Chapter Four: Call and Summons
I rubbed my forehead, trying to make sense of the words swimming before my eyes. It was an easy enough case, the robbery of a small house on the outskirts of the city, but I found it annoyingly hard to focus. Memories were coming back to me unbidden, summoned by the connection of this case to my past. A past I had left behind fifteen years ago, along with a family I had wanted to forget.
I was once again attempting to make heads or tails of the case when my phone rang, showing a restricted number as the caller. I answered.
"Raven Holmes," I said tersely. There was a pause.
"Miss Holmes. I have heard a lot about you," came the voice from the other end. It was male, but not the one I had heard earlier. It was obviously British and very articulate in a manner that made it seem as if it wasn't practiced.
"Who is this?" I questioned, intrigued.
"That I cannot say. What I can tell you is that it is a matter of national security, and we need your help."
"Whose national security?" I replied.
"Who do you think? I know a lot about you, miss Holmes, and I know that it is your help we need. I can verify I am who I say I am, but it requires some effort on your part; you need to come to London. I apologize for the suspicion and inconvenience, but it will be well worth your time," the man told me. He was intelligent, that much was clear. Intelligent and possessing a motive to get me to come to London. Neither boded well for the remainder of my sanity, but facing strange situations was what I did for a living. This one just happened to be stranger than most.
"How soon do you need me there?" I asked after a pause.
"Two days. I will meet you soon after."
"You know the extent of my knowledge; if any of this becomes suspicious, I will leave. Understand that I am smarter than I am given credit for," I told the man, who chuckled.
"Believe me, I know, Raven Holmes." He hung up and I was left staring at a blinking screen with an uncharacteristically confused expression on my face. That had, in a long career of odd, been very odd indeed. I huffed and turned back to my notes on the robbery, stapled to a few photos. It was easy; too easy, in my experience. The man had disabled the alarms but not the security cameras and stolen one small but valuable necklace, leaving his fingerprints and DNA behind.
I scribbled a few notes on the margins before starting my official report. I would probably finish it later that night, but it was too boring to waste my time on when my shift ended in half an hour.
It was a tedious half hour; I spent most of it jotting down notes on scrap paper and adding them to my mind palace. I drifted when that was done, letting myself wander long-forgotten, dusty halls of a castle inside my skull.
It was the middle of a city, at night. Cold and wet, especially for the well-dressed teenage girl who ran along the streets.
I jolted fully awake. That was not supposed to happen. I was not supposed to remember; I had erased-
Onyx hair, curly and short, fell around a face marred with scratches, the kind from clawing branches of trees and thorns on bushes. Still she ran. There was a bag slung over her shoulder, heavy and stuffed full. Underneath the girl's coat, she clutched a knife. It was her only protection, now that she was alone.
No, no, no, no. This was gone. I forgot this. I locked it away. Yet still the memory flooded my mind, set free by the case and its connections to my past.
She slammed a motel room door shut, panting hard. The room was neat, the only evidence of occupation being a suitcase on a rack and a jacket neatly folded on top of it. The girl, about sixteen, collapsed on one of the beds. Alone. She was alone and free, and she had finally run.
With a hiss, I slammed the door on the memory and severed its connection. I would not remember this, not now.
I jumped up as the clock hit the end of my shift, shoving the memory to the back of my mind, and nearly ran out of the building. It was a relief to walk the halls of my home, the scent of it driving that memory further back. Demetria was gone, probably out with her other friends. I dialed her number, hearing it ring four times exactly before she picked up.
"Raven?"
"what are your plans for this week?" I questioned her. I could hear her shifting over the background noise, faint music and people.
"Nothing, why?"
"You and I are going to London tomorrow. I dearly hope your passport has not expired, Demetria. It is rather important that we arrive in less than two days."
She muttered something about strange friends before answering, "Yeah, okay. I'll be home in a few hours."
I hung up.
The next morning saw the both of us in one of the various airports scattered around the country's capitol. My bags, including my gun and forensic gear, had been checked with a hurried explanation and the flash of my badge. Demetria had waltzed right through security, as usual. I huffed in annoyance, taking my seat beside her to wait for the plane to lift from the runway. The flight was headed straight for London, scheduled to arrive before night did. I could only hope that we would return soon. I doubted that the FBI would hold my position open for long.
It was a seven-hour flight, and I could only pass the time reading the people around me as I flew steadily towards what could be my making or my doom. The uneasy sense within me said that it might just turn out to be both; it was time to show the world what Raven Holmes could do.
It's the author, after a long time. Sorry that I haven't updated sooner; I sort of forgot about the story being up on here. It's up on Wattpad fully, along with the first chapters of book two, and that's where I've been editing it. Thanks for waiting for this. Please comment; it means a lot.