The room was silent for a long while. Nobody moved or even breathed until I spoke again.
"I'm sorry, I need to go. I'm finished," I said, standing. I didn't want to do it anymore. I may have been a chicken, but it was easier to leave and make it all end. I would go back to America and again start over. It was simple to me, leaving everything behind. No matter what I felt, this new idea felt so much better and safer; it felt right.
"Alright, if you change your mind, you know where to call me," Greg said. John shook Lestrade's hand and thanked him for his time. I didn't even look at him as I opened the glass door and left the office. People watched us again as we left and I could barely contain myself until we got to the car. When I stopped in front of my door, not unlocking it but just standing there, John came back to the driver's side. He was asking me what was wrong, but I couldn't answer. No words came out of my open mouth. What did come out, though, was a cry. A cry for help; an SOS to anyone who heard. I collapsed against the door of the car and John caught me. He let me cry on him and I let myself cry to him. In the rain, though, no one should know you're crying. He held me close as if to hug me away from the world and even though we were both soaked and cold and tired, he let me cry on him. After a few moments, though, my mind cleared and I pulled away from John. What was I doing pulling him into this? I was leaving. I had to leave tomorrow. I could start over; do Witness Protection. How could I lead John on like this, especially since I did have feelings for him. He is the first man I've had feelings for since before I was seventeen.
"Let's go," I whispered, attempting to get in the car. John would not let me, though, and brought my to the passenger side and let me in the car. He then went to the driver's side and climbed in. When he turned on the car I sighed, feeling the blasting heat drying and warming my wet and cold face. I reveled in the thought of changing into warm clothes. As we neared the flat, a man walked out in front of the car and John stopped abruptly. I slammed forward, but luckily my belt only left me with a soon-to-be-bruise instead of my crashing into the windshield.
"Bloody hell!" John growled. The man waved at us and then ran off across the street, nearly being hit by another car on his way. I shook my head. People these days. We pulled up and John shut off the car as I left it. I went fast up the stairs, but John had the key. I wait for him at the top and he smiled as he unlocked the door. What we saw next was something so horrendously unexpected and horrifying, I wanted to puke. Lying in the middle of the kitchen was a girl, lying naked with her throat cut. Around her was a pile of roses and written on the wall with the only blood in the scene was, "Do you miss me?". Reading it, I felt whoozy. He was in the apartment. He came into the place that I was living and could still be there even. John was already phoning Lestrade.
"I think we've found your kidnap victim," He said solemnly. It was a match, too. Young girl, seventeen going on eighteen. Red hair and dead blue-green eyes. Just like I had been. There was a note in her hand, I could see it. I pulled away from John and the door and retrieved it. The crumpled bit of paper was bloody, but still readable.
"My Myra,
I don't like you as a blonde. It makes you look so bland. I remember how special you are. No one else sees you like I do; and see you I do. I miss you, do you miss me?
This girl reminded me of you, I wanted to show you how I remember.
With much love,
Your Secret Admirer"
I did vomit then. I rushed to the bathroom and puked up everything I 'd eaten. It was all over. I couldn't go anywhere he couldn't find me anymore. He would just follow.