This is where the Mystery starts. I hope this chapter does not bore you too much. Pray do read it til the end though.
Disclaimer: I Do NOT live in England, and never even visited it in my life. As far as I know Windsor is around 45 minutes train distance from London, and a quiet countryside. But if I am wrong pray do pardon my error. Also, I do not know any street name of sort, so all addresses and names are made out. Once again, I give full credit of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson to their Author, though Annalisa M. Clifton, James Clifton, Jeremiah Clifton, and Stephen are out of my pure imagination. Once again Enjoy and pray review my work
Chapter three: the early visitor
It was few minutes after 6 when Holmes noticed a four-wheeler stop just in front of our apartment. The door flew open, and a young lady, who I presume to in her late twenties or her early thirties, hastily stepped down. Her long, curly locks were a bright shade of golden, her eye were a light hazel, red and puffed up most probably from crying. She wore a soft shade of beige and was looking down at a small piece of paper. Then she stared at our compartment, and crossed the street in such a hurry we knew some horrible, or maybe "exiting" as my companion said, tale was to be told to us.
"Oh, a client!" Exclaimed Holmes, "and at such an hour. Must be something of great importance, or she would have waited for a more convenient time." He was obviously excited and thrilled for this case, for the drowsiness of his voice and the blank stare in his eyes had disappeared without a trace.
"I wonder what it is about." Said I in a low voice, feeling pity for the young woman for she obviously had went through a great deal of sorrow.
"We don't have to wait any longer!" just as he said it, we heard a soft but fast footsteps up the stairs, and seconds later, a knock in the door. My companion answered with a loud "come in!" and stepped in the young lady in the beige dress. At closer inspection, her hair was wet and so were her dress, her shoes carrying little mud.
"Why how can I be of a service to you, madam?" Said the detective in a gentle voice he uses on women of distress state. "And I believe that you are not from London, but somewhere little bit farther off. Does your husband know where you are right now?"
Our visitor stared at him blankly, trying to figure out how he got the details. "Why, I am truly sorry to disturbed you in such an hour. I'm pleased to know that you were awake." she said in a soft trembling voice, wearied from crying. "And as you said, I am not from London, but from Windsor. Yes, he does know I am here."
"Ahh, yes. Pray do take your sit. You are drenched, from rain perhaps." commented my Companion. At that she gave a quick nod. "Now, may I ask what drove you to come this early all the way from Windsor?"
"I am Annalisa M. Clifton. As I mentioned I am from Windsor, and I used to live with my husband and my son." She informed us.
"Used to?" I ask, wondering why she was talking as if it was all in the past.
"Yes, used to. That is what I'm here to talk about, Mr. Holmes. And may I ask who you might be?" inquired she in a questioning face.
"Forgive my rudeness. I am Dr. John H. Watson, a close friend of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Maybe you prefer that I step aside? After all I'm sure you came to see my roommate." I offered. Before she can reply, Holmes cut in.
"No, dear Watson. I prefer that you stay. This seems to be a very interesting case, and maybe I will finally wean of the drugs for a while. Mrs. Clifton, I'm sorry but it's either you speak to both of us, or none. But you could trust this friend of mine, as much as you trust me."
"Very well, then." She replied softly. "I did not mind it from the start anyhow. Pray, let me continue. As I said, I am here to consult you, Mr. Holmes about my little, maybe not so little, case. I heard about you from a friend of mine, who heard from a friend of hers and so on. But that is not the point. I hope that you would listen to my story and give me an answer to all this mystery." Her words were firm even if she spoke in a soft manner. I could tell that she was a strong woman, but of a gentle personality.
"Pray do start your story. I will listen and see how I can be a service to you." said he. He was already in his usual thinking position, his eyes half closed, and his head comforted by the several pillows he laid upon.
"Well, it all started a week ago. The house I live is singled-floored with three bed-rooms, a sitting-room and a dining-room. One of the bed-room was for my son Jeremiah, who is five years of age and our family dog Stephen. We used the other room adjacent to our child's room. And in front of his room, was the third bedroom, which my husband converted into a study. About a week ago, November 12 to be exact, my son complained of a tap-like-noise in the middle of the night. It was around 2 in the morning if I remember it right. So frighten he was over such a small matter that we just had to invite him into our bed for the night. We didn't think much about it, and placed all the blame to his childish imagination. The next night, at a similar hour, he came again, knocking at our bed-room door, crying. He said the tapping was there again, and he was extremely scared. My husband, James, went over to check but he heard or saw nothing."
"Where did your dog spend the night?" ask Holmes out of nowhere. With all honesty, I did not know what importance was the dog, and I had almost forgotten that they even kept one.
"At the sitting-room, for James would not allow Stephen in our bedroom." She answered. "After the second night, things seemed to quiet a bit down. Jeremiah stopped complaining, and we forgotten all together the tapping noise in the night. That was until last night. I woke up few minutes past two due to a loud tapping, or I would say knocking noise. It frightened the soul out of me. When I was about to wake James up to go see what was up, we heard Stephen barking. James woke up because of the noise, and hurriedly proceeded to the source of the commotion. It was coming from our Son's room. We turned the knob, and were surprised to find it locked. Jeremiah never locked the door. While I went to look for the key, the barking stopped, and the tapping noise vanished along with it. I came back with the key, opened the door and found a horrible sight." I held my breath for I knew something terrible had happen to the poor boy. Holmes was just listening quietly, his brows knitted into a frown, and a pipe had somehow found its way to his mouth.
Mrs. Clifton started sobbing and her body trembled from the memories of the night. As much as I tried to think of words of comfort, I could not think of any, for we will never know the hearth of a mother who had a tragedy fall open her boy. After a few minutes, she collected herself and continued with her story.
"Both Jeremiah and Stephen were nowhere to be found. In the bed we saw a big pool of blood, and it made its way to the window. I screamed at the sight, and James' face had reddened, both from fright and anger. We hurriedly called the police, and they were in the house with in twenty-minutes trying to find clue to the boy and the dog that had been there just less than an hour ago. Three police where sent outside in search of the villain and our poor boy, but to no avail. The detective looked for clues, but aside from a few muddy foot prints and the blood there was no more clue to be found. The police have no idea at all, not a single theory, on who could have taken my child. Aside from the obvious fact that they went out through the window, they are clueless about all this. " And she went on crying again, with her face buried in here hands.
After a long silence, the tall, thin detective finally spoke. "How will you describe your son?"
"He was a bright boy, who was friendly with all, and who just loves the nature. He was the one who insisted of keeping Stephen, who we picked up as a puppy in the streets." She explained in-between the sobs.
"What can you say about Stephen then?" He asked again. I was surprised at his interest in the dog.
"Stephen was a huge boy, most probably a mongrel of a Newfoundland and a Saint Bernard. He would easily be 90 pounds. He was playful but protective of my son, and would care for him with a great gentleness." I could sense that she had loved Stephen as well, though of course not as much as her son, which made thing even harder for her.
"Is there any other detail you would want to add?"
"There was this weird thing." Said she, "As you said, it had rained last-night and as well this morning, leaving the soil muddy. That was the reason why there were foot prints in the crime scene. But the mud outside lacked the foot prints, but instead, we found two long lines, which we cannot tell what it is. It looks like a blade of some sort, but we cannot be sure. With the trail, are dog foot prints, which we think belongs to Stephen. We followed the trail as far as it went, but it ends in a meadow nearby, and we cannot tell, where they went after. The prints might still be there since the morning shower was just a light drizzle."
"Perfect." Holmes said with a smile. "But there are still some points that are tangled to me, and would have to investigate further to find out. Would you mind be dropping by the house around 4 in the noon today?"
"Why, I prefer that you would come a bit earlier, as I would like to see my son, "she stopped for a split second to give a little sob, "If it's still possible, as fast as I can. But if you are only available by four, pray, by all means, do visit. I would take my leave now, for I worry that James will be too stressed to handle all this alone. I too am need of his company to comfort me. I would be expecting you by late noon. Here is the address." And she hurriedly scribbled down 12 WestWood Street, North Windsor. "Bye now, and I'll be waiting for you." She said in the same soft voice and walked out of the room in the same soft but fast step, sobbing as she left. With that, Me and Holmes were left alone once again.