Waking Nightmares(Lined Bullets)- A GMD Fiction

Chapter 3: The Unexpected Visitor

After many different points of view, I was stuck. There was no valid reason I could devise that would make kidnapping the next brilliant minds of London, by any means logical.
Lillian Briar was a ten year old little girl with top markings in all of her classes and was on the track to start skipping grades before she reached the fifth grade. Jonathan Milks was just the same. And so were the other children.
A storm had rolled in during the day and my back was beginning to ache (a common occurrence since my wounds turned to scars). Dr. Dawson had given me a sac of hot water, but it hadn't done any good, so I put it to the side as I went through my personal files of each child, but nothing seemed to click...
"Basil, I think it would be best if you got some sleep and look at this again tomorrow with a fresh mind," said Dawson as he began to ascend the steps.
"No, no. I'm going to continue looking at these for a while. I will see you in the morning, old friend."
I tried to place the heated water sac in a comfortable position as I sat back into my chair, but I just couldn't get comfortable, so I placed the sac on the ground and began to scan over my files tediously. Nothing seemed to connect. My eyelids were growing heavy, but I pushed myself to stay up just a little while longer.
*****
I was startled awake by the sound of knocking. I looked out the window to see that it was still raining with hints of ice falling along with it. Who could possibly be coming at my door at this hour, I thought. I got up slowly, and as I reached the door, another knock came from behind the door, but it was much, much weaker. I forced myself to move a little quicker despite my back. I grabbed the door knob and turned it slowly. Suddenly, a weight fell against the door. It flew from my hands and was then replaced by a young unconscious child. He was no more than ten, with black fur. He was dressed in a long dark coat, but he was practically soaked to the bone. I quickly got a better hold of him and carried him to the dying fire. I threw in more wood to fuel the fire.
I then grabbed a large towel. I discarded his coat, then his vest, shirt, and pants, and wrapped him in the towel and removed any other garments I may have forgotten. With a few pillows under him and a blanket around his very tiny frame, I bounded up the stairs to Dawson's room. I knocked rapidly many times until he opened his door with a drowsy yawn. His tired face quickly turned to one of worry.
"Basil? What's the matter?"
"A child," I breathed. "I believe he's sick. He fell into my arms when I opened the door. He was unconscious and soaked to the bone. I need you to look at him."
Without another word, Dawson followed me back to the living area. We descended the stairs and knelt by the child. He was still out cold. Dawson had confirmed that the child was indeed ill, but there was not much he could do for him except to wait until he woke up. So, I sat there in my chair and took the child into my arms to keep up his warmth.
There were numerous questions spinning intricately in my head as I looked down at him. Who was he? Why on Earth was such a sickly small child out in such nasty weather? How was I ever going to solve this case while I also have to take care of this unexpected visitor? In fact, I was rather perplexed at myself... I had never taken care of a child before, at least not in this fashion. Yet for some reason, I felt a... connection with him. His fragile frame reminded me much of my own (even presently). I yawned and curled up a bit more. Perhaps, I thought, more will be revealed in the following days...
And with that I fell asleep.
*****
I woke up the next morning at 4:47 am on the floor with my back aching more than I would like to admit. As I sat up, I looked up to see the child sleeping silently in Dawson's chair, still wrapped in his towel. Once I was on my feet, I went to my room and went in search of an old trunk I had kept when I left my previous home. It still had a lot of my childhood clothes stored neatly in there. I quickly grabbed an undergarment, a pair of black pants, a white shirt and pale blue vest.
When I reached the living area, the young mouse was stirring and sat up with a yawn. As I placed the clothes in my chair, he took a drowsy look around. He sneezed and then his brilliant blue eyes met my emerald green ones.
"A-are you Basil of Baker Street," he asked in a rather hushed tone.
"Why, yes," I answered as I knelt next to him. "Can you tell me who you are?"
Shockingly, he began to become upset. Did I say something wrong? He hugged himself trying to give himself comfort, but he then held out his hands towards me. I was completely knocked off guard. I hesitantly stretched out my arms and soon he was in them and cried into my shoulder.
After a few minutes, his sobbing ceased and I placed him back on the chair. He wiped his nose on the towel and let out a shaky breath.
"I apologize, I shouldn't have burst into hysterics like that. M-my name is Able. Able Damian Kingsley. My parents were Ash Kingsley and Colette Bridges Kingsley."
"Ah, okay... wait. Were? What do you mean by they 'were' your parents?"
He looked at the ground. "They're dead. I saw them shot and... i-it was all m-my fault."
Now, I was completely astounded. He was a newly acclaimed orphan. And... the poor child was blaming himself. I sighed and looked at him.
"Now why on Earth would you think that?"
"We were out because I had to go to another doctor because I keep getting sick. If I wasn't sick, then we wouldn't have gone into that alley and they wouldn't have been shot."
I didn't know quite what to say, but I couldn't allow this child to blame himself.
"Now see here. You can't possibly say that this was your fault. This was of the actions of one very troubled mouse. It was by no means your fault."
Able smiled teary-eyed and hugged me. I stiffened a bit and then lightly pulled him off. I took his hand again and led him to my room.
"Now get dressed and once you're done we can talk more."
The door quickly shut and as I waited, I thought about the names of his parents... Ash Kingsley... Collette Bridges... Why did they sound so familiar? Suddenly, it dawned on me. Those were the names of my two childhood friends! Able was their son... which means that my friends were... gone. I slumped against the wall. I sighed and quickly gained my composure. It was going to be a long day.