The London Murder

Chapter I

The London clock tower strikes once, then twice. Its summons ring hollow in my ears.

          Usually, I take comfort in its cries. Today, however, I fail to suppress the anger that resurfaces, a wraith beneath my skin. There's a somberness to the sky and even dawn is hesitating. Waiting.

          Not a soul crosses my path, and yet still I am haunted.

           It's my curse, isn't it? To wander these streets every day, every morning, each one the same as the last. Once upon a time, this city was my home, a place I loved above all else. It was my heaven on earth. Now, the place is darkened by the fog of my thoughts.

          The joy it once brought has long since died in my blackened heart. Perhaps it's not London that has changed, but me.

         The thought wakes me from my revelry. I force my feet to move, even as my head screams at me to slow down.

          I can't slow down, though. I won't.

          Two days in a row are pushing my luck. No one wants a tardy streak, least of all me. I could only imagine the kinds of things the men would say. I'd be lucky not to receive a termination letter within the hour. It's only to be expected, of course. I'm the only woman there, so naturally, they'd pick on me. Everyone knows women aren't capable of working.

         Little do they know the bitterness working its way up my throat. The lump grows bigger by the day. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be rid of it. There are things in this head of mine, things I'd rather forget.

         Haunted, that's what they say. Cursed, that's what I tell myself. In truth, I am just lost.

         Lost in this labyrinth of my own making.

         Even now, the Harrington Manor is a stain on my consciousness. London is working itself into a tizzy, and here I am, wondering why my feet refuse to move.

         It's been two years. God, why can't I just get over it? Everyone else made it look so easy, or am I just that forgettable?

         My own parents haven't spoken to me in years. I thought they'd say something, protest against my leaving. But they didn't.

          No one called my name when I left. No one shouted at me to stop.

         Invisible chains, that's what I'm trapped in. It's always useless, so useless.

         Sighing, I force these aching feet to move their aching soles. It's like they've been buried alive, for all the good these shoes are doing them.

         I thought I'd wear my white heels today. Add that to my list of terrible decisions.

         It's far too cold out here for heels. Ice gathers where I step, and I wonder if I should've worn a warmer coat–

        Oh, wait, I forgot. I don't have a second coat, much less a warmer one.

         Shaking my head, the department steps come into view. They're a welcomed sight in the deary light, one I don't hesitate to sprint for. I knock into a carriage driver and he grumbles at me to watch where I'm going, but I'm hardly listening.

         So close, now. Mere feet.

         Foolish man, why should I stop for a world that's never stopped for me?

         I choke on a snort. People can be so stupid sometimes.

         "Good morning, Detective Adams," Officer Davies welcomes. His hands find the door before I can, and he holds it open for the both of us. Teeth flashing, he leans in– "After you, madame."