Chapter Five: Forgotten City
Tessa Lee's murder took up most of the plane ride as I scanned the notes I had amassed. At some point, I would probably have to go to Scotland Yard to get some more information on that ammunition, but that could wait. I did have to meet whoever it was who rang me at my desk in the FBI, but Lee's murder took the top shelf, especially since I had to be out of London soon. It was simply impossible for me to stay, considering my history there. I did not want to risk remembering, if I had chosen to forget fourteen years ago.
I shifted into a sense of detached boredom as the flight progressed; my write-up of the completed case was finished and I couldn't do anything else on Lee's murder while I was here. So I drifted, and doors that had been long closed in my mind began to open for the first time in over a decade.
"What?" the teenage girl, icy blue eyes framed by raven locks, glared in shock and outrage at her parents. Her two brothers, standing behind the adults, wore identical sheepish expressions. It was not helping in the least, and the girl was even less happy now.
"We cannot just move to America. This is ridiculous! You expect me to just pull up my life and leave? This is absolutely absurd," she snorted.
"Raven, you don't have a life here. We thought you were going to take it the easiest," the older of her brothers stated.
"He has a valid point. You spend all your time in the library and holed up in your room," her younger brother pointed out.
This did not sit well with the young genius. Her brothers did, indeed, speak the truth. For the last four years, the majority of her time had either been spent studying or trying to find her real relatives, of which there seemed to be no trace. She suspected it was not always as such, but at fourteen, there was nothing she could do about it.
"We leave in three weeks. I suggest you get packing. Raven, it isn't that bad. I am sure that they will have everything you need there," her mother sighed. Well, not technically her mother, not sharing any of the traits the girl herself had, but the woman who had raised her. For that matter, none of the people in the room truly were tied by blood to the unquestionably intelligent, debatably a bit sociopathic, teenage girl with the eyes like flames of ice.
"No. They won't." It was her family that she was looking for. That was not something found in another country across the ocean. It might as well have been another planet, for all the little good it did her.
I jerked upright, surprised and a bit taken aback at the memory still lingering in the corners of my mind. This one was not as painful, but it was undoubtedly key, and would most likely lead to other memories, none of which I really wanted to visit at the present moment.
When the plane had finally touched down in London, I collected my baggage and exited as quickly as I could, breathing in the night air I had been sixteen years away from. I had never truly wiped that from my mind palace, for it was far too beautiful. Demetria joined me outside, dragging her case behind her. She halted as we passed through the doors, her eyes wide in awe as she took in the sight of London at night spread before us. It truly was breathtaking, but there was no more time to ponder that now. I had to get to the flat I had rented the night before, and then there was work to do. I didn't particularly care about sleep at the moment, owing to a great many factors, among which was my mental state; already in decline, it probably would not survive an onslaught of sixteen years of memories that had spent the better part of twenty years locked away in my mind palace.
I hailed a cab and gave the address, ignoring the look of surprise he shot me in the rearview mirror as we pulled away from the curb. Demetria, half-asleep beside me, was taking in as much of the city as she could while we drive. I did not blame her, because she was going to have to get used to it fast. No telling how long it would take me to get all the information to solve Lee's death, especially given the cooperation rate of Scotland Yard.
We pulled up outside a midnight-black door with gold lettering and a slightly askew knocker, which seemed to be the place I had rented. Demetria forked over the required money and I hauled my cases out of the trunk, stepping up to the door and rapping briskly on it. A few moments passed and I took a small step back, waiting for it to swing open. It did, revealing a small woman in her mid-sixties who gave the two of us an odd look before stepping back and allowing us in.
"Mrs. Hudson?" I questioned, ascertaining the identity of the woman standing across from us. I read that she was the landlady, but nothing else I needed at the moment.
"Yes, actually. You must be the woman who rented a flat here," she replied.
"Indeed, I am. Would you mind pointing me in the right direction?" I asked. Mrs. Hudson opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by pounding feet on the stairs. A rather short blond man who read as ex-army and a doctor appeared, staring when he spotted me.
"You aren't a client, are you?" was the only thing he said before turning around and running back up the narrow flight off wooden stairs. I watched him with a raised eyebrow, wondering what he could possibly mean. Mrs. Hudson looked a bit annoyed at the man's obviously out-of-character lack of manners, but Demetria just looked resigned. For a moment, I felt a bit sorry for her overwhelmed friend.
The violin that had been playing, music echoing down the stairs, screeched to a halt and two men began to argue. I could not quite make out the words, but it was clear that one of the voices was the short man who had just come down the stairs. After a few moments, they halted. A second set of footsteps, this one a bit heavier, descended soon after the voices ceased, but I was caught off guard at the man who appeared on the stairs. His eyes, akin to mine, narrowed. He scanned both my companion and myself, frowning as his gaze came to rest on mine.
"Not a client. That's interesting. American, two siblings, estranged family. No, not estranged- forgotten." He was about to continue when I interrupted.
"You know nothing about me; my advice is shut your mouth before I shut it for you," I snapped.
"Raven!" Demetria exclaimed at the same moment that a disappointed "Sherlock!" came from the mouth of the landlady. Ignoring the tall, dark-haired man who must have been Sherlock, I grabbed my bag and stalked up the staircase. It was the best bet for the location of the flat, and I did not feel like dealing with the two other tenants at that moment. I could still hear Demetria faintly apologizing for me down below as I came out on a small landing.
Two doors stood across from each other; one was labeled with a 'B', the other 'C'. I shoved the latter opened and marched inside, slamming it behind me. The sparsely furnished flat, small but decent, was exactly what I needed for the investigations I was attempting to complete in this city. With a sigh, I dropped my bag in one of the bedrooms and slipped into a chair, retreating to my mind. I barely registered Demetria walking in and immediately heading into one of the rooms; by the time she emerged again, I was wholly inside my mind palace, going over Lee's killing and everything I knew about the ammunition used. That would have to be my first lead, I decided.
"Raven!" Startled, I shot upright. My friend was leaning against the counter opposite me, glaring. Her arms were crossed and her expression was one of annoyance. "We've been here a matter of hours. Are you trying to make everyone hate you?"
"That depends. The short one just looked resigned. The tall one looked like one does when a strategy one often uses is employed against oneself. I would hazard a guess that neither actually dislikes me," I responded. Demetria rolled her eyes, frustrated.
"We're talking tomorrow. Goodnight." With that, I was left in the semidarkness of the living room to think. I forewent that course for some much-needed sleep.
For the first time in weeks, I was not plagued by nightmares and memories as I slept.