Chapter Six: Murderer!

The rain was intense. It drummed on the roof like the hooves of a team of horses, pounding and thundering. Lightning whipped through the air, crashing to the ground with a deafening rumble. Our footsteps were drowned out by the incessant driving noises of the endless storm. We entered the foyer just as the lights overhead flickered their last and died. The sun, blotted by the heavy clouds, shone no light. It was dark. The main doors creaked on their hinges, hanging open ever so slightly. Rainwater dripped, a steady tattoo drilling on the floor. No one was to be seen. Mr. Warrick's desk was abandoned, the door behind it shut and bolted tight. No sound of either Mr. Richardson or the inn's manager was to be heard.

Then, suddenly, all was still. There was no sound, although I could still see the rain pouring outside. But something was different. The whole atmosphere seemed changed. I turned, and Watson seemed unmoved by the sudden change in surroundings, as if he did not see it. Then the noise returned. Not only did I hear the sound of rain, but voices, filling the halls and floating up to the ceiling. Without warning, forms of people, people from a time gone by, materialized before my eyes. They were not solid, more as if they were projected images. Women laughed, men were talking about the fair in its last night in Ricketts. I reached out tentatively, and as I had thought, my hand passed straight through the woman closest to me.

"We need a doctor!" It was a voice from outside. I looked up sharply, and four bodies burst through the main doors. Three men, two of them carrying a woman, entered, drenched by the torrential rain. I knew who they were. The eldest was George, the father, and the next eldest was Charles Mayhon, the husband. Then there was the boy, Benjamin, only fifteen by my eyes. And supported by her father and husband was Gayle. She was even more beautiful then than she had seemed in my subconscious. Her pale face was gripped by pain, her fists clenched.

A man, looking extraordinarily akin to Mr. Ronald Warrick, ran to their side. It was the father that spoke.

"My daughter needs a doctor! Please, she's nine months with child!" His eyes were frantic. The elder Mr. Warrick shook his head.

"There are no doctors registered here," he told the exhausted family.

"We've searched the whole countryside!" Charles shouted, his face and neck red with anger. "There's not a doctor nor midwife to be had!"

Gayle moaned, throwing her head back in pain. Charles' face held such gravity as he looked at his wife, then back to the manager.

"Then we must have a room. And for God's sake, please try to find us a midwife!"

"I am a midwife!" The woman that I had stuck my hand through dashed to the family's side. Benjamin looked her up and down, her looks not wasted in the young man's eyes. Elder Warrick's eyes glanced at the group, his eyes full of sadness.

"If it were my choice, I would give you the very best room in the inn, but we are full this evening. I am so very sorry, but..."

"What, you're just going to turn them away?"

I turned sharply, searching for the owner of the voice. It was a man just over forty, his head covered in thick black hair and a concrete set jaw. I rubbed my eyes to be sure that I was looking at Neville Richardson. He approached the inn's manager and stared levelly into his face.

"You gonna turn away this girl and her baby?" Without another word to the manager, Richardson stepped forward and took the young Gayle Mayhon by the hand. "Here, you four take my room. Least I can do to apologize for Mr. Warrick's rudeness. Just watch your step, mine's room 13." Before Mr. Richardson turned away, I could see a gleam in his strange gray-green eyes as he stared at the pregnant woman at his hand.

"Holmes," Watson's voice broke through the vision like a drop of water, shattering the hazy images into specks of dust mingling in the air. I shook my head, ridding myself of the images.

"Yes, Watson?" I asked, turning to him. It seemed as if he hadn't seen any of the things that I had witnessed, no doubt another intervention by Mrs. Mayhon. The darkened light bulbs were most likely her doing as well. Watson stepped forward, seemingly ill-at-ease by the sudden darkness.

"Listen. Can you hear that?" A flash of lightning illuminated his frightened face. I tuned my ears to my surroundings. Sure enough, I could barely make out the muffled sound of two men conversing. And this time, it wasn't my imagination. Quietly as possible, I shuffled toward the door behind Warrick's desk. As I grew nearer, the volume of the voices increased. I was almost dead certain that it was Mr. Warrick conversing with Mr. Richardson in quiet tones. I turned back to my compatriot, holding a finger to my lips.

"Not a sound," I murmured. "If we can sneak-"

Another thundering sound filled the foyer. But this time, it was not thunder.

"Get down, Watson!" I shouted, diving and pulling him to the ground. We hit at the same moment, just as the door behind the desk flew open and Mr. Warrick went toppling over the top of the desk. Another gunshot tore through the air, shattering the stillness in the foyer. The inn's manager crashed onto the floor next to where Watson and I lay prostrate. There was a click from behind the desk, and Richardson stepped out from behind it holding a gleaming pistol in his hand. I stared at the weapon, feeling cold fear instate itself in my heart.

'Stand up!' I heard Sherlock Holmes order. 'Don't cower in the face of danger; meet it head on!' I saw the eyes of Warrick lock onto us, and his face contorted into horror.

"Get out of here, boys, Richardson has gone mad!" He shouted, righting himself from his back. The gun in Mr. Richardson's hand pointed directly at Warrick's face. Before either of the men could move any further, I threw myself from the ground and tackled Warrick. The bullet grazed harmlessly past the both of us. I stuck my knee painfully into Warrick's abdomen, and he cried out in pain. Everything seemed to freeze.

"How long?" I asked breathlessly, staring into the pale, taut face of Ronald Warrick. He coughed, and his hands tried to knock me off of him. I pinned his hands to the floor, my knee pressing into his stomach. "How long did Mrs. Mayhon's screams keep you up until you couldn't stand it anymore? How long did you wait until you got out of your bed and killed her? How long did it take until you realized what you had done?" I hadn't even noticed that tears were rolling freely down my cheeks. In a rage, I dug my fingernails into Warrick's arms before I shouted into his face, "Murderer!"

It was as if everything had started again. Warrick's head flew up and met mine painfully, forcing me to lose my grip on his arms. I fell backwards, clutching my forehead. Watson cried out. The gun fired. Richardson grunted, and Warrick growled in a primal rage. I forced myself to forget my pain, pushing my body from the floor. In a blur, I saw the gun in Warrick's shaking hand, pointed straight at me. Fire ripped through my shoulder, pain spreading like a blazing wildfire. I could feel the lead slug coursing through me and exiting through my back. My cries caught in my throat, hearing yet another shot echo in the empty inn. A thud sounded as Richardson fell to the ground, nursing a bullet wound in the foot.

"Don't move, Mr. Watson!" The deranged, dry voice of Warrick caught my ears, as well as the struggling grunts of my friend. Blinded by the pain, I realized that I was on the ground again, staring up at Watson caught in the grip of Warrick's left arm. Try as he might, he could not escape. The trickle of blood from my shoulder was slowly forming a pool beneath me. Warrick gritted his teeth, staring at me with a loathing hatred.

"Holmes!" Watson choked, "don't move! Apply pressure to the wound and-" Warrick cut him off by increasing his grip around the boy. The gun's barrel was resting on my friend's scalp.

"If you two had just left this morning, none of you would have had to die," Warrick growled through his teeth. With my right hand, I gripped my wound in attempts to stay the flow of blood. A gasp shuddered through my frame when I saw the cold, deranged, gray eyes of Ronald Warrick. The same eyes that had been the last thing Gayle Mayhon had seen. "If that bloody woman had just moved on, gone to another inn, I wouldn't have to kill you. But it's too late for that now. Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson, it has been a pleasure doing business with you." Warrick pulled back the hammer of the gun.

A flare of light illuminated the room violently. The light fixtures, every single one, had suddenly turned back on. The room seemed to vibrate with light. Then the bulbs exploded. Just as a shower of glass fell onto Warrick and Watson, my friend lashed out and kicked the murderer hard on the shin. The man recoiled from the double attack, dropping his weapon. With a celerity previously unknown, Watson dove for the gun and snatched it up in his shaking hands. My vision swam, and I fought to keep my consciousness. I could barely make out the form of Watson repeatedly kicking our attacker in the ribs and stomach. Slowly, I felt my eyes darkening.

"I guessed right, didn't I, Holmes?" I murmured, feeling myself slip away.

'I told you that if you were anything like me, you would know who the true murderer was.' He paused, then I felt his smile light my lips. 'You and I have quite a bit in common.'

Darkness filled my senses once again, and the pain in my body was gone. All I could see was Mrs. Mayhon standing alone in the darkness. Her child was cradled ever so gently in her arms, cooing delightfully. I smiled. They were beautiful, even in death. Suddenly, another figure appeared beside her. He was only a teenager, but his hair and eyes looked so similar to Gayle's that... Could it possibly be...?

The both of them turned to me, both wearing identical smiles. Their hands were intertwined lovingly, at last. Gayle looked to the younger one, then back to me, tears swelling in her eyes.

"Mr. Holmes, I would like to introduce you to my brother, Benjamin." Gayle's face was seized by tears, tumbling gently down her cheeks. "After Marianne and I were killed by that vile Mr. Warrick, Benjamin was tried for my murder." Her face clouded, and she broke down. "After one week in prison, he took his own life, unable to face the grief and guilt. But because of my evil murderer, neither of our spirits could rest." She squeezed the hand of her younger brother. "Now all three of us can leave this earth."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," Benjamin said, taking my hand and shaking it firmly. "I... I've been waiting 27 years to see my sister again. There are no words for how happy I am right now." Even the boy looked half ready to break into tears. All but the child Marianne were overcome by tears. Quietly, Gayle leant down to my level and pressed her warm lips against my left cheek. I could feel her tears drop onto my face as she pulled away, the smile once again lighting her face.

"Thank you..." Her smile widened. "And please, thank your young friend Mr. Watson. You have all done so much for me. Thank you." The two of them interlocked hands once more and walked out of my sight, together at last. I felt Holmes by my side, and I looked up at him.

"Do all of your cases end so well?" I asked him, staring at his sparklingly clear eyes. Holmes shook his head.

"Not nearly as much as I should wish. But it is the cases like these that make me proud to do what I do."

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AN: I can't believe I only have one chapter left! All I have to do is write the epilogue and it's done! I'm thinking of doing another part to the Jack Holmes story, but I'd want everyone's input as to whether I should keep going or not. Thanks for all your support so far.