Chapter 1

I didnʻt think London would be like this. I donʻt know how the hell I imagined it, but I thought it would look a bit older, like something out of a Charles Dickens novel. Dreary, and lots of bricks. Not that I really minded all the modern stuff and skyscrapers. Modern stuff is just part of my life. Yet today, I feel overwhelmed. Like I am going to collapse under this insane pile of noise and people and bustle. As I step from the terminal into the moist London air, I am suddenly surrounded by people. So many people. Toddlers and old women, businessmen and homeless dudes. They are all there. And all that rain. Damn, the rain is pouring down, pounding. I quickly pull my raincoat from my backpack, draping it over my head to attempt to stay partially dry. And with all these people, so much stuff to know. So many lives, so many personality, so many quirks. I wanted to know about every single one of them. Yet considering my umbrella is broken and crooked, I decide instead to push my way through the crowds and flag down a taxi.

Shaking the rain off my umbrella, I slip into the backseat, relieved to be somewhere dry at last.

"Whereʻd you like to go, maʻam?" the cabbie, a middle-aged man with gray speckling his hair, asks.

Pausing, I pull out a hastily printed map from my suitcase. I donʻt carry a phone. Why would I, when everything I need to know about anybody I can tell right off? "219A Baker Street, apparently." The cabbie nods curtly, as the car rumbles down the street. For a minute or two, I sit in silence, watching as the raindrops slide slowly down the window. Its hypnotizing, but not particularly interesting. I study the cabbie closely. His cap is slightly askew, and he hasnʻt corrected it despite the view from the mirror. Indicates a carefree, perhpas rebellious personality. Or at least thatʻs what he wants to project. Eyes are dull, though, emotionless. He hates his job, longs for adventure. Heʻs in need of a shave, so must be forgettful, as he also has no watch.

"Youʻre a pretty young lady. Whatʻs your name?" the cabbie asks, briefly turning around.

I reach forward to hand him a twenty-pound note, then snap, "Not proper for a married man to flirt with a woman half his age!" Before he can respond, I hop out of the cab, noticing at exactly the right moment a signpost for Baker Street. The rainʻs slowed down to a drizzle, so I timed my exit perfectly. Thatʻs the thing with having a wicking talent for figuring people out- you canʻt stop analyzing them, and sometimes, you canʻt keep quiet either.

Looking down at the now soggy map, I see that 219A should be beside 223. Doesnʻt really make sense, to be perfectly honest, but maybe addresses are just really effed up here in the UK. And there it is. Chrystal chose a nice place, really. This is really more how I imagined London to look. Itʻs a bit cozy, actually. I stand on the doorstep of the apartment of my very best friend, Chrystal Lou Alfiton, ready to knock. I pick up the heavy doorknocker, that somehow resides perfectly centered. For a second, thereʻs silence.

Then: "Whoʻs at the door, Mrs. Hudson?" What the hell? Itʻs a manʻs voice. And my best friendʻs name is not Hudson, not unless sheʻs been withholding important information. If she is, I will honestly kill her. Footsteps. The door creaks open. I pull back my fist, ready to punch her in the face, only to see a woman whose at least thirty years older than my best friend.

I laugh nervously. "Iʻm sorry. I think I have the wrong house. Google Maps was wrong, I guess," I try to smile awkwardly.

The woman, who looks to be about sixty, just smiles. "Oh, itʻs quite alright. I suppose youʻre looking for Chrystal Alfiton? Sheʻs right next door, but youʻre welcome to come inside for a second, it seems to have started raining again." I turn around, to see that sheʻs right. The rain is pounding down upon the pavement.

Just then, a man, tall, holding a violin on his shoulder and dressed in a suit, comes to the door. "Whereʻs my tea?" he demands. He could be considered attractive, with his intense gaze and raven curls. If that was your type.

Mrs. Hudson shakes her head in exasperation. "In the kitchen. Let me just make some for this poor girl." The man turns quickly to me, apparently just noticing my existence. Before he can say anything, I back away from the door.

"Perhaps tommorow. My friend is probably wondering where the hell I am. Thanks, though." I walk away, still wondering who exactly they were, the friendly woman and the less-than-friendly attractive man. If it wasnʻt for the shock, I couldʻve found out a whole lot more. Maybe Chrystal will know, though.

She opens the door at the first knock, as usual. Immediately, she rushes forward to envelop me in a huge hug. After a moment, she finally lets go, letting me speak. "I got lost. Met your neighbors, though. Strange bunch. Though it takes one to know one."

She giggles. "Oh, Sherlock Holmes. Heʻs actually quite brilliant, though rather odd. Not even rather odd, more like extremely odd. Knew all sorts of insane stuff about me. What I liked to do, my occupation, my history. Kind of handsome, in my opinion." Of course. She finds most men attractive, practically every guy between 18 and 36, to be exact. We have little alike, except that she understands me, even if Iʻm a bit odd. The way I can tell everything about a personʻs character in a minute, tops. How I dress, with all the lace and corsets and dress pants and combat boots. How I stare at people for too long, kind of forget where I am. As she hugs me again, babbling about how me much she missed me, I know its because weʻre both different. Not different in the same way, but definitely both different. Her with her sing-song voice and love of frills and hard rock music and just completely contradictory attitude.

Ushering me inside, Chrystal pours a cup of tea, still talking. "...and then he- sugar?" she says abruptly, remembering what sheʻs doing. I shake my head, as she heaps in thre huge spoonfuls into her own glass. Sugar- I only like it in chocolate. Dark chocolate.

"Earth to Charlotte. Are you like too enamored by my gorgeous neighbor to be listening to me?" Chrystal jokes, waving a manicured hand in front of my face.

I turn red. "No, you jerk. Heʻs not even THAT attractive."

"Oh, but he is, that attractive." She responds with a smirk.

Suddenly, I hear a footstep, not too loud, but definitely a footstep. "Um, what was that?"

Chrystal shrugs. "Probably my pomeranian." Thereʻs silence after that. I mustʻve imagined it. I follow her lead, sipping my tea and giving her updates on life back in Philadelphia.

"So, you got a boyfriend?" Chrystal asks slyly.

"Heavens, no! You?"

Now its her turn to turn red. "Well, thereʻs this guy. Well, heʻs actually a fictional character, so I guess it doesnʻt co-"

Suddenly, everything goes black and Iʻm being dragged out the door, like Iʻm being kidnapped.

I do the only logical thing: scream.