Chapter 9: Expect the Unexpected
The snow had just begun to fall once more as Basil and Dawson jumped off Toby, whom thankfully they were able to rely on since the hound's human owner was out on his own investigation. Heading away from the hyperactive canine, Basil, with great authority, commanded him to remain while he and the doctor carried on to scout the flat before them.
The detective shook his head at the sight for the small portion was not at demolished as the newspapers had claimed it to be. Since there were still a few urchins lurking about, both mice made their way towards the place as casually as they could. They knew instantly that the few other mice recognized them for they soon scurried off. To where, they hadn't the slightest, but made no reason to question their sudden departure.
Without really having to touch the door, they jumped back as it collapsed from its hinges, colliding to the floor with a loud bang. With a lantern on hand, Basil cautiously stepped in with Dawson close behind with a lantern of his own. Inside, much like the outside, was slightly scorched, but still sustainable as the detective singled for them to carry on. Most definitely there had been a few mice or more maintaining residency here, for some of the rooms they passed contained several beds and piles upon piles of alcohol bottles.
As they spilt up, Basil seemed to find nothing to which indicated that his client's abductor stayed here as well. As a wild hunch, he connected one of the two robberies to her. With the jewellery store off the list, this was the only thing he had to go by. Therefore, he was hoping to find anything that was in relation to magic. So far, no such luck.
"Basil, take a look at this," Dawson called out from just down the hall.
"What is it?" the detective questioned when he reached his partner. Following his gaze, he too noticed the door that was once covered by a thick green rug.
"Where do you think it leads too?"
"We'll soon find out, won't we?" Placing his lantern on the floor, Basil took hold of the handle and with some effort, managed to open it. Before them was a wooden staircase. Where it led to was the big mystery for all they saw was complete blackness. Signalling to follow, both mice carefully climbed down the staircase into the dark abyss.
"So, what did the letter say? Dawson questioned unexpectedly while keeping an eye out.
"She claimed that she couldn't remember."
"You didn't see it."
"No. Out of fear, she tossed it into the fireplace." Basil sighed deeply in memory of it. "Though I'm surprised she kept the envelope. You would think since she was in the moment of fear that she would get rid of both."
"Perhaps she knew it would be of use to you."
"She knew both would be of use to me, but she limited me with one of the two. She knows what that letter said, however, she got rid of it so I wouldn't see it. It was not just out of fear. It was out of protecting herself."
"Surely you have more evidence than what we have been given. How about the night you found her?"
"The only evidence there was her. There were no footprints aside from our own. While this tells me that it was not too long that she was there, it also does not make any sense. Someone had to put her there, Dawson. It seemed as if she had just fallen from the bloody sky."
"How did you deduce that?"
"No snow had fallen that entire day. If she were there earlier, someone would have seen her and brought her to me. Or even better to the hospital. I was amazed she had not caught ill for she barely had anything covering her."
Once reaching the bottom, with the lantern in hand, Basil held it out further so they could see a bit more in front of them. Just like upstairs, it seemed completely deserted. The large room was covered with debris that had fallen. But it was also then that he realized something else. Instantly covering his mouth and nose, he, along with advising Dawson to do the same, extinguished the flame from the lantern for he sensed a strong stench of gasoline.
"The fire started from here," Basil stated as he got closer to the smell. "Once the first letter was sent, he must have evacuated and attempted to burn the place down so he could cover his tracks. Not too well, it seems."
"And the envelope to the second letter?"
"The writing alone told me that it was the very same individual whom set this place to flames. Come along, Dawson," the detective ordered as they searched further. While doing so, Dawson continuously kept walking into random beams or furniture as he attempted to keep up with his colleague's footsteps.
"I can't see a blasted thing down here," Dawson complained, bumping into another beam before ricocheting off it and landing on the ground with a loud thud. Looking back, Basil sighed with slight annoyance before going back to help the poor doctor.
"Just keep close to me and do be quiet. We don't know if anyone is-Oomph!"
"Basil! Are you all right?" Dawson questioned with deep concern when he heard a loud crash.
The detective grunted before rising to all fours. He hissed at the sudden pain on his right hand. "I'm quite all right. Just fell over something and cut my hand in the process." Feeling around the floor, he touched what felt like paper. Grabbing it, he then struck a match from the box he carried around so he could have some light.
Forgetting about the small piece of glass stuck in his palm, Basil looked around to see what caused him to trip. It was then he spotted what looked like a gold ball sticking out from a small pile of debris. Curiosity getting the better of him, he first crumbled up a large bit of paper and placed the burning piece on top of them to give the detective more light while he pulled the long thin item out. He discovered it was a walking stick with gold around the handle and ball. Carefully examining it, he soon froze. Along the side of it read the initials P. J. R. Gripping the ball and the long smooth surface, he yanked on it forcefully, revealing a steal blade. To the touch, the blade was still sharp as ever.
Closing his eyes, he could hear the clear sound of blades colliding with one another, followed by a loud and painful cry. It was then the image became so clear. Almost like an out-of-body experience, Basil was standing along a deserted street. The rain pouring around him as it soaked his Inverness coat. Across from him were two figures, one large and the other small. The larger figured hovered over the smaller laughing while he crouched on the ground. Walking closer, the figures became easier to see. The larger figure was none other than Basil's former arch nemesis while the other was Basil himself, both much younger, but still filled with as much hatred as they had when the rat fell to his death only a year ago.
The detective watched as Ratigan cackled with great victory while his younger self gripped onto his side, blood seeping through his long fingers as he tried to keep himself from bleeding to death. His dark grey jacket soaked and stained by his blood. In one swift movement, the vial rat kicked his enemy in the face, watching as he fell to the ground. He stood still for a moment before placing the blade back into its case and walking away from the scene before any patrol bobby showed up.
Basil rushed over, skidding to a stop at the sight before him. He left him to die that night. Yet his assumption got the better of him and one of said patrol bobbies saved the young detective from an early demise. He remembered he spent a few days in St. Bartholomew's Hospital before the stubborn and anxious detective demanded that he be released.
"Basil…" the detective heard faintly. Looking down, he saw his younger self staring up at him. Did the voice calling his name come from…him? "Basil…Snap out of it! Basil!" His eyes snapped open. This sudden jolt caused Basil to drop the walking stick before looking over his shoulder to see Dawson standing behind him with great concern. "I've been calling your name for the past few minutes. Are you all right?"
"Ah, quite all right, doctor. Just spaced out for a moment," Basil replied, standing to his feet and facing his friend.
"Have you found something?"
"No. At least nothing important to this case. Come along. We must be getting back."
While Basil made his way back towards the staircase, Dawson remained. Glancing downward, the doctor spotted the walking stick. He looked back before picking it up himself. Why this affected Basil, he had no idea. Pulling the blade out further, Dawson noticed traces of old blood on the sharp edge. Looking behind him again, he soon became curious. Scanning over the case, he too saw the initials engraved in gold. Did the blood that he saw belong to the detective, he thought. Dawson did recall, while mending his dreadful wounds, seeing another scar reaching from his left side to his naval. Was this the cause of it?
"Dawson, where are you?" Basil called out. Placing the item down and extinguishing the dying fire, the doctor rushed towards his friend whom was waiting by the stairs. But just before they made their way up, the taller mouse paused suddenly, looking back towards the darkness.
"What is it, Basil?"
"Stay here," he ordered quietly before taking out his revolver. Dawson watched while the darkness engulfed him. The doctor knew something was wrong for he too heard the rustling sound. Waiting with great anticipation, he heard a loud grunt, followed by a few gunshots. Taking out his own weapon, Dawson rushed towards the struggle just as another shot went off.