I slid out of the car into what appeared to be a similar street to where I'd entered it little under an hour ago. Carefully I pushed my umbrella up in rudimentary defence against the beating rain. The darkness of the evening didn't intimidate me anymore, much the contrary in fact, the dusky light was a cloak that enrobed and hid me from all manner of danger. No, alone in the shadows was more often than not the safest place for me, she'd said that, all those years ago. Irene, well I called her that I couldn't tell you if that were indeed her name though it's bet not. It was beyond me how she'd finally managed to anger the criminal; honestly she did considerably better a job than the others I knew, though I didn't know many.
Walking off in what my gut told me was the vague direction of somewhere I could grab a taxi I couldn't help the burning in my heart. Some tiny little part of me held a sentimentality over her and wanted to drop a hint, to let her know he was coming, but no. I knew butter than to as James stated sign my own death warrant, as much as that tiny glimmer of affection would have me believe.
Pulling the sides of my coat together I trudged on, banishing dark thoughts of who'd I am ruining. Lowering the umbrella was a twofold objective, it did its usual task of concealing my face from curious eyes suitably, and the way it kept the battering weather from my face was an equal blessing. People often think it odd, the way even in the shadows I tend to hide my visage but it becomes apparent that when people watch you, being too careful is no longer quite possible. People had eyes and cameras everywhere, I'm living proof being a set of those eyes but everybody whom would like to see James Moriarty dead would equally love to watch me scream his name and not in the pleasant sense. This was forgetting the people that just want me dead; funnily enough women like me acquire enemies in vast numbers. When you sell secrets it usually traces back to you and the anger tends to follow as well, so I always watched, just in case. Trust was a word I understood but found, distain worthy to say the least, you find yourself getting like that, used to scare me. I used to have friends, family and loved ones but to keep them close was only going to result in the death of us, so I loved and I left. Never ever well I be selfish enough to feel anything like regret over it, my friendship should have killed them and I'm certainly not worth death.
Not to say I haven't already killed a number of them, people I've met that I've sold on for a brown paper envelope full of cash and three chance of feeling yet another dawn. Will it reach a point whether I go, I'd rather die, and willingly dance that last waltz, I'd like to think so. But I doubt it. I've sold my father, my fiancee. There isn't a lot further to fall when you've touched rock bottom, realistically three only solace worthy thing I have is that it still hurts to think about them, that I still have a soul.
A soul that I might add hated the rain with a passion. It didn't matter whether I happened to be dressed to please a particular client, or James for that matter, nothing I owned properly defended me from the biting rain. Neither the soft cotton weaver of the cardigans or the figure hugging leather jackets did anything to abjure the weather. No, it was something that as far as England went, call girl and business woman alike could frown equally on. The blood curdling cold and the skin boiling heat did little for the well-dressed woman, let alone the snow and ice, you can forget that.
you simply became accustom to such discomforts, which on the scale of things were tiny. Truly nothing like spending 10 minutes with Moriarty, I would take a life time in icy wares rather than an hour in his presence if I knew what was healthy for me, however the creature of vanity I am means I have a predisposition to put myself around him no matter the risks.
Of all things in my life I pride myself on my skills of anonymity: the umbrella, ordinary facade. So why it's it that I didn't tip the edge of my umbrella up to see the black streaks, that looking so ordinary prevented me from a good healthy look around lest it be out of character. No, foolish, stupid. My protective blanket of darkness, my far away mind and that shield against eyes my umbrella trying to get me either killed it maimed as they approached entirely unnoticed despite the water they must be splashing in their courses. In fact, I must have been obvious to so many clues.
This all caught up to my mind the moment I felt the clutch of finger tips encircle my forearm. Not a moment later I turned, dripping my umbrella of course using the arm caught as a pivot and cracked one of the men dressed in black. However I similarly took a fist to the abdomen, sending me to double over. That was it, I wasn't a fighter and the moment I buckled over my wrists were clinched behind me by a strong hand and I was led wordlessly to a white van whose licence plate sent a full blown shudder vibrating coldly down my spine.
Authors note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for the story watches and words of encouragement! Really makes my day when I know somebody else actually likes my writing, and I have to apologize for the lack of length once more I'm afraid: Blame 5 A levels!
More to come hold on tight!