After days of frustration, I have finally finished chapter four! Yayyy! I hope you guys will like it. Hope it isn't too OOC. Feel free to leave reviews! I'd really appreciate it!
Irene is lying on a cold concrete floor and her whole body is aching.
It's been a month since she was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi and she only has a few hours left before her execution.
The terrorists constantly sent videos of her to the British government, saying that they would use her to demonstrate what they would do to western women, who for them, are rubbish, nothing but filth, and dark temptations for their men.
Irene tries to get up and winces as pain from her side shots through her body.
No one has ever seen the woman cry. Her walls have never faltered and failed her. She has always been strong in front of others. Her presence always screams elegance, beauty, and power. Whenever her captors are around, she puts her mask on to show them that they cannot destroy her, that nothing they do would affect and break her. But now that she's alone, slumped on the floor in her cell with nobody to see her, she lets tears drop from her eyes. There's no use of pretending when no one's looking. She has lost her hope. Yes, she's smart and brilliant enough to use her wits and escape but her body is weak and barely has strength to stand up. The terrorists have left scars in her back, and bruises on her torso and limbs due to whipping and torture. They also haven't fed her for a week.
She knew this would happen, at least in one way she did. She expected that her enemies would be able to track her and get a hold of her. She knew that it would happen one way or another. But her, ending up in this cell was out of bad luck. She has apparently made too many enemies due to her dangerous way of living. She succeeded in outrunning the men after her but has fallen into the hands of terrorists when she went to the middle east and try to find a safe place to hide. But nonetheless, she expected that something bad would happen to her, so she needed to put her faith on someone.
When she left London, she knew that Sherlock Holmes would try to track her. So wherever she went, she left clues that only Sherlock Holmes could find. Knowing that he was hurt, she wasn't a hundred percent sure that he would do that, but she still hoped he would.
It's been a month now since she was captured. If Sherlock Holmes really did keep track of her, he would've found her already. Irene trusts the man's ability and intellect. Locating her would be so easy for him, especially because she left clues. So, why isn't he here?
He probably thought it's best to let her die. Irene sighed and accepted her doomed fate.
She looked up at the small window located at the top left part of the wall in her cell. She can see the stars through it. Her lips curved into a sad smile. She remembered the night of her flight away from London.
That night, she felt so invigorated but scared. Invigorated because she never felt so alive due to the fact that she was on the run and is enjoying the thrill of running away from danger, but the stars she saw that night looked so dim because of the light pollution in the city. It's so unlike now that she's slumped on the floor, barely even alive, but the stars are glittering brightly in the night sky.
Is this a joke? She thinks to herself. That the time she felt so alive, the stars looked so dim, but now that her life is about to end, the stars are twinkling brightly? Is she really that evil to deserve to die that even the heavens seem to celebrate because of her doomed fate?
Her thoughts were disrupted by a knock on her cell door.
Upon hearing the knock, Irene immediately composed herself and put her mask on, not willing to show any weakness to the men who have captured her and are about to execute her.
The door opened and a man holding a rifle and is wearing a black kameez and kurta entered her cell.
The man spoke in a language she did not understand. He was obviously commanding her to do something but she can't understand anything, so she didn't move nor utter a word. But if she did understand him, why would she obey him? She isn't the type of woman that would allow anyone to tell her what to do. If she only had enough strength, she would make this man kneel and beg for mercy.
The man obviously got pissed because she didn't move and obey him, so he walked towards her in two long strides and forced her to stand up. She winced in pain but managed to make no sound that would indicate that she was in pain.
The man dragged her out of the cell and led her into a large room where there were bright lights and a camera. Seeing those, she realized that this is where they'd execute her. And they were also going to film it for the whole world to see. She froze for a moment. Knowing that death is upon her, fear overcame the whole of her. She wanted to flee but with her body condition, she knew that trying to escape would be in vain.
So, this is it, she thought to herself, If this is how I'd die, seeing that there is no hope that I'd escape it, unless Sherlock Holmes magically appears in front of me, I'd might as well accept my fate and die with dignity.
The man made her kneel in front of the camera and positioned her for the execution.
They were about to motion the executioner to do his assigned task when Irene spoke.
"Can I make one request? Does anyone of you understand English? I just want to do one last thing before I die."
Irene looked at the men who were looking at each other as if trying to decide whether they'd allow her to do what she has requested or not. She wasn't even sure that anyone of them understood her. One of the men walked towards the man who seemed to have a high position in the group and whispered something. The man with the high position, upon hearing whatever the man had whispered, furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Irene skeptically, and nodded.
Irene now knew that the man who have whispered something to the high-positioned man has understood her and translated what she said.
"I wish to use my phone one last time. That's my only request, and then you may go on with the execution." She stated, without any emotion present in her voice.
Again, the man who understood her translated what she has said, and fortunately, the high-positioned man has agreed upon her request.
The man who has understood her went to the corner of the room where a small table is located and opened the drawer where he fished her phone out. It was apparently the drawer where they had hidden her belongings.
The man handed her the phone. "Be quick." The man ordered in heavily accented English.
Irene immediately went to the Messaging menu and composed a message. She typed: "Goodbye, Mr. Holmes." and hit the send button. If there was anyone she'd message, of course it would be him. She knew that if he'd read it, he'd automatically decipher the message hidden in the phrase. Although, it really wasn't hidden. It just wasn't direct to the point. She wanted to say goodbye to him because it was also her a way of saying sorry in a subtle manner, and she just wanted to leave one last superficial mark on him. He might never admit it, but she knew that she had left a mark on him.
After sending the message, she handed her phone back and prepared herself.
She closed her eyes and bowed her head and heard footsteps of a man coming close to her. It was the executioner. She felt the blade of the sword on her nape and at that moment, the dam of her emotions broke. She allowed tears to escape her eyes but she managed not to create a sound. She was going to die, Irene Adler would no longer exist, but who would care? It's not as if anyone would shed a tear for her.
And then, she heard a familiar sound, a very familiar sound.
It was a feminine sound. It was a woman's moan. Not just any woman, it was her. It was her moan. But why would she hear such sound?
She looked up and faced the executioner.
She immediately saw the executioner's eyes and felt her lips curve into a smile. She felt as if life that was drained out of her, was poured back in.
In the executioner's eyes, she saw the most familiar heterochromatic eyes to her, she would recognize it anywhere.
The feminine sound she heard was undeniably hers, and she knew this because she recorded the sound herself and saved it to personalize her text alert noise in a phone who belonged to none other than, Sherlock Holmes.
She wasn't going to die after all, Sherlock Holmes has come to save her.
To be continued...