I've a touch more chapters written, but shall sadistically withhold them until some feedback is given... or until I get bored again and decide to post them.
An Artist Appreciates Only the Details
Don't Be Afraid, It's Only for a While
Limping and hunched over, I stripped the men of their weapons; two pistols and a dagger, and made my way out of my cell and was happy to see the girl's door still ajar. She cried out when I first entered, but her frightened exclamation quickly became frantic pleas. My shoulders screamed in protest as I forced my arms above my head to unlock her shackles.
"Listen to me," I ordered as I fought my deteriorating body, "are there any more?" Terrified, she tried to understand. "When they brought you down here, did you hear or see any other women?" I clarified, finally managing to free her wrists. To my horror, she nodded.
"One's in the cell by the stairs and I heard crying on the second floor." Her voice quavered. Could my body even make it up the stairs to the first floor?
"Alright, hurry and get home. Don't go to the hospital. Don't talk to the police. They're in on this." Fresh horror lit in her eyes. "Just go home and forget about all of this. I'll take care of it." I assured her, shocking myself at the strength in my own words. After a brief hesitation, she nodded and ran.
Darkness threatened to steal over me. I ground my teeth and staggered toward the door. The hallway seemed impossibly distorted as it undulated beneath my feet. Leaning heavily on the wall, I somehow managed to reach the staircase. There was a door to the right. I collapsed against it and forced key after key into the hole until the door finally popped open.
"Hey!" Male. The women hung, unconscious, from the ceiling in blissful ignorance of what was being done to her body. Without a second thought, I fire the pistol and he fell. The women jolted awake. Without a word, I struggled to free her, but my arms fell limp to my sides. Luckily, she grabbed the keys from my failing grip and was able to free herself.
"Thank you." I had never heard such sincerity in all my life.
"Just go home." My voice was losing its authority. "No doctors, no police." I panted. She tried to help me, but I brushed her away. I would only slow her down, and the guards would be here any second. "Just go! Hurry!" With such pity, she looked at me, but still she placed the keys in my hands and fled.
Fresh blood seeped down my back and wrists. Again, I fought my way to the hallway. The stairs loomed before me, laughing at the impossible feat they posed. Grinding my teeth. I crawled up them. The women screamed. Each additional step seemed to get harder and harder. I could hear the women struggling to free herself and urged my limbs on. Finally, I peeked over the top step. Three men fought to subdue the women, while two stood to the side, watching. With the last two bullets of one of the pistols, I took them down. Leaving one man to deal with the escapee, two left the women to deal with me. With the other gun, I shot them in the head before firing the final bullet into the skull of the last men. Only three bullets each. I cursed them for their shoddiness. Still, because of those bullets, the women was free.
"Take their cloths." I ordered before she ran away. "And hide your face." If everyone believed her to be just another man meandering down the street, she would make it home without worry. Regardless my ordering her to go, she raided the men of weapons and gave them to me.
"I haven't your courage," she sobbed, helping me to my feet, "I can't do any more. I'm sorry." And she ran, leaving me with one more pistol and another dagger. I chuckled as I popped out the cylinder to see three bullets mocking me. With the keys looped around my agonizing wrist, the gun in one hand and a knife in the other, I started forward. My feet felt tacky with blood. The chaffing from my restraints would scar badly, if given the chance to heal. At that moment, it merely left bloody footprints in my wake.
To my right stretched the hallways that would lead to my freedom. Ahead of me rose another fleet of stairs. There were more women up there; trapped in the same horror that I had nearly lost myself in. I couldn't leave them. I made it halfway to the stairs before my legs caved. Even as the edges of my vision burned black, I crawled to the stairs. If only the room would stop spinning, my traveling would go much quicker. Regardless the difficulty, I managed to find the first step. And I began to agonizing climb.
Voices. Joking at first, then uncertain. Two of them. Then footsteps. I couldn't clear my mind enough to divulge any useful information from it, but I knew that they were coming. Eyelids flickering, threatening to close altogether, I raised the gun and waited. The first man rounded the corner and I fired. It was wide. Cursing, I pulled the trigger again. To my relief, he fell, only to be replaced by another, bigger man, pistol in hand. Only one bullet. I fire. The wall just inches from his head exploded in a shower of debris. Another gunshot and the man fell. Confusion. I couldn't understand. No time for that, now. I had to free the women. My hands slipped on the tacky puddle collecting beneath me on the steps, but I started to climb.
Hurried footsteps behind me. I clutched the knife desperately and fought to hurry. Hands. Voices. With an agonizing grunt, I lashed out with the knife. The sound of cloth tearing met my ears, but no more. The blade was torn from my grasp. They tried to retrieve the keys as well, but I refused to release them. With the last bit of strength I had, I rolled onto my back, tucked my knees to my chest, and kicked the thief hard in the chest; digging the steps torturously into my filleted back. Still, with satisfaction, I heard the grunt as the air fled his lungs and he toppled down the stairs. Someone chuckled.
"You alright, there, Watson?" A man asked. Watson… why did that sound familiar?
"I'm fine, just get the keys from her and put pressure on that wound!" he retorted impatiently. "She's going to bleed to death." I tried to struggle away, but a firm hand grabbed my arm and, before I could react, freed me of the keys. I spun quickly, hoping to catch him off guard with a hard strike to the nose, but he easily dodged it. Damn, a fighter. This man knew his way around the ring.
"Let me go!" I ordered, trying vainly to yank me arm from him, but the strain sent daggers through my shoulder, drawing a cry from me. He was saying something, but I couldn't understand anything over the roar of agony cascading from the retched joint. Can't stop. I looked desperately at the stairs. Only five more to go. There were more women up there. I had to free them. Was I mumbling?
"…not going to hurt you," I think someone said. The darkness was back. I couldn't fight it off. "…need to … hospital." Panic. No; no hospitals! Couldn't trust the doctors. They were the worst. They knew how to hurt but not kill. They knew how to torture but keep the darkness at bay. No hospitals! Please. I didn't know who I was pleading with, but I couldn't stop the murmurs as the room dipped violently beneath me. From a distance, I heard someone arguing. And the jingle of keys. And then warmth. For the first time in my life, I truly understood the wonders of warmth.
A fire crackled nearby, but my body trembled violently, agonizingly. With each spasm of a muscle, daggers burned into my flesh. I couldn't quiet the whimper and a shiver tore down my spine. A bed. I was lying beneath several heavy blankets on a bed. A man's nightgown stuck to my damp skin and agonizingly tight bandages seemed the only thing holding my body together. Voices were arguing in the neighboring room. Angry. It was always worse when they were angry. The women! Damn! Where was I? How long had I been out? Where were the keys?
Without thinking, I flung myself silently from the bed. Pain, white hot, shot from my raw ankles, my ruined back, and the deep cut in my abdomen. I nearly fell to my knees from the pain, but managed to maintain my footing. The voices continued seamlessly with their debate. Three doors and a window. Two stories from the main street. Heavy sleet fell outside. It was freezing. If I could just make it to a pub, then I could trick a man into assisting me before leaving him unconscious and unsatisfied in his room.
The voices came from the room to the left. The best bet would be to take the door on the far wall. Stepping as quietly as my unsteady legs would allow, I crossed the room, holding onto furniture for support.
"Blast it, Holmes, then what is it you want?" a man suddenly exclaimed. I hesitated. Holmes? I knew that name. Surely, I knew that name. Regardless, I forced my body to work again. The floorboard squeaked beneath me and terror stilled my limbs. As adrenaline flooded my body, I listened hard to the men in the other room. One was still talking, but there was a slight change in the manner of his speech; so slight, I wanted so to doubt I'd heard it at all, but it was there. And I ran. The door to my left flew open just as I my hand reached the knob to my freedom.
Two men entered the room. The taller man with the mustache favored his left leg, but his meticulous dress and aggressive stance was more than enough to warn of a military background. Yet the faint sent of iodine and alcohol lingered on him. Medical. A doctor. Couldn't trust him. The other man seemed much less uniform. Sloppy, almost. Several day old stubble shadowed his soft chin and cheeks, and his hair was anything but well kept. His stance was loose, malleable; ready for anything. A man trained more from experience than profession. But it was his eyes that astonished me. Measuring, estimating, calculating. Something about him seemed childlike, yet there was such sadness in his eyes. All this in just a second's glance as I flung open the door. Before I was halfway out, they were on me.
I sent a ruthless kick into the medic's bad leg, dropping him with an outraged cry. A smile ghosted over the other one's lips.
"I say, Watson, I believe you're losing your touch." He teased. I scanned him incessantly for a weakness, for some opening, but his constantly changing stance allotted me no advantage. Step by agonizing step, I retreated into the small passageway. Darkness mockingly tinted my vision and the dizziness returned. Seeing this, the man instantly changed his bearings and stood at the ready in case I fell. Making a quick decision, I let my leg collapse. As I'd hoped, he shot forward, sacrificing his balance to catch me. Taking full advantage of this, I threw myself the other way and, with a firm punch, flung him down the stairs. Without a moment's hesitation, I started toward the other door, but the soldier had regained his footing.
"I say, Holmes, I believe you're losing you touch!" He shot back at his fallen friend. A sarcastic laugh echoed from the staircase.
"Proper introductions are due, I think." He said, turning his attention back to me. Abandoning his aggressive stance, he straightened, still favoring his left leg. "My name is John H. Watson. And the man you just sent crashing down the stairs is Detective Sherlock Holmes." With a grunt, the man pushed himself to his feet and started up the stairs. The higher he climbed, the faster my heart beat. I was surrounded. "Now, you are badly injured and need very much to lie down before you tear your stitches." He stated calmly, but with a hint of suppressed impatience. "We're trying to help you. You adamantly refused to go to a hospital, so I am doing my best to care for you here." Holmes. I knew that name. So long ago. Why could I not remember? My stomach and back felt warm. The room suddenly dipped. I had to grab onto a nearby chair to keep my feet beneath me. The man, Watson started toward me, but stopped himself upon seeing the terror enter my eyes. I cursed myself for the panic overwhelming me, but I could not quell the racing of my heart; the frantic gasps my breathing had become.
"Girl, you're about to collapse," I started violently at the voice beside me and automatically swung a fist toward him. He rolled from my attack, positioning himself slightly behind me. Without thinking, I flung myself into him, slamming him against the wall. While this successfully knocked the air from his lungs, it also set my back ablaze. Biting back the groan, I charged Watson. He blocked my advance, but offered no offence of his own.
"Blast, women; I said we're trying to help you." Lies. Sometimes they'd talk quietly, like they wanted to help you; to love you; then they would beat you and rape you and leave you bloody and broken and hurt. What little logic I still managed to cling to was quickly being drowned out in my growing panic. The floor squeaked behind me. I turned hard, empowering a hard kick that Holmes easily dodged. Recovering quickly, I reversed the turn to throw my entire body into a punch. Like before, he spun away from it, allowing me just enough time to curve my arm and, though weaker than I had hoped, landed a descent hit on the side of his head. Watson rushed forward the instant I swung my fist. He grabbed my other arm in an attempt to restrain me. Using him as a counter balance, I leaned back, robbing him of his balance, and kicked him hard in the stomach. I nearly cried out from the debilitating pain that tore through my abdomen. Hide it. Hide the pain. Hide the dizziness. The torturous nausea. Just long enough to escape. With a grunt, he staggered back. I returned my attention to Holmes.
Suddenly it was dark. Trapped. I was trapped! In a panic, I screamed, but my voice was muffled in the fabric. With every ounce of strength I had, I struggled and flailed and fought. I sunk my teeth into whatever I could. He tensed, but offered no resistance. Warm.
"Alright; that's enough." Soft murmurs. Shaking violently, I froze; mind racing for some escape. "You're safe." No. No; I wasn't safe. I had to get away. And I had to free the others. "The others have already been taken care of. And the kingpin is in custody." The police knew. And they made deals. And the doctors. And the judges. He would find me. "He's not going to find you." I tried to argue, to fight my weakening body, but it was so warm. He was so warm. "Easy." He whispered. He held me so tightly, yet my wounds didn't burn beneath his touch. Regardless how I fought it, my muscles steadily ceased their attempts at freedom. The hands that had so desperately tried to push him away, gripped the fabric of his shirt and clung to him.
"Well, I say." Watson's voice broke the trance and I regained a touch of strength. Vaguely, I noticed Holmes glare at the man on the other side of the room, but it mattered little. Regardless how hard I struggled, how much I fought him; his hold didn't waver; always only just strong enough to keep me still.
"Easy," he murmured again, taking a deep, slow breath. "It's alright." It wasn't alright. Nothing was alright. Yet, my body responded to his soothing voice. My wounds throbbed and my body trembled, but the panic began to recede. "I'm going to put you on the bed now." he whispered. The thought of moving sent a fresh wave of adrenaline from my chest and I couldn't silence the whimper. "Easy." The last bit of strength left me and I fell. He gently guided me down. Weakly, my hand gripped to his shirt. I couldn't bring myself to let go. Why?
Gently, he lifted my tattered body to his chest. Regardless the care he took, the movement sent daggers into my back. The groan caught in my throat and my muscles tightened. He quickly set me back down on the bed. I struggled to make sense of the blurs of colors dancing across my eyes. Hands. Gasping, I flung myself across the bed. Still, my hand refused to let go. Uneven pants shook my body. For just a moment, I saw those intriguing eyes; filled with conflicting childlike wonder and the torturous understanding of some horrible truth that plagued him. Shades of gold and grey danced through the soft brown irises. For just a second, and then it was gone.
Something tugged at the gown. With a started, I tried to evade the touch, but it was futile. Something pressed hard against the gash on my abdomen. I screamed from the white hot pain that tore through me. My entire body tensed and my free hand latched around the thing that caused such hurt. Desperately, I fight to escape it, but it ruthlessly pursued me.
"Holmes, I need you to keep pressure on this while I get my kit." Some part of me heard the words, but they were drowned out by the panicked thunder of my racing heart. A sob tore through my throat. For just a moment, it was gone. Before I could appreciate the brief moment of relief, another hand replaced it. I cried out in agony, but could do nothing more than whimper as my diaphragm struggled to fill my lungs with air.
"Easy, we're going to make it better." Why did I believe him? I didn't want to believe him. I wanted to fight; to run. But I couldn't move. I could barely breathe through the immobilizing torture stabbing through my stomach. Yet somehow I drew strength from his words, and I found his eyes. His touch was different. Not as cold.
The door opened, and the panic returned. I grabbed his wrist from fear rather than pain. Don't let them take me. Please, please don't let them take me.
"Easy, it's alright." No, no. They're coming. "Hey, listen to me," Footsteps. They're getting closer. "Come on, focus," I squirmed beneath him, trying vainly to see them. "Look at me." My body automatically obeyed him. "We're going to help you." And I believed him. Without taking my eyes from his, I let go of his wrist, but still couldn't release my hold on his shirt. Something shot across his face too quickly for me to name.
"Move, Holmes." Impatient. Demanding. My fear resurfaced, but I forced myself to remain still. "Holmes, move." He repeated sternly.
"I can't." He retorted. Watson was quiet a moment, but finally began to work around him. Something pricked my arm. I started, but Holmes' showed no signs of worry. Grinding my teeth, I let my head fall and clenched my eyes. Within seconds, everything started to fade. Voices. Just on the edge of hearing. Couldn't understand them. Something was hurting. I acknowledged the pain, but didn't actually feel it. Just don't let go. It'll all be okay as long as I don't let go. Darkness.