Stranger Than You Dreamt It

Chapter 3- Lost Flower Spotted

Holmes slumped over the desk as he flipped through the case folder in front of him. He knew he should remain objective and emotionless, but this case made it hard. He looked at the photos of a pretty young girl who was wracked with grief as she held her father's bloody body. Her hair was pulled back, making her look younger than her nineteen years of age. What does that do to such a young mind?

He turned to the statement that was given to the police. She was very clear in her story. Her father and she were walking to the club where her father worked when the Count walked up. Erika went to greet him; then she saw the gun. Her father shoved her out of the way when the Count fired. Erik Noir V was shot five times while he protected his daughter. Erika attacked the Count after watching her father fall to the ground dying. During the struggle she was shot in the shoulder and the Count ran off.

Holmes reread the story and wondered what this does to a person. Erika was known to be very close to her father. She admired him and never argued or talked back. Holmes could tell that she loved her father by the way she'd reacted to his death. Again Holmes returned to the photo of Erika holding her father, crying. He lifted it up and stared. What does witnessing such a thing do to someone?

"The poor thing never got her justice. How does that impact someone's life?" Holmes mused out loud.

Lestrade glanced up from her spot across the room. She couldn't understand Holmes' fascination with the damn girl. She was probably in a country far, far away, feeling clever that she got away with murder. Lestrade couldn't understand how he was willing to condemn the Count, but not some girl who ran away from an investigation. She snorted from her place as she continued to read her case.

"People tend to move away and be thankful they weren't caught," Lestrade remarked off-handedly.

Holmes looked at her, "How can you say that?"

"Easy. The girl ran away. Obviously she was guilty of something," Lestrade pointed out.

"Or scared? She did witness a murder and identify the murderer, the Count. He is a man with great power and influence. Even Leroux said he has control over the police force," Holmes shot back.

"Maybe she was afraid he would expose her. Kids are capable of anything. Look at your Irregulars."

"They aren't capable of murder. Have you even read the file?"

"How can I when you're absorbed in it? You were telling me that I'm not objective. At least I'm concentrating on our current case."

"Do you even care what happened to her? I admit she could be a strong suspect for our current case, but we won't know until we know what happened to her."

"Oh, are you admitting she can now commit murder?" Lestrade snapped, "A moment ago she was a bloody saint."

"I never said that. But you think the Count is one. Why, Lestrade? Because he flirts with you?" Holmes shouted as he stood up.

"That's not it at all."

"Is it? Let me tell you something, Lestrade. Men haven't changed all that much in two hundred years. The charming ones can charm anyone they please and will. The question is, can you see or will you fall for it?"

"I'm not being sweet-talked, Holmes. How dare you think I am not capable doing my job."

"I see women haven't changed all that much either," Holmes said stiffly before walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Lestrade growled, "We are not through with this."

"Yes, we are," Holmes said finally as he threw on the Inverness and opened the door, "I'm going to see if I can find out the fate of Mademoiselle Noir. I'd ask you to come but you don't care about that case."

Holmes shut the door silently. Lestrade was hoping he would slam it to accent her bad mood. But Holmes didn't slam doors. In fact he very rarely showed emotions until the anger she just saw in his eyes. She shivered slightly and then reprimanded herself mentally for letting it bother her. It wasn't her problem that he was fascinated with some trollop that killed her parent. After all, she was an officer of the law.

And yet, there must be something in that file that would have Holmes defending her as adamantly as he did. She shifted uncomfortably, like the girl was in the room staring at her. Sighing, Lestrade walked towards Holmes' desk to look through the packet. She supposed she should look through the case. That way, the next time Holmes condemned her Lestrade could at least say she read the case.

When she reached the desk, Lestrade saw the back of the photo that Holmes was just staring at. Written along the back was December 22, 2099 Crime scene photo taken upon arrival. Lestrade slowly flipped it over and stared at it.

The first thing Lestrade saw was the blood that was everywhere. It was on the sidewalk, the body and the girl herself. Then Lestrade saw the girl. She looked so young as she clutched her father to her. Her face distorted with grief as she cried. It was heart-wrenching. She couldn't be older than nineteen. Her blue eyes were filled with tears. Lestrade could almost hear her voice crying out to her dead father.

Lestrade tried her damndest not to be moved, not to feel guilty for condemning her. But it didn't work. Here was a girl who looked like her world was destroyed; then she disappeared. Lestrade couldn't help but wonder why? Why did she run? Maybe she was wrong to come down hard on the girl.

Lestrade took a deep breath and sank down into Holmes' seat. Hesitantly she put the picture aside and began to read the file. Absently she would glance at the picture. What does this do to someone?

-----------------------

The Phantom tossed and turned in its bed of black sheets. In its mind it tried to silence the sound of gunfire and the pain in its shoulder. Frantically it fought to wake up and end the nightmare. The Phantom sat up, trying to breathe. Again, it was so real again. Every night the bullet got closer and closer to its heart. The Phantom knew one day it would hit it and end everything.

Shaking, the Phantom stared at its hand. It could still see and smell the blood. That metallic smell would never leave it alone, not even in the dark hours of the night. It arrived too late that night. Too late to save Erik, too late to stop the coward who shot Erik. It was a mistake that it would continually pay for. Even now its sanity was slowly slipping away. There was two ways to stop the nightmares, the guilt of its one mistake.

One way was to take the gun out of its case and pull the trigger. A simple way to end the pain it endured every night. Just one squeeze and everything would end. There would brief pain and then darkness. It was tempting, but if the Phantom did it then he failed.

The other way was much more satisfying. All it had to do was kill the Count de Chagny. Shooting was quick but ineffective and poison was what he would expect. Restless, the Phantom got out of bed. There must he some way to kill the creep and rid itself of these dreams. Only then could the Phantom be at peace. Only then could The Phantom rest. A smile touched its lips. Soon it would have its revenge, very soon.

--------------------

Lestrade nearly jumped when the vid phone rang in the room. She was so absorbed in the Noir case she forgot where she was. Groggily she trudged over the phone. She perked at the thought of Holmes calling to apologize. She yawned as she answered the phone.

"Yes?" she yawned.

The Count smiled charmingly. "I didn't mean to disturb your rest, Inspector."

Lestrade blushed softly. "No, not at all, Your Countship."

Ruelle chuckled softly, "Please, call me Ruelle, Inspector."

Lestrade resisted the urge to offer the same courtesy to him. She'd never given it to Sherlock, her partner for over two years now. Instead she smiled at him.

"Of course, Ruelle. What can I do for you?" Lestrade asked.

Ruelle's face became worried. "I received a card in the mail today. There was no name on it but a short message and a picture."

"What did it say?" Lestrade perked up. Maybe it was a clue.

The Count held it up. The picture was of a white mask pierced by a red rose that was losing its petals. It was a pretty picture. But Lestrade peered at it closer to delve a deeper meaning.

The Count cleared his throat gaining Lestrade's attention. "It says, 'Remember and fear it.'"

"That's it?" Lestrade pondered it. "That's odd."

"Maybe we could discuss it over dinner tomorrow at the Café Seine," Ruelle ventured carefully.

Lestrade smiled. "Of course. We will meet you there at six."

Ruelle grinned brightly. "Then I will see you then. Adieu."

"Adieu." Lestrade grinned back before hanging up. She nearly giggled. The killer was obviously toying with Ruelle and leaving clues while they did so. Holmes was going to be happy about it. She couldn't wait to tell him. Smiling, she returned to the depressing case she was reading.

---------------------

Holmes leaned against the bar casually. His usual blonde hair was gray with streaks of black. His clothes were dirtied and fit in with the rogues circulating around him. Lazily he sipped his drink, making sure he didn't make eye contact with anyone but the older female bartender who gave him a kind smile. Holmes heartily returned it as he looked over the growing crowd over by the tables.

He froze as he recognized Fenwick sitting eagerly at a table closer to the front, not too far from where he stood himself. Lounging next to Fenwick, obviously bored, was Professor James Moriarty. Holmes quickly looked away, but would look over out of the corner of his eye. As he watched a young man sat down next to him and ordered a drink.

The man chuckled, "It seems The Napoleon of Crime is determined to defend his territory."

Holmes turned and sipped his drink, "He certainly is making an appearance."

"Well, With the De Chagnies defying his orders and The Phantom nipping at his heels, He probably felt the need to show he is still in power."

"The De Chagnies? You don't mean the Count De Chagny?"

"The Very one. Damn noble feels he can sneer down at The Napoleon. He shouldn't feel so cocky now that his brother was taken out. He will be next."

"By the Napoleon of Crime? Seems a little harsh. I heard he likes to knock them down a few notches."

The Man laughed heartily, "Indeed but no, not by the Napoleon. They say The Phantom is the one who did it to avenge Erik's death."

"Oh? And why would the Phantom be concerned about that?"

The man looked at Holmes in surprise, "You must be new to Paris. Everyone knows Erik was one of the top men at gathering intelligence on any thing. His connections with the Above Ground were legendary Because of his talent. Many say he worked for The Phantom at that time. But when Erik died, The Phantom's control over the communication part of the Underground died with him. And his poor daughter went mad with grief, she did."

Holmes frowned, "I see. What happened to her?"

The man shrugged as he moved away, "She just up and disappeared. No surprise with the Count out and walking around. He even put out a hit on her. The gel probably feared for her life."

Holmes nodded as he turned that information over in his head. So everything about the Count was not as it seemed. He was hiding a lot from them. Holmes glanced back at Moriarty. Just how much was his rival capable of? And was he allied with the Phantom? Holmes continued to ponder these questions. He wished he had Lestrade here to talk to about such things. How would she have reacted to the news that he was a criminal?

Moriarty looked around, grumbling. He couldn't believe he agreed to come here with Fenwick. None of the waitresses that walked around in their short skirts were appealing to him. He couldn't even get up the energy to flirt back with them like Fenwick was. Instead he just sipped his drink and waited for the whole thing to be over with. Occasionally he would smile at an associate but otherwise he was bored, completely bored.

Suddenly the band began to play a lively number as an old man walked into the center of the floor wearing a bright yellow suit and a cane. He smiled at the audience as the waitresses finished serving their order. The man began to sing in a light German Accent.

Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome! Fremde, etranger, stranger. Gluklich zu sehen, je suis enchante, Happy to see you, bliebe, reste, stay. Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome Im Cabaret, au Cabaret, to Cabaret

The Man began to speak very slowly so the audience could understand him, "Meine Damen und Herren, Mesdames et Messieurs, Ladies and Gentlemen! Guden abend. Bon soir. Good evening. Wie gehts? Comment ca va? Do you feel good? I bet you do! Ich bin euer Confrecier; je suis votre compere... I am your host, Josef Buquet."

Holmes smirked as he watched him entertain the crowd. Even Moriarty was smirking. He returned to singing.

Und sagen Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome Im Cabaret, au Cabaret, to Cabaret

Josef smiled at the audience graciously, "Leave your troubles outside! So -- life is disappointing? Forget it! We have no troubles here! Here life is beautiful... The girls

are beautiful... Even the orchestra is beautiful!"

On that cue the band began to play loudly. Josef picked up his cane and began to conduct them. Holmes chuckled, as Josef danced while he did so. Holmes' spirits began to brighten considerably.

Josef grinned brightly at the audience, "You see? I told you the orchestra is beautiful! And now presenting the Cabaret Girls!"

Suddenly the waitresses ran up front. Each one struck a different pose and smiled brightly at the audience. Josef smiled at them then turn to the audience and introduced each one. Rosie was a blushing redhead who liked Lulu, another girl. Frenchie was a beautiful blonde whom the host jokingly ordered on her side. Texas was a multi-talented American brunette. Fritzie was a gorgeous ravenhaired high kicker who scared the hell out of the few waiters who passed her. And Helga was a very young blonde who was a bad girl. The girls danced around the host, who said something that caused Holmes to choke on his drink.

Josef joked, "Outside it is winter. But in here it's so hot. Every night we have to battle with the girls to keep them from taking off all their clothings. So don't go away. Who knows? Tonight we may lose the battle!"

The girl stopped dancing and sang, the chorus shaking their hips as they did so. Holmes choked slightly as Josef introduced the waiters. Holmes began to block out the music. He looked very so often at Moriarty who was sighing. He still looked slightly bored. Then Josef shouted out a name that snagged Holmes' attention.

"And finally, the toast of Paris, Fraulein Erika Daae!" Josef shouted, pointing toward the back.

"Hello, darlings!" a husky voice called out and joined everyone in singing. Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome! Fremde, etranger, stranger. Gluklich zu sehen, je suis enchante, Happy to see you, Bliebe, reste, stay! Wir sagen Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome Im Cabaret, au Cabaret, to Cabaret