Thank You Everyone for Reviewing!! You've helped encourage me to write more! As I am a lazy lazy person.
So here is your third chapter, Enjoy.
Chapter Three: Serpents In The Nest
There was not a cloud in the heavens. The sky reflected the ocean's azure waters perfectly, resulting in an almost artificial blue that coated the vast expanse of England's natural ceiling. The sun shone happily upon the citizens that were dressed spectacularly in honor of the beautiful day.
On the top of a large grassy hill filled with swan ponds near the valleys and ducks rolling on the surface of the water, was a splendid mansion. The building expanded far, acres upon acres of Victorian architecture. Decorated windowsills, magnificent gargoyles and elegant buttresses structured more of its' beauty. The gardens surrounding it were waving in the winding patches of lavenders, tulips, and roses that lined the trail. Cherry blossoms fell away from their trees, raining down upon any who stroll through the natural pathways. A large stream of water divided the gardens into sections of intricate and delicate knots, the water on the surface rippling from the comfortably breezy day.
A carriage strolled up the long trail to the large ivy covered iron gates that were already open for the visitor. The coachman that was sitting on the perch pulled the leather reins of the horses, soothing them with gentle noises. The decorated carriage soon stopped, and before the coachman could jump down from his position, the door opened and the visitor gave the man a kind smile. Paying his due to the thankful coachman, the guest elegantly strode through the gates and knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" a timid and thick French accent sounded from behind the oaken doors.
"Mr. Williams asked for me. Miss Bellenger, by now you must surely know my voice." His voice was indeed unforgettable; Rich and as smooth as silk, handsome enough to swoon any lady off her feet.
"Ah! Excuse me for my frank rudeness Dr. Edwards!" The doors opened and Edwards walked in, smiling at the French maid that always greeted him whenever he was invited to the mansion.
"Thank you." And he made his way up the red lavishly carpeted stairs to the third floor, the master's office.
Passing the magnificent chandeliers, hand-painted portraits by the master of the house himself, and a grand piano that perched proudly in the large music room. He climbed up another set of stairs to finally reach the polished wooden doors of the Master's office. He knocked once, and then pushed open the doors.
"Punctual as always Dr. Edwards. How has your business been? Your occupation suiting you well?" Cigar smoke drifted in the large room, swirling like a cloud around Mr. Williams' soft black locks. A small pair of glasses placed on his nose, he was just as attractive as the famed Dr. Edwards with his long silk blond hair, pearly white teeth, and sturdy, tall frame.
Edwards scowled.
"I detest your habits in cigars, you seem to smoke those blasted sticks more than you ever have. Some trade issue on your mind?" He completely ignored Williams' greeting, knowing they were, although friendly, also cheerfully fake.
Williams sighed and put out the cigar, giving a pointed stare at Edwards who ignored the man's strikingly green eyes.
"So, dear friend, has Evan agreed to the mission at hand?" A calculated stare at Williams tapping fingers betrayed his friendly mask. He was anxious.
"Yes yes, he has agreed to our proposal. However, he does have some requirements in place or else he will decline whenever he deems it unnecessary."
"Ah." A nod of understanding, the tapping stopped.
"So what is it he wants?" William inclined his head slightly, his jet-black hair shifted to the side in a smooth fashion.
"He asks for his own methods of… dealing with the little problem." Edwards carefully paused, searching for a euphemism.
Williams froze and caught Edward's blue eyes.
"His own methods? What would that include exactly?"
"I am not too sure of that. He was not particularly clear when he mentioned it. Nor had I dared to press him, you understand how temperamental he can be whenever he's questioned too much about his skill or his ways." Edwards shifted positions and sat on one of the familiar and luxurious armchairs he usually chose.
"He was not clear? Bother, I knew he would resort to his own methods, yet I was hoping that just this once he would pursue his mission in a… less violent manner." Williams placed his fingers on the bridge of his nose, rubbing away the tension.
"You know deep down in your soul. That is not a possibility." Williams chuckled slightly at that fact.
"Indeed, after knowing the man for several years, I would have given up hope in his insane ways."
"He does have a promising amount of skill, despite his young age." Edwards continued.
"Nay, I must argue that 20 is not a young age. I am but 32."
"And I, 30."
"And thus, he cannot be counted as young anymore."
"I wish I could always count him as such." The blond man retorted.
"Don't be such a stickler Edwards, you raised him almost like a son despite your age differences and you have raised him well. But now you must let him go."
"I am."
"No, you are not. He's your nephew, not your son, dear friend." Williams advised.
"So what? He still has not learned the business of our trade. We began the organization several years ago. Yet even then, he has had a ravaging thirst for violence. I fear for his sanity occasionally."
"You're not too sane yourself."
"Well neither are you."
"..." Edwards sat smug at Williams' unresponsiveness.
The black haired businessman stood from his cushioned chair behind the large oaken desk and grabbed his coat, cane, and hat.
"Well, either way we can trust him to carry out the plan."
"Indeed."
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The days in Chicago were finally starting to lighten up, although it was beginning to be around 7:30, there were a few stray puffs of cloud that floated lazily in the skies. The sun outside was halfway through its descent and it casted hues of red and purple across the skies. The beauty seemed to be a symbol of hope, a better future for the couple that strolled down the sidewalks of the bustling city. However, despite the captivating scenery, Watson and Mary were not too delighted.
"John, I want to go back to the hotel, my feet are beginning to tire and I wish to sit down."
"…"
"John! Pay attention!" The addressed gentleman jerked in surprise when his wife lightly slapped his face.
"Oh, pardon me my dear," he hastened to cover his astonishment.
"Yes, indeed, pardon you."
"I shall try to pay more rapt attention. Now, what was it that you said?"
"I said nothing."
"No I'm sure that you had voiced something, please Mary, please tell me." John begged slightly, not wanting to miss something crucially important.
"I said nothing John, you would know that if you had not been thinking of that dreaded detective otherwise, of which I am sure you were."
Watson sighed once more.
It had been like this ever since their fight mornings ago. He would become distracted and then Mary would catch him in the act of worrying or daydreaming of his best friend and how his condition was. Immediately after that, Mary would become temperamental and then shrug off any of his pleas to speak with him. She would turn her head sharply away, so that he could only have view of her golden hair wrapped in a tight proper bun.
Yet despite their quarrels, he had managed to convince his lovely wife to take a stroll outside during this beautiful evening. Hopefully, he thought, I may be able to reconcile with her. Strengthening his resolution once more, he set out to pay attention to her words, her soft skin, her beautiful dress and currently tightly pressed lips as she set her gaze straightly forward, determined to ignore her husband. Would the sighs never end? Apparently not, as he did so again.
The people around them began to move a bit faster, some began to run, others whispered excitedly, rushing towards the middle of the square. Watson, noticing the crowd's strange behavior, stopped a gentleman— Gentleman, in the lightest terms possible as he was dressed in positively dirty clothes, smelled of soot and metal, and had greasy hair, but the Doctor, being used to the battlefield and the dirty clients of London, paid no mind.
"Kind sir, would you take it out of your time to inform me of what event is occurring?" Mary began to loop her arm around his when the man's gaze moved from Watson's person to Mary's body, looking her up and down. She felt intimidated. Watson noticed her immediate response and held her a little bit closer. The man smirked.
"Haven't you heard? There's the Haymarket Speeches today! They're being held here in Haymarket Square. You know, normally I don't agree with those damned anarchists, but those policemen just piss me off."
The man spat at the imaginary policeman standing to his right, and then grinning, he continued, "You should come! The more the better, you know?" and he ran off after another man greeted him heartedly and urged him that they were about to be late.
Mary and Watson's eyes connected, speaking silently about whether they should join. It sounded like an opportunity for disaster for them. The wise couple agreed that they would definitely not participate in this riot and as they began to walk away, Watson hit a little body.
A small girl was sobbing into her sleeves, hiccupping, and sitting on the floor after their initial impact. Before Watson could address her, she began to cry for her mother, who had apparently lost her in the running crowd of people.
"Mama! Mama! Where ah' you?! Mama!" Fat tears rolling down her cheeks, Watson kneeled down to pick the child off the ground and comfort her.
"There there, your mother will find you very soon child. I'm positive she is looking for you now."
The young girl immediately stopped her crying and giggled.
"You talk funny, mister." Watson smiled.
"Oh Anna! Anna! There you are!" A woman ran towards Anna, her running frantic when she found her daughter in the arms of a stranger.
"How did you find her?" The lady addressed Watson.
"I'm afraid I was not paying adequate enough attention, and I ran into your little daughter."
"He talks funny Mama!" The mother smiled and turned her kind smile to Watson.
"Thank you sir."
"My pleasure." And she walked off, her child in her arms waving back to him. Watson fondly waved back, looking to his wife. Missing.
Missing.
"Mary? Mary! Mary where are you?" Watson began to panic, eyes scanning the cloud of people that were surrounding a group of people standing in the center, waiting for the crowds to quiet down. The colors blurring as people shouted, whispered, ran, walked, paced, stood still. Mary? No. No she's not Mary. Mary? Mary! Mary!
Her golden hair still in its perfectly tight bun, waving the handkerchief he had presented to her while they were still dating.
"John! John!" Watson ran over to his wife.
"What-" he was interrupted.
"Oh, I hope you didn't mind that I stole your little girlfriend. I think she should see this." The man from before was smirking at Watson, holding the wrist of his captive wife.
The war veteran clenched his fist, containing his anger under the ice-cold pools of his eyes. He glared daggers at the man, shamelessly attempting to flirt with his clearly disgusted wife. Placing a firm hand on his shoulder, Watson tightened his grip and forcefully dragged the man away with amazing strength; his elegant fingers were steel clasps that held hard enough to bruise the dirty worker.
"Fuck!" The man swore in pain and struggled, only to have the vice-grip tighten.
"Dear sir, if you could kindly leave my gentle wife alone?"
"Fuck man! Let me go!" but Watson did not yield.
"What say you? Leave us be?"
"Agh! It hurts!"
"Well?"
"Yes yes! Now let go!" The doctor released his swearing captive who was nursing his aching shoulder.
"You'll regret this-"
Screams came from the crowd.
"Cops!"
The policemen had surrounded them, silently, all holding some sort of weapon in order to protect themselves. Some holding guns. Some holding bats.
"Hold on people-" the current speaker who was standing on the hay wagon held his hands up in an attempt to keep the peace.
But someone from the crowd punched a policeman in the face and the crowd went wild. Everyone was shouting. Cops hadn't implemented their weapons yet, on order of the Mayor.
Watson and Mary started to escape from the madness. Their eyes connected once more, and they ran, they ran and they ran. But the more they tried to run, the more others pushed back. The couples hands clasped firmly together in a lover's hold, they continued to push and shove and run. But as they were pushing, Watson saw him.
He saw him.
A young gentleman, perhaps in his young 20's, wearing a fine brown wool overcoat, a gold chain strewn through the clothing, shined leather shoes, soft brown hair that came past the nape of his neck, sharp intelligent eyes, and a silver necklace with an emerald center hanging proudly over his head. He was smirking directly at Watson, a malicious grin that made the doctor's spine shiver. He knew that gaze, the foreboding signs that something horrible was going to happen and that the young man was the cause of it. Smirking.
There was an explosion.
Debris flew everywhere, men, women, and children were screaming, some in pain some in panic. Smoke flew into the hair, suffocating those near the bomb. The pushing became frantic, blurs of people trying to escape, some who were unfortunate enough to trip, fall, or be pushed over were trampled to death. Guns started firing, smoke was everywhere and obscuring vision, there were cries of help, cries of injury, cries of a little girl calling her lost mother, trampled under the crowds.
"Mama! Mama!"
The hand that was holding his had slipped, his wife tripped, falling to the ground.
Mary's hair came undone, slowly spreading and covering her face, her surprised and scared expression, her mouth opening to scream, her eyes that pierced through Watson's heart. She fell to the ground that was highlighted by the very last rays of red sunlight, the dirty tiles accepting her as feet began to pound around her, desperate to get out. She curled herself into a ball, hoping that none would kick her in their process to escape.
A boot cracked onto her vulnerable ankle, the sickening sound of breaking bones echoed into Watson's ears, her lips parted in a silent scream as her head flew upwards, her eyes wide and tearing, her hands flew to her ankle, shock trembling her fingers. The sunset was almost over, the dark red engulfing, capturing her beautiful face twisted in shock in agony. She shook, and another foot connected with her back, another to her hands, a shoe to her skull, and she was caught under the flurry of stampeding, her scream breaking through her lungs.
Watson moved. He threw people aside, he pushed officers who were shouting in his face, he moved, he ran to her.
"Mary! Mary!!!!!" He screamed her sweet name, he pulled her broken body off the dirty concrete, her eyes open and moist with tears mixed with the blood flowing from her head to the bottom of her chin. She was still conscious, she was still alive, she was still awake,
"Mary" He sighed in relief, but then began to worry as her eyes stared vacantly at the veteran. Empty and emotionless, where had his beautiful Mary gone?
"Mary?" His voice was soft, loving, caring, anxious, worried, panicked. But there was no response; she continued to stare vacantly at his person. He fumbled to grasp her wrist, ignoring the screaming all around him and the gunshots that littered the air. He was trembling with every fiber of his being, trembling when he felt for her pulse. But she had none.
Shatter.
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Deep inside the heart on an individual, something jerked. Something painful. The head swerved in confusion, scanning the dark scenery that filled the senses. A sigh, it was nothing but a small pain, must have been from too much Opium.
Inside the shadows of the wooden shack, the figure reached into a pocket and fiddled around for the object of massive importance: A pendant. Fumbling around in the dark for the jewelry, long hands finally remembered that the pendant was inside the inner pocket of one of the weatherworn overcoats.
The shadow grasped the item out of its hiding place. Winding silver and snake fangs, entwined like lovers gleaming in the little light that found its way through the rotted cracks of the wooden planks. The emerald, which was nested in the middle of the serpents, displayed its beauty proudly to no one but the figure. Yes, this would be a very crucial part of the plan. Indeed. The individual placed the pendant onto the small table and began to pace back and forth, a gentle rocking notion that came with the habit of wearing out floors.
"Now", the shadow thought, "I shall need a bit of assistance."
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