Chapter 12: Pull the Trigger

It didn't take Alice long to find her father, the only problem was that she just saw him, on the other side of the building, through two opposite windows. He was sitting with his back to the wall. Alice remained still for a while, looking at what was going on. Nothing happened. She stepped inside, the door shutting behind her. She was standing in the shadows, staring at the back of her father's head and part of the face of the cabbie. She couldn't see much, and that wouldn't change by stepping closer, but she did so anyhow. The rifle was still in the bag strapped to her back and the box of bullets burned in her pocket. Only now did she realise that she wasn't wearing her coat and that all her pockets were filled with things, from change and her phone to bullets for a rifle that until recently, she didn't even know existed. The rifle, why had she even taken it with her? Would she fire it? Could she? She knew how it worked, considering the fact that Mrs. Hudson had explained it in detail. But still, could she? She felt the back of her shirt stick to her back and sweat pearling on her forehead. Cold shivers ran down her spine, suddenly scared. What had she been thinking? Taking a rifle out to confront a serial killer? What had her father been thinking? Thinking that she could save him? Suddenly her father rose up from his chair and made his way to the door, leaving the cabbie sitting at the table. Alice smiled, her father was getting out of there, he was safe. But her smile faded as soon as her father stopped at the door and turned back. He didn't move for a while, the cabbie had turned to him and seemed to be talking. She could hardly see the cabbie's face, since it was hidden underneath a hat, but she could see the mouth moving. With a shock she saw her father walk back to the table and grab something from the table. He moved towards the window at looked out of it. Immediately Alice stepped out of the shadows and he saw her standing there. He was twirling a small bottle in his hand. Alice squinted and saw a pill, falling from one side to the other and back. That was how he had done it, the cabbie behind her father must have a similar bottle. It was a choice. A game of chance. No chess. The cabbie had played and won four times in a row. Without a second thought, Alice took the bag from her back, zipped it open and took the rifle out. Now that her father was going to do this, she had to do something. She took a couple of bullets from her pocket and loaded it. She stepped back into the shadows, so that the cabbie could not see her and held the rifle up, aiming at the cabbie's chest. Her father had turned away now, but he knew she was there, that if it would get too close, she would be there, and would somehow save him. Alice stood there, waiting, doubting herself. Could she do it? Could she kill a man? Even if it meant that she could save her father? She was still deliberating with herself, holding up the now slightly shaking rifle, when someone burst into the room. Alice took another step back and lowered the rifle, which softly hit one of the steel tables. The person looked in her direction, but didn't see her, then he turned back and seemed to recognise someone.

'Sherlock!'

Alice looked at the man, she only saw his profile in the dim light. He was a little taller than she was, with greying hair and a black, partially leather jacket. This had to be him, this had to be Dr. John Watson. This was the first time Alice could actually look at him up close, but she didn't take the time. Her face shot back to her father, who was still standing there with the cabbie, his back towards the window. Alice picked up the rifle a bit more and tip-toed to the other side of the room, remaining in the shadows the entire time, not making a sound, afraid to even breathe, just in case John Watson would hear it. When she stopped, she had a good view of the cabbie and a part of Sherlock. Then he did it, he held up the pill, high up so that she could see it clearly in the bright light of the room. She pointed the rifle at the cabbie again, this shouldn't take to long, she just had to shoot. Her finger was on the trigger. This was not how her father would die, she wouldn't allow it. It had taken her too long to find him. Too long to connect with him. Now they had finally made a proper start, she was not going to allow some serial killer cabbie to take it from her. But her finger was shaking, sweat was pearling on her forehead. She wasn't sure whether she could shoot. What if she missed? What if she missed and her father took the pill and died? What is she missed and hit her father? What if...

A gunshot resounded through the room, Alice was startled from her thoughts, but prevented herself from firing. John Watson was standing in the middle of the room, holding a handgun. The window in the room where she was standing was open, the one opposite had a hole in it and the cabbie had disappeared from view. Suddenly John turned around and disappeared from the room, leaving Alice alone in the shadows. She lowered the rifle. She was shaking all over. She hadn't done it. She hadn't pulled the trigger. Her father nearly died, he had almost been killed, and she couldn't pull the trigger. Tears burned in her eyes. She put the rifle back in the bag and slowly she went back out of the building. With the rifle strapped to her back, she exited the building, her mind was still filled with the same thoughts. You would have just let your father die! You couldn't pull the trigger! He needed you Alice and you let him down! What if John Watson had not been there? Then you could have well been going to a funeral next week! You would have to go back to Scotland, to your mother, to your boring life and it would all be your fault! With tears blurring her sight, she looked around and found a cabbie with its lights on, standing in between two streetlights across the road, trying not to stand out too much. He was still waiting. Alice dragged her feet towards the cab. In the corners of her eye she could see the blue lights approaching, but she didn't want to go there, she didn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone. She just wanted to go home and cry on her bed. When she got closer to the cab, the door opened and Stephen Bainbridge got out. He opened the door to the backseat and waited to Alice to get in. When he saw the tears flicker in the streetlight, his smile disappeared.

'Miss, what's wrong?'

Alice looked up, but then she put the rifle on the backseat and sat down. Stephen continued to look at her, worried. Alice rolled her eyes, which was difficult with the amount of tears burning in her eyes. Always that worry, though she was only 15, she was no longer a little kid, she could handle herself, she didn't need other people to worry about her. But Stephen wasn't that easily fooled, he crouched down beside the car and tried to look Alice in the eye.

'Miss, what happened? Is your father OK?'

Alice looked up, her tears trickling over her cheeks.

'My father is fine. Now take me home.'

Stephen nodded and got back behind the wheel without saying another word. In silence they drove for a while. The counter wasn't running. Stephen had turned it off. He looked in his mirror and saw Alice wipe away a tear.

'What happened in there?'

His eye fell on the bag beside the girl.

'And what is in that bag you're carrying around?'

Alice looked up and met his eyes looking at her in the mirror, one of her hands hugged the rifle a little tighter.

'It's none of your business.'

Stephen nodded and it was quiet for a while. Alice sniffed softly, still blaming herself for what had happened.

'You should have pulled that trigger, damnit. What are you, a baby?'

The words came out as nothing more than a whisper, but in the completely silent car she could have as well screamed the words. Stephen's eyes widened.

'Excuse me?'

Alice's eyes shot up. Shit, he had heard her.

'Nothing.'

'Nothing!'

Stephen pulled over to the side of the road and turned around in his seat.

'Hang on there. I might just look like a stupid cabbie, but I happen to be a trained soldier, now in training to become part of the Queen's Guard. And I happen to have ears, so I heard you. What are you saying about pulling a trigger?'

Alice swallowed her tears and looked straight at Stephen, trying to look as strong as she usually was.

'I should have pulled the trigger when my father almost got killed by a serial killer in that building where you dropped me off.'

Stephen's eyes widened, Alice suddenly forgot her tears completely and scoffed slightly.

'Don't look so terrified soldier boy. You asked what was in here?'

She softly tapped the bag.

'In here is a rifle, which I was supposed to have used on this serial killer. My father was on his trail and so was I. He came to pick my father up and I followed, sure that if my father was in danger, I would be able to pull the trigger. Fact is...'

A single tear fell down her cheek and she suddenly shrunk again, losing all the confidence she had shown a moment ago.

'I couldn't do it. My father almost died because I was a coward! If it wasn't for this new roommate of his to show up and pull out a gun, my father could have well been dead by now.'

Stephen saw the girl breaking, he took off his seatbelt, opened the door and opened Alice's door as well. He crouched down again, but not as far, so that they were at the same height.

'Hey, don't be to hard on yourself ... er I don't believe I know your name.'

Alice smiled a little through her tears.

'Alice.'

Stephen smiled.

'Alice, I'm Stephen.'

Alice laughed and wiped away a tear.

'I know.'

Stephen thought about it for a while and then remembered the note he had given her with his name and phone number. But then he quickly got back to what he was saying.

'Alice, how old are you?'

Alice sniffed softly, quickly trying to get rid of her tears. It was shameful how much she was crying, terrible. She wasn't supposed to be this emotional. Her mother had often told her that it was wrong to hold in your emotions, in Alice's opinion it was wrong to be to open about them. It was nobody else's business to know how she felt, so why should they be able to see it? Eventually she did answer Stephen.

'15.'

Stephen's eyes grew bigger again.

'15? My God! Please don't be so hard on yourself. When I was your age I was just playing football with my mates and going to school. And you're thinking of killing a man.'

Alice shook her head, he was never going to understand. He wouldn't understand that she was smarter than anyone in her school, that she had dropped out because her teachers couldn't teach her anything anymore. That she was thinking of enrolling in university. If she was doing all that, then she wasn't like any normal 15-year-old, so why should she not be thinking about things other 15-year-olds didn't think about? Stephen sat beside her for a while, while Alice wiped away the final tears. He gently took her hand and smiled when she looked at him, suspiciously.

'Please don't think I'm some sort of creep. I have a sister who is your age, she sometimes cries too, but she mostly cries about boys.'

Alice bursts into laughter, Stephen laughs too.

'Wow, didn't know that could work to make someone laugh too. You ready to get going again?'

Alice nodded. Stephen let go of her hand, slammed the door shut and sat down in his own seat again. They drove home in silence and when he pulled over at 221B Baker Street he smiled to the back of the car.

'It was a pleasure to drive you home miss Alice.'

Alice smiled too, she opened the door and dragged out the bag with the rifle in it. Then she looked at Stephen, who was not looking at her. She grinned, took out the change she had and put it on the backseat. Then she slammed the door shut, causing Stephen to look up.

'Hey, Alice. If you ever need a cab, remember me right?'

Alice nodded and smiled. Stephen gave her one final smile, a wave and then he was off, leaving Alice in the light of the streetlights. She went inside and softly put the rifle back in its place. She hoped Mrs. Hudson hadn't noticed that it was gone and she was surprised not to find her awake. Then she tip-toed back to her own studio, where she dropped on her bed. The tears burned again, the bullets were still in her pocket. She felt in her other pocket and took out the little note, Stephen Bainbridge, kind of creepy, but he was nice. She put the note on her nightstand and, without getting changed into her pyjamas, she quickly dozed off. But she was haunted by nightmares which would wake her up throughout the night. Every time she would watch Sherlock die, the cabbie would laugh and Alice would stand there, motionless, unable to do anything. The same thing would happen, over and over again, and only when Alice had made herself a steaming hot cup of milk and had taken a painkiller for her headache, she could finally fall asleep.