Are Exalted
Disclaimer - Still own none of them. Even that nasty resurrected Hound.
Watson
Three days. I only had to survive for three days.
I repeated the mantra for several seconds as the last vestiges of the hound's cry died away on the chilling wind. I shivered, not just from the biting cold, but also from the horrors of what I knew Stapleton was going to take pleasure in making me view.
"Cold, Doctor?" Stapleton's false concern was laced with glee.
"Oh, do get on with it," I said, forcing myself to not allow my teeth to chatter, not in front of the villain anyway.
The man laughed, and the sick giggle again twisted my stomach into a worried knot.
"Come, Doctor," he said, again laughing, and half-pulled, half-dragged me over to the ancient buildings.
There were arranged in a kind of semi-circle around an open space, and the darkness was so complete that I could see nothing.
But I could hear. Deep, snarling breathing, punctuated occasionally by vicious growls. I swallowed hard, not wanting to view the horrid beast.
But Stapleton shone the lantern directly into the shadows of one of the abandoned buildings, and then I saw it.
The largest hound I have ever seen in my life – I would assume reaching to my chest if standing, with paws the size of large dinner plates. Body black as the pit itself, the beast's red eyes gleamed with a ferocity I should not have liked to encounter ever, especially on a dark and cold night with my hands tied behind my back.
"Is he not a beauty, Doctor?" Stapleton asked, pushing me a little closer although I tried to resist.
"Where the devil did you get such a beast, Stapleton?" I gasped, horrified, but my curiosity almost as strong as my fear, "And what in the world is it a cross between?"
"A hound and a mastiff, naturally," the man replied with another wicked little laugh, "And I don't think you really need know its origin, Doctor. But he is a beauty, isn't he? I do hope you two will get along well, because you're going to be spending the night in the same vicinity of each other."
His words hit me like a blast of icy wind, colder than the one now whistling round us physically.
I am no lover of animals of any kind, but I especially dislilke dogs. In the company of Sherlock Holmes I had seen what vicious dogs could do to a man – Jephro Rucastle, for one – and I must confess the prospect of even being near that horrible beast was enough to make me close to terrified.
Stapleton saw my shudder, and it fueled his almost maniacal laughter even more.
And that made me even more frightened.
Three days. Three days in the company of that – thing? Holmes, use your great powers and for the love of heaven please hurry!
Holmes
I stood upon the station platform as the London train came to a halt with a loud screeching of brakes, my eyes eagerly scanning the disembarking passengers for Lestrade and my little friend Cartwright.
The bitter wind blew a particularly icy gust in my direction and I shivered, the motion making Watson's revolver in my pocket bang comfortingly against my side.
How I would love nothing better than to walk into Merripit House and plant a couple bullets into Stapleton's devilish brain.
But I had to wait. The nets had to be fixed so as to catch the great poisonous moth for good. Then I would have him, pinned like one of his own insects, on a card of my making.
The thought brought a small sardonic smile to my face.
Then I saw Cartwright barreling towards me on the platform, followed by an out-of-breath Inspector Lestrade.
"Mr. 'Olmes!"
"Steady, lad. Good work, my boy. Lestrade, how are you – you got my message and Cartwright here told you what has happened?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes," the ferret-faced man replied, trying to catch his breath.
"Good lad, Cartwright. Your work here is done; now I need you to take the train back to London. I want you safely away from here when the action starts," I admonished the young fellow.
"Aww, blimey, Mr. 'Olmes! Can't I stay an' –"
"No, you may not," I responded, handing the lad a few guineas, "You have been an enormous help, but now I need you to get back to London. Tell Mrs. Hudson all you know, lad, and she will take care of you until I return."
The boy's face lit up at the unusual scale of pay – but he had definitely earned it.
"Now scarper, lad. I shall see you upon my return."
"With the Doctor, Sir?" The boy's innocent question sent a sharp pang through my soul.
"With the Doctor, Cartwright. Now off with you," I replied, praying that it was not an idle promise and that I would be able to keep it.
Ten hours.
Watson
Stapleton pushed me closer to the gigantic hound, just for the cruel enjoyment of seeing my reaction, and the beast growled viciously and then lunged at me!
My startled cry of panic was only more cause for the naturalist's sick amusement as I realized too late that the beast was on a chain stopping several feet short of me, the end of it fastened to a ring in the outside of the hut wall.
This man was bordering on a maniac, I thought desperately, wishing for the hundredth time that night that I had told Holmes of my suspicions when they had first arisen.
"Why, Doctor, I would have expected more nerve out of the man who functions as bodyguard and biographer of the great Sherlock Holmes!" Stapleton said with another twisted smile.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled. I could not allow my fear to get the better of my senses. I would not allow it to. Holmes never would have allowed fear to control him, and I would not either. I slowly tried to calm my disquieted nerves and opened my eyes, ready to face Stapleton once again.
Three days – perhaps two. I had to keep my hope in Sherlock Holmes. He would not fail – he never did.
Holmes
Lestrade listened to everything I knew with deep interest, his thin face clouding over when I told of the circumstances surrounding Watson's disappearance.
"Well, for goodness' sake, Mr. Holmes! Why don't we just take this search warrant and tear that bleedin' bug-hunter's house apart?" the man finally gasped in exasperation.
I had to smile, a little sadly, at the man's enthusiasm.
"I doubt Watson's even there, Lestrade. Surely Stapleton would wonder if I might try something of the sort. No, Lestrade. As much as I hate it, we can do nothing now. We must wait until tonight. We simply must."
And how I hated waiting!
I glanced at my pocketwatch.
Nine hours.
Watson
Stapleton had taken a murderous pleasure in forcing me to a sitting position just barely out of reach of that awful hound's chain end, tying my wrists to another ring in the wall of the broken-down hut at my back and then re-securing my ankles tightly.
"You and my canine friend will have a good deal of time to get to know each other, Doctor," the man said, finishing his handiwork and surveying it with a twisted delight, "that is, if you do not freeze to death by morning."
I began to wonder indeed if the temperature were going to drop that low. I might as well not have had an overcoat on, so cold I felt – from the elements or from the gnawing terror I was fighting to control, I did not know which.
The dog was snarling, the hackles on its neck raised, and I hoped desperately that the chain was strong enough to hold the thing. If it snapped, I stood not a prayer for survival. I knew from the Rucastle case that ferocity in animals was usually caused by a lack of regular food.
And somehow I felt this was probably no exception to the rule.
Stapleton gave one more wickedly chilling giggle, lifting the lantern to view the scene before him – I, helpless, trying not to cower in fear as the ferocious animal strained at its chain, glaring with what spirit I could muster at the madman standing over me – and then he left, the sound of his laughter still on the whistling wind, and taking with him the only light I had had.
Leaving me in pitch darkness, the increasingly angry growls and snarls from the massive dog I knew to be just beyond my reach the only sounds I could hear.
And I was growing colder by the minute.
I leaned my head back against the wall of the hut and prayed desperately for Holmes to make it two days instead of three.
Flinching as the dog let out another of those awful howls accompanied by the rattling of a strained chain, I shivered, my teeth beginning to chatter in earnest. I hoped the temperature would not drop any lower that night, or I might not last three days, or even two.
No, I would. Because I still had faith in Sherlock Holmes. He would not fail, and I would not break.
Three days. Thanks for reading - please review and tell me if anybody else hates Stapleton as much as I do? KCS
Yikes, what a spot to leave off! So sorry, chaps - had to do it, you know!