- Le Jeu Est Lancé! -
Rachel sighed as she looked up at the two story building in front of her. For the millionth time since she got the damn note, she opened the small, twice folded paper and read it. The paper had appeared to be torn off from something, and then, once the note had been written, she assumed, had been folded in half one way and and quickly folded in half the other. On it, written in barely legible chicken scratch was:
221B Baker Street.
Second floor.
Come immediately.
S
P.S. I have your black notebook.
Rachel rolled her eyes and sighed again as she remembered when the middle-aged, homeless woman quickly came up to her as soon as she arrived at the university.
"Excuse me. Ms. Rachel," the woman had said. Taken by surprise, Rachel had turned around only to have the homeless women slip it into her right hand, "Have a nice day, Ms. Rachel. God bless ye." After taking one last confused look at the woman, Rachel looked down at the twice folded paper, opened it, and then read the chicken scratch handwriting that was scrawled across the small piece of paper.
As soon as she saw the last sentence, she looked up to see the woman had already disappeared. Immediately, she ran to her dorm and searched meticulously for her notebook. Once she realized it truly was gone, she knew she had no choice but to go to this 221B Baker Street.
Rachel only had one black notebook (or did rather), and if anyone mentioned it, she knew exactly which one they were talking about. She wrote in it practically everyday, any time she had free time. But the fact that someone else had it, vexed her greatly.
At once, Rachel left the university, got in a cab, and came straight here. She swiftly pulled out the mysterious key that she had found in her right coat pocket during her ride here, and walked forward, towards the door in front of her that read 221B. Once she stood right in front of it, she inserted the key into the lock. It was a perfect fit. She opened the door and let herself in, minding to close and lock the door behind her.
Seeing stairs straight in front of her, she quickly climbed the steps and came to an open door. Cautiously, she slowly walked into the room to see that it was a small living room, so to speak.
At once, she felt the muzzle of a gun press into the back of her head.
"Who are you and what do you want?" a low voice asked.
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