Author's Note: this one kept growing on me but enjoy anyway
Disclaimer: Murdoch Mysteries belongs to Marueen Jennings, CityTV and ITV, so if you recognise it, I probably don't own it.
Rain in the guttering…he found that sound to be soothing, if a bit distorted, there must be something wrong with the roof because it sounded almost as if it were raining inside, he must tell Mrs Kitchen about it…much later.
He buried himself further into his bed and wrapped his blankets more tightly around himself, unwilling to give up sleep in favour of the waking world, not when the world of sleep was much warmer and comfortable at this present time.
"Wake up it's a beautiful morning! Feel the sun shining for your eyes! Wake up; it's so beautiful! For what could be the very last time!"
He fell off the bed and hit the floor with a thud, heart hammering in his chest from the fright.
What the blazes was that?
"…So wake up, Boo! There's so many things for us to do! It's early so take your time, don't let me rush you please. I know I was up all night; I can do anything, anything, anything!"
"That was The Boo Radley's and Wake up Boo. I wish it was a beautiful morning, you know" a male voice he didn't recognise spoke up
Who was talking?
"…I nearly got soaked on the way in this morning. It's raining cats and dogs out there" a female voice squeaked in mock-affront before being soothed by yet another male voice.
Yet the voices seemed odd…as if they were coming from a long distance away.
William looked around…this was not his room at Mrs Kitchen's. This did not even vaguely resemble anywhere he knew.
He knew it must be a sitting room due to the sofa he had apparently been asleep on, but it was not in any style that he recognised. The room was off-white and filled with items he could not name, save for the very small-framed portraits scattered around the place. He briefly wondered where George had found the money to have so many strewn around, (possibly the same place he had found money for his green coloured shirt) but everything was pushed aside as the scent of cooking caught his attention and his stomach gurgled.
When had he last eaten?
He was disturbed to find that he could not remember either when or what he eaten last.
Since he did not seem to be restricted to this room, he followed the cooking smell, (and the oddly distant voices) whilst rather enjoying the feeling of carpet under his bare feet, as opposed to the rough wooden floors at Mrs Kitchen's.
He stopped when he found himself in a room, much smaller than the living room, a large window let in a lot of the early morning light, his attention fell to the battered wooden desk, upon which an overlarge sketchbook was laid out, covered in swatches of material and…. More portraits?
Very carefully, William examined them.
They were of himself, in his normal dress…another of George…Yet another of himself, George, Inspector Brackenreid. They all had notes written in pencil
William Murdoch. Detective. circa 1895
George Crabtree. Constable. circa 1895
Detective William Murdoch, Constable George Crabtree, Inspector Thomas Brackenreid. Group shot. Station Four, Toronto. circa 1895
He put the photos down and looked at the sketchbook. The pages were covered in drawings of the uniforms the constables wore and even his own suit, all of them had notes beside them, he could not decipher them as they appeared to be in a short hand he did not recognise (though the signature at the bottom of each page was quite clearly 'Annabelle Whittering')
His heart began to pound as he began to panic once more.
What did this mean?
Where was he?
What was happening?
…there was another photo sticking out from between the pages of the sketchbook, which he picked up carefully, though every primal part of him was screaming at him to leave it alone, to just run and forget what he had seen in this room, the part of him that was a detective wanted to know.
Sean O'Riley. Irish. Protestant. Serial Murder Suspect. Circa 1895.
This…this was important¡
Why was this in here?
He needed to ask George this, needed to know why George had photos and drawings, amongst the other things he needed to ask him about.
This in mind, he turned back to the door…and almost jumped out of his skin when he saw the headless body propped up, but a second, more thorough glance revealed it was only a dressmaker's dummy…for some reason a large pair of scissors had been jammed into the chest.
…it was strangely similar to something he'd seen before.
Where?
"Pierced the heart, he would have stood no chance of survival"
"What weapon could have caused a wound this large?"
That was it!
He needed to find George and get to Station 4 right away!
A sudden feeling of dizziness made him cling to the nearest wall for a few moments until it receded.
Perhaps it wasn't important to go to the station right this very minute, he decided, it may be wiser to first have some breakfast, it would certainly quiet down the constant gurgling of his stomach
Cautiously, he made his way out of the room and once more towards the scent of cooking food until he reached a door that was ajar, here was where the voices and the scent of toast were coming from.
Without preamble he opened the door…and almost died of heart failure.
"Oh my!" he gasped, as quietly as he could, feeling more than a little scandalised, for, in front of him, were George and Annabelle, both dressed in what he could only assume were undergarments, and locked in a tight embrace, (there was some decidedly impolite kissing going on between the pair of them)
Apparently he hadn't been as quiet as he thought, as the courting pair simultaneously turned to look at him
"Morning" George greeted in a friendly way, seemingly unperturbed and unashamed at being caught in such a position, and did not release his grip on Annabelle's waist
"Do you want some toast? There's tea made" Annabelle added, gesturing with her free hand towards a white teapot sitting on the countertop, only the slightest blush gracing her face, but neither did she let go of George.
William realised his mouth was hanging open and he closed it, swallowing a few times to lubricate a throat that felt as dry as sandpaper.
"Miss Whittering," he began, "does your uncle know that you spent the night in George's dwelling?"
"Yes" Annabelle nodded, giving him an odd look, and whilst she did move away from George, it was only enough to allow her to pour some tea into a cup, "I should think so. Considering he helped me move in. He wasn't happy about it but he's had 8 months to get used to it"
"You two are now married?" he asked, scanning Annabelle's hand for any sign of a wedding ring as she handed him the cup of tea, but she didn't appear to be wearing one at the moment
"No" was the reply, and he saw George making frantic gestures that clearly meant 'cut it out' behind his sweetheart's back.
William was appalled and very nearly dropped his teacup, "How on earth do you two avoid scandal?"
"We…" Annabelle began, looking at George and gesturing helplessly when she apparently could not find the words to finish her sentence
"We…have…separate rooms" George finished slowly, "Anna living here makes Tom feel better about her living in the city, knowing there's someone to protec her all the time."
"Oh…well, that…seems to make sense. If…the Inspector is quite alright with the arrangement, despite his misgivings…" though it was odd that George would ever dare to speak of Brackenreid in such a casual manner. To steady his rapidly fraying nerves, he took a long drink of the tea Annabelle had served him; it at least was the way that he liked it.
"Miss Whittering, if I may ask," he said, feeling much better, if still a little off balance, afterwards, "What is the purpose of the photographs and sketches on your desk?"
"Well, Mr Murdoch, if I may ask you something in return: what are you talking about? And why were you in my work room?"
"I lost my way," he replied honestly, "Please, allow me to show you"
He did not see the pair of sweethearts share a worried glance.
"Are you one hundred percent positive the doc's said there wasn't any brain damage?" Anna asked as they watched Will walk back towards her work room
"Positive. They said he was lucky it only knocked him out. No swelling, no actual apparent damage, all they said was to watch him and give him the painkillers if he needs it" George answered, but bit his lip in a worried way as they began to follow his workmate and friend.
…
"What kind of painkillers are they?"
It was strange to see William looking around her workroom, looking panicked as if he'd lost something.
"Will," George asked, trying to sound calm, "Are you feeling alright today?"
"The photographs" William said, desperately rummaging through Annabelle's sketchbook, "they were here, on the desk. With the sketches of our clothing!"
There was no sign of either the photographs nor the sketches. How had they simply vanished?
"Hey! Don't be so rough with my book! I need that! Don't rip any of those!"
"Will! Come on, put that down." George said in a soothing tone, putting his hands on his shoulders, gently but firmly forcing him to put the sketchbook back down on the desk, "Calm down"
"The photographs, George. They're no longer here!" William said, gesturing almost frantically, towards the desk, "they were important. Why did Miss Whittering have them?" he paused and looked to the corner, where he had seen the dressmaker's dummy.
"The dummy…" he continued, "there was a large scissors jammed into its chest" he was surprised to see that said dummy was unbroken and the scissors hung onto a hook in the wall. All was unchaotic…how could that be?
"Not when that cost me $75," he just about heard Annabelle mutter.
"Are you sure you weren't dreaming?" the younger man asked him, "Anna isn't working on any police dramas right now."
"Dreaming?" he looked back at the sketchbook on the desk, true enough, there were no sketches of his and George's clothing. Only some dress he could describe as 'fanciful and feminine' (it was white, loose and had wings, bound tightly in what was supposedly red ribbon protruding from the back)
"Yeah, I've heard taking a cosh to the head will give you weird dreams at the best of times"
"Yes…You are probably right," he let himself be led out of the work room and be sat upon the sofa he had slept on last night, someone gave him back the cup of tea he had put down a few moments ago
"Maybe I should call my uncle and tell him you're not coming in today?" Annabelle suggested slowly
"No! No I cannot miss today. I have information that may lead to an arrest!"
"If you're sure you're feeling well enough" George finished, with a helpless shrug at his sweetheart, "but take it easy today, OK?"
William did not remember getting changed from his nightclothes, did not remember finishing his tea nor eating toast, though he remembered the taste of both; if he thought hard, he could recall snippets of a conversation that made no sense.
"…I tried her flat, but she's already gone"
"Will you text her? We need to get going…"
"Call me if something happens…"
And though he vaguely remembered softness and the sound of wind rushing past, it was as if he had simply blinked and found himself in a place that…should have been familiar, he supposed. That scent of wood, varnish and old iron could only belong to station 4.
When his full consciousness returned, he found himself alone at a strange sort of desk, an odd box with a glass panel displaying some sort of picture, a blue background and a grey box.
Please Log In
Click OK to Begin
Curiously, he tapped the contraption; only the 'tink tink' sound one gets when one taps glass happened.
Whatever it was, it seemed to be broken.
Perplexed, he sat back, barely taking note of his chair, this was not the chair he remembered…but then he returned his attention once more to the odd device before him, trying valiantly to work out the odd little message displayed there, which involved tapping the glass of the box once more
"We've been over this before," a feminine, lightly accented voice chuckled, "it's not going to bite you."
That made him look up…and he tried to recognise the person in front of him.
Yes, the face was familiar, the voice too, but at the moment, the clothing the newcomer wore did nothing to help his memory.
One thing could be said of her outfit, it was elegant, if indecent for the amount of leg it showed, the black skirt coming to her knees, rather than to her ankles and her white blouse that surely cost the earth, for it looked to be silk, was open enough to show an expanse of neck and a sliver necklace, in some sort of knotted design.
"Miss Mercier?" he ventured finally.
That was it!
Sophie Mercier, Annabelle's roommate and best friend…she was French. Parisian, if memory served correctly, but had grown up in Montreal and was now working as a lady's companion.
Why would she be here in the station without Annabelle?
"Non, it is Père Noel," she answered, her tone containing more than a little sarcasm, but it was at least friendly, "and, as it happens, I have brought a present for a good boy" so saying she dropped a file onto his desk, "the lab results you wanted"
William blinked, looking from Sophie Mercier to the file she had just given him and back once more as it occurred to him that he did not know what purpose these 'results' served, nor why Sophie would be the one to deliver it to him.
However, as he was about to query this, Sophie spoke again
"How's your head? Does it hurt?" she asked, giving him a look of concern, "you are lucky the doctors didn't keep you in"
"What?" he blinked again, and subconsciously rubbed the back of his head, wincing slightly as he found a bump, "Yes…slightly when touched"
"William Murdoch, the big hero" Sophie chuckled in a tone that was far too affectionate and familiar sounding for simply being 'the inspector's niece's friend'
He decided to attempt the strange box again
"How do you make this contraption work?" he asked, giving the thing a sharp tap on the side. It went 'thump' and something went 'ping' inside
"Stop that," Sophie said, walking around the desk and leaning over him to get to the thing, pulling out part of his desk and typing into something that looked like the letter part of a typewriter; "It's not your enemy. Honestly, how many times does it make that you've forgotten your password this month? There"
A new message appeared on the glass, this one reading simply 'Welcome' before the picture changed and became something…more complex.
"…What do I do with it?" he asked, looking at Sophie since she seemed to have an understanding of the thing
"I told you to take that computing course last month, at least it'd stop you throwing your coffee mug at it when you make it screw up, but non. The Great Detective can make it work all by himself, hm?" she giggled gently and, shockingly and without apparent motive, kissed him on the cheek before she stood up straight once more.
"Miss Mercier-" he started, unable to work out why she'd done such a thing, but George chose that moment to reappear
"Sophie!" he said, "Henry said he saw you come in…did Anna text you?"
"Salut George," Sophie greeted, "And I don't have my phone with me. I left it in my office so if she has I haven't seen it. Why?"
William didn't miss the younger man's glance towards him and, apparently, neither did Sophie for she gave George a puzzled look.
"I'll be right back," she told him finally, before taking George's arm in a sisterly way and leading him outside. Through the glass wall of his office, he could see them speaking, George gesturing towards him every now and then, obviously explaining to the best of his capabilities and Sophie was nodding, taking it all in.
William leant on the desk and covered his face with his hands; resting his forehead against the strange 'kom-pewter' object and allowed a sigh to escape; he was rapidly finding that he wished this day were simply a strange dream
"He's been bleeding quite badly…"
"How long before you found him…?"
"How's he doing…we brought you some tea…"
"Has anyone managed to track down his brother yet?"
"Can you hear me, William? William?"
"Will?"
He blinked and found himself looking up at Annabelle
"Miss Whittering? What brings you here?"
"George forgot his lunch so I brought it to him…and as long as we're talking, do you think you can start calling me 'Anna' again please?"
"That would be most improper!"
"O-kay…look, I spoke to Uncle Tom on my way through, he wants a word with you about last night. Wants to know if you need time off or if you've at least been to A & E"
"The inspector wishes to see me?" he stood up, laid a hand on the desk to steady himself until the dizziness went away and ceased threatening to topple him
"In his office," she replied, following him out of the door and straight into George and Sophie, both of whom looked away guiltily, like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
"The inspector wants to see me in his office?" the look he gave them clearly said he had no idea which way to go now.
"Go out the door and turn left," Sophie pointed towards a set of doors that were open slightly, leading the way out of the space outside of his own office that seemed to contain a set of desks, not too different to the layout of Station Four.
"Big office with lots of medals all over the place, poster that says 'Keep Calm and Carry On" on the wall, can't miss it," George added
William nodded and began to head off, leaving behind three extremely worried people.
"So…should we worry or let this slide too?" Annabelle asked, chewing her bottom lip as they watched Will's retreating back
"Worry slightly..." Sophie said slowly, "although. if he asks 'computer' like that again we're taking him to Sunnybrook for a psychological evaluation"
"I can't believe he's forgotten where Tom's office is, but it's like he's forgotten how to talk too"
"What do you mean he's forgotten how to talk, George?" Sophie wanted to know, sounding more than a little peeved, "this is the first you have told me of this since last night"
"Well, he doesn't say 'can't' anymore, he says 'Can not' and 'Will not'…you know, formal speak. I thought maybe he was just pronouncing clearly after the head injury. My aunt Buttercup says that it's good for concussed people to talk at length"
"And he keeps referring to my uncle as 'the inspector' instead of just 'Tom'" Anna interrupted before George could change the topic of conversation to his family again, (most of whom she hadn't met just yet) "and no-one's called me 'Miss Whittering' since I was in secondary school!"
"Mon dieu! I think we had better go over there!" so saying Sophie began to run towards Brackenreid's office with George and Anna hot on her heels, "Tom! Tom it's about Will!"
TBC
Author's Notes: Want to once again thank my friend Sarah for letting me borrow her OC (Sophie Mercier), for helping me plan this story and, not least, letting me bounce my shoddy ideas off her head.
Any questions about our OC's feel free to send me a PM and I'll answer as best I can.
The radio station people are based off Real Radio Wales, who are so cheerful at 6am in the morning that I'm tempted to write in and tell them to cut it out. I much prefer Planet Rock UK, whose breakfast show is presented by the King of Shock Rock himself, Alice Cooper.