Chapter 5

I paced back and forth within the closed confinements of my cell. I was cold, hungry, but more than anything, agitated with one Inspector Vole. He speaks of my innocence and yet he did nothing as his new Chief Inspector took me away in handcuffs under false pretences. He had come to speak to me earlier regarding my daughter's disappearance, but I would hear none of it, not from him at least. I told him I wanted to hear this Chief Inspector Cunningham's idea of the crime. I wanted to know why he assumed I would stoop so low and kidnap my own flesh and blood.

"I will see to it that he speaks with you," Vole had told me, but it has been precisely one day since my arrest and not once had he done so. Though I know Vole had kept his word, this told me all I needed to know, that this Chief Inspector was just as close-minded as the rest of them. Cunningham only wished to believe what he saw with his own eyes. That was the blood left in Sara's crib and the large wound on my arm. So he assumed that I supposedly cut my arm on something as I was making my way to the nursery and some of my blood got on the mattress as I walked off with her. What he did not know was that there was nothing from my bedroom to hers that I could have left such a hideous wound. But again, he did not want to hear my words since I was both an amateur and a supposed criminal to him.

This irritated me more. Feeling my blood boil, I did the only thing I could do to release my frustration. I began to pound my fist again the solid concrete wall that divided my cell and the one next to me. I could soon feel blood seep in between my fingers each time my fist collided with the wall, though I was too furious to pay any mind to it. Like all other wounds I had obtained in my life, this too would heal and just be another scar. As I continued my violent action, I hardly noticed that the door outside my cell opened.

"Detective Basil, you have a visitor, sir," a young constable announced as he approached me. He was one that I was not familiar with either. By the way he cowardly approached me and yet tried his best to hide his fear; I could only imagine that he was new to the Yard.

"My wife…?" I asked as calmly as I possibly could.

"No sir, but your visitor is a woman no less."

Who else could possibly be here to see me if not Paula, I wondered. Stepping to the side, a small cloaked figure only a bit taller than the constable walked passed him. Not once allowing the hood that covered her face fall as she turned and nodded at the white and grey mouse. Doing the same, he walked away in a haste, leaving us alone.

"Who are you?" I instantly asked my mystery guest. Stepping a bit closer so that her figure was closer to the light, she pulled away the hood revealing her true identity. I scoffed. "Irene Redla…"

"It's nice to see you as well, Basil," replied, her voice slick as a snake's hiss. "Of course I pictured our little reunion to be a bit more special."

"Did you? So you thought you could just show up after three years and expect me to welcome you with open arms."

"Close…but I was hoping you would welcome me with something better than open arms. Something more…scandalous."

"That's not me anymore."

"So I've heard." With that sly grin still plastered on her lips, she moved forward as the light from the window shined upon her a bit more. "You have done two things that no one expected you to do. I always thought that you were one of those types that avoid matrimony and…well, breeding. But here you are, married and with a child. It is rather adorable actually."

"And not a day goes by that I think of taking it back or regretting such a thing."

"It's quite obvious," she replied rather sarcastically. "I know what you and I had was nothing more than pure lust…or in your case a simple way of clearing your mind. I must say there were plenty of other remedies for such a simple thing, but then that would mean never getting to see what a real animal you truly are-"

"Just tell me what you want before I call for one of the guards to come and take you away. Or even better, lock you away."

"Touchy, touchy, my dear detective," Redla teased, waving her finger at me. She always knew how to get under my skin. "Though, if it were with you, I wouldn't mind them locking me in a cell, but that can be for another time. I have just come to deliver a message."

"From whom?"

"I am not entirely certain. They just give the message and tell me where to send it."

"Ah, working for another anonymous client. After the last time, I would have assumed that you would have learned."

Smiling mischievously, she replied, "Well it is obvious to say that your assumption is incorrect, Jonathan." God, how I shuttered at hearing my name slipped from her lips after all these years. It seemed so venomous, but to everyone else, it was innocent. Teasing me, she revealed a small envelope. On the front was my name. Studying it, I could sense that the penmanship was male, but not from someone I recognized throughout my years of being a consulting detective. Slipping in through the bars, I took it from her.

"Try not to underestimate him. He seems to be far more powerful than any adversary you have come across."

"We'll see about that."

"Cocky as always," Redla commented amusingly. "I guess there are some things she couldn't change about you-"

"If you are quite finished, I demand that you leave now." With a sly grin, she took the hood that hung behind her and covered her head.

However, instead of just leaving in silence, she added, "Just remember where you stand, Jonathan. It is you who is stuck in a cold, damp jail cell while I am the one outside. I can walk freely anytime I please."

"I said leave!" My words echoed for what seemed like an eternity as she smirked cunningly at me before walking away as footsteps came towards us.

"You better watch your temper before it ends with you and the death sentence," she warned with amusement in her tone of voice, which agitated me further. "Don't think your precious little wife would like that." Just like that, she was gone. Hopefully out of my life for good.

Left alone once more, I began to closely examine the note that Redla had given to me. It seems harmless enough, but coming from her, I knew that its innocence was only a disguise. The paper, I could tell, was oh so familiar to me. Its think gauge told me that it was paper used for a printing press. This was the very same paper used the night I found that note left in Sara's bed three months earlier. Did I even want to know its context? Obviously for it more than likely had something to do with my daughter's kidnapping. My heart raced as I took a seat on the lumpy mattress.

The words stung like a thousand knives. Every detail only angered me more. Whoever this bastard was, I wanted him. At this point, I did not care whether it is dead or alive. How anyone could use such threats and against a child was far more bloodthirsty than any criminal I have ever come up against. Even Ratigan's simple threat when he held Olivia hostage once more (even if it was against her own life) held no greater intimidation than this.

I could feel my inner rage boiling from deep within me. No matter how much I wanted to look away, my eyes were glued. Finally, having enough, I crumpled up the letter, tossing it away from me without a care in the world where it landed. My body shook and my breathing quickened. I soon sprang from the bed and began to pace. The awareness of being in such a compact cell only caused my frustration to rise even further. I needed more space, needed this invisible cloud that was suffocating me to vanish. I needed to clear my mind so that I could think properly. I needed to get out of here!

I felt myself finally snap and without even thinking, I grabbed the closest thing I could and with a great yell, threw it against the wall before me. With my inner rage still at a boiling peek, I continued my violent swings until the object in my hands was nothing but a pile of rubble. Throwing what I soon came to realize was a small piece of a wooden chair, I collapsed to the ground. My body was drained of any once energy I had left within me, but that still did not cease the hot tears that fell.

Even as the sound of feet became louder, I refused to look up. I didn't care if anyone saw me in the state I was currently in. In all my years, never have I felt myself fall this deep into the depths of depression. I could feel my mind fog and any thoughts I managed to conger up vanish. It was at the moment that a part of me wished I had my trusty needle and cocaine close at reach, but the reality of it all was I did not and I had no choice but to fight these demons on my own.

Dark clouds covered the Empire as the streets and its citizens suffered a major downpour. Both humans and mice fought to keep themselves dry with little to no success. Inspector Vole, was sadly one of these poor souls that though he was soaked to the bone, still managed to dodge any puddles or slashes made by passing carriages and those walking hastily on the crowded sidewalks. Finally reaching the familiar flat, the echoing tolls had finally chimed one last time, indicating the tenth hour. Cursing under his breath, he pounded on the door, hoping someone was still awake. It was moments later that he found himself face to face with Basil's landlady, Mrs. Judson.

"Inspector," she questioned already irritated by his presence, "what on earth are you doing here at this late hour-?"

"Please forgive this unwanted intrusion, but I must speak to Mrs. Basil at once," he replied harshly.

"I should say not, she-You cannot just barge in here like this. Inspector!" With a loud huff, she closed the door to keep any more rain from coming in as Vole rushed down the short flight of stairs before meeting Dawson as he came down, curious of the sudden commotion.

"Vole, how unexpected," Dawson commented rather harshly.

"Doctor, I know this may seem inappropriate of me, but I need to speak with her."

"I am afraid that simply cannot be done. She is has had enough stress these last couple of days and I am sure you interrogating her will do her no good."

"Please, Dr. Dawson, I must speak with her. I know I may be the last mouse she wants to see, but she needs to hear me out!"

"What do you want?" Paula asked rudely from the stairs. She looked pale and dishevelled as she kept her light blue housecoat tight around her delicate form. Her eyes were red and puffy from her continuous crying. Inwardly, Vole knew this was his fault for Paula looking she was she did. He could have stopped Cunningham's orders, but he knew not standing up to his higher superior made him a coward. Being here tonight seemed to be his idea of a chance to set things right.

"Mrs. Basil, I must speak with you at once."

"Unless you are here to tell me that you all have made a big mistake in arresting my husband under false accusations then I don't want to hear it."

"Madam, you do not understand-"

"No, I understand, I just do not wish for you to stand before me, telling me how you believe Jonathan to be innocent."

"That is the thing, I do think he is. I know he is."

"Then why did you not stop them as they dragged him out," she snapped, her voice cracking. "You only stood there like a goddamn idiot and you did nothing! Jonathan trusts you for Christ's sake and this is how you repay him, by going against him when he needed you the most."

"If I did then I would have been-"

"Don't give me that, Vole," Paula sneered ferociously, her anger rising. "What is more important, defending the truth, or your precious rank?"

Opening his mouth, he paused, closing it once more before sighing deeply. "I am so sorry."

"I have had just enough of your pathetic apologies, Inspector. I just lost my daughter and my husband in one day. Anything you say will only drag me further down. Just get off your ass and solve this or else I will," she demanded, her glare on the inspector worsening. "I am not going to sit back and watch my family suffer because of you; any of you."

"You…y-you cannot be serious."

"Do I look like I am kidding?!" This sudden outburst caused everyone around her to jump in fear. Never once had either Mrs. Judson or Dawson seen her in such rage and deep down, they were incredibly thankful that it was not aimed at them. Both she and Vole remained in silence before Paula scoffed. "Get out."

"Paula-Mrs. Basil, please-"

"I said get out!" Vole kept quiet for a brief moment before bravely taking a step closer to the distraught mouse. He knew doing so could go one of both ways, either she would do nothing, or lash out at him physically like a viper ready to sink its teeth into its prey with its deadly venom. Still, he wished to risk the very thin ice from which he walked on.

"Please, I beg of you to just listen for one moment," he began calmly, not wanting to stir up any more trouble. "You must believe me when I say how much I apologize about all of this. I know there is no possible way your husband could be guilty of this crime. He has been accused of being so many things, but a kidnapper has never been one of them for we both know him better than that. It almost seems as if Cunningham has a grudge against your husband. Then again, with such a reputation that he has, even he would not be too surprised if it were so." Hesitantly, he covered her small hand with his own. Paula tensed for a bit before relaxing. "I can assure you, your husband is in good hands."

Glancing down at where their hands rested, she gave a soft sigh before looking up at Vole with a vexed gaze. "I hope you're right, Inspector," she answered her voice calmer, but still strained "because God forbid if anything happens to him, I can honestly assure you that you will pay."

The tension between the two rose as Vole nodded, turning away from her while he too kept no eye contact of the two elderly mice that glared his way. Looking back at them all, he nodded and without another word, walked back into the pouring rain. For a while no one spoke a word as they all stood still. It was then that both Mrs. Judson and Dr. Dawson turned to face Paula, both with a look of worry.

"My dear," the landlady began lightly, "perhaps you should head back to bed. You have had a rough couple of days."

"No," the younger mouse answered, sighing deeply as she tried to let go of all anger that had built up from within her. "No. I'm going to stay down here, if that is all right with you."

"Yes, of course. Would you like some company?" Dawson questioned as Mrs. Judson made her way back to bed.

Paula nodded before giving him a tired smile, "That would be great. I actually wanted to speak with you."

After throwing some sticks into the fire, Dawson took a seat in his chair as Paula sat in her husband's. For a moment, they both did not utter a word for neither knew what to say. Finally, with great confidence, the younger mouse took a deep breath before looking up at the kind doctor.

"Abigail told me that Jonathan spoke to you about my nightmares," she admitted, fearing that saying such a thing would anger him. When no change of expression appeared on his face, she continued. "I understand why he did."

"You do realize how worried he is?" he inquired as he did his best not to upset Paula more.

"I do, but at first I didn't understand why he was getting so worked up about it. We all get nightmares. Why worry about something that has no great importance?"

"This is quite true," Dawson agreed simply. "However, these nightmares of yours became something to worry about; otherwise Basil would not have felt the need to turn to me."

"I had a feeling he would," Paula commented. "With all that has happened as of late I feel that it has finally taken a toll on him. But this…Dr. Dawson, Jonathan feels that he is at fault for Sara's disappearance. It seems that the moment things are out of his control, he almost feels the need to beat himself up over it." The kind doctor nodded, he was aware of his friend's devotion to protect not just his first child, but his first and only daughter.

"Has he been using again?"

It took Paula a moment or so as she looked away from him only briefly almost ashamed before she finally responded, "He has and quite often, though I wish I could live in denial and say he hasn't."

"One can only assume he is more than likely craving for it now," Dawson noted, his voice agitated with the realization of the detective's long time addiction. What angered him the most was that he was dragging his young wife and child along while he continued to slowly harm himself. Much like the doctor, he knew Paula was against his cocaine habit, but instead of trying to stop it, her excuse was that if he started it on his own, he could stop on his own. So far, that has not seen the light of day.

"During his recent case, he stayed in the bedroom for hours. It has been the most difficult challenge he's faced. I don't think he ever slept, barely ate, though I could see that his bottle of brandy has gotten lower each day. It seemed at times that his own family was non-existent to him. Mrs. Judson reminded me that these moments were normal and that he'd snap out of it once the case was finally solved, but it didn't make me feel any better. In fact, it made me feel as if I was failing him. In rough times such as that, he must want words of comfort, but when I tried, he'd simply push me away."

"I know how painful it must be for you to see him go through such a state, but she is right and once he is back on track, he is less difficult to deal with. Yes, his habits at times are damn near intolerable, but I'm afraid that is something about Basil you will never be able to change. Some of his views may have changed—thanks to you I may add—but overall his personality will forever remain."

"But I just can't sit on the side-lines and watch him disintegrate day after day as he drinks and drugs himself to oblivion just because a case has reached its difficult peak. Can't I make him see that I am always there to help him if he needs it? True, I may not be as intelligent as he is, but I am learning from him every day. There must be something I can do so I don't go crazy."

"My dear, I wish there was; but even I at times feel the very same."

"That may be, but at least he lets you in! Does he seem to think that I am too fragile to know what is going on? Or does he just not want me to know at all?"

"I would not think of you as fragile and neither does he for he knows quite well that you are a strong young woman."

"Sure he does," Paula scoffed, wrapping her shawl around her lithe form. "Speaking of which, what did Jonathan tell you went you saw him today?" So it finally came down to this. Dawson feared this moment as his heart raced. Groaning deeply, the doctor became stiffer.

"Cunningham would not allow me to speak to him," he said finally. He knew admitting this painful truth would only upset Paula more, but since this conversation was not meant to be an uplifting one as he first assumed, he decided that he could not hold it off any longer.

"What?" Her voice soft, almost to the point of a whisper. "But…why not-I-I-I mean…can he do that?"

"He is the Chief Inspector, so I am quite sure he can do what he pleases," he answered, annoyance rising in his tone of voice at the memory. "He felt that since I was associated with him that I would be there as help to plan an escape."

Paula remained quiet as the anger rose through her once again. Her heart raced and fresh tears burned as she did her best to fight them back. Her efforts were short lived when she broke down once more. Dawson wished to rush to the poor girl, but he knew well that she would only turn him down.

"That bastard!" she finally exclaimed. "T-that two-faced…Is he afraid that Jonathan would try and prove his innocence? Does this mouse want some reason for him to slip up and have everyone believe he is guilty of a crime he did not commit?"

"That seems like a possible explanation," Dawson replied. "It seems to Vole that his higher superior indeed has a motive."

"But...," Paula began as she wiped away the tears from her face, "what motive could this mouse possibly have?"

"That, my dear, you would have to speak to Vole about for I do not have an answer to give you."

Paula remained silent, turning her head as she watched the crackling fire before her. The snaps from the burning wood were all to keep the deadly silence away. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to float away into the depths of her own mind. There, she had no worries, only tranquility and after all that has happened, that is what she most desperately wanted.

She knew Dawson was right though. If this Cunningham had such a grudge on Basil, Vole would be the one to know why or at least have an idea. So much for a peaceful mind, she thought as she sighed deeply. Looking back towards the doctor whom still had his focus on her, she took another deep breath before rising from her seat.

"I guess you're right," she finally said, her voice exhausted "But if I may ask, could you have him come here?"

"I would imagine that would be best. I would not want you amongst Cunningham again." Following Paula, he too rose from his own chair. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he kissed her lightly on her forehead. "Now, I suggest you go back to bed. Would you like a nightcap to help you?"

"Yes, that would be great." She paused for a moment before continuing. "And I wanted to thank you. I don't know what I would do without you…or Mrs. Judson."

Dr. Dawson smiled lightly before walking over towards the mantel where Basil's peach brandy was placed. Taking a small glass, he poured her just a bit. "You have done so much for us—for Basil even—that it would be unfair if we were not here for you in your hour of need." Handing her the glass, he added, "Get some rest. Hopefully you will find your answers in the morning."

"I certainly hope so, but I also do feel an apology for my tone with him is in order as well." Looking down at the small glass, she kept quiet as her fingers skimmed the smooth surface of the brim. Sighing deeply, she looked up at Dawson once more before giving him a tired smile. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, my dear."

Closing the door behind her, Paula walked over to the large bed. A fire burned brightly in the hearth as she placed the glass of warming alcohol on Basil's bedside table. Looking around the dimly lit room, her heart sank once more for everything around her reminded her of her husband. She needed him more than anything, but instead of being able to feel the warmth of his strong arms around her, he too was alone in a dank jail cell.

Paula, without any hesitation, walked over to the closet as she grabbed on of Basil's button-up shirts. Holding it close to her, she inhaled deeply. If she couldn't have him physically, she needed some part of him mentally. Stripping out of her night dress and into his shirt, she buttoned the shirt just enough so that she was not completely exposed before pulling the blankets and climbing into the bed. In one gulp, Paula consumed the glass of brandy, enjoying the warm feeling of the amber liquid as it soothed her body. Not bothering to cover herself, she gripped onto her husband's pillow as she laid still, allowing her quiet sobs to overcome her while she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.