It started out as any other boring day in January. I woke up, had my usual cup of coffee, and then proceeded to engage in my typical activities. Activities that did not include a lot of standing or walking around, since I still had a lingering limp from my accident and walked with a cane.

Eventually, I decided that I would go for a walk. Although it did pain me, I hated being cooped up inside and longed for action. I was a very active person before the accident. I played every sport imaginable, I did gymnastics, I was a marathon runner, and I even hunted for sport, in fact, I'm a crack shot with a gun.

I pulled on my boots, orange-striped sweater, and black coat, then grabbed my cane and headed out of my apartment. Actually, it wasn't really an apartment. More of a hotel really. And a crap one at that. I was a doctor and I did make good money once, but since my accident I had been out of practice.

For the past three years I had been living on my savings which I lived off well for a while. I even recently took a vacation in India, hoping that I could soothe my endless longing for adventure and activity. Unfortunately, the trip did very little for me and worsened my financial situation.

Now that I had returned to London, I lived in a crumby room with no income, a crippled leg, and an exceedingly dull life.

I found myself limping through the park near my flat. As I was gazing mindlessly ahead, I heard my name being called from behind.

"Jen! Jen Watson!"

I turned around and saw my old school friend, Michelle Stamford, running towards me. Her round rosy face had not changed at all since I last saw her and her perfectly white, but slightly crooked teeth shone out from beneath her huge red lips as she grinned at me.

"Jen!" she cried jovially, "Oh, Jen! Do you remember me? We were at Bards together!"

I nodded, smiling in return. "Michelle. Of course I do," I replied sounding enormously less bubbly than her.

She took my hand and squeezed it. "Oh, Jen! I'm so happy to see you! I heard about your accident. I'm so sorry. But I heard you went off to Africa or something?"

"India," I corrected.

"Ah," Michelle said. She began pulling on my arm, "Come, you have to tell me all about it! I'll buy you coffee!"

Michelle dragged me to a cafe where she purchased us both a cup of coffee. We then sat on a bench outside while I told her about my trip. I tried to sound as enthusiastic as possible, although it was really unnecessary since Michelle would be excited by anything I said no matter how I said it. I could have told her how I buttered my toast and she would have thought it was just as interesting as if I told her I was the first astronaut who walked on Mars.

Eventually we drifted into small talk. "So are you still at Bards then?" I asked her casually.

"I'm teaching now," she replied, "Professor Stamford. Golly, that sounds funny, doesn't it?"

I smiled in agreement.

She sighed, smiling. "And what about you? Are you staying in town or...?"

"For now, but I don't think I will for much longer," I told her.

"What? Why not? You love London!"

I shrugged. "Maybe, but money's down. I can't afford it anymore."

"Couldn't Harry help?"

I snorted. "Yeah, like that's gonna happen."

Michelle took a sip of her coffee, thoughtfully. "Maybe... you could get a flat-share?" she suggested, "You know, find a flatmate. Then you could share the expenses!"

I couldn't help, but smirk at that. "Come on, Michelle," I said, "Who would want me for a flatmate?"

Michelle's response surprised me. I expected her to look away quietly for a moment before coming up with another solution (which I would probably shoot down again), but she didn't. Instead, she let out a low chuckle, as if thinking to herself.

"What?" I wondered.

"Nothing, really," she replied, "It's just that, someone else said those exact words to me this morning."

I raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

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Michelle took me to Bards Hospital; the hospital where she and I once studied several years ago. Michelle did not tell me anything about my prospective flatmate on the way. For all I knew, this woman could be a serial killer who had brutally murdered all her past flatmates and stashed their bodies away to never be discovered. That would explain why she had a hard time finding someone to room with her. Or maybe she was a criminal. Once imprisoned, always committing petty crimes like car robberies or something. Then she would return to our flat with her collections of the night.

Honestly, I did not really care about whatever faults she might've had as long as she wasn't some serial killer or criminal.

Michelle and I finally reached the hospital and entered the lab. The first thing I noticed was how "teched-up" the lab was compared to how the labs used to be when I was studying there.

"Hmm, a bit different from my day," I remarked in good humor.

"You have no idea," Michelle replied.

"Michelle, can I borrow your phone? I can't get a signal on mine."

It was then that I became aware of the other person in the room. A tall, slender woman sat on a stool on the opposite side of the room, fiddling with the phone in her hand. Never had I seen a woman quite like her before. Her pale, almost ghost-like, complexion glowed beneath her short, dark hair which hung elegantly around her face in dark curls. Her face was sharp all around with high cheek bones, pinpoint nose, and a pointed chin. Then she wore all dark colors. Black pencil skirt and a matching black coat, a purple blouse, and sleek knee-high boots. She somehow reminded me of a vampire without the whole monster part.

Michelle, however, was more busy with addressing the woman's question rather than taking in her appearance. "What's wrong with the landline?" she asked.

"I'd much rather text," the woman responded, not looking up.

Michelle searched her pockets for a moment, then shrugged. "Sorry. I left it in my other coat."

I decided to take this opportunity to introduce myself into the conversation. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. "Here," I said, holding it up, "You can use mine."

The woman finally looked up from whatever she was working so intently on at her stool and looked at me. "Oh. Thank you."

She stood up and almost seemed to swagger over to me to collect the phone.

"This is my friend, Jennifer Watson," Michelle introduced me, "But everyone calls her Jen."

The woman took my phone and immediately began texting on it. "How was India?" she asked.

I froze. I wondered if I had heard her correctly. "What?"

"I asked "how was India?". You were just there, weren't you?" the woman asked.

I glanced, confused and shocked, at Michelle who almost seemed to be smirking at my dispense. I turned back to the woman. "Yes, I was. But how did you...?"

I was interrupted by the door opening. A bean-pole figured young man with round glasses and brown hair entered, hunched over a cup of something.

"Ah, Michael, coffee. Thank you," the woman said, taking the cup from the little man. She peered closely at him. "Why did you put your hair back like that again?"

"Uhh... I decided I liked it better this way?" he responded.

"Really? I thought it was better just a minute ago. You looked less... greasy."

Michael looked down at his feet. "OK..." he mumbled and shuffled out of the room again.

The woman sipped the coffee and then walked back to her stool again. "What do you think about the violin?"

There was a short silence before it occurred to me that the question was intended for me. But I had no idea why she would want to know my opinion on a musical instrument. "Huh?" I asked.

"I play the violin while I'm thinking," she replied, "And sometimes I won't talk for days at a time if I get in the mood. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."

I stared at her for a second. This woman baffled me more and more with every word that come out of her mouth. "Who said anything about flatmates?" I asked.

"I did. I told Michelle this morning that I'm a very hard person to find a flatmate for," the woman said, as she began to pull on her black overcoat and a blue scarf, preparing to leave, "Now she brings back an old friend just after lunch who's clearly having money troubles because of her recent trip to India. Wasn't too hard to put it all together."

"How did you know I had been to India?" I asked.

The woman ignored me, looking at her phone. "I've had my eye on a nice little place in central London," she said, "We should be able to afford it together. Meet me there tomorrow night at 7:00. Sorry, gotta run. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."

I could not even begin to describe the many things that were running though my head at that moment. "Hold on!" I called after her before she could leave, "Is that it?"

"Is that what?" she asked.

"We've only just met and we're going to go look at a flat?"

She did not seem to see any fault in this. "Problem?"

I looked her squarely in her foggy blue eyes. Yes, there was a problem. There were many problems. For instance: "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. In fact, I don't even know your name."

The woman squared her eyes. "I know you're a doctor who recently took a trip to India to take your mind off of your accident. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid."

She raised her eyebrows. "That's enough to be going off with, don't you think?"

She started to walk out the door, but quickly poked her head back in. "My name is Shirley Holmes and the address in 221B Baker Street. Afternoon!"

With that, she stuck on some large, round, black sunglasses and disappeared.

There aren't many instances in life where I'm left speechless, without even a thought of what I could have said. However, this was one of those moments. I just stared, stunned, at the door then looked at Michelle.

"Yeah," Michelle said, "She's always like that."

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More to come. Reviews are always welcome! :)