All Is Memory Chapter 1: Another Place, a sherlock holmes fanfic

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All Is Memory

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All Is Memory

Day 1 - Another Place

Susan's jaw dropped as she tilted her head further and further back, looking up at the two-storey building. It was nothing compared to some of the places they had already been, but being built on such a high cliff made it appear larger.

"Susan, close your mouth this instant! Honestly, your manners child…" Susan immediately obeyed her mother's admonition. She took a tighter hold of her small valise as the trap climbed the long path to the house.

It was a house, but had been converted to an inn by the owner. That's what Susan heard their driver telling her parents as they rattled up the hill. If it was a house, it was like none she had ever seen. Her own London home was made of crumbling red brick. This one was opposite that in many ways, except for its obvious age.

She continued gazing at it as they approached, taking in every feature. The whitewashed wooden siding, the dark shingled roof, the large windows, and the elegant gardens all gave the establishment an aura of grandeur.

But she also noticed the places where the paint was wearing thin, the missing shingles, the small windows on the beach-side of the building, and the way the gardens merged with the sand if you were to view the house from any angle but the front.

"My, but it is old! Do you think it is safe?" Susan's mother asked her father. Apparently she was not the only observant one.

"There is not a sturdier house in all of France my dear. Ho, driver!" he exclaimed as they drove over a large divot.

"Worry not, monsieur. These wheels have withstood this path for many a year."

"But you've woken the baby! Here now, let me hold him," he said, reaching for the small bundle his wife was cradling tightly. Susan leaned forward as the baby changed hands.

The child was scarcely two weeks old, and she had barely seen its face since it was born. Now that she had a sibling closer to her age, she wanted to at least know what it looked like.

But the face remained covered as her father took it and began rocking it gently. It surely must have a mouth and lungs at least, for all the noise it was making.

Susan was so busy staring at the noisy infant, that when the trap stopped she pitched forward.

"Mind yourself child, you almost fell onto the baby," her father said, leaning away from her as she clumsily righted herself in her seat. "Now, collect your valise and let's see to our rooms."

Susan did as she was told, and followed the driver and her parents toward the building. She halted before entering though, and looked down at the beach. Somehow, the hotel now seemed much smaller compared to the vast Mediterranean coast beneath the cliff.

"Susan!" she turned and scurried after her mother's vanishing skirts.

The indoors matched the outdoors in aesthetics. She could see lovely, plush furnishings through the parlor door, but the upholstery was clearly worn in many places. The finish was wearing from the hardwood floor in the foyer, as was the varnish on the manager's desk that they were now approaching.

Susan shivered slightly and rubbed her arms beneath her sleeves. There was not nearly enough light in the hotel. The large windows in the front of the building had large, dusty draperies covering them, and there were none of the smaller windows in the lobby that she had seen from outside.

She walked toward the stairwell in the hall ahead, where she could see a square of light on the dark wood floor from a window. Reaching the place, she stood in the light and closed her eyes as she looked up, directly at the sun.

The warm light bathed her face and her arms grew hot beneath her heavy sleeves. She wondered if her mother would want to go shopping. The clothes they had brought may not suit a French winter.

Just then, she heard a sound from above her. Her eyes traveled up the stairs and met those of a boy. He was grinning at her, but somehow the grin made her uncomfortable.

Nonetheless, she stared back. There had been no one to play with in any of the places they had been recently, and the thought of a friend was so welcome to her that she would even take this boy.

Although he could hardly be called a boy, now that she truly looked at him. He was at least two heads taller than she was, and except for the impish grin he looked almost like a grown-up.

She decided he was a boy, however, when he made a face at her and ran away.

Susan crossed her arms and frowned. No, she still had no playmate.

"Stop dawdling Susan, we haven't got all day," came her mother's voice from behind her, raised over the voice of the still squalling baby. And she jumped slightly as her parents and their driver suddenly appeared and ascended the stairs, followed by two men carrying one of their trunks.

She secured a tighter hold on her valise and followed them up, being careful not to bump the man carrying the back end of the trunk. She had made that mistake in Montpellier, and was promised severe punishment should the resulting incident be repeated.

At the top of the stairs, the hall grew dark again, and narrow. The walls were covered in a slightly worn floral paper, and every door was plain and white, except for the numbers painted in black.

Her parents stopped in front of the one numbered 116 and their driver produced a key which he presented to her father.

With a tip of his cap and a bonjour he was gone, and Susan thought it unlikely she would see him again.

She looked at the elegantly painted numbers. Were there really that many rooms in the hotel? She thought it unlikely, but she had only seen the front and a glimpse of the cliff-side. At least it appeared that the room they would be occupying was one of the last in the building, because the hall she was in dead-ended with the water closet.

She decided she would explore the hotel when she had the chance. For now she would have to explore their suite.

The men carrying the trunk took it into the master bedroom, and left to collect the other one from the trap. Susan slowly turned around and took in all of the sitting room.

It had one chair, one sofa, and two end tables with large lamps in the center. In the back there was a small writing desk and chair, and next to the door she had entered through was the sideboard. There were three paintings and a large mirror on the four walls.

From behind the white door of the master bedroom, she could hear the baby still crying out. Her mother had to raise her voice to be heard over the sound, and her tone was quite cross. Her father's was equally so as he responded. Susan covered her ears from the noise and looked at her surroundings again.

The mirror seemed to make the room larger, but Susan wasn't fooled. It was just another hotel room. The location was different, the outward appearance was different. But at the core, she knew it was exactly like the grand hotels they had visited in Germany and the quaint chalets she had seen in Switzerland.

Places did not change people.

Susan looked at the other door in the room, next to the door to her parents' room. It was plain and white like the rest.

She opened it and went inside.

Coughing at the dust, she looked at the small bed, the small nightstand, the small lamp, and the small dresser with its pitcher of water and lace doily. Only the woodwork wasn't white. Everything else was. Even the flowers on the wall-paper were white roses. Her fawn dress stood out in stark contrast.

She put down her valise and crawled upon the bed, sitting cross-legged and staring at the white door. The thin wall on her right didn't block the sounds of her parents' voices or the crying baby.

Susan let a tear escape her eye as she stared at the door, not really seeing it.

Her parents quieted after a minute or so, and soon after the baby did as well. It was hard enough getting it to sleep without them arguing about nonsensical things.

She heard the door of the room to the right open, and she followed the sound of her father's footfalls across the small sitting room and out into the hall. As the sound faded, another suddenly reached her ears.

Through the wall to her left, the one along the hall, there was music. Voices…distant, but profound. And not in English either.

She heard instruments as well; surely that was a harpsichord under the voices.

She left her tiny room with the intent to investigate, but again heard her mother's voice behind her.

"Susan, you're still in your traveling suit? Goodness child, you need to rest before we dine. Now off to bed with you. Go on," she ushered her back into the constricting white room, and Susan climbed back onto the bed.

She fell back with a sigh and let her head rest on the soft feather pillow, and fell asleep to the sounds of the mysterious voices and the tinkling harpsichord.

Authors notes: First of all, let me say that it is against my better judgment to post by chapter, but oh well. And second, let me assure you, I would not have posted this in the Sherlock Holmes category if it were not relevant. So be patient, and all will be made clear.