"Roland-Kerr Further Education College. How fitting." I complimented as the cab driver opened the door.
"Isn't it?" He replied, his face betraying nothing. I tilted my head a little.
"I presume it is open?" I questioned, a little sarcastically. He nodded.
"Cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie – you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out." I cocked an eyebrow.
"Oh, I'm sure many people will be flocking to the job now." I replied cynically but he did not respond. So, I'll fill you in quickly: The cabbie had taken me from 221B Baker Street, claiming he would talk to me and then I'd kill myself. Charming, isn't it? The photo pinned to his dashboard was of two children and a woman cut out of the photo, no doubt the mother. He was a difficult man to read but I figured when I could see him properly, I would observe him. I'd wait until the last moment to, however. Just to add some tension.
"You just walk your victims in? How?" I inquired. Most probably physical force. In response, he raised a pistol at me. I rolled my eyes. "Oh… Dull." I taunted him. I saw a flicker of anger but nothing else. He was good at controlling his emotions. As if to reassure me, he added: "Don't worry. It gets better." I surveyed him.
"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint."
"I don't." He denied, "It's much better than that." He then lowered his gun. "I don't need this with you. 'Cause you'll follow me." It irked me that he knew my need for answers. How did he know me so intricately? It angered me but I ignored it. He had also mentioned that I 'had a fan'. Both Sherlock and I, I mean. Somebody was interested in us and our behaviour. It didn't flatter me at all; I had a foreboding feeling that this 'fan' was not someone on the side of the police. I wasn't either, really, but I had a feeling they were more of a criminal.
The cabbie driver graciously opened the door for me and I stepped into the darkness. He flicked on the lights and I was mildly impressed at the place. Long rows of tables pulled together. It appeared to be a meeting room of some sort. "Well, what do you think?" He asked me, as if wanting my opinion on a new house, "It's up to you. You're the one who's going to die here." He explained more thoroughly.
"Oh, splendid." I remarked, "The walls could do with a splash of colour though." He sniggered a little. I then turned back to him. "I'm not going to die in here. I'm not." I said matter-of-factly.
"That's what they all say." He walked forwards a little and gestured to the table, "Shall we talk?" He pulled out a chair and then looked at me. I nodded slightly and he sat in his own chair. I pulled out my own and sat opposite him.
"Bit risky, wasn't it? Taking me away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen, an Army Doctor and a fellow consulting detective, whom I have no doubt would have been your original target." I spoke with an eyebrow raised. "They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you." I added. He seemed to fidget in his seat. It appeared to be a habit of his.
"You call that a risk? Nah… This… is as risk." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cylinder with a pill inside of it. I observed it. It didn't appear dangerous. Then again, no pills do. But this pill was no doubt poison. "Oh, I like this bit." He continued, watching me intensely. "'Cause you don't get it yet, do ya?" He was taunting me. Damn him. I looked back up at him. "But you're about to. I just have to do this…" And he reached into his other pocket and pulled out another. They both contained a pill that appeared identical. "Weren't expecting that, were ya?" My patience was wearing thin but I didn't let it show. I merely sat with my hands clasped together as I lounged back in the seat. "Oh, you're gonna love this…" He jeered.
"Love what?" I replied immediately. He leaned back in his seat casually.
"Natalia Heathers… look at you. Here in the flesh. Those images of you and your history, your fan told me about them." I scoffed.
"My fan?"
"You're brilliant." He looked at me with admiration. I watched him very closely. No, it was genuine admiration. That surprised me. "You are a proper genius. Kidnapped by terrorists and thought your way out." He used a different 'thought' to John had. He had said 'fought'. The cabbie was correct. I didn't fight my way out. I thought my way out. Using strategic planning and observing the comings and goings and the appearances of my captors. I could find out what made them tick easily. "That is proper thinking… Between you and me sitting here, why can't people think?" He seemed irritated that people were just plain stupid sometimes, "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?" I could see tears welling up in his eyes and his bitterness was melting into his voice and onto his face. I found his weak spot.
"Oh, I see… So you're a proper genius too." I nearly laughed. This man was intelligent. But telling him that he wasn't would anger him. It had the opposite effect.
"Don't look it, do I?" He replied.
"Funny little man driving a cab. But you'll know better in a minute." He confirmed, "Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know." Yes, he was bitter now.
"Okay, two bottles. Explain." I turned our attention back to the substances inside the tiny jars.
"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle." He clarified, "You take the pill from the good bottle, you live. You take the pill from the bad bottle," He paused, "You die." He announced the last two words in such a positive tone it almost made me smirk.
"Both bottles are of course identical."
"In every way."
"And you know which is which."
"Of course I know."
"But I don't."
"Wouldn't be a game if you knew – you're the one who chooses." Oh, so it's a game. I like games. Chess was one of my favourites. But this type of game… Oh, I couldn't live without these.
"Why should I? I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?" I probed him further.
"I haven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one." Oh… Interesting… "And then together, we take our medicine." Okay, I couldn't help it. I began to grin. This was just so exciting. "I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't." I tilted my head, taking in the situation. "Didn't expect that, did you, Miss Heathers?" I inhaled and exhaled loudly.
"This is what you do the rest of them, isn't it? You gave them a choice."
"And now I'm giving you one."
"And they made the wrong choice, didn't they." I stated more than asked, "They picked the wrong pill." And then I looked up at him again, "Or perhaps they took the right pill. And you killed them anyway." He seemed a little surprised that I had worked it out but he merely shrugged.
"The owner of the game owns the rules." I cocked an eyebrow, "You take your time. Get yourself together. I want your best game."
"Technically, it's not actually a game. It's really just chance and how high Lady Luck holds us in her favours." I corrected. He took no notice.
"I've played four times alive. It's not chance, Miss Heathers – It's chess." No, it really isn't. "It's a game of chess, with one move and one survivor. And this, this… is the move." He was rather dramatic.
He pushed the bottle on my right forward first, licking his top as he did it. "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one."
My hand twitched a little. I ignored it. "Are you ready yet?" I looked at him. He was eager to know my choice but he hid it well. "Ready to play?"
"Play what? It's a 50:50 chance." I reminded him with a dark tone.
"You're not playing the numbers – you're playing me." He prompted me. His patience seemed to be running out. "Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff or a double bluff?" I noticed then that his hands were rested on the table, ready to react in case I choose to run or attack. But where's the fun in that?
"Or a triple bluff?" He hissed excitedly. I shook my head a little.
"It's still just chance." He looked unconvinced. Though, it was his game. He could change the rules and the game at any given time. "Four people, in a row? It's not chance."
"Luck." I snapped.
"It's genius!" He complimented himself, "I know how people think." I rolled my eyes in irritation. Of course he did. "I know how people think I think. I can see it all like a map inside my head." He continued with a smirk. Oh, how incredible. You have a map. I have a database. Sherlock has a mind palace. What's next, an instruction manual?
"Everyone's so stupid, even you."
"Sorry, but not even ten minutes ago, you were complimenting me on my genius. That's a little contradicting, don't you think?" I said in a patronizing tone. He looked at me in a very condescending way. Oh, please.
"Or maybe, God loves me." Oh, yeah, 'cause that's the answer.
I straightened up and rested my elbows on the table, my hands in a steeple below my chin, much like Sherlock's hands usually were like when he was thinking. "Either way, you are wasted as a cabbie." I hissed at him. His face soured but he didn't say anything.
"So…" I focussed entirely on him, "… You risked your life four times just to kill strangers – why?" This was eating at me. Dizziness swept over me and I had to fight to keep control. I hadn't slept yet and I was still furious at Lestrade. The cabbie looked down. "Time to play." He seemed to be tired of my questions now.
"Oh, I am playing. This is my turn." Time to get into the observing part of the game, "There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own – there's no one to tell you. But there's a photograph of children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd died, she'd still be there." His eyes were welling up again and were glistening with tears that ached to fall. But I continued.
"The photograph's old, but the frame's new. You think of your children, but you don't get to see them. Estranged father." I had the urge to smirk but I managed to conceal it. I had found the point to make him cross. To make him break out of the mask he was wearing and show me the man underneath. "She took the kids, but you still love them, and it still hurts." I paused for a moment. My eyes then lit up with glee, "Ah, but there's more. Your clothes. Recently laundered, but everything you're wearing is at least… three years old? Keeping up appearances, but not planning ahead." Something puzzled me a little, however.
"And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about?" I looked at him carefully, registering everything that was unsaid behind his eyes. The things that I couldn't see were revealing themselves. My frown smoothed out. "Ah… three years ago. Is that when they told you?"
"Told me what?" He asked, not bothering to deny it. It was more like he was helping me along.
"That you're a dead man walking." I summarised emotionlessly.
"So are you, lady." He sneered and I almost smirked at his cracked mask.
"You don't have long, though. Am I right?" The murderer smiled, somewhat bitterly.
"Aneurism. Right in 'ere." He told me, pointing to his head. He avoided eye contact for a moment and I really had to fight my smirk down. He then looked back at me. "Any breath could be my last."
"And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people."
"I've outlived four people." He corrected me with slight desperation. "That's the most fun you can with an aneurism." I looked up to my right to show I was recalling something.
"No… No, there's something else." I taunted, "You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator." And enter Sherlock in my mind. Why did he have to intrude in my thoughts at the most inopportune time? Typical. "Somehow, this is about your children." And right there, I saw the gap. I saw the cracks. I could see how weary he was.
"Oh…" He licked his lips and then looked back at me, "You are good, in't ya?" I leaned forwards and surveyed him over my fingers.
"But how?" His lip trembled and I realised, with alarm, that if he burst into tears, I would have no idea what to do. The cabbie seemed to be very much in his own world now. "When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."
"Or serial killing." I added smartly.
"You'd be surprised." He countered. I wasn't very impressed.
"Surprise me."
"I have a sponsor." He said, leaning in. I frowned for a moment.
"I'm sorry, you have a what?" I asked. He returned to his previous position.
"For every life I take, money goes to my kids." He explained with little remorse. "The more I kill… The better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think." Cruel. Cruelty. Sickening. But I didn't say anything. For a moment anyway.
"Who'd sponsor a serial killer?" I muttered, crossing my arms now.
"Who'd be a fan of Natalia Heathers? Or Sherlock Holmes?" Oh great, our fan sponsored serial killers. Brilliant. Definitely a criminal. Statistically more likely to be male as well.
"You two aren't the only ones to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a woman. And they're so much more than that." Ouch, my heart just broke.
"I don't do my job to be the best. I do my job because I am the best." I retorted. Obviously Sherlock and I were on the same page but I wouldn't mention him for now.
Then I remembered his little 'more than that' line. "What do you mean… more than a man? Or woman? An organisation? What?"
"There's a name that no one says." My interest was piqued, "And I'm not gonna say it either." Oh. Okay then. Oh yes you will. You'll tell me before the night is out. "Now, enough chatter." Hah, he was losing his patience very much.
He looked at the bottle and then me. "Time to choose." I peered at it again, weighing my decisions.
"What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here." I broke the silence. Truthfully, I already knew the answer. I had already said so. Still, it would amuse me. He pulled out his pistol and sighed, aiming it right between my eyes. "You can take a 50:50 chance, or I can shoot you in the head." Now, this was getting fun.
"Funnily enough, no one's every gone for that option." I was unimpressed by his 'victory'.
"I'll have the gun please." I said stoically. His lip curled a little. Amusing.
"Are you sure?" He asked, not wavering at all. My mind was made up.
"Definitely. The gun." He actually seemed reluctant for my choice to be the simple and definite death option.
"You don't want to phone a friend?" I allowed myself a smirk.
"The gun." I remained adamant. He smirked and then pulled the trigger.
A flame ignited at the end of it and I smirked. "I know a real gun when I see one." I remarked, proud of myself. He didn't anticipate that I would and his reaction was funny. He took his finger off of the trigger and held it casually. "None of the others did."
"Clearly." Victory was sweet. "Well, this has been very interesting." I licked my lips and looked at him with a smile. "I look forward to the court case." I stood gracefully and walked away. I was at the door, opening it, when he turned and spoke.
"Just before you go, did you figure it out?" I froze by the door and looked back. "Which one's the good bottle?" He pushed on. Damn it. Of course I had worked it out. Of course. It was simply too easy.
"Course. Child's play." I replied monotonously.
"Well, which one, then?" He asked me. I eyed him with apprehension. "Which one would you have picked? Just so I know whether I could have beaten you." I closed the door and stared at him. "Come on!" He said with a wry grin. "Play the game." He nodded at the bottles. I watched him intensely and then finally decided to play.
Instead, I took the bottle closest the cabbie. I snatched it off the table and gazed at it. "Oh." He trilled, obviously surprised by my decision. He reached forwards and took the one he had originally slid over to me. "Interesting."
"So, what do you think?" He asked, looking at the pill and then at me. "Shall we?"
"Really… what do you think? Can you beat me?" He had stood by now and he was directly challenging me. "Are you clever enough… to bet your life?" I stared at him with a vacant expression. My head tilted slightly to a very tiny sound I heard. It was almost like my name being whispered. I ignored it. "I bet you get bored, don't you?" He taunted me and my jaw clenched a little. "I know you do. A woman like you. So clever." I unscrewed the bottle with ease and emptied it onto my hand. The pill fell out and I felt the metaphorical weight of it as well as the physical mass. "But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?" I held the pill up the light and observed it. I couldn't detect anything in it except for the vitamins/poison in it. "Still the addict. But this… this is what you're really addicted to." I lowered it.
"You'll do anything… anything at all, to stop being bored." How was he so right about me? He must have done so much research… Or perhaps the sponsor… Our fan had told him. Hmm. This person was becoming more and more interesting by the minute. "You're not bored now, are ya?" Gradually, I raised the pill to my lips. "Isn't it good?" And then there was a gunshot and Sherlock burst in.
Hehe. I like my cliffhanger there. I had initially planned for there to be a kiss in the previous chapter but then I realized that I could add something so much more INTERESTING in later fictions. Yes, this will have a sequel for The Blind Banker. It will be labelled as Sherlock/OC. But The Game will have more. I'll leave you to figure it out. Cheers folks. Adios.
Luna