A girl, A boy, and a graveyard

Who? How? Why? When? Where?

Lockwood POV
1526 words

🎵Show me how you care
Tell me how you loved before
Show me how you smile
Tell me why your hands are cold
I'm turning around I'm having visions of you
Then i understand
The person I'm dreaming of was far away
But I'm here
I'm here🎵
-Show me how by Men I Trust

For those first moments, panic and anger engulfed me like fire on the match sticks i struck in the library. A thousand thoughts ran through me, who had done this to her? Was it relic-men who wanted revenge? An ambush? Was it a planned attack? If so, how long had they been planning that? And why? What were they planning to get out of hurting her? For fun? Was it Fittes or Rotwell or Tendy's or Bunchurch? Who. Did. This?

But I knew better than to stand there gawking for an hour whilst she stood in the freezing winter night. But for once she was dressed professionally, no different from her outfit on the Ealing Case. Except now it was drenched with blood. Her leggings were torn, there was blood crusted around her finger nails and mud dotted her jacket. And this time it was me dressed in pyjamas and bare feet.

She just stood there before me, trembling, her eyes glassy. They stared at me with a hopeless expression, I knew all too well. Or used to.

"Lucy?"

"Lockwood-" I moved fast, i didn't care about waiting to let her explain herself, i didn't care to watch her crumble to her knees in front of me. Instead i put my arm around her, walked her briskly from the cold stone steps into the warm light of 35 Portland Row.

"Lucy what happened? You're bleeding and shaking, come on, come inside."
I led her into the hallway, never letting go of her, even while I drew the bolts and chains across the front door again, not even when I flicked the rapier back into the umbrella pot.

"Sorry to disturb you so late." She said, even her voice sounded far away. I held her closer.
"Don't give it a thought! But you're exhausted, i can barely hear you. Let's get you to the kitchen."
I walked her to the kitchen, opened the small white door and switched on the light. It instantly flooded the room.
"I was not expecting this at 1AM on a Thursday. How is it already Thursday? Feels like it's been two hours." I was blabbing, I knew it, lucky for me Lucy seemed too out of it to care. I pulled a wooden chair back and ushered her to sit when I caught sight of her arm. When I fully registered in the light, all the blood that ran from her elbow to her wrist.

"What is this?" My expression hardened, I bit my cheek, staring cooly at the blood. Who. Hurt. Her. I wondered again.

"It's nothing. Just a cut." I knelt at her side, lifted her sleeve, peeling it up along her soaked arm. When i pulled back the tips of my fingers were tinged red with blood. I gazed at her, my own blood had ran cold. I knew that type of cut.

"A knife made this, Lucy. Who-" I rose, ran a hand through my bedhead, "No, no, no. Explanations can wait, you're in no good shape to waste time explaining. I'll get George; we can clean this. Fix you up, get you whatever you need, alright? You don't have to worry anymore, you're safe here." I breathed out, moved across the kitchen to the counter where the kettle sat.

"Thank you. I know I'm safe here. That's why I uh," she coughed, spluttering slightly, "That's why I came here."
"You want tea?" I was already reaching for the Pitkins box of tea bags.
"Yes, please. In a bit. But I can make it-"
"Not a chance. Just stay here, sit tight." I needed to get George, "Look, George wears earplugs nowadays, else his own snores wake him up. Means I've got to venture into his room." I gingerly made my way to the door, knowing where i was headed, and how i was risking my life. I looked back at Lucy and remembered that I would gladly lose a life drowning in the stink and confusion of George's room, for her.