CHAPTER EIGHT
Greg knocked abruptly at Molly's door, shooting her the official text to let her know to open up. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. It was her third week of self-defence practices with John, and she was getting quite a bit better. He turned a bit to stare out the window, wondering what was taking her so long.
"Sorry I'm late." Molly's voice came accompanied by the familiar sound of a door latching behind her. "Ready to go, then?"
"Yeah I—" He turned and immediately found his jaw on the floor.
She looked so…so different. Her hair, which once fell all the way to her ribs, now stopped just above her shoulders, straight as a pin, framing her face. She was wearing athletic shorts and a rather form-fitting shirt, outlining the contours of her body a little too well. He couldn't tear his eyes away. She was absolutely beautiful. Not that she wasn't before, he corrected himself.
Molly frowned, swiping a hand through her hair. "Do you hate it?"
"No!" Greg said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I mean, no, it's fine."
"It feels funny, I'll admit—only got it cut, say, two days ago."
Greg nodded briskly. "Well, it suits you."
Molly smiled in spite of herself. "Well, then. Shall we go?"
Greg forced some sense into himself, nodding, and headed down the stairs, with Molly shortly behind him. They didn't speak again, until they were in the cab, heading towards Baker Street.
"Why the change?" Greg asked, after a few minutes of silence.
"Er, what?" Molly asked, then shook her head. "The hair, right. Well…a tip from a friend."
"Is that all you're going to give me?"
To this, Molly smiled and nodded. "Afraid so."
And, thus, the cab descended into silence all the way to Baker Street.
John already stood in the centre of the room when they arrived, staring at the Smiley, eyes brimming with regret and sadness. He noticed them in the mirror, and he instantly fixed himself, with the decorum of a former military officer.
"Right," He said quickly, perhaps afraid that Greg or Molly noticed him crying. "Let's start, then."
Greg fell into one of the sofas, propping his let up on the adjacent armchair, and Molly stood opposite John.
In moment, quick as a flash, John had Molly in the sleeper-hold yet again. Greg chewed on the inside of his lip, viewing the scene.
To, almost everyone's surprise, Molly quickly spun out of the grasp. John came tumbling to the ground. He sat there for a moment, blinking confusedly. Then he smiled, letting out a quick barking laugh.
"My God!" He laughed, "You did it!"
Then, he was back on his feet, quickly grabbing Molly's arm, with his clenched muscles showing through his thick jumper. She firmed her arm, and wrenched it backwards, causing John to lose grip.
It was almost like a dance comprised of punches and hits and misses. Greg was surprised with how well the two moved with one another. Especially considering the train-wreck Molly's fighting skills were in the weeks before. Yet, watching the spar that day, he found that she adapted quickly to self-defense.
Greg noted something more, however, watching the blow-by-blow from his little corner. The way Molly's eyes were fixed on John, the way her brow set, the slight spark betraying her normally sweet face. He found something strange roiling in his stomach. Some kind of protectiveness of the faces Molly shot at John – almost jealousy at the attention. And where did she get off being so provocative anyhow?
He shook it off and continued watching. John swung and missed; Molly spun towards him, and he moved out of the way. They took the negative space the other one had previously occupied and filled in a new area.
They moved so quickly, it was difficult to narrate the specifics in his head, but Greg watched and found himself amazed.
Momentarily, Molly and John were both began to tire, the punches became less exact, and the wind up delayed with each passing blow.
"Conserve energy," John muttered more to himself than to Molly, moving around the back to attempt to jab her in the ribs.
Sliding out of the way, Molly twitched her brow and moved out of the way of the jab, pulling John in closer to her.
Molly's knee went up, going to the farthest side away from John, but getting height for a very critical hit his groin.
Seemingly very grateful for the missed hit, John sunk to the ground, swiping his leg over the ground, tripping Molly over the ground she stood on.
As he crawled over towards her, Molly clenched her fists together and used the double power to elbow him in the stomach. This time, however, the hit was very real. Then she stood up and wrapped one arm around John's throat and the other looping over his arm.
She panted she let go. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to hit you – not really."
John, still doubled over, shook his head. "No…no," he gasped. "At least we know that you really can…really can pack a punch."
Molly grinned, in spite of herself, and turned towards Greg. Instantly, her face grew serious. "Greg…are you all right?"
Greg was sitting there with his jaw agape. Again. Not only was realising that Molly could stand a chance in defending herself, reassuring, but actually watching it turned out to be a bit…sexy. Not that he'd ever admit that aloud.
The way she was out of breath, the way her newly cut hair was messed up, the flushed look on her face as she smiled, chest heaving and…
Fuck it, Greg. You don't fancy her.
"Yeah," He managed to stammer. "Absolutely bloody fine."
Greg walked her all the way back to her door. He waited for her to open the door for what felt like hours.
"All right," Molly sighed. "I suppose…I'll see you tomorrow."
Greg nodded, turned to go, then shuffled slightly, turning back. "Oh, and Molly…I…it's good to see you doing so well."
"It's good to see me doing so well." Molly smiled weakly, realising the joke would fall flat even before she said it. "Thank you for taking me."
Greg shrugged. "Well, it was John's idea."
Molly nodded. "Then tell him I say thanks."
Greg nodded again, slowly, still planted firmly by the doorstep. "Well…er…"
"Yeah," Molly said, taking his lead of staying still.
Greg exhaled loudly, suddenly aware of his watch ticking. "I should probably go."
Please, don't, She couldn't help but think. Instead, aloud, she just nodded. "All right."
He started to descend on the stairs, but then turned around again. "Molly…"
"Yeah?"
His eyes scanned her over briefly, and then he shook his head solemnly. "Never mind."
With this, he turned about and trotted down the stairs.
With the door shutting behind her, Molly couldn't take her mind off it. Her chest was on fire when she saw his eyes slide up and down on her. She couldn't remember the last time somebody looked at her like that – it might have been the first time.
She briefly considered asking him to coffee, but decided otherwise. Now that he was gone, she couldn't help but criticise herself for it. If she waited, she never knew when the next chance she'd have. It might come at a less opportune moment, things turned messy rather quickly, after wall.
Molly caught her thought, and almost immediately began to laugh. If this was an opportune moment, she didn't know what a messy time would be. Somehow, she had forgotten about exactly how messy her life was. Constant police watch. The invisible stalker who, apparently, followed her like a ghost. She hardly believed it was all happening, or that she had, even for a moment, forgotten about it.
She laid back in her big chair, pulling Toby onto her lap, sighing. The cat rolled over onto his stomach, paws ready to play his favourite game with her hair.
Then, the feline's eyes filled with surprise and disgust, as though asking how dare she remove his favourite plaything?
Toby then squirmed out of her arms and bolted into a different room.
Molly shook her head, tucking her knees into her chest. As much as she tried, she couldn't remove the image of Greg's face from her brain, or the way it sent her heart fluttering.
Shockingly, she almost felt sixteen again. It felt so similar to the first infatuation that sends your whole world spinning, as though someone hit you in the head, as though just looking at them send your heart pounding and it hurt.
She bit the side of her lip when, mid-thought, her laptop sent out the email alert through the flat.
Molly, still so wrapped up in her thoughts, didn't think to be afraid until she opened the inbox.
There it was, a single, anonymous email waiting for her.
Then, reality came crashing in. She remembered everything in that moment: the stalker, the weight of the situation, and the possibility of murder. Her murder.
On a shaking breath with quivering hands, Molly moved the track pad over to the email. Exhaling slowly, she opened it.
Molly, dear, it said. I've been trying to get these to you for months, but it hasn't gone through. Don't worry though, love, I'm not giving up!
Her eyes began to burn and she blinked, heart pounding outside her chest in a very uncomfortable way, as she continued to read.
You cut your hair, I noticed. Pity – I liked it long. Remember that time we sat together all night and I brushed my hand through your hair two hundred and seventy-four times? You wore your pink-polka-dotted pyjamas.
With the world circling around her, Molly felt her stomach contract and lurch upwards.
Pulling herself together, she sat back down before her laptop, not sure why she decided to continue torturing herself.
No matter, though about your hair. It'll grow out again. Might take a few years, but we'll be together forever so what does that matter? Let it start growing again. You should've asked me first – get my input. That's how relationships work, Kitten.
I know we haven't spoken in a while – but that's not my fault. For a while I thought you gave me a faulty email – that really pissed me off. But hopefully it'll go through now. Because we need to talk about something. Is someone hurting you? You're always with the police. Protection? Come to me, Kitten, I can protect you.
And for that matter, why are you always with that Detective Inspector? Don't worry – I trust you – I've dated enough whores to know one when I see one. You're only half one. I've seen the way he looks at you – it's sick. Don't worry though, I'll keep you safe from him.
You're safe with me.
Oh – and by the way, Kitten. I've got a good one. Open the attachment and see. :]
Her fingers shaking on the track pad, Molly weakly moved the pointer over the attachment, and instantly shot back. She couldn't stop shaking for the life of her. She looked behind her, the paranoia stronger than ever, her stomach continued squirm and writhe. Her hand clapped up over her mouth immediately as she heaved, running to the nearest bin, filling it with sick. She shook her head, moaning, "No…no…no," over and over again.
How could this happen? What had she done to cause it? Her mind swarmed, trying to think of a time she could have led someone on. A time she held eye contact with someone in a line too long. A time she'd accidentally flirted with a stranger. She searched her memory for a time she'd dressed provocatively. Anything to explain why this was happening to her.
Nothing came to mind, and she cringed. She had to have done something to encourage the lunatic.
Somehow, she just knew that this was all her fault.
She was horrible at fixing things once she fucked them up, but at least she ought to try.
Whipping her mobile out of her pocket, she quickly dialled Greg's number with surprising dexterity.
"Lestrade." His voice came out over the other end, completely professional. She heard London bustling around him, apparently still in the car.
"It's Molly," She said weakly.
"Molly," Greg's voice changed completely in that instant. "What's wrong?"
Molly was already on her feet, in her bedroom, filling a carpet bag with clothes. "Greg…just get me out of here."
"Be there in two minutes," He said quickly, and she heard wheels screeching and car horns blaring in protest.
Upon pressing "End Call," Molly felt her knees weaken again, and she sunk onto her bedspread. The door to the room was still open, and she could still make out the image on the laptop.
The image of herself, with her hair cut short, sleeping soundly, without a clue.