Blah... yes, I am writing these in quick concession with the other couple of past chapters.

Chapter Five: Philosophies with a Fisherman

Watson's POV

I woke up early in the morning, gripped in frightening dreams, a stifled scream escaping my lips. I clutched at the bedclothes in terror, my eyes wide and unseeing. All I could see was horrible image after horrible image.

Kline being killed slowly, painfully. Her eyes ripped out, her tongue gone. A murderer, a tall woman with black hair, peeling back the skin on her arms slowly. A maniacal laugh, a depraved laugh. Screams, hollow and lifeless, scared and passionless. Christine drowning under water, her thin hands clawing at the surface, dark blue eyes wide in fear as Kline's body dragged her down. More laughter. Holmes shooting himself for failing the case. Me finding him. The laughter still going, becoming more and more hysterical as it went...

Tears fell out of my eyes and I fell sideways, tangled in the sheets that I clutched convulsively. I tumbled from the bed and onto the ground, gasping and muttering senselessly as I did so. I began shouting in terror, trying to make the images go away. Trying to make it all go away.

"Watson! Watson! Stop! Quiet now, it was just a dream," a male voice hissed in my ear. I reached out with my hands, and I was instantly in someone's arms, being picked up and set back down onto the bed again. The arms didn't let me go, though, something I was thankful for. I held onto what I knew to be Holmes and cried for a bit.

"Come now, Watson. It was merely a dream. Nothing to be disturbed about," Holmes said after I had finished. I scowled at him.

"Then you have never had bad dreams before, I see."

"On the contrary. I find myself subject to them on a regular basis. I merely find no stock in them."

"If you had been in this one, you would have understood. It was pretty real, Holmes. What is more, it has every chance of becoming real."

Holmes looked at me oddly, but didn't ask me what the dream was about. I was glad. I didn't want to have to explain it to him. I didn't want to relive it. Sniffling, I wiped my eyes and pushed Holmes away. I had cried too much in front of him in the past twenty-four hours. It was time to get serious. If I didn't want my dreams to come true, it wasn't going to help if I just sat around and cried all day.

"Thank you for comforting me, Holmes. I know it makes you uncomfortable," I said honestly. Holmes squinted at me and yawned. Reaching over, he picked up the alarm clock I had successfully knocked from the stand in my struggles.

"3 am... lovely. Why don't you go back to sleep, Watson?" he suggested, running a hand through his messy hair. I patted it down lovingly and kissed him on the cheek.

"Yeah. I'm going to head down to my room. It wouldn't do either of us any good if Cherry saw me leaving your room in the morning," I said, standing up. I straightened my clothes as best as possible. Holmes tipped over sideways, crawling into the bed I had occupied only a few minutes earlier. He mumbled something at me and snuggled into the covers. I grinned half-heartedly and pulled the covers up to his chin.

"I'll see you later in the morning, Holmes," I whispered.

"Uh," was his intelligent response.

I slipped out of the room and closed the door softly, heading down the hall. I snuck past Cherry's door, but heard voices. I'm not normally an eavesdropper, but Cherry had really been ticking me off. I walked closer to her door and pressed me ear against it in hopes of hearing the conversation.

"...blood... lots of it... don't know what we're going to do... Felicia... Watson?"

That was all I heard. I frowned at the mention of my name and strained to hear more, but the voices had grown to be quieter. I clenched my hands in frustration and walked away swiftly. If I was Christine, I would come up with some clever way to slip into the room and listen to the entire conversation. If I were Kline, I would just barge right in and demand to know what they were talking about. If I was Holmes, I would deduce what they were talking about and solve an entire case. But I wasn't them. I was lonely little Watson, who walked away.

Always walking.

I threw open my own door in anger and stormed in. Walking over to the open window, I slammed it shut and locked it again. I picked up the letter from Ace that Holmes had left on my bed and threw it in the garbage. Sneering, I ripped the ace of spades in two. I wasn't going to let some girl toy with me and my friends. If she came near my room again, I would be waiting.

Shaking with anger at myself, primarily, I sank into my cold bed and pressed my head into the chilly pillow, welcoming the cold. It would clear my head. I reached out to set my alarm clock, but an envelope stopped me from pressing the buttons. I groaned. Was it another letter from Ace?

As it turned out, no. It was the letter from Christine we had received yesterday. Holmes must have left it in my room. The boy was always leaving something behind. I stared at the crisp envelope and then pulled out the note.

Jenny,

Am alive and well. Grand old time in London. No leads yet. Will write soon. Christine

Was it true what Holmes said? Was she in St. Ives and just eluding us? Did she have leads? I flipped the letter over and saw that something had been erased. Intrigued that Holmes had missed something, I sat up in my bed. Reaching around, I grabbed a soft leaded pencil and began to lightly scribble over what had been erased. It was an old technique that would reveal what the person had written. To my disappointment, the letter hadn't been finished. Still, perhaps it would tell me more.

Jenny, there is so much I want to tell you. So much I want to reveal. I can't, though. I'll tell you this much. I have a lead on where Kline is. I want to alert the police, but can't. I'm really worried, Jen. This case is so screwed up. I

The letter stopped there. I gazed at it for a few minutes. I wondered what she wanted to tell me that was so secretive. I wondered what had stopped her in mid-sentence. I wondered a lot of things. By the time I had read the letter three times through, I was furious with her. She was a little wuss, running out on us like that! Now she was off somewhere having the time of her life, while Holmes and I had to sort out dealing with some sick minded assassin and the loss of a close friend.

Snarling, I shredded the letter into many little pieces. I didn't want to find her, I realized. I didn't want to give the letter to Holmes so he could deduce where she was in the blink of an eye, and then look at me sympathetically for not being able to figure it out myself. I was so sick and tired of being the dumb one, the average one in a group of genius's. I opened the window and let the pieces of paper flutter away in the wind. Satisfied, I sat back on my bed and closed my eyes, hoping to fall asleep.

Sleep refused to come. I opened my eyes minutes later and realized that if I fell asleep, my nightmares might return. I felt confined in a tiny room. I sighed and pulled on my tennis shoes, lacing them up quickly. Looking around my room, I found my windbreaker by the closet and put it on. Looking at the open window, I placed my foot on the sill and crawled outside.

The cool night air swept over me and I decided that living near the ocean wasn't that bad. It was still somewhat chilly, but it was getting better. I shivered briefly and then began to walk away from St. Ives Academy for the Intellectually and Artistically Gifted. There was a nice little dirt path that led to the main roads. I walked down it quickly, trying not to focus on the darkness.

The main road was lighted, though, so I felt instantly at ease. I passed a gas station, which was pretty much empty. An old man sat inside reading a magazine. I looked around for our mysterious Ace, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. She wasn't around, much to my disappointment. I didn't know what I would do if I spotted her. Not take her on, that was for sure.

A few houses and other businesses littered the main road. A pleasant looking church sat by the docks. The docks themselves housed a few small fishing boats and, farther down, some larger boats. There were a few speedboats, but not many. I sat down on the docks and pulled off my shoes and socks, dipping my feet into the ocean water.

It was very cold, I noticed. The salt didn't feel to pleasant on my skin, either. I pulled my feet up only moments later, grossed out by the water. I certainly would not want to go swimming in it. Disgusting.

Sighing, I pulled my knees up to my chin and rocked back and forth in the chill air, staring off to where the sun would come up. I hoped to watch the sunrise. That would certainly be nice. I had heard that when the sun broke over the water, it was like seeing heaven. Then I remembered that I wasn't in America anymore. The sun wouldn't come up over the ocean. It would come up over the hills. I nearly sobbed in desperation, but turned to look to the hills. I sat and stared off to the east, waiting for the sun.

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"What have we here?" I heard a deep voice question. A second later I felt someone prod me in the back. Startled, I shot up and nearly fell into the water. A pair of calloused, yet gentle hands caught me.

"Careful, lass. We wouldn't want you falling into the water, would we?"

I opened my eyes fully and stared at the man who had caught me. He was a stocky man, with a thick, grizzly beard that was gray-ish in color. His light green eyes twinkled cheerfully at me, and his mouth was drawn back in a cheerful grin. I couldn't help but smile back, his smile was so infectious.

"No, sir, I suppose not," I answered truthfully. The man's grin broadened.

"Ah, so the lass has a voice! What were you doing out here, lass? Other than sleeping?" he asked, a pleasant Scottish lilt in his voice. I nearly laughed. I hadn't meant to fall asleep.

"I was hoping to watch the sunrise. I guess that didn't work out so well," I admitted, a bit embarrassed. The man chuckled and placed his hands on my shoulders, turning me towards the hills.

"Look, lass."

Right at that moment, the sun came up, a fiery orb on green glaciers. I stared in wonderment as it slowly broke away from the earthly hills and rose into the air, proclaiming its glory. My mouth was hanging open I realized, and I snapped it shut and looked at the man.

"Wow! I thought I had missed it. Not many people get up before dawn. Thanks," I said, sounding like a tourist. The man gave a great shout of delighted laughter.

"I'm a fisherman, lass. We're usually up before dawn. I'm glad to see that you got enjoyment out of that, though. I've seen it every day for twenty years. It loses a bit of the beauty after a while. To me, it's just another sunrise."

I smiled at the man, understanding. I had heard the same thing from a fisherman in Michigan years ago. I couldn't imagine the sunrise losing it's beauty, though. The sight was breathtaking.

"My name's Jenny," I said quietly, realizing I hadn't introduced myself. I outstretched a hand which the man shook enthusiastically.

"Zeke. A pleasure to meet you, Jenny. You're from that new school up the road, aren't you? St. Ives School for the Weird Ones, right?" he asked. I stared at him, not amused. Zeke had the courtesy to blush, though, and quickly apologized. "I'm sorry, Jenny. That's what we fisherman call it. We don't much like the administrator."

"Miss Gardens?" I asked, surprised. Miss Gardens had seemed like a perfectly nice woman to me.

"Aye, that's the one. Odd little woman. Queer, she is. I don't trust her. I've seen the way she looks at the people in this town. She hates us all," Zeke commented. He started walking down the dock towards a speedboat. I followed him, wanting some more information.

"You think she hates you just because she looks at you funny?" I questioned. Zeke turned around while he started to pull the rope off the speedboat.

"Has she ever looked at you with hatred in her eyes? It's down right scary, lass," he said. He tried to imitate the look, scrunching up one eye and widening the other, twisting his mouth into what I suppose might have been a scowl, except that it looked more like he was trying to use the toilet. I started giggling, and Zeke stopped, his broad grin returning.

"I guess it doesn't quite look all that evil on me," he chuckled. I shook with laughter and shook my head in the negative. Zeke grinned cheerfully and stepped into his boat. I stood at the edge of the dock, hoping to talk to him some more.

"Well, that still doesn't give you the excuse to make fun of the students," I scolded, still a bit insulted by the cruel name given our school in jest. Zeke erased his smile.

"I am sorry about that, lass. Can I make it up to you?" he asked. I looked at him oddly.

"How?"

"Why don't I take you around the ocean a bit? Come on, my boat is pretty safe. I'll get you a life jacket if you want," he said, seeing my worried look. I glanced at my watch.

"I don't know..."

"It's Saturday, lass, you won't get in trouble at your school."

"Won't I be disturbing your fishing?"

"I won't be fishing until later. Please, Jenny? I'll even teach you how to drive."

I was tempted at this offer. I was oh so tempted. I did like boats and had gotten my license years ago, in seventh grade boating class. I had never driven a boat, though. Zeke must have sensed my hesitation, because he gestured for me to get in. My will broke and I carefully climbed in.

"There's a good lass. Now here, put on this life jacket and I'll take you for a quick spin before I start teaching you."

Driving around with Zeke was great. I'm sure my mom would have shot me if she discovered I climbed into a complete strangers boat, but it was so much fun. Zeke was a really nice guy. He had a quick laugh and sharp wit. He fit my stereotypical look for a fisherman, but in temperament, not so much. I usually thought of fisherman as bitter, crass types who were obsessed with hunting a whale, or something. And I didn't even finish Moby Dick.

Hours later, after my short driving lesson (that was fun!), Zeke and I sat in the middle of the ocean, letting the waves lap us around. We were sitting in companionable silence, occupied with our thoughts. Finally, though, Zeke broke the silence.

"So tell me, Jenny, why were you really out at the docks this morning? I doubt that you came out solely for the sunset. It's mighty pretty, but what drove you from the school?" he asked, his keen green eyes peering at me. I sighed and leaned back, playing with my wind tossed hair.

"The usual. I was having some problems."

"Man problems?"

I snorted. Right now, my relationship with Holmes was probably the sturdiest. Even it was on rocky terms. "You could say that. More like friend problems. Things are a little strained between us," I admitted, not wanting to tell him everything. How Kline was in the hands of a psycho murderer and how Christine had ditched us. Zeke didn't need to know.

He looked at my sympathetically, placing his hand on my knee and patting it. "Ah, everything will work out, Jen. Feeling rather alone, aren't you? Feeling like your friends have left you alone to bear the burdens of the world?"

I looked at him, startled. He pretty much had read my thoughts. Zeke continued. "They're still there, and they're still your friends. But they might have their own burdens to bear right now. You teenagers always feel like the world's problems are on your shoulders. Your friends probably feel the same way. Just remember that they still need you. Give them time to work out whatever is going on in their head. They won't leave you for good."

Zeke turned on the engine and turned the boat back to shore before I had a chance to comment on his words of wisdom.

"Now, come on, Jenny. We'd better get you back. It's almost ten, and I'm sure your friends are wondering where you are. You don't look the type to leave a note."

When he dropped me off at the dock, I gave him a huge hug, much to his surprise and delight. Looking at him in the eye, I told him quite seriously "Thanks, Zeke. You've done a lot for me today."

"It was nothing, Jenny. You remind me a lot of my own little ones, except they're not so little anymore. Feel free to come by the docks anytime. I'm here every morning. You can borrow my little zip boat here, too, every day except Saturday." Zeke patted the speedboat lovingly, and I thanked him again before running off towards the school, waving good-bye to him as he started up the engine and drove off into the ocean again.

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I entered the school around ten, happier than I had been in days. Talking to Zeke had been wonderful. I no longer wanted to kill Christine, which was a relief, and I was no longer ready to cry. I hummed a bright Irish jig as I walked up the stairs to my room.

When I opened the door, I was instantly attacked by a furious Holmes.

"Where have you been? I came looking for you at seven o' clock!" he shouted, his face a funny shade of purple. I giggled.

"I was out on the ocean, Holmes, with a fisherman. Oh, it was wonderful! He taught me how to drive and everything! I should take-"

Holmes cut me off. "There's been a murder," he announced grimly. That shut me up instantly. I looked at him, shocked.

"Who?"

"Felicia Gardens."

"Well, come on! We have to check out the crime scene before the cops get here! They aren't here yet, are they?"

"No, though they'll be here soon enough, thanks to your dilly-dallying."

I didn't say anything to him, merely led him down the halls to Miss Gardens office. I was anxious to see how she had died. I stepped aside so Holmes could open the door when we got there.

He opened the door cautiously, careful to wear gloves and not smear any possible fingerprints. I followed, but was instantly stopped by Holmes, who eyed me carefully.

"Can you handle this?"

"It can't be as bad as Jackie's death," I reminded him, remembering our last case and the mutilation of the choreographer. Holmes nodded and let me in.

There was a lot of blood, for one, but not enough to make me throw up. It looked as though it had been stopped almost instantly. Miss Gardens was slumped over her desk, one hand thrown out towards the door, the other hanging by her side. Blood was splattered over her papers, but that was it. Holmes and I entered the room, looking around.

To our surprise, we found the murder weapon instantly. It was right in front of Miss Gardens. Her throat had been slashed with a sharp razor. A unique razor, we quickly saw. A razor in the shape of an ace of spades.

I studied it while Holmes wandered around the room, looking for clues. It was paper thin, but made of extremely sharp metal. The insignia of the spade was made with raised metal that looked as though it had been added on after the initial forging of the weapon. It was covered in blood, but nearly as much as I would have thought. I turned my neck so I could look at Miss Gardens face.

Her face was frozen in an expression of shock, anger, and just a bit of fear. Her pretty brown curls were down from their usual bun, and had some crusted blood on them. Her hazel eyes were dull. The cut on her throat was thin, just like the weapon, and was covered in thick blood. Still, it wasn't enough.

"Holmes, it should have bled more," I commented, standing to look at him properly. He nodded and frowned.

"I suspect she was poisoned first. It appears Ace doesn't like blood all that much," he said dryly.

"This is going to make it harder for us to find her, you know. If we tell the police that the card is Ace the Assassin's trademark weapon, they'll start looking for her. She'll be forced into hiding," I warned him. Holmes shrugged.

"It doesn't matter to me," he remarked. I nodded and began to turn back to the body when I glanced at him sharply.

"What do you mean it doesn't matter to you? She knows where Kline is! She can get into my room! If we find her, we can find out where Kline is and prevent her from getting into my room at night."

"She can get into all our rooms, Watson. Use your head. All of our locks are the same," he snapped. I scowled at him, but persisted.

"That still doesn't account for the fact that she knows where Kline is," I pointed out. Holmes sneered.

"This is police work, Watson. This isn't a job for amateurs. We're not going to find Kline any time soon. We ought to just give up, tell the police what we know, and when they capture Ace let them interrogate her until she gives them the location. They'll take care of it."

I gaped at him as he left the room, and then chased after him.

"Hey, whoa, hold up! First off, we're dealing with Marie. She's never been caught before. What makes you think the police are going to succeed this time? Second, why the heck are you giving up? You never gave up before!" I shouted at him. Holmes whirled around and looked down at me, his eyes burning.

"I nearly did, if you'll remember. But you and your friends wouldn't let me."

"What makes you think I'm going to let you this time?" I snapped, not remembering the time he had nearly given up before. Still, I wasn't giving up that easily. Unlike him.

"It isn't your choice what I do or don't do!" he screamed. A few people poked their heads out of their doors, only to draw them back in at our nasty looks.

"This involves your friends! You're just going to let Kline die?" I retaliated, trying to make him understand. Holmes turned and started walking down the hall. I grabbed onto his arm.

"You're going to let Kline die?" I repeated. Holmes's eyes burned into mine before he twisted away.

"Stop avoiding me!" I shrieked, diving in front of him. He tried to move around me, but I blocked his path. He moved the other way, but I stopped him again. He snarled at me and shoved me aside. I slammed my fist into his arm for that, enraged. Holmes stopped instantly.

"Did you just punch me?" he asked, remarkably calm. I matched his calm, nodding.

"Yeah, I did. Whatcha gonna do about it?" I asked. He leaned in close to me, his nose only inches from mine. In other circumstances, I would have thought he was about to kiss me. Not today.

"Don't. Touch. Me," he hissed, his voice low and deadly. I leered at him, stomping on his foot. He recoiled instantly, and then turned to walk away, apparently disgusted. Again I jumped in his way. He rose to his full height, practically quivering in anger.

"Get out of my way."

"I'm not moving until you answer my question."

Holmes didn't answer my question. With a trembling hand, he reached out and shoved me against the wall. I slammed into it, hard, and when he released me, I slid down slowly. He walked away, his shoulders back and head high. Furious, I stood up, holding my injured shoulder.

"We're over, Holmes!" I screamed down the hall. If he wouldn't help my friends, he wasn't worth my time. I had hoped he would turn around and apologize. No such miracle.

"Good!"

"Screw you," I muttered, turning around and walked back to Miss Gardens office, intent on studying the crime scene some more.

Alas, today was not my day. The police were already there. I guess one was a visiting Scotland Yarder, because he recognized me.

"Miss Watson! Hello! I assume you have already examined the crime scene. Do you have any clues for us?" the Yardie asked pleasantly, not angry that I had been there already.

I knew who the murderer was. I knew they were still in St. Ives. I knew that she wrote in silver ink. I knew she had been here the night before. I knew that she had entered by way of my room. I knew that she worked for a notorious crime leader. I knew tons of stuff.

"Nope," I replied, "I don't know anything."

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Later that evening I stumbled into my room, exhausted. After breaking up with Holmes, examining the crime scene, and going out on the ocean AGAIN with Zeke, I was ready for a long nap. Tomorrow was Sunday, thankfully, so I didn't have to get up early. I didn't even have to face Holmes, if I didn't want to.

With a soft sigh, I flopped down on my bed. Looking up, I saw my window was open again. With a louder sigh, I reached under me and pulled out an envelope. Again it was addressed to me in silver ink. This time, though, the envelope was black. Rolling my eyes, I opened it and pulled out the piece of paper.

She's still alive and in St. Ives. Better get moving.

Ace the Assassin

The ever so familiar ace of spades fluttered to the ground again. This time, though, it had a black widow on the back of it, instead of spider webs. I rolled my eyes again and ripped up the piece of paper. Starting tomorrow, I was heading this investigation on my own. I had no clue how I was going to do it. I had no finesse for that kind of stuff. Pulling out my notebook and a pencil, I opened to a clean sheet and began writing.

Dear Ace,

It's great that you've decided to start a correspondence with me. I've always wanted a pen pal! Unfortunately, unless you can provide some honest-to-goodness clues on Kline's whereabouts, I'm not interested in being pen pals with a criminal. Sorry for the inconvenience that this causes you.

Sincerely yours, Jennifer Watson

I cackled at my letter and left it in my windowsill, content with knowing Ace would probably be back again. I pulled off my jeans and T-shirt, put on an oversized T-shirt, and then crawled into bed. I fell asleep quickly, shocked that I had no bad thoughts about Holmes, Christine, Kline, or even Miss Gardens. It would be my last of pleasant nights for a long time.

Wow, this chapter turned out better than I thought it would. Good for me. Please review, I really appreciate reviews. They make me feel all warm and fuzzy, and those feelings give me inspiration for torturing my characters! Hee hee... wait until the next chapter...