Pieces on a board
Several cars started returning to Thames House. Their passengers were escorted into the building and had to pass metal detectors and security guards. One after one they arrived and took their places, like game pieces on a board, Crowley thought to himself as he stood outside the building, hidden underneath a tree on Millbank, watching the large but surprisingly sleek cars arrive, one after the other. He expected Moriarty to be brought in for questioning, along with other suspected terrorists. The question was how long he would be held. Crowley wasn't at all worried about the man's capability to withstand interrogation, but the Asgardian, famous for being innovative rather than loyal and trustworthy, would need some compaionship during the meantime.
Suddenly, the shadows under the trees were empty. A second later, Crowley could be seen through a window on the second floor, picking up a passcard and an ID card, on which he put a picture of himself which he took out from his inner pocket. After taking a quick look at himself in a mirror hanging next to the door, Crowley left the room.
Several papers were spread out over the floor and formed a strange pattern, like a star or a pentagram, with the business card in the middle. There was a mix of notes, short sentences, longer paragraphs, maps and drawings. Charlotte had even made a drawing of Loki, standing under a gathering of trees in Regent's Park and the other man standing opposite him. She wasn't an artist, but she was pretty good at drawing.
She was sure that the scene from the park was real. She was also quite confident that she had to spend some more timepiecing together the fragmented memories from the tube ride; she could remember the panic, the empty train, drawing deep breaths with her head between her knees, crying, but she ruled out the possibility that she had actually seen the two men on the train.
One by one, the pieces started forming a pattern, telling a story that she wouldn't have believed in if it hadn't been for the face looking at her from the TV screen. She remembered being at home, the restlessness and anxiety worse than usual, making her leave the house and take the tube, out of habit leaving the train at Warren Street Station, the walk through the busy streets and the silent park, the men in the shadows, their conversation... What had she actually heard? She looked at her notes. Demon. Fallen god. Intelligent and mad. Forgotten names. Healing wounds. King of hell.
She remembered running, falling. She looked down at her hands. Had she dropped her phone then? Her head hurt, as if it just now remembered the fall. Had she hit her head? She remembered getting home, with shaking hands cleaning her hand from blood in the sink in the bathroom, avoiding to look at her face in the mirror, afraid of what she would see. She had opened a wine bottle, sat down in the sofa. And then the man had shown up... She looked down at her notes and at the drawing. Crowley. For the first time since she had found it, she reached out and touched the business card, lifting it up in the air. Crowley. King of Hell. Since when does Hell have another king than Lucifer? And what the hell kind of a name is that for a fallen angel? She corrected herself. Not angel. Demon. Her phone being thrown against the wall. She closed her eyes and rested her head in her fingers, trying to think, to remember the details. Had he thrown it into the wall? She couldn't remember him moving. How had he found her? Demon. With an attitude. Me, me, me... Typical, self centered human. He had wanted to talk about something... Are you gonna be condensending all night? He hadn't taken her seriously. So why take the time to explain? She closed her eyes tighter. There goes the whole wine storage. He had given her wine from a different bottle than her own. The bottle she thought that he had taken, she had poured out into the sink this morning. Had he been drinking of the wine with the drug in it? She couldn't remember. A thought struck her. What kind of drug was it? Was it still in her system? She'd better check that. Make a deal, keep it. The deal that had made it possible for her to escape from being... She dismissed the thought and continued down a new trail, narrowly avoiding a new wave of nausea rushing over her at the memory of the word hellhound. She grasped the edge of the table, fighting a sudden feeling of weakness, and suddenly realized that she hadn't had breakfast. Quickly choosing that as a possible, down to earth explanation for her nausea and dizzyness, she decide to continue her puzzle with a cup of coffee and a sandwich.
Charlotte got up from the floor and walked into the kitchen. The coffee maker had turned itself off and she send a thought of gratefulness to the automatic timer which had turned of the coffee maker, as she poured out the now cold coffee, which had been brewing when she fainted, and prepared a new round. While she waited, she fixed herself a couple of wholegrain sandwhiches with cheese and cucumber. When the coffee was ready, and halfway into her first sandwich, she poured up a cup, choosing to keep it black and steaming, and brought her cup and the sandwiches into the livingroom. The coffee was strong and bitter on her tongue and tasted wonderful.
While she ate, Charlotte started to make up a plan for the first important steps of the day: getting a new phone, researching Loki and Crowley and getting a doctor's appointment. She wasn't looking forwards to the last part. She expected questions she couldn't answer. A faint voice in her head asked her if she wanted them answered. She hid the voice away deep inside and took another zip of coffee. This time, she couldn't taste it.