I gasped. I might have even screamed. All I remember is being terrified out of my wits. But I do remember saying, and I quote - "Duh-duh-duhduuuuh..."

Mr. Donnelley looked concerned yet not worried about the policemen's presence. He was wiping his hands clean of paint with a small, yellow rag. "Can I help you?" he said again, cool as a cucumber.

To my shame and horror, Myron told Mr. Donnelley that we had seen a murder in this very place.

"A murder?" Mr. Donnelley looked confused. "Really, now, that's absurd."

"May we come in?" Myron asked harshly. He still believed us! Points for Myron!

"Of course." Mr. Donnelley moved aside and we all stepped in.

My mouth fell open. Huge florescent lights hung from the ceiling, giving everything a cheerful glow. Several happy paintings hung finished and unfinished from the walls. One even covered an entire wall! There were ladders and paintbrushes and buckets of paint everywhere.

"You see," Mr. Donnelley said. "Painting is a hobby of mine. I rent this warehouse as a studio."

Myron glanced around skeptically and then examined the floor for the trap door we had told him about. The wooden beams were seamless.

"Thank you," he said after a moment, and practically dragged Holmes and me outside. "I can't believe you, Sherlock," he said savagely. "That you would do something that stupid! You're obviously out of your mind! And to embarrass me like that! Oh, I ... urgh!" Myron seemed at a loss for words. He made threatening motions in the air. "Get in the car. Mom and Dad are going to hear about this!"

I hung my head in shame and bit my lip but Holmes was enraged. "I'm telling the truth! We saw-"

"Shut! Up!" Myron shoved us into the car.

"But did you look at his clothes?" Holmes protested. "He wasn't painting, he was wearing a suit!"

Myron slammed the door.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


I couldn't sleep that night.

Not only was I going to be in a butt load of trouble when my parents found out where I'd been, the murder of that poor girl kept playing before my eyes. I kept hearing her scream... I shivered violently and pulled the bedclothes tighter around me.

Tink!

What was that? I sat bolt upright.

Tink!

Tink!

It sounded like it was coming from my window. I crawled out of bed and stood watching. Tink! There - a stone! Tink! Another one!

I opened my window and leaned out. On the street below, Holmes stood with a handful of stones. He was dressed in blue jeans and a windbreaker - obviously, he couldn't sleep, either.

"Holmes!" I whispered. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, good," he said quietly. "I was starting to think I was hitting the wrong window."

"You can't sleep either?" I asked. Holmes shook his head mournfully. "I'll be right down," I said, and closed my window.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and jammed my feet into sneakers. Not bothering with contact lenses, I grabbed my glasses and tiptoed downstairs. I eased the door open and slid into the chilly night.

Holmes and I sat on the steps. "So," he said, "Admit that it's definitely Mr. Donnelley?"

I thought about that for a moment. "I don't know."

"Oh, come on!" he said. "How much more evidence do you need?"

I sneered at Holmes. "Geez, I'm really sorry I'm not more adept at solving murder mysteries!"

"Okay, okay," he said, making soothing gestures. "Keep your voice down. I'm sorry."

I sighed. "What was that under the warehouse?"

Holmes shook his head. "I have no idea. It looked like a... a cult or something."

Fighting to hold back tears, I whispered into the night. "I'm... I'm really scared right now. Not, not for me but for that girl, and for.. and for..."

"Everyone else?" Holmes asked. "I know how you feel." A small sob escaped my lips and Holmes stiffened. After a moment he reached out an awkward hand and patted my head.

I gave a tearful laugh. "Holmes, I'm not going to go all 'splaah' on you, don't worry."

He managed a small grin. "I was hoping you wouldn't."

"I could tell." I put my head on his shoulder and after a minute, calmed down. "That... poor girl."

"Denise Reginald. The sixth missing girl in six months."

We both shivered. "I... keep hearing her scream," I said, almost inaudibly.

"Me too," Holmes sounded miserable. The tears welled up and I closed my eyes...


"...Watson, wake up." Someone was shaking me gently. ...but I don't want to wake up... "Watson?" I stubbornly kept my eyes closed. ..tired... so tired. "WATSON!" Holmes' voice was loud in my ear. I jumped.

"I'm up! I'm up!" I said out of breath, sitting bolt upright. Holmes took his arm from behind my back. I glanced around - the street was slowly filling with sunlight.

"Oof!" I was stiff all over. "I fell asleep, didn't I?" I asked Holmes.

"Yes, yes you did." He yawned. "I've got to get home so I can get ready for school..."

"Holmes?" I asked, trying to keep a giggle back. "It's Saturday."

"Right." Holmes sat back down. "I knew that. Listen, go back inside and meet me at my house as soon as your parents are awake. Tell them you and I are going to the library for a school project."

Another adventure! Yes! I needed something to take my mind off of Mr. Donnelley. "Where are we really going?" I asked.

"The library."

I was disappointed. "Oh. Why?"

Holmes stood and stretched. "We're going to find out what was going on down there. See you in a minute."


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


The librarians were extremely helpful with our "project" on "cults". Holmes and I staggered under the weight of an armload of books each. We found the most secluded table and set them down with a sigh.

Then began the tedious task of reading... reading... reading...

I put my chin in my hand and turned a page. "...in the early 1800's, being the time of the industrial revolution, manufactured cloth was considered..." I yawned. It doesn't get more boring than this.

Then something caught my eye. The next chapter was called "Egyptian Cults".

"Holmes!" I said. "Look at this!" He slid his chair closer and read over my shoulder.

"The third cult Dih-hana," I read aloud, "Is an ancient Egyptian cult that focuses on the sacrifice of virgin Princesses. This ritual takes place once every seven years. Six Princesses are sacrificed on the day of the full moon, the seventh at midnight on the night of the last moon. The Dih-hana wear black robes and shave their heads as a symbol of death."

I gulped and turned to Holmes. He stared for a moment, then was off like a shot. He returned with a huge almanac and flipped it open to the section on the moon. "I can't look," he said, shoving it under my nose. "First disappearance, June 5th."

I ran my finger along the page. "Day of the full moon," I said, and bit my lip.

"July 5th."

"Day of the full moon," I said again.

"August 4th."

"The day of," I said, my heart beating a little faster.

"Semptember 2nd?"

I turned the page and continued reading. "The day of."

"October 2nd?"

"The day before!" I said.

"And finally, yesterday?"

"The day of the full moon," I looked Holmes in the face, fearful.

"When's the next full moon?" he asked.

"November 30th."

I shut the almanac, fear settling into my stomach. "Do you realize what this means?"

Holmes nodded. "Every young girl in London is in danger. Including you."