The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Resurrected.
Chapter 2 – The Trap Is Set
"Damn."
Tom could have kicked himself for being so stupid. Why hadn't he followed his instincts, of course it had felt wrong. The stupid Politician was probably under the effect of bribery or maybe even black mail. Tom pulled a hand down over his face trying to escape from the depressing thoughts of death and his own idiocy.
He could sense movement behind him and he knew that the unknown man was moving in on him. Grimacing he muttered, "You are not getting me that easily buddy."
He drummed the table with his fingers for a moment, only the speed of his tapping giving away the tension inside him. He forced a look of unconcern on to his face, he really had two reasons for doing this. One he wasn't going to sit there and look like a panicked rat in a trap, he wasn't going to give these pigs that satisfaction. And secondly, he didn't want them to have any idea of what he was up to.
His hand went inside his jacket, at the same time a hand was placed on his shoulder, "Mr Sawyer, I suggest you put that gun away before you hurt yourself."
Tom rolled his eyes, he was not a boy anymore, he was a fully grown adult and he didn't need patronising. He clenched his fist and inclining his head slightly as if he were innocently looking over his shoulder. In a fast and fluid motion he slammed his iron like fist into the crook of the man's elbow. He was greeted with a satisfactory crack, a grunt of pain and ultimately the grip loosened.
He jumped of the chair and pulled out his pistol. He whirled around on the balls of his feet trying to work out the situation. It seemed that this had been planned very well for there were men rising to their feet and reaching for their own armaments all around him. Tom frowned in frustration trying to locate an escape path. The front door was the only plausible place to go, but the large man Tom had seen before was looking decidedly solid.
Tom let forth a stream of not very appropriate words which caused even some of the enemy to look taken back. He raised his pistol and shot the man in the leg so as to immobilise him. At least there was a good chance he'd be able to recover. He skipped over the tables listening to the rush of feet and fabric as the mercenaries followed him. For good measure he decided to do something very Quatermainesque and he picked up a chair and slammed it into the head of the enemy nearest him. He watched with mild fascination as the man sank to the floor, his pupils rolling back towards his skull. After a moment's consideration Tom decided that he didn't like doing that sort of thing.
He pulled himself together and continued towards the door where the man had collapsed his hand grasping his shattered knee cap. Tom watched his twitching body and began to wonder whether it would have been better to have killed him. Suddenly there was the sound of a gunshot and Tom stood paralysed for a moment trying to decide whether he'd been hit or not. Then he heard the heavily accented voice which marked the stranger at the table yell out, "Don't hit him you imbeciles! We want him alive, now for goodness sake will someone hit him on the head or do I have to do it myself?"
Tom turned as he reached the door and as his hand pushed down on the handle he turned to the man in charge and said, "Hired help just isn't what it was these days. Aurevoir Monsieur." The door's catch finally released behind him and taking a quick step to the side he let it swing open. Giving a cheeky salute he backed through the door and slammed it.
The accented man raised his eyebrow and then let out a faint sigh of exasperation, "Americans, they think they're all that." Then turning to the men who had watched Tom escape with mild interest he barked out, "Will you lot move your sorry selves outside and get after him. Do you realise that we're all as good as dead if we don't capture him."
He was greeted with a few blank stares from the men, they were obviously not the brightest sparks. Sighing he began to gesticulate to the accompanying speech, "There goes your life running through that door, personally I'd want to catch it before it ran off a cliff. Don't you agree?"
A flurry of movement followed this address and in a few moments the fighters were all out the door. Picking up his own gun he guessed that they had probably understood that, maybe they were just playing him. Trying to get him looking stupid, minute doubts filled his mind as he ran to the door himself. This could mean a little bit of trouble, mutiny in the morning gave him a headache.
Outside I had begun to rain and Tom legged it down the street, his feet splashing in the newly forming puddles as he went. He was grinning broadly, congratulating himself on such a good and easy escape. Something was nagging at him though. If that was a planned attempt to catch him alive, surely they would have allowed for him to get away? He wasn't complaining, but he felt some what cheated, in a manner of speaking. He hadn't completed a decent escape since, well since the whole scene in the bank in Venice.
A collision with something very hard brought him back to his senses. He looked up and realised that he had run straight into a man standing waiting for the bus. "Oh gosh sorry", his apology was hurried and he looked back nervously in the direction of the inn. "Guess I didn't see you there what with the rain and everything."
Tom was about to run off again when the man grabbed hold of his arm. His eyes were questioning the man as he turned around, was this coincidences, or was he back into the lion's den. "Err Sir, would you mind letting go, I'm a little bit of a hurry."
A chuckle sounded from beneath the man's high collar, "Is that so? Off to meet a sweet heart are you?"
Tom averted his eyes angrily trying to prevent himself from tearing his arm from the man's hand. "No." Came his short and almost sullen reply, "My sweet heart and I can no longer meet. She's dead, a victim of this idiotic war. Now would you please allow me to be off?"
In response to the question the grip only tightened and the same unnerving chuckle sounded from deep with his clothing. "Oh no Mr Sawyer, I can't let you go. A word of advice, next time you plan to spy in an unknown city, make sure you know the back routes. You'd be amazed how quickly you can move." He shook his wide rimmed hat off and his coat fell open. Tom's eye widened in mild amazement as his eyes set themselves on the features of the man who's voice had contained such a heavy accent.
Stumbling backwards he couldn't focus enough to decide what to do. He had been so focused on his easy escape plan he hadn't allowed for something like this. With a stab of fear and guilt he realised he had been caught out by his own cockiness. Obviously the years of war had done nothing to help him plan a little better. Although they really should have had some form of positive effect, Tom had sat through hours of battle planning sometimes, but being young and head strong he hadn't listened to the careful generals and their allowing for every meticulous detail. He'd chosen to polish he gun and boots instead.
Some one might take that statement alone as a sign of vanity and shallowness for appearance. But in Tom's mind, he had become his very own Lady Macbeth. He saw the blood of fallen men on the soul of his boots, and their ghosts seemed to cling onto the end of his rifle. Tom had not been able to let go of ghosts from the past, and in the long run they had come back to haunt him.
Sparks danced before his eyes as he felt the rage and passion and hate he remembered the war with swell up inside him. He brought his knee sharply up into the man's groin and again the grip loosened, but Tom wouldn't leave. He would make this man pay for making him remember the war, for making him remember Becky. A solid punch collided with the right side of the man's jaw, closely followed by a sharp and powerful kick to his rib cage.
A rasping voice sounded out from beneath the man, "You can kick high boy. Did you train as a Ballet dancer sometime? You certainly think like a dancer, that is you just mimic the actions of you betters." He coughed violently and breathed deeply trying to ignore the pain throbbing around his body, it didn't matter the boy would have his own fair share of pain in the next few days. Maybe he'd even be able to kill him, that would be nice.
"But you see, you just gained the upper hand in this fight, that is gained in the past tense because you have just lost it entirely."
Without warning four hands gripped his upper arms from behind. A strangled cry of frustration and shock escaped him. Fighting against their grips of steel he lost some of the control which marked those more advanced in the techniques of espionage. With a pace of one condemned the man who Tom had attacked approached him and gave him a grin similar to one which a predator might give to its prey in the last moments of its life.
There was a rush of air as his foot collided with Tom's hand, and the pistol which he had been gripping clattered to the floor. As the cold sun set on that evening in mid-June his captor threw his head back and laughed in his own peculiar manner and growled, "You have dallied with Viscien ((pronounced Vi – Zzzz –ien)) boy, and guess what . . ."
Tom looked up at him with hollow eyes, but saw nothing more as the blunt end of a rifle butt collided with his head. His body fell limp and Viscien finished triumphantly, "you lost."
*********************************************************************
Mina drummed her fingers on the wooden table, her mind idle, her mood listless. All they were waiting for was a short little message from Sawyer. Then she could go and sit for hours brushing her hair, and musing on past events.
It was true the years before the war had been fascinating, they had gone all over the globe China, Japan, France they'd even gone to America with Sawyer. The members of the League had fulfilled their hopes and dreams of travelling, of meeting new people, but then came that infernal war.
After news reached Nemo that submarine warfare was to be introduced he had refused to move. They had been moored in the Adriatic Sea of the east coast of Italy for four years. Nemo had refused to take sides for two reasons: the first and most obvious was that he didn't want to risk any damage coming to his ship, and the second was a personal matter. From what Mina had been able to determine, Nemo's past was chequered with various crimes involving piracy. She could only guess that Nemo had no wish to take the lives of others again.
They had gone ashore Nauteloid once or twice a month, but other than that, the past four years had marked a time of emptiness and grieving for Mina. After Tom left, things had got much worse for her. Although she could not return Tom's affection in the way that he wished, she did hold him with some compassion, similar to that a sister would hold a younger brother with. She feared for his life every day and coupled with the loss of Dorian and Jonathan, she felt as though she'd never allow herself to feel loved again for the fear of the pain it might cause.
The constant rhythm of her fingers was clearly beginning to irritate Nemo who let out an audible sigh before stating the obvious, "Sawyer's late."
Mina sat back in her chair and crossed her arms across her stomach. "I had worked that out, actually. Do you think he's actually late? Or there's something wrong?"
"You worry too much, Mrs. Harker. Delays often occur and hinder those employed in a legal activity."
"He's never been late before."
Nemo gazed at her whose eyes still possessed the same calm which conveyed the fact that he was not yet worried. "He told us yesterday he was planning to track that man in an unknown area of the town. He's probably exploring somewhere and having so much fun that he's forgotten all about the time."
Mina nodded, although her doubts had not been set at rest. She rose to her feet and began to pace in a restless manner muttering things about the unreliability of men.
The quiet click of the receiver broke the silent tension between them and Nemo noted that Mina's shoulders visibly relaxed. He signalled to the operator to translate the message with a vague, almost lazy wave of his hand. The man quickly began to jot things down on a pad of paper. But as the message went on, his hand began to shake and his face grew paler. Mina looked down at him with an expression of concern and anticipation.
"What does it say?" she asked quietly as the receiver ceased to move. The operator cleared his throat nervously and began to read.
"I believe that you are waiting for a message from one of your friends. A Mr. Sawyer, to be more precise. The trouble is, that unconscious people don't really have much to say."
There was now a reversal of roles as Mina sank down onto a chair and Nemo rose to his feet, his hand automatically straying to the hilt of his sword.
The operator carried on. "Don't worry. Mr. Sawyer will not come to any harm...yet. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said if you fail to turn up at this location: 22°, 31°. A friend of mine much desires to be come reacquainted with you. In fact, he's crossing the boundaries of life and death to do so. S.U."
Mina slammed a fist into her palm, "I knew something was wrong, I just knew it! Do we believe this message? Is there any possibility it could be a joke?"
Nemo's right hand was clenching his sword so tightly that his knuckles were white and his left hand was tugging in an anxious manner at his beard. "I think not. Not even Sawyer would joke on such matters. It's obviously a trap of sorts with Sawyer playing the role of bait."
Nodding in agreement, Mina replied, "I suppose that much is true. But what bothers me is how this S.U. person knew of the League's existence."
The air was thick with tension again. Only this time it was of a different sort, whereas before it had been one of anticipation, it was now of bewilderment and anger. Mina's lips were pursed and she resumed her restless pacing, "So who do we know who's died recently and would have reason to hate us?"
In a few slow strides Nemo had reached his logs and thumbed through them back to 1899. "The only person I can think of would be Moriarty, but it's impossible, he's dead after all."
"Who are we to command what it possible and what is not? You yourself have witnessed and even created your fair share of the impossible. Maybe there is a way for Moriarty to return, maybe he never died."
Nemo shook his head, his confident demeanour had vanished and he looked at her with an almost pleading look, "James Moriarty it dead, we all saw and buried his body, how can he rise again."
"Vampires are said to be dead Nemo, and yet they all rise again."
Shaking his head with disbelief he marched to the door of his reception room and barked out, "You, go to my study. Fetch me 2 sheets of paper, and a pen and ink. Now!"
Mina heard the rustle of rushed feet and guessed the Nemo was summoning for paper on which he could write to Skinner, and Jekyll to inform them of the set back. She wandered what on earth had happened to Tom, she didn't understand how Moriarty could have returned to life. She though that only vampires could do that, and even then it was a curse as she had to drink the blood of innocent people in order to do so.
She had to admit though, it did make sense that Moriarty was behind all this. After all, who better to use for a weapon of revenge than the very boy who stole his life from him?
*********************************************************************
Gosh, this took ages.
I have to apologise that this took so long . . .I had to do some editing, namely changing the entire second section of my story. I had some re- arranging to do which I forgotten about.
I also have to make a confession, I spelt Allan incorrectly in my previous chapter, and I thought I should point out my lack of care because I have actually been pretty thorough in my research . . . to the extent of reading all the originals from whence these fascinating characters came.
Guess I've rambled enough. Hope you enjoyed this, I'm having a lot of fun writing it. I'm trying really hard to make this a good LXG, so any tips for improvement on my writing would be appreciated. ((Not the plot though ;) got that all organised.))
Best wishes
Emerald3
Chapter 2 – The Trap Is Set
"Damn."
Tom could have kicked himself for being so stupid. Why hadn't he followed his instincts, of course it had felt wrong. The stupid Politician was probably under the effect of bribery or maybe even black mail. Tom pulled a hand down over his face trying to escape from the depressing thoughts of death and his own idiocy.
He could sense movement behind him and he knew that the unknown man was moving in on him. Grimacing he muttered, "You are not getting me that easily buddy."
He drummed the table with his fingers for a moment, only the speed of his tapping giving away the tension inside him. He forced a look of unconcern on to his face, he really had two reasons for doing this. One he wasn't going to sit there and look like a panicked rat in a trap, he wasn't going to give these pigs that satisfaction. And secondly, he didn't want them to have any idea of what he was up to.
His hand went inside his jacket, at the same time a hand was placed on his shoulder, "Mr Sawyer, I suggest you put that gun away before you hurt yourself."
Tom rolled his eyes, he was not a boy anymore, he was a fully grown adult and he didn't need patronising. He clenched his fist and inclining his head slightly as if he were innocently looking over his shoulder. In a fast and fluid motion he slammed his iron like fist into the crook of the man's elbow. He was greeted with a satisfactory crack, a grunt of pain and ultimately the grip loosened.
He jumped of the chair and pulled out his pistol. He whirled around on the balls of his feet trying to work out the situation. It seemed that this had been planned very well for there were men rising to their feet and reaching for their own armaments all around him. Tom frowned in frustration trying to locate an escape path. The front door was the only plausible place to go, but the large man Tom had seen before was looking decidedly solid.
Tom let forth a stream of not very appropriate words which caused even some of the enemy to look taken back. He raised his pistol and shot the man in the leg so as to immobilise him. At least there was a good chance he'd be able to recover. He skipped over the tables listening to the rush of feet and fabric as the mercenaries followed him. For good measure he decided to do something very Quatermainesque and he picked up a chair and slammed it into the head of the enemy nearest him. He watched with mild fascination as the man sank to the floor, his pupils rolling back towards his skull. After a moment's consideration Tom decided that he didn't like doing that sort of thing.
He pulled himself together and continued towards the door where the man had collapsed his hand grasping his shattered knee cap. Tom watched his twitching body and began to wonder whether it would have been better to have killed him. Suddenly there was the sound of a gunshot and Tom stood paralysed for a moment trying to decide whether he'd been hit or not. Then he heard the heavily accented voice which marked the stranger at the table yell out, "Don't hit him you imbeciles! We want him alive, now for goodness sake will someone hit him on the head or do I have to do it myself?"
Tom turned as he reached the door and as his hand pushed down on the handle he turned to the man in charge and said, "Hired help just isn't what it was these days. Aurevoir Monsieur." The door's catch finally released behind him and taking a quick step to the side he let it swing open. Giving a cheeky salute he backed through the door and slammed it.
The accented man raised his eyebrow and then let out a faint sigh of exasperation, "Americans, they think they're all that." Then turning to the men who had watched Tom escape with mild interest he barked out, "Will you lot move your sorry selves outside and get after him. Do you realise that we're all as good as dead if we don't capture him."
He was greeted with a few blank stares from the men, they were obviously not the brightest sparks. Sighing he began to gesticulate to the accompanying speech, "There goes your life running through that door, personally I'd want to catch it before it ran off a cliff. Don't you agree?"
A flurry of movement followed this address and in a few moments the fighters were all out the door. Picking up his own gun he guessed that they had probably understood that, maybe they were just playing him. Trying to get him looking stupid, minute doubts filled his mind as he ran to the door himself. This could mean a little bit of trouble, mutiny in the morning gave him a headache.
Outside I had begun to rain and Tom legged it down the street, his feet splashing in the newly forming puddles as he went. He was grinning broadly, congratulating himself on such a good and easy escape. Something was nagging at him though. If that was a planned attempt to catch him alive, surely they would have allowed for him to get away? He wasn't complaining, but he felt some what cheated, in a manner of speaking. He hadn't completed a decent escape since, well since the whole scene in the bank in Venice.
A collision with something very hard brought him back to his senses. He looked up and realised that he had run straight into a man standing waiting for the bus. "Oh gosh sorry", his apology was hurried and he looked back nervously in the direction of the inn. "Guess I didn't see you there what with the rain and everything."
Tom was about to run off again when the man grabbed hold of his arm. His eyes were questioning the man as he turned around, was this coincidences, or was he back into the lion's den. "Err Sir, would you mind letting go, I'm a little bit of a hurry."
A chuckle sounded from beneath the man's high collar, "Is that so? Off to meet a sweet heart are you?"
Tom averted his eyes angrily trying to prevent himself from tearing his arm from the man's hand. "No." Came his short and almost sullen reply, "My sweet heart and I can no longer meet. She's dead, a victim of this idiotic war. Now would you please allow me to be off?"
In response to the question the grip only tightened and the same unnerving chuckle sounded from deep with his clothing. "Oh no Mr Sawyer, I can't let you go. A word of advice, next time you plan to spy in an unknown city, make sure you know the back routes. You'd be amazed how quickly you can move." He shook his wide rimmed hat off and his coat fell open. Tom's eye widened in mild amazement as his eyes set themselves on the features of the man who's voice had contained such a heavy accent.
Stumbling backwards he couldn't focus enough to decide what to do. He had been so focused on his easy escape plan he hadn't allowed for something like this. With a stab of fear and guilt he realised he had been caught out by his own cockiness. Obviously the years of war had done nothing to help him plan a little better. Although they really should have had some form of positive effect, Tom had sat through hours of battle planning sometimes, but being young and head strong he hadn't listened to the careful generals and their allowing for every meticulous detail. He'd chosen to polish he gun and boots instead.
Some one might take that statement alone as a sign of vanity and shallowness for appearance. But in Tom's mind, he had become his very own Lady Macbeth. He saw the blood of fallen men on the soul of his boots, and their ghosts seemed to cling onto the end of his rifle. Tom had not been able to let go of ghosts from the past, and in the long run they had come back to haunt him.
Sparks danced before his eyes as he felt the rage and passion and hate he remembered the war with swell up inside him. He brought his knee sharply up into the man's groin and again the grip loosened, but Tom wouldn't leave. He would make this man pay for making him remember the war, for making him remember Becky. A solid punch collided with the right side of the man's jaw, closely followed by a sharp and powerful kick to his rib cage.
A rasping voice sounded out from beneath the man, "You can kick high boy. Did you train as a Ballet dancer sometime? You certainly think like a dancer, that is you just mimic the actions of you betters." He coughed violently and breathed deeply trying to ignore the pain throbbing around his body, it didn't matter the boy would have his own fair share of pain in the next few days. Maybe he'd even be able to kill him, that would be nice.
"But you see, you just gained the upper hand in this fight, that is gained in the past tense because you have just lost it entirely."
Without warning four hands gripped his upper arms from behind. A strangled cry of frustration and shock escaped him. Fighting against their grips of steel he lost some of the control which marked those more advanced in the techniques of espionage. With a pace of one condemned the man who Tom had attacked approached him and gave him a grin similar to one which a predator might give to its prey in the last moments of its life.
There was a rush of air as his foot collided with Tom's hand, and the pistol which he had been gripping clattered to the floor. As the cold sun set on that evening in mid-June his captor threw his head back and laughed in his own peculiar manner and growled, "You have dallied with Viscien ((pronounced Vi – Zzzz –ien)) boy, and guess what . . ."
Tom looked up at him with hollow eyes, but saw nothing more as the blunt end of a rifle butt collided with his head. His body fell limp and Viscien finished triumphantly, "you lost."
*********************************************************************
Mina drummed her fingers on the wooden table, her mind idle, her mood listless. All they were waiting for was a short little message from Sawyer. Then she could go and sit for hours brushing her hair, and musing on past events.
It was true the years before the war had been fascinating, they had gone all over the globe China, Japan, France they'd even gone to America with Sawyer. The members of the League had fulfilled their hopes and dreams of travelling, of meeting new people, but then came that infernal war.
After news reached Nemo that submarine warfare was to be introduced he had refused to move. They had been moored in the Adriatic Sea of the east coast of Italy for four years. Nemo had refused to take sides for two reasons: the first and most obvious was that he didn't want to risk any damage coming to his ship, and the second was a personal matter. From what Mina had been able to determine, Nemo's past was chequered with various crimes involving piracy. She could only guess that Nemo had no wish to take the lives of others again.
They had gone ashore Nauteloid once or twice a month, but other than that, the past four years had marked a time of emptiness and grieving for Mina. After Tom left, things had got much worse for her. Although she could not return Tom's affection in the way that he wished, she did hold him with some compassion, similar to that a sister would hold a younger brother with. She feared for his life every day and coupled with the loss of Dorian and Jonathan, she felt as though she'd never allow herself to feel loved again for the fear of the pain it might cause.
The constant rhythm of her fingers was clearly beginning to irritate Nemo who let out an audible sigh before stating the obvious, "Sawyer's late."
Mina sat back in her chair and crossed her arms across her stomach. "I had worked that out, actually. Do you think he's actually late? Or there's something wrong?"
"You worry too much, Mrs. Harker. Delays often occur and hinder those employed in a legal activity."
"He's never been late before."
Nemo gazed at her whose eyes still possessed the same calm which conveyed the fact that he was not yet worried. "He told us yesterday he was planning to track that man in an unknown area of the town. He's probably exploring somewhere and having so much fun that he's forgotten all about the time."
Mina nodded, although her doubts had not been set at rest. She rose to her feet and began to pace in a restless manner muttering things about the unreliability of men.
The quiet click of the receiver broke the silent tension between them and Nemo noted that Mina's shoulders visibly relaxed. He signalled to the operator to translate the message with a vague, almost lazy wave of his hand. The man quickly began to jot things down on a pad of paper. But as the message went on, his hand began to shake and his face grew paler. Mina looked down at him with an expression of concern and anticipation.
"What does it say?" she asked quietly as the receiver ceased to move. The operator cleared his throat nervously and began to read.
"I believe that you are waiting for a message from one of your friends. A Mr. Sawyer, to be more precise. The trouble is, that unconscious people don't really have much to say."
There was now a reversal of roles as Mina sank down onto a chair and Nemo rose to his feet, his hand automatically straying to the hilt of his sword.
The operator carried on. "Don't worry. Mr. Sawyer will not come to any harm...yet. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said if you fail to turn up at this location: 22°, 31°. A friend of mine much desires to be come reacquainted with you. In fact, he's crossing the boundaries of life and death to do so. S.U."
Mina slammed a fist into her palm, "I knew something was wrong, I just knew it! Do we believe this message? Is there any possibility it could be a joke?"
Nemo's right hand was clenching his sword so tightly that his knuckles were white and his left hand was tugging in an anxious manner at his beard. "I think not. Not even Sawyer would joke on such matters. It's obviously a trap of sorts with Sawyer playing the role of bait."
Nodding in agreement, Mina replied, "I suppose that much is true. But what bothers me is how this S.U. person knew of the League's existence."
The air was thick with tension again. Only this time it was of a different sort, whereas before it had been one of anticipation, it was now of bewilderment and anger. Mina's lips were pursed and she resumed her restless pacing, "So who do we know who's died recently and would have reason to hate us?"
In a few slow strides Nemo had reached his logs and thumbed through them back to 1899. "The only person I can think of would be Moriarty, but it's impossible, he's dead after all."
"Who are we to command what it possible and what is not? You yourself have witnessed and even created your fair share of the impossible. Maybe there is a way for Moriarty to return, maybe he never died."
Nemo shook his head, his confident demeanour had vanished and he looked at her with an almost pleading look, "James Moriarty it dead, we all saw and buried his body, how can he rise again."
"Vampires are said to be dead Nemo, and yet they all rise again."
Shaking his head with disbelief he marched to the door of his reception room and barked out, "You, go to my study. Fetch me 2 sheets of paper, and a pen and ink. Now!"
Mina heard the rustle of rushed feet and guessed the Nemo was summoning for paper on which he could write to Skinner, and Jekyll to inform them of the set back. She wandered what on earth had happened to Tom, she didn't understand how Moriarty could have returned to life. She though that only vampires could do that, and even then it was a curse as she had to drink the blood of innocent people in order to do so.
She had to admit though, it did make sense that Moriarty was behind all this. After all, who better to use for a weapon of revenge than the very boy who stole his life from him?
*********************************************************************
Gosh, this took ages.
I have to apologise that this took so long . . .I had to do some editing, namely changing the entire second section of my story. I had some re- arranging to do which I forgotten about.
I also have to make a confession, I spelt Allan incorrectly in my previous chapter, and I thought I should point out my lack of care because I have actually been pretty thorough in my research . . . to the extent of reading all the originals from whence these fascinating characters came.
Guess I've rambled enough. Hope you enjoyed this, I'm having a lot of fun writing it. I'm trying really hard to make this a good LXG, so any tips for improvement on my writing would be appreciated. ((Not the plot though ;) got that all organised.))
Best wishes
Emerald3