Well, chapter seven. This is going to the closing point. After this, I think I have about four more chapters to write. I have a quick question to ask. Do any of you people live in Orlando? Don't tell me that, but tell me this much. Have any of you ever heard of the musical "Holmes"? I stumbled upon the website, and I kind of like the music, but I know nothing about in the least, other than what the website has. If anybody could actually tell me what it's about, I'd really appreciate it. I fell in love with one of the songs, called "Nothing More", and I just wanted info on it. Thanks!

Chapter Seven: Interview at Moonscape

The huge manor loomed sinisterly. It was a dark, evil looking house. It was the mansion of Mr. George Handyn.

Holmes walked up to the door hesitantly, then rapped on the knocker. I turned to him.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, come on, wouldn't he be upset about his daughter?" I asked, jumping up and down in the frigid air. Holmes smiled at my comic movements.

"Yes, well, if we ever wish to finish this horrible case, and get back inside, then I think we require a visit to this man," Holmes chattered. Even he was cold in this weather. It was ten degrees below zero, for heavens sake!

Suddenly, the door to the mansion opened, and a tall, rakish man stood there. Holmes looked at him.

"May I help you children," the man asked. Holmes swallowed and held out a hand.

"Mr. Handyn, I presume?" At the mans confirmation, Holmes continued. "We're investigators to your daughter's death, and many of the other girls. I believe you know Miss Irene Holmes?"

Irene stepped forward from the shadows she had been hiding in, and smiled at Mr. Handyn.

"Why, yes. Irene, darling, how are you? It's a shame we couldn't meet on more pleasant business," Mr. Handyn said. Irene smiled.

"I'm quite sorry for your lose, George. Selene was such a nice girl," Irene said. Mr. Handyn nodded and permitted us entrance.

The hall itself was huge, and I couldn't help but gape at the chandelier that hung from the high ceiling. Mr. Handyn chuckled at my look.

"You like my house Miss...?"

"Miss Johnson. My name is Samantha Johnson," I said, resuming my role as the slightly dreamy, yet no longer blind, Samantha. Irene smiled at me and then turned toward Handyn.

"If you don't mind George, my good friend Stanley Young here would like to ask you a few questions," Irene persisted. Handyn nodded once more and led us into what I presumed to be the living room. He sat us all in some comfortable chairs, and took a seat by the fire, facing us.

"Ask away, sir and ladies." Holmes pulled out his notebook of premeditated questions and flipped it open.

"All right. Can you tell me what Selene was like?"

"Selene was like all the other girls of the Moonscape club. Dreamy and insufferably imaginative."

"How so, sir?"

"She was always talking about unicorns and dragons, and how the moon had spoken to her the night before, and how she could touch the stars, and other nonsense like that."

"Why did you create the Moonscape club if you hated such drivel?"

"To get the girl out of my way, of course!"

"Did Selene ever talk of things you found... odd?"

"Not really. I thought all the stuff she thought of was odd. But there was one time. She came home early one night in tears, crying that 'the man she had hired wasn't fun'."

Holmes shot a glance toward Irene, whose eyes were wide with horror and memory. I moved my seat toward Irene and patted her on the hand gently. Holmes took a deep breath.

"Did she describe the boy?"

"Now that I think of it, yes! She said he was a black, black man."

"Selene didn't like black?"

"Selene liked silver, and white."

"When she said black, did she mean in color of skin, or his clothing and style?"

"The boy she described I could pick out as a Goth, and that was it."

"Ah. That explains it. Did the other girls object so strongly?"

"They all came up to me saying how much they hated him, and they never wanted him back."

"Did you ever find out the identity of this boy?"

"Yes."

"And he was...?"

"Some boy named Berkley Josephs."

My head snapped up as I looked at Holmes. Irene had began rocking back and forth and had tears streaming down her face. Holmes smiled at Handyn and gestured for me to come forward. I did so.

"Get her out of here! Take her to some other room and stay with her!" Holmes hissed, furious. I nodded and excused myself and Irene.

I led Irene down the hall and found the study. We entered and I sat Irene down and looked her straight in the eye.

"Irene, what is wrong?" I asked. Irene moaned.

"I remember... I remember..." she moaned over and over. I put a finger over her lips.

"What do you remember Irene?" I asked. I felt as though I was talking to a five year old.

"That night. Berkley! I didn't realize it was him until now," Irene said. She had calmed a great deal and I sat next to her.

"Tell me about it," I requested. Irene leaned back, acting her age once again.

"I'm sorry, Jenny. I shouldn't have gotten so worked up about nothing. You like me, right?" Irene asked suddenly, changing the subject. I stared at her.

"Yes, you're a very nice young lady. Why are you asking me this?"

"I've never had a friend. You think I should go to a psychiatrist," she replied. I was shocked at how calm she seemed.

"Um, yes. I don't think you're insane, of course, but... well, your mind won't let you love. Come one Irene, how normal is that?" I asked. Irene smiled, to my immense pleasure.

"I know I have a problem. I'm not entirely stupid. When I was younger... I didn't know what was wrong with me. I came back because I thought I was cured. It didn't occur to me that I thought I was cured because I was out of human contact for so long. God Jenny. Do you know how hard it is to have your brother say that he loves you, and you can't even respond, except with feelings of fear?" Irene's voice was filled with self-loathing. I shook my head.

"For five years I hid from my family. Well, not so much from Father. I really don't care what he thinks. But from Mother and Sherlock. I remember when I was ten, Mother came in to say good night and I slapped her when she hugged me. She was appalled, and I couldn't explain to her why I had hit her. And when I turned eleven, Sherlock gave me a present that I destroyed. Imagine explaining to a six-year-old why you burned the doll he made for you," Irene laughed. I smiled at her, but I felt so sorry for her. Here she was, spilling her guts to me, and I could only listen.

Sometimes listening is the best remedy for things like this...

Irene continued. "Even when I was in America, I had to hide at all times. My one teacher tried to get me to confront my fears, and I ran. On Valentines Day, a man on the streets that I sometimes talked to gave me a card. I burned it. He never spoke to me again."

"And now I feel like I have to run again. Father will never pay for a shrink. I think after this case is finished, I'll go away. I'll give warning this time, though," Irene concluded. I reached forward and hugged her, but at the same time felt her tense beneath my arms. I pulled away and looked at her.

"You'll kill Holmes, you know that right?" I asked softly. Irene nodded miserably.

"But either way I'll kill him. By telling him that I hate him, which I'm bound to do if I stay, or by leaving. Somehow, leaving feels better," Irene groaned. I sighed.

"Tell me about what happened with Berkley," I requested. Irene sat back in her chair and thrust her fingertips into the sockets of her eyes.

"Very well. Sometimes in January, five years ago, Selene and the other girls of the Moonscape club hired, er, entertainment as it were from Marie. Yes, she was a criminal then, nobody knew it, however. Anyway, we were to pay her for the boy she sent. She sent Berkley. Of course, we were repulsed by him, as he was Goth. We called him ugly, hideous, an abomination to the stars. He ran away, crying. We refused to pay our provider and the next day, Berkley was found dead," Irene said. I gasped.

"That's horrible. Irene, I know this sounds odd, but I think Holmes will understand if you go away," I told her. She sighed heavily.

"You're right. I'll leave tomorrow morning for Austria. I have a friend there who knows a good psychiatrist," Irene said. She rose, went to a window, and opened. She paused before she started to climb out it and looked at me.

"Jenny, under different circumstances, I believe we could have become good friends." Then she was gone. I turned and walked from the room, preparing to tell Holmes about Irene.

The interview was almost over when I came back into the room, and sitting in a chair I listened to the last segment.

"Who are the living members of the Moonscape club?" questioned Holmes. Handyn frowned.

"Why, just Irene now. The rest have been killed." Holmes jerked up and stood over Handyn.

"Who were the girls in this club before they died?"

"Let me see, let me see. The girls were Amy Tawas, Kirsten Drivigandi, Sandra Nutraye, Ashley Cadsbare, Olivia Cardia, and of course, Selene Handyn."

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I went home feeling sick. We finally had a connection between all the girls, other than Marie. They were all part of the same club. All dead, except for Irene.

I went to sleep and was dreaming (not my fluffy bunnies dream, thank heavens) when the phone rang. I had my own private line, and I knew immediately who it had to be, considering I only gave my number out to one person. I reached out my hand and grabbed the phone.

"What is it Holmes?"

"Get up Watson, right now," Holmes answered. His voice sounded odd, and it caused me a moments consternation.

"What is it Holmes?" I asked. Something was obviously wrong, and I was seriously worried.

"It's Irene. She never came home, and Father just gave me a note from her kidnapper, saying she would be found tomorrow... on the riverbank."

Well? What did you think? I'm approaching the conclusion of this story, and if you have any ideas about what I should write next, or requests, then I suggest you get them in now. I really would like some ideas, since I'm drawing a blank. Thanks!