Ah, the glorious fifth chapter... halleluiah! I'm sorry I haven't updated in so long. I had two concerts in a row, one where I read a script, played my French Horn, and played piano. The second one I sang, and played my French Horn. I have another one Saturday, Sunday, and then on Monday I'm busy, and on Tuesday I'm going to check out the school I might be going to... I'm busy, let's put it that way. I'm a bit surprised at one of the reviews. I don't remember which one it was, but they suggested Christine as the culprit! I'm not insulting whoever said that, I found it interesting, but I'll tell you this much, CHRISTINE IS NOT BAD! In fact, she is roughly based on my best friend. Very roughly. I'm glad you are enjoying my stories, everyone, and thanks for your support!
Chapter Five: Wolves Tavern
Holmes' POV:
I stared at the ceiling, not wanting to move. My night had been plagued with dreams of murdered men, blood covering their chests. Watson had come in around midnight to talk to me for a while (she couldn't sleep either) and we had talked for a while about what we would do for when we went to the tavern. It was obvious we would all have to wear costumes, but what would we wear, exactly? Watson and I had discussed it, and come up with the perfect disguises. Although, they were a bit insulting.
Groaning, I pulled myself out of bed and dressed quickly. Watson had probably already called the two and invited them over, and I had to be decent, and in costume. My costume was disgusting, dirty, and very, very American. My role was that of a man who was depressed, and looking to get drunk. In truth, I find alcohol demeaning to ones mind, but it was only a role. I could just imagine how Kline and Christine were going to react to their roles.
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"I'm a WHAT!" screamed Kline at the top of her lungs. Christine was cracking up and Watson was just barely repressing a laugh.
"I know it's not a very good role, but if someone was going to accompany a depressed man into a bar, wouldn't it be-" I stopped, allowing her take up on the end of my sentence.
"-A slut? No, how about a sister?" she protested. I sighed.
"Would a sister allow her brother to get drunk? No, I think not," I responded. Christine clutched at her sides and continued to laugh at Kline. Watson couldn't restrain herself much longer, and she finally burst into laughter. Even I felt myself laugh a little. Kline sniffed indignantly and picked up the costume Christine had provided. She had brought along a huge trunk, which she had revealed to have almost every costume under the sun. Kline left the room to change, leaving me to give Christine her role.
Christine managed to stop laughing and approached me cautiously.
"Tell me I'm not a slut?" she asked hopefully. I smiled at her.
"No, but you won't be going into the bar, either," I gently said. Christine glared at me briefly, but then rolled her eyes.
"My spy talents wasted, I swear. What am I doing?" she queried.
"You are a blind beggar woman. I want you to watch for drunks who leave the bar. If one does leave, follow him," I told her. Christine frowned.
"How do you know it's going to be a male?" she asked. I shrugged.
"All the other victims have been males. I'm taking an assumption. Besides, I believe Jane is a woman," I replied. Christine nodded and began rifling through her trunk, looking for the perfect beggar woman outfit. Finally, I turned to Watson.
"Do you have your clarinet ready?" I asked. She nodded and held it up. I smiled and walked around her.
"Don't you think you should have a hat for collecting money? You are a traveling musician, after all. They usually have something to put money in," I told her. Watson frowned and stood beside Christine as she dug. Suddenly, she issued a cry of success and pulled out a hat. It was brown and dirty, with a broad rim and a worn velvet lining. I nodded at her find, allowing it.
Kline walked out from the bathroom, and Christine went in with her beggar clothes. She walked over to me and ran her fingers along my neck.
"Hey. You want to have a good time?" she whispered seductively in my ear. I shuddered and removed her hand to inspect her outfit.
It was certainly sluttish enough. She wore a black mini skirt and pink, sparkly tank top. She had tossed her hair up in a messy upsweep. She had thick lipstick and eye makeup on. She also wore ridiculously high heals that glittered along with her shirt. Watson grinned at her.
"Don't you dare go and steal my boyfriend, Kline," she teased. Kline raised an eyebrow.
"Who is Kline? I'm Trixie," she stated. I smiled at her choice of name. Then I heard a dull thud against the bathroom door, and it opened. Watson started laughing immediately, as did Kline.
Christine stood there with a long cane. She wore a simple, baggy dress that was covered in flowers. Her eyes were covered with Watson's purple sunglasses, and she wore red tennis shoes. Her hair was suddenly white, and was cut short, and stuck out in clumps. A hat covered most of her head. The hat was odd enough. It was a straw hat, that was decked with daisies. She held out a bowl.
"Is someone here? Could you spare some money?" she croaked. Kline fell onto the couch, laughing. But Watson had managed to stop laughing long enough to speak.
"Where in the world did you get those absurd clothes, Christine?" Watson choked. Christine looked over at her.
"Rose. Call me Rose. That's the name of this character," she affirmed. I raised an eyebrow.
"Why all the daisies, then?" I asked. Christine cackled with her character voice.
"I'm blind, dear fellow. I can't tell the difference. These old fingers are stiff with age. Or perhaps arthritis," Christine thought. She flopped down on the couch after moving Kline out of the way and pulled out her black notebook and scanned the pages.
"Ok... Rose has arthritis. Sandy has old fingers," she muttered. I looked at her with confusion. Kline straightened up and looked me in the eye.
"She has a lot of characters, see. Rose, Sandy, Lulu, Chanterelle, Monique, George, Jacob, Elizabeth, Kristen, and many others. All of them are very different. She hasn't used Rose yet, though. She's probably quite happy," Kline told me. I peered at the black book in Christine's hands, and quickly plucked it from her fingers.
"Hey! Give that back!" Christine exclaimed. I flipped the pages.
" 'Monique, age fourteen. Black hair, black eyes, black clothes. Inquisitive student. George, age thirty seven. Brown hair, blue eyes, suits. Successful business man. Elizabeth, age twenty four. Red hair, blue eyes, green clothes. Very modern woman.' How many do you have?" I asked, addressing Christine. She snatched her book from my hand and tucked into the interior of her costume.
"One hundred and thirty five. Very different, let me assure you. Why, do you wish to use one?" she spat. I was surprised at her loathing. I smiled at her.
"No. I was merely interested in your work," I told her. I turned to Kline. "How often does she use them?"
"A lot. She IS an actress. I've used them a couple of times too. My favorite is Samantha, a homeless woman. Or Essence, a singer. She uses a male's guise a lot, however. She never did like skirts," Kline stated. I nodded and clapped my hands together.
"Come, we must practice for tonight. We must be perfect in our roles."
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The air was dreadfully warm, I noted with sadness. Most of our clothes weren't suited for warm weather. Kline and Watson probably had it the easiest. Kline was hardly wearing anything, and Watson's clothes were fairly light weight. Christine and I, however, were both wearing sweaters. It was foggy too, which didn't help with vision.
I heard Watson move next to me.
"We're here. What next? Position us, Holmes," she said. I sighed.
"All right then. Christine, go sit by the door," I said. The tapping of a cane signaled that she was moving. I turned myself in the general direction of Watson.
"Watson, go to the right side of the door, and up about twenty feet. Stand about ten feet from the doorway," I commanded. She stomped to tell me she had understood, and she walked off. I reached for Kline quickly.
"Kline, next to me," I directed. She wrapped her arms around me to signal that the role-playing had begun. I walked forward and grabbed the door knob.
Wolves Tavern was noisy, bright, and smelled horribly. I wrinkled my nose in disdain as I entered.
It wasn't a very healthy looking establishment. It was amazing it hadn't been shut down due to health code violations. The walls were painted black, and in the corner there was a stuffed trophy of a wolf. That explained the name. Dead animals covered the walls. Pheasants, fish, deer, and bear. But wolves were the main animal, even though they were endangered. It surprised me, to say the least.
The bartender glared at me from behind the counter. I approached the counter cautiously, as my character would. Kline hung on to me, her arms wrapped around me.
"You want something, mister?" the man from the bar asked. I sighed.
"Um. I guess some beer would be all right," I mumbled. Kline giggled.
"Silly. Two Labatt Blues, please," she laughed. She bent her head toward mine and whispered hastily in mine.
"You gotta specify, Sherlock. Tell 'em beer, they could bring you anything," she whispered. I nodded in response. The man tossed the beers in front of me.
"Labatt Blue, sir. Hope you and your-" he stopped and surveyed Kline. "-hired woman enjoy it." He walked off, leaving me with beer I would never drink. Kline scanned it and dumped it quickly onto the floor. She then batted her eyelashes at another man. She took the stool next to me and leaned into my neck.
"See anyone who is drunk?" she muttered. I looked around.
"Not yet. One man, in the corner, looks as though he's had almost more than enough," I whispered back. She jerked her head away and looked over into the corner.
"Oh, he's a cute wolf, isn't he?" she giggled. I turned to face the 'wolf' and looked at him. The man had black-gray hair, and dark brown eyes. He had a scar running down his cheek, and one eye was milk white.
"I wouldn't call him cute. He's dead, darling," I hissed. She smiled at me and stared at the man. Or in this case, the wolf.
"I don't know, love. I wonder what happened to it's real eyes," she announced.
And so our code continued. We talked about the 'wolf', but in truth we were talking about the one man. About a quarter past eleven, he rose unsteadily to his feet and walked toward the door. I turned around in my stool.
"Come Trixie. I think it's time we went on with our business," I told her. We rose and were about to leave, when-
"Hey! Where do you think you're going? You haven't paid!" the bartender shouted. I felt the adrenaline rush to my throat as I turned to face him.
"I'm sorry, I don't have any money," I replied, and began walking toward the door. Then the man was standing in front of the door, blocking my way.
"Well then, I don't think you should leave, now should you?" he snarled.
"Sir, please move away from the door. We have important business somewhere else," I informed him. The man barked out laughter.
"Having fun with your whore doesn't give you the right to leave my bar," he snapped. I felt Kline stiffen at my side.
"Please sir. We need to leave, now. It's an emergency," I said again. The man glared at me.
"I'm not moving. Pay up!" he shouted. I sighed.
"Well, I had really hoped it wouldn't come down to this-" I sighed. I raised my hand and punched him in the jaw. The man grabbed his mouth in surprise and glared down at me.
"Could you please move now?" I asked. The man snarled and lunged at me.
And so the bar broke into chaos. All around me I heard and felt people fighting. I wasn't sure what Kline was doing. I was busy staying out of the bartenders way.
The large man took a swing at my head. I parried quickly (thank the Lord for fencing lessons!) and threw a punch of my own, this time hitting the man in the gut. He spluttered a bit, then lunged at me again, this time bringing me down with him. My head hit the ground hard, and I heard a crack as it did. The man pinned me and slammed his hand repeatedly into my stomach. After about seven times, I managed to roll out from under him, kicking him as I went. The man howled and grabbed my ankle, causing me to fall again. I punched him quickly in the face and tried to rise, but he wouldn't let go of my ankle. I kicked him with my free leg, and allowed myself to fall to the floor again. The man hit me in the face, causing my teeth to rattle. I hit him again in the stomach, and he finally released me. I stood and ran over to Kline.
She was having the time of her life. She kicked, punched, ducked, and slapped as was needed, keeping people away from her. Watson's description of her was correct, she was rather bold. I grabbed her wrist, causing her to snap me around into a headlock. She was about to punch me, but I managed to choke out something.
"Kline!- Holmes!" I choked. She started and let me go. She smiled sheepishly at me.
The bar was full of people hitting each other. I saw the bartender standing in front of the doorway, waiting for us. I frowned and pulled Kline towards the doorway. The bartender saw us approach.
"You gonna pay now?" he shouted over the noise. I sighed.
"Sir, I have no money. Will you just let us go, or do I have to knock you unconscious?" I asked as loud as I could. The man smiled cruelly and gestured that yes, I had to. I bit my lip, which I noticed belatedly was bleeding, and came towards him. I pulled a drink from the bar as I went, and stood in front of him. I smiled at him sadly.
"What?" he snapped. I raised the glass of beer and splashed it into his face. He howled and stepped away from the door, allowing me and Kline to leave. She waved good bye at the screaming man as we left.
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"Ha! That was fun!" crowed Kline. I rolled my eyes and began patching myself up. I would be very bruised tomorrow, I noted sorrowfully.
Both Kline and I had received minor injuries. My lip was cut, as were my knuckles, and Kline had a swollen eye that might later turn into a black one. But most of the injuries were bruises. I rubbed my stomach ruefully where the man had hit me, and continued my search for Watson and Christine.
"Jenny? Christine?" Kline shouted into the now cold air. Their was no answer immediately, but I heard a faint call. I grabbed Kline's wrist and silenced her.
"... Sherlock? Kline, that you?" called the voice. It had to be Christine, only she would call me by my first name. We moved towards the sound carefully.
Christine and Watson both sat on a dirty step, and looked quite sad. Kline looked down at them, and finally Christine raised her eyes.
"I'm sorry Sherlock. We lost him. There was a woman following him, and the fog... we couldn't see him anymore. I'm sorry," she mumbled. I sighed and flopped down next to Watson.
"What happened?" I asked. Watson cleared her throat a couple of times.
"Well, the man left the bar, and Christine stopped him for a bit, talking to him with her old lady voice. He ended up telling her that he needed to get home, and then I stopped him for a bit and played him a song, but he shoved me out of the way. We tried to warn him, we tried. Then Christine and I started following him as best as we could through the fog. We followed him for about a block, and then we saw another woman following him. She had really red hair, and it was frizzy too, almost like Christine's, but not quite. We then stopped for a minute, 'cause we heard something back at the bar. By the time we turned around again, she and the guy were gone," Watson muttered. They both seemed downtrodden about the case, and I suggested that we go home.
Kline happily said yes, and headed off in another direction, but Christine stayed with us.
"Did you see anything tell tale about this woman?" I questioned. Christine sighed and buried her hands into her pockets.
"She limped a bit, and she obviously wore glasses. You could see them glint off in the lamplight. She was kind of small, way smaller than any of us. I'd place her at about five foot five or so. Perhaps shorter," Christine clarified. Watson groaned.
"Are we going to go talk to those other suspects tomorrow?" she asked. I shook my head.
"No. Not until we have more evidence," I said. Christine stopped suddenly in front of a small white house.
"My stop. See you guys tomorrow. I'll be around at about eight. Kline will probably show up at ten or so. Bye," Christine whispered. She then slunk to the back of the house, and Watson and I watched as she climbed in through a window.
Watson and I continued to walk in silence, thinking quietly to ourselves.
"Holmes, what are we going to do? We have absolutely no evidence!" Watson cried. I put an arm on her shoulder and sighed.
"I know, I know. I guess we look around the crime scene tomorrow. The man will surely be dead. It is kind of disappointing you couldn't stop her," I reassured her. Watson sagged all of a sudden.
"We're really sorry, Holmes. There wasn't much else we could do. The fog was so blinding..." Watson trailed off, and I saw some tears cascade down her cheeks. I stopped her and placed my hands firmly on her shoulders.
"There was nothing you could do. Stop blaming yourself. It was nobody's fault, all right?" I pressed. Watson buried her face into my shoulder, and her sobs came wracking out of her. I tensed a bit at her cries, but then slowly relaxed and hugged her.
"He's going to die because of us, Holmes! It is our fault!" she continued to cry. I awkwardly petted her head.
"No, it isn't. Had he not of gotten drunk, or listened to your advice, he wouldn't have come close to death. Stop blaming yourself, now!" I commanded. She stopped crying and smiled up at me.
"Yes sir, sergeant sir."
Watson and I finally reached the house, frozen and covered in tears. I bid her good night, and then collapsed gratefully into my bed.
Jeez, these chapters are long! This one alone is 3303 words long! I hope you enjoyed my story. So, should I kill Christine and Kline off, or leave them in for the rest of the story? Huh? Please review and tell me your thoughts!
