The Utterly Remarkable Tale
Some people believe in fate, or destiny depending on who you ask. An ideology centered on a grand plan or design that is dictating the events around us. Some say that whatever you have in store for you is inescapable no matter how hard you may try. Others say that the world is molded by an infinite number of choices and that the very fabric of reality is in a constant state of flux. Still others believe that for every choice you make there is a whole other world created, like a branch on a tree, diverging on two separate paths. This story takes place on one of these other worlds, separate from the one that we live in yet no less real. This is the story of two people who, some may say, are utterly unremarkable. This is not a story of adventure; there are no princesses to save, or worlds to conquer. There is no mystery to solve, no conspiracy to uncover. This is the story of a little boy and the man who would become his father, whose lives and actions affected only those closest to them. To many this story would be seen as something that does not need to be recorded, for it only really matters to the two who lived it. Yet, even as I pen these words I cannot help but feel that perhaps what is seen as one tiny branch on the tree of what some call destiny is the thing on which we should be focused on. Though it may not matter to the common people who will pass this by as another everyday occurrence, I shall act as observer, for what is destiny or fate, what becomes of this grand plan of the universe if no one is there to see it?
Greg Lestrade was 32 years old on the day his life changed. Of course he had no way of knowing what was going to happen, his day had progressed as it did every other day. Only difference was that London was having a rare spot of good weather, he had been awoken by the sunshine that morning, and if was the first time in a long time that he had felt happy upon waking. Unfortunately his good mood had soon been soured when he discovered his alarm had failed to wake him and he was late for work. Things deteriorated from there, for upon arriving a half hour late to the yard he discovered that there had been a double-homicide had taken place earlier that morning. After dealing with that Greg spent three hours finishing up some paperwork, only to spill his coffee all over them and having to start over. To top it all off when he got home he got into yet another heated argument with his wife, they seemed to be happening more frequently these days, and Greg had had about enough.
Now he was walking aimlessly down the streets of London enjoying the weather, hoping that Alice wouldn't make him sleep on the couch again. Of course had Lestrade been watching where he was going instead of focusing on the imminent couch related back problems he would undoubtedly be facing the next morning he might have noticed the small boy barreling down the street. He might have stepped out of the way and let the boy past, promptly fading back into his world of routine and normalcy. Yet had that happened there would not be much of story, for unbeknownst to these two souls, their worlds where soon about to collide, quite literally in fact.
It took a few seconds for Greg to register what had happened. The boy barreling into his knees had been quite unexpected, but he wasn't one of the best officers at the yard for nothing, and soon he was helping the boy up, hoping he hadn't hurt him. Greg was a gentle soul you see. He didn't like to hurt anyone, but children especially where a weakness for him. He was unable to have any of his own, yet he desperately wished for them. Yet that was neither here nor there, and at the moment he had more pressing things to worry about.
"Hey, are you alright?" He asked the boy, his arms under the kid's armpits, hoisting him up from the ground and setting the lad on his feet. The boy seemed unperplexed by what had happened, merely dusting himself off and righting his clothes which had become slightly skewed after his impromptu tumble. While this seemed a bit out of place behavior wise for a child of such an age, for the boy looked to be about 8 or 9, what immediately tipped Greg off that this boy was anything but normal was his eyes.
Now it wasn't that there was anything wrong with his eyes, they were quite nice eyes actually. They were a deep, chocolate color and could have even been called quite handsome eyes if not for the uneasy feeling for which they inspired. For if the eyes are truly the windows to the soul, then these eyes where locked behind a titanium safe with a 216 number combination. They were cold, unfeeling sort of eyes, that betrayed none of what their owner was feeling. Yet while most people would have walked away at this point, seeing that the boy looked unharmed, Greg stayed waiting for the boy to answer, unable to move. He wanted to know what could inspire such an unfeeling and unreachable look in eyes of one so young.
"I'm fine" said the boy, in a slight Irish accent, startling Greg out of his thoughts. "I just wasn't watching where I was going. Sorry." Greg almost believed the boy, for he was practically oozing charm and childish innocence, yet he had a feeling, one perfected from his years at the yard, coupled with those eyes that still betrayed no emotion, that made him uneasy to let the child go.
"Are you sure you're alright? You took a pretty nasty fall." Something flashed in the boy's eye then, but it was gone to quickly for Greg to realize what it was. The smile faltered for just a second before returning with an even greater force, almost sickenly sweet in nature.
"I'm fine, really. Now I really must be going, mummy's going to wonder where I am." At this the boy detached himself from Lestrade and tried to make his escape down the street.
"Wait" Greg called to the boy, for some inexplicable reason not wanting him to leave. The boy stopped but did not turn around. "What" he said, a hint of what seemed to be frustration leaking through.
"At least tell me your name."
The boy turned around, and his eyes flashed with an indiscernible emotion once again, though if Greg had to guess he would have said it was with surprise. The boy seemed to debate with himself for a moment, the smile from before gone, replaced by a slight frown.
"It's Jim." And with that the boy took off down the street and around the corner before Lestrade could say anything else. Jim. Greg couldn't shake the feeling that there was something not quite right with the boy. Still, there wasn't much he could do about it now he reasoned. The boy was long gone; there would be no point in trying to follow.
In the coming days he would try to forget the face of the boy, yet his eyes stayed in the back of his mind. The boy was a mystery, and Greg had always like mysteries. He found himself driving by the neighborhood that he had met Jim in, hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy. Days turned to weeks, and there was still no sign of him. Greg berated himself for his foolishness. Trying to find one little boy in the vast city that was London was a next to impossible task. He soon gave up hope of ever seeing the boy again, and he stopped looking for him. His life had once again returned to how it was, and it seemed destined to stay that way. But destiny has a way of sneaking up on you, because about a month after their brief meeting Jim and Greg met once again, this time under far less pleasant circumstances.