Ch. 3
"Oi! You! Get your ass out of bed!" Ms. Monroe yelled in Bowie's ear.
"Bloody hell! What do you want?" Bowie said sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
"You have a foster request." The birdlike old woman replied snottily. "Good riddance!"
"I don't want to go! I hate being fostered!" Bowie exclaimed, stubbornness multiplying inside her.
"You'll go, and there wont be another word about it, do you understand?"
"Fine. I hate it here too. Might as well get a change of scenery." Bowie got up slowly and went to the foot of her bed. There was a polka dotted duffle bag, with "Bowie" embroidered onto it in pink. She had gotten it for Christmas when she was 4. The pink was fading, and the stitching was rapidly falling out, but it was all she had. All her clothes were already in there. She took out her pair of shorts and t-shirt and went to get changed. After putting her pajamas away, she went to her bedside table. Her only family picture was staring back at her from its plain black frame. She put that away too, and shouldered the duffle. In reality, she was petrified just thinking of all the people that could be downstairs. Her free hand flew to her cheek, unconsciously touching her scar. It brought back memories of that night. The night. The night her life changed.
Her mother was tucking Bowie into bed after a story. Suddenly the doorbell began buzzing urgently. Her father answered, still dressed in policeman's uniform.
"Hell-" BANG! Bowie looked to her mother, fear in her sweet little eyes.
"Bowie, listen to me! You hide in your closet ok sweetie? Be absolutely silent! Mommy will be back for you later." Bowie could here the panic dripping from her mother's voice, and she obeyed without thinking. She hid in the dark closet just before her mother left the room. She could still hear the clicking of her mother's heels, the Irish man's voice, and the second gunshot. It was deathly quiet immediately after. Then, a creak on the bottom stair. Another. And another. Bowie's fear was uncontainable, escaping in tiny whimpers from her mouth. Her bedroom door crashed open, and she jumped backwards into the abyss of dresses and skirts that was hanging up.
"That's odd. A little girl's room yet no little girl." Bowie could practically hear his evil grin. It was the same voice she heard before her mommy became quiet.
The doorknob turned methodically and the closet door popped open. Silhouetted in the doorway was a man with slicked back hair and a knife.
"Hello little one" he said in a silky voice "I wont hurt you… much." His maniacal laugh filled the little space between them. The man leaned over, placing his knife softly against Bowie's cheek.
"Now little girl, tell me about your daddy's job."
"I don't know anything, sir I swear!" she said against the cold steel of the knife.
"I believe you, being so young and all. But take this," he pushed the knife harder into her skin, leaving a gash "and know I will find you again someday."
Bowie gasped, being brought back to the present by a pain in her hand. She had clutched her bag so tightly that her fingers were white and limp. She was afraid of whoever was downstairs. What if it was a crazy? That was her name for whoever killed her parents, and whoever gave her this scar. She was a fan of Sherlock Holmes because he caught the crazies.
At the top of the stairs, she stopped to listen to the voices talking. She recognized one easily; it was Ms. Monroe. She waited a moment for the other. She recognized that voice, but she suddenly had doubts about her senses. I am hearing what I want to hear, or am I actually hearing this? She went down to the landing and listened again.
"Yes, she should be down soon." Came Ms. Monroe's voice.
"I'm so pleased that she'll be joining me. She really is a great girl." The second voice said.
"Oh my god! Doctor Watson?" Bowie took off down the stairs, duffle bag flopping behind her. She reached the lobby, tearing across the black and white tile.
"It's really you! This is too good to be true!" she sobbed as she herself into his arms. They stood there for a moment, Bowie shaking and sobbing, John patting her hair awkwardly.
"Yes, its really me." He smiled "Are you ready to go?"
"Of course!" she put her palms to her forehead. "Are you sure I'm not dreaming?"
"Positive, now let's go." He laughed again.
They took a cab to Baker Street, and Bowie promised not to get them kicked out of this one. They reached the front door, paid the driver, and went to introduce Bowie to Mrs. Hudson.
"Hello dearie. You must be Bowie. Sherlock and John have talked so much about you."
"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Hudson."
"If the boys ever drive you crazy, I'm downstairs in 221a. Actually, when the boys drive you crazy." The kindly woman said with a smile. "Oh, and here's the key for 221c."
"Thank you Mrs. Hudson. I think that I'll will just be adding to your insanity." Bowie said.
"Oh dear. John warned me of this." Mrs. Hudson said, nodding towards the doctor.
He just smiled at Bowie, his arms folded across his chest.
"Would you like a tour?" he asked the girl giving her a wink.
"Sure!" Bowie said. She climbed the physical and metaphorical stairs to her new life.
I'm so grateful for the subscribers! I wasn't expecting anyone to read this, so even the few I have are amazing. The past few chapters were pretty sugar coated, but it gets darker! I promise. :)