman, studying the handwriting. The letter itself was neatly written and crisp, which indicated that she had some form of education, if not some refinement, although the lack of a surname was an interesting omission in and of itself.

Though the harlequin was able to oblige him by providing her name, she was unerringly cautious, not too trusting enough to allow him to know her full identity, if only as a way of protecting herself.

Admittedly, that lack of trust was slightly disappointing to Algernon...but, all things considered, it was a welcome start.

Humming thoughtfully to himself, the detective took out his pipe, lighting a match as he smoked.

He didn't know much about the enigmatic woman, but part of Algernon couldn't help feeling some measure of sympathy for her.

Just what exactly had she been through in order to don a mask and fight the world's evils and eldritch horrors would only be pure speculation on his part, but regardless of the cause, Algernon prayed that there would come a point when she would no longer have to put on a mask.

Unfortunately, he doubted that point would come any time soon, and he pitied the harlequin greatly for it.

Folding the letter, Algernon thoughtfully nodded to himself, glancing around at his office, staring at the framed newspaper clippings and the various headlines, his eyes wandering from right to left.

'NOTRE DAME CATHEDRAL HIJACKED BY CULTISTS!'

'MISSING MAIDENS RESCUED BY BRITISH DETECTIVE!'

'NOTRE DAME IN RUINS - CULTIST PLOT FOILED BY A SINGLE BRITISH DETECTIVE!"

'BRITISH DETECTIVE AWARDED HONOR MEDAL OF COURAGE.'

Seeing the headlines made Algernon deeply uncomfortable. A war brewed within the detective as feelings of pride became contradicted by feelings of loathing, guilt and shame.

In some ways, Algernon felt disgusted by the ignorance on display, sickened by his own role in perpetrating such a fraud on the public.

Sickened by his own cowardice for not being strong enough to step forward and admit the truth of that horrible night.

As a detective, Algernon swore to uphold the law and to hold those that break it accountable.

After all, wasn't he supposed to be an advocate and pursuer of Truth? His failure to acknowledge and come forward was a betrayal of his own ideals, a compromise that went against everything that he believed in!

For a long time, the detective stood completely still, his jaw clenched as his face burned with shame and embarrassment.

He should come clean. He should set the record straight one and for all!

...

...But he couldn't.

Shutting his eyes, Algernon's shoulders drooped.

God help him, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't.

Not only because of the stain it would leave on his reputation, but also because he was too old to do this.

He didn't want to believe in that world where nightmares walked the earth, where things beyond man's comprehension lived.

He didn't want to live a life of constant uncertainty, with the knowledge of reality hanging by a delicate thread that threatened to expose all to ruin.

But even more importantly, he was tired.

The office was silent save for the howling wind outside as Algernon considered his next step.

What should he do?

Should he step forward?

Should he go to a confessional?

Algernon pursed his lips as he considered his options.

Perhaps he should retire from his profession; after all, he was getting older, and there was no reason why he should keep on going.

He was far from being the energetic young man that he once was - each passing day felt darker than the last, and this latest episode only cemented further that there were things out there he was woefully inadequate to deal with.

So what should he do?

Clicking his tongue, Algernon considered the possibilities.

Perhaps he should have the Notre Dame Incident recorded as a book, one disguised as a work of "fiction" in order to warn and prepare future generations of the impending doom looming at their doorstep.

Of course, when that doom would come was hard to determine, for it could potentially be thousands of years from now, perhaps even a hundred.

Still, he couldn't help feeling that he had to do something.

Sweeping a hand through his hair, Algernon let out a harsh breath.

Would there even be enough time to warn everyone? Would they be ready to deal with the oncoming threat?

There was no certainty where or when it could happen. It could be centuries from now, perhaps later this year. Maybe even months.

Perhaps there was even less time than that.

Looking to the window, Algernon stared out at the foggy city with growing apprehension, the bells of Big Ben clanging with a dull thrum.

Someday, the truth was going to come out and rear its monstrous head again, but would he be ready for when that time came?

As Algernon considered the question, he shook his head, his mind filled with doubt, worry, and uncertainty.

He honestly had no idea, and that terrified him greatly.

The detective then let out a weary sigh.

Staring at the black-and-white photographs of himself, Algernon then turned his attention to the gold medal that hung next to the picture frames before looking back at the letter in his hand, a small smile forming as he placed it into his pocket.

"'And so we came forth,'" the detective thoughtfully murmured, his tone soft, "'and once more beheld the stars.'"

Moving toward his mahogany desk in the center of the room, Algernon settled down into his chair as he got back to work, wondering what the next day would bring.

* * * * *

Author's Note: Annd done. So, some of you are probably wondering why I decided to write this up as its own separate story rather than do a straight-up retelling of the actual game with Cortez. Part of it is because of the deep love I have for that level; everything about it - the time period, the gothic atmosphere, the music and characters - all appealed to me as a horror fan, and because of that, I wanted to tell that particular story using those actual characters rather than go with the game's "Quantum Leap"-style narrative with Cortez hijacking said-characters. Admittedly, I felt a little cheated by that, just because Viola and Mr. Underwood are both really cool characters in their own right, and so I thought why not give it a go and see what happens.

The other reason is because of the fact that the developer for "TimeSplitters", Free Radical, has officially been shut down on December 11, 2023, and because of that, I wanted to write this story to commemorate that team and their work.

It is unlikely that anyone from either Free Radical or the team behind "TimeSplitters Rewind" would bother reading this story - I have no illusions that my story is good, let alone great, nor that my words and opinion matters whatsoever.

However, on the off chance that anyone from those aforementioned groups have taken the time to read this, I wish to say the following:

- To the hard-working former staff that had made TS, thank you for making one of the best FPS series that I have had the greatest pleasure in playing, for introducing such a fun world with a unique cast of characters, and for all the fond friendships and memories you helped me create with TS. I wish you all the best of luck with your future endeavors.

- To the passionate fans that are working on "TimeSplitters Rewind", I commend you for your hard work, and I look forward to its eventual release, provided that no complications arises. May your project succeed with flying colors.

While the news of Free Radical's closure has me saddened as a fan, I do not know what the future holds for "TimeSplitters". Part of me wants to believe that TS isn't dead as a series, but I cannot say nor dictate what happens. Still, on the off chance that a remake, sequel, reboot, side game or some other project is in the works, I hope it is done well and that it succeeds, provided that it stays true to what TS is about: guns, monkeys, and fun.

Thank you all for taking the time to read this story.

R.I.P. Free Radical

April 1999 - December 11, 2023