A much needed break

Helen's Journal

It seems I've done a bit too much. I am currently enjoying the Proteus Treatment, a breakthrough in modern science that I do not fully understand, only that it uses specially prepared oils and finely powdered Soma crystals to somehow rejuvenate the body, while Mr Barlow does the leg work in the Hindu district attempting to track down the origins of the silk used for the **** weapon.

I've never had this done before; though it is rumored that the nobility and the wealthiest families on Earth can afford the process back home. First, you remove your clothing. Next, you slip into a Roman style bath filled with the shimmering, glowing Soma solution; which I might add, feels quite lovely. It was discovered quite by accident, I believe. The scientist, I forget who, saw that were the supposed "waste" mixture of powdered Soma and lubricant had made his old, wrinkled hands young again, as if he'd dipped them into the Fountain of Youth itself (which, of course, sparked another mad dash around the globe to find it now that it was determined that if it did exist, it would be some sort of naturally occurring Soma spring.)

What truly sets this apart from other spas and sanitorium treatments, however, is the group of six Hindu women that attend you. They are, without question, the most beautiful women I've ever seen, no doubt in part from working in the spa. They massage the oils into every, and I mean every, pore of your skin, drive it into your body with soft, slim fingers; pour infused tea for your digestion and burn it as incense for the lungs. Once they are finished, the temperature is raised to an uncomfortable degree, and every cell in your body starts tingling as the topical solution is activated. Its an odd sensation, as if everything is vibrating, and slightly out of sync with your surroundings.

Once the therapeutic bath is finished, you are wrapped in the finest 'Rilla silk robe and placed in a candlelit room. Soothing music is played from a recorder as skilled masseuses ply the skin and muscle with their masterful hands. It was here I was somewhat brought back to reality when those hands would touch a spot of flesh that was still tender, even as I watched the bruises fade before my eyes. What madness had I gotten myself into? It seemed as if the cloud in my mind was lifting as well, the darkness and perversion in my brain floating away with the crackling incense.

The whole process took the better part of the afternoon, and were I expected to pay for it, would have cost me several thousand Pounds. I exited, a smile on my face that was soon to be erased by this beautiful, cruel world. Kamal was waiting for me, the Velocicarriage door open. Even his normally stoic demeanor was shattered when he saw me. "You look quite lovely, Ms Duchamp." he said. I nodded, and slid into the carriage. Mr Barlow was inside, a deeply grim look on his face. I snapped open my pocket mirror, and held my hand to my face. I was, by no means, an unattractive woman before; but I was simply stunning now. Any slight droop of the skin, or slightest wrinkle, was gone. My face had the freshness of a teenager, not the grim visage of the degenerate whore I had become.

"Were you able to find any leads?" I asked, clasping the mirror shut. He looked up at me, and for a moment his cloud lifted. He clearly appreciated the effect that the treatment had had on me. My raven colored tresses shone in the diffused light from the window, my pale skin as radiant as the moon. Even my breasts felt fuller, heavier. He shook his head, breaking himself from my entrancement.

"Yes, but I fear it is too late. He has struck again. Lady Emily Pruett was strangled with a length of silk two days ago; in Kingston. I am sorry to say that all you endured was for nothing. We are off, immediately." he said. His words sank in like a dull knife into my stomach. I'd slept with what, 20 men or more, over the last few days in an attempt to track down a lead; and the killer wasn't even within a thousand miles of us. Nothing I had done, the painful and shameful defloration, the humiliation, the sodomy; none of it had mattered at all.

"If his pattern holds, he'll strike again in a month's time." Mr Barlow said. Time. There was something about time that was important to this, but I could not quite articulate it. Two days ago. Why was that important? He handed me the article. Poor Miss Pruett was found as all the others, nude with no signs of injury, strangled with a silk scarf and left in her garden, a serene expression on her lovely, lifeless face.

"We'll see what clues we can find once we get there." he said, obviously holding something foul that he had to say in as long as he could. "And I suppose you'll need to check in with the Graylatch brothels to see if anyone fitting our man's profile has been by." So that was it. The Graylatch brothels were notorious for being the filthiest, most perverse establishments in the entirety of the colony. I had no illusions about how I was going to be treated there. I'd leave something behind, I'm sure. No one fully recovers themselves from a place like that.

"After what I've already endured, I'm sure I'll be able to manage." I said, my fingers sliding over my amazingly smooth neck, wondering when I'd feel that silk scarf around it, and whether Mr Barlow and Kamal would save me in time.