Oh my goodness duckies, it's been a while since I've posted! I blame school in all its uselessness and time consumption! I like how I posted 3 chapters, saying that I'll post everyday and then…didn't. The good news is that now I have plenty of time to be writing…that is, if I don't run into my characteristic writers' block.
Gypsy: I'll send you an e-mail and we can work a beta thing out J Thanks for sticking with the story.
Zan: Thanks for sticking by this as well! I'll probably be popping off an e-mail to you for detail-style ideas, what with the writer's block and all…
Anozira: Another faithful reviewer J. The mystery will be coming ;) I'm p. sure I aced the final, so yay for me!
Alright, without further delay, here's chapter four!
Holmes invited himself to one of Sabina's seats in the interim. Flopping down, he reread the article in an effort to glean more of the true meaning behind the jilted reporting. Holmes shook his head in disbelief. He always figured that people were warped (and unintelligent), but as a fledgling private detective newly off his first high profile case, he had never encountered such brutality. Up until now, he considered himself "jaded" (for lack of a better term), but he was wrong. And he hated being wrong.
Worse than being wrong was being in the dark. It was purely fluke that he happened across Sabina's work:
One high profile case and Andrew landed himself in a plush, cosmopolitan apartment. He was barely old enough to be out on his own, yet his client (who remains unnamed for confidentiality's sake) decided to express his undying gratitude. As cream-colored pillowy carpeting almost enveloped his feet, he floated to the television remote and switched on his giant plasma screen. Larry King (the quintessential mad man, in Andrew's opinion) babbled incessantly about another raving lunatic whose writing catered to the dense English population. "Yes, because I care about teenaged sexual escapades," he murmured to himself.
Just as Holmes was about to switch to something more thought provoking (cartoon network perhaps), a picture of an attractive young lady flashed on the screen and he stayed tuned. It wasn't the looks - he was completely immune to vanity - but the age was what struck him. That, paired with the information that she was a gritty murder mystery writer.
Miss What's-her-name on the television was an "up and comer" in the literary world. She was known by her grasp of hard reality and particularly warped plotlines. Apparently, the last novel featured a priest who decapitated his victims and stuck the heads on a post through the brain stem, right in the city square for the village to see. "That's not reality," Holmes scoffed. "What kind of a pervert would do that?"
His words tasted horrible in his mouth as he ate them in Sabina's living room. A pervert had done exactly as was in Sabina's novel - murdered and placed the heads on pikes in front of a church. This was only the second murder, so the pattern was difficult to trace, but one thing was for certain: this was not original. Who better to know the story than the creator herself?
And what of the creator, Miss Sabina Picard? Just another fluke that she happened across him in the park, with her blonde hair twisted carelessly into a bun, then falling into delicate face-framing curls as she pulled the pen out and shook the locks behind her shoulders. Her playful honey eyes dancing, she chewed her lip as she sized him up that day. Holmes shook his head and dismissed the female from his head. Can't muddy the waters this early in a case. Not like his deductive powers were getting him anywhere thus far, he couldn't help but notice.
Sabina broke in on his almost self-loathing as she spoke from the bathroom doorway, leaning against it (for Queen and country, one must notice). "What can I do to help?"
Holmes rubbed his chin. "Funny you should ask…"
Yes, it was short and I really have no excuse. I was feeling like a hypocrite, though, b/c I rant on about how everyone needs to update their wonderful stories, while I leave my things laying around for years (literally).
Um, quick thing though: I know crap about England, if you can't tell, so…just thought I'd throw that out there. I know little about slang, landmarks, etc., so while I was planning on letting this take place in England, I'm thinking on switching it up to America. Thoughts?
