LOVE KILLS (chapter one)
WATSON'S POV (FROM THE DOCTOR'S DIARY)
Death does not affect me anymore. As a physician, I am used to see various illnesses and too often I can do nothing but offer some help to ease the pain when there is nothing else to do. As a soldier, I have seen many friends fall to the ground. I don't know how I survived the Midway battle, but I did and the things I have seen were enough to drive a man crazy, but my mind is still working well. It could seem I am an insensitive man; truth is my work requires steady nerves and besides it, if I would have abandoned myself to emotions, I would had never done it. I managed to survive and I came back to London determined to go on with my life and to actually have a life instead of becoming an empty shell full of sad memories and live in the streets, like many veterans are. Don't make me wrong, I understand they have every right to behave that way, I just don't think that it would be MY thing: I needed to work and I needed a home and I found them in Baker Street. Being involved in Holmes "investigation activity", I have seen many corpses and I can affirm I have been very efficient in my work: autopsy and so on. What I cannot understand is why some people are kind and gentle to others while others' only desire is to hurt other human beings. My explanation is that some people are unlucky: they have no parents nor anybody who cares for them, they live in the streets and they became criminals in order to survive the cruelty of life. But there are other persons who are educated men, they have money and they live a good life with all the comforts and yet they are cruel and violent and they not care for human life. That was the case of Lord Blackwood, for example. Generally, these thoughts occur only when I have had too much wine and I am in a dark mood.
That afternoon, I was enjoying my free time reading the last novel of my favorite author when Lestrade came to our apartment: they found another corpse and they believed it was the forth homicide of a serial murderer who started his activity a few weeks before. I asked about Holmes and the inspector told me he was already at the crime scene. When we arrived, I found the place someway familiar, but I had never been in that part of London before. We were near the docks, in a dirty warehouse that seemed abandoned. Holmes was in the far corner, knelt down beside a still figure. He lifted the sheet that covered the body and I saw the beautiful face of a young lady, with long lashes and porcelain skin, dark long curly hair and a small cute nose above a perfect mouth; she wore a light brown dress that suited her very well, her arms resting besides her waist. With eyes closed, she seemed asleep if not for the blue tint coloring her lips and the deathly pallor. Her body was untouched, the only marks of violence were the red skin and some bruises on her neck, where the rough hands of the murderer had taken life away from her. I knelt down beside the young woman, feeling a sort of déjà-vu: her face was familiar but I could not remember where or when I met her. When I did touch her cold skin, the sensation intensified. I spent some time examining her and when I finished I covered her back with the sheet. The loss of physical contact with her dead body gave me a strange sensation and when I stood up I was assaulted by a sudden dizziness; luckily I was able to regain my equilibrium without being noticed by anyone, except for Holmes, who gave a me a concerned look and ask me if I was alright. I reassured him and then informed him and Lestrade about my conclusions.
"She was strangled, that is certainly the cause of the death. There are no sign of fight on her hands or arms or anywhere, no tissues under her nails, probably she knew her murderer and she was not afraid of him because she did not fight him. The way she was laid down indicates a certain care from the murderer towards her. She was probably killed 10-12 hours ago. Do you know her name?"
"We don't know yet. So, when are you going to do the autopsy?" Lestrade asked then.
At the word "autopsy" I felt my stomach tighten. Such a beautiful girl, why should I do that to her? But, did I have a choice? It was my work after all and besides, if I would not do it, someone else would, so I decided to be reasonable and help her in the only way I could. I knelt down again beside her and caressed her soft skin, murmuring that she did not have to worry and I would had taken care of her. I don't know what Lestrade or Holmes thought seeing me like this, I don't know if they heard me actually speaking to her, I knew I was behaving strangely but I could not help it. Anyway, when I told them I would had done my work on her the next they both men seemed satisfied. Holmes spent some time examining the crime scene and I followed him but I was lost in my thoughts and I guess I was not paying attention to what he was saying, because at some point he became silent and watched me as he was expecting an answer. When I did not comply he came closer to me and put his hand on my shoulder causing me to yelp in surprise.
"Watson, are you sure you feel alright? You are acting quite strange!" he asked.
How could I explain him the mixture of emotions I was experiencing at the moment? How could I explain him I have been touched by a dead girl and I wanted to protect her? Truth was I knew I was behaving like a fool and I did not know the reason myself. But I could not take her out of my mind.
"I feel fine, Holmes. But, if you don't mind, I have some things to attend before heading home, so if you don't need me…" I asked, hoping he would drop the matter. He did and I was immensely grateful for it. I needed some time alone to clear my mind.
"Sure, Watson, there's no need for you to stay. I will see you later, then!" Holmes said, turning his attention back to the warehouse. I left him and Lestrade talking.
I went home (I did not have anything to attend, I just needed an excuse to leave Holmes!) and I tried to think rationally to what had happened. I came to the conclusion I have been so involved because the girl was about the same age as Mary when I first met her and she had the same thin aspect. In a few days it would had been the anniversary of her death and the event always affected me, even if I had accepted it rationally. This explanation was reasonable and I felt proud of myself. Anyway, I felt the desire to be alone and when Holmes returned I pretended to have an headache and retired in my room. He seemed lost in his investigations and did not commented.
That night, I had trouble sleeping. The book I was reading was not particularly interesting so I fell asleep early in the evening. I woke up at 2 o'clock in the morning after a bad dream that I could not remember but it left me exhausted. I closed my eyes again only to be caught by the same nightmare again and again until I decided to call it a day, something around half past four in the morning. I went downstairs in the sitting room and I reported the events of the previous day on my diary, then waited for the day to come. I left Baker Street very early, Holmes was still sleeping in his bedroom, or so I assumed.
I entered the autopsy room holding my breath, I was extraordinarily nervous; I approached the table where the girl's body had been placed and gently lifted the sheet covering her. Then with trembling hands I removed his clothes and put them in a bag for Lestrade, for her dress and everything I would had found on her were evidences. Her cold soft skin felt like silk under my hands. I worked hard to remain lucid and started to count mentally every step of the work I had to do. I examined her carefully to find any particular sign the murderer could had left, but she was immaculate. I was relieved to certify that she had not been raped. I took some notes and then I put on the gown, gloves and mask before starting the hard part of the work. I did what I needed to do and then, when it was over, I used particular care to stitch her because I did want her to be as beautiful as she was before my operation. I bent down to caress her and to assure her it was over and she was safe before covering her again and let her go, it was useless and damn foolish but no one was watching me and I thought it was an innocent gesture, after all.
Then something happened and I still cannot find a rational explanation for the events I am going to tell, I came to the conclusion I was feverish or sick. I caressed her skin for the last time and I felt like falling into her and my mind was assaulted by images of her living her life, I felt what she had felt, I saw faces and places following one another and last I felt someone holding me tight with hands around my throat and the horrible sensation of being choked. Then, as sudden as it came, the sensation disappeared, leaving me sweating and trembling. I am not ashamed to admit it, I was shocked. It took me a few minutes to calm down , then I left the autopsy room and the mysterious young lady.
I decided the episode would not had influenced my life and to leave Holmes out of that story, so I made my report and handed it to Lestrade. I resumed my daily life at the consulting room and I kept my mind busy. After some days, I was feeling a lot better.
Until another body was found...
TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 2...
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