It Rains Blood In London

Chapter 2 Nightmares and Tourists

I can't remember much of the cab ride home or meeting extremely pregnant Mary Watson. All I know is that there is a bed that I can sleep in. I do. And that's when the nightmare begins.

Fire. All I can see is fire. It blisters my hands and mixes with the screams. Oh the screams, they burn worse than the fire. Searing my flesh. There's a flash of light and the dream changes pulling me into sterile room. It's so bright it hurts. That's when the needle pierces my skin with an immense amount of pain. I scream and I can't move. Then I scream until I wake.

I smell pancakes. My first sensation upon awakening is smell. And terror from the dream. I shudder and try to calm down. 

I hate that dream. It's been the same for as long add I can remember. At least now I've stopped screaming aloud.

I'm still in the clothes I fell asleep in and I see no reason to change, so I step into the flat not sure of what day it is.

"Morning." John greets me while looking up from his laptop which has been placed squarely on the kitchen table.

"What day is it?" I ask not sure what to do. Do I stand there? Help myself to food? 

Mary smiles at me from the oven. "Good morning. You slept all day and night yesterday. This is breakfast."

I nod and mumble a thanks. Sitting at the table opposite from my uncle, I fiddle with the hair tie wrapped around my wrist, unsure of what say. What does a person even say to their uncle they've never met? I had no idea you existed? What you looking at? What is this you're eating?

But Mary comes to my rescue with a plate of pancakes and a question.

"So you're in grade ten, right?"

"Yes. I'm taking all my classes online though."

She nodes and John checks his watch. "Oh bloody Hell, I'm late. Bye hun." He kisses Mary and turns to me "Have a good day Keira. You and Mary have some plans I hear." And with that he's put the door, half a pancake sticking from his mouth. A drop of syrup sticks to his chin and I resist the urge to laugh.

Mary and I eat breakfast, talking the whole time. After I've taken my plate into the sink, Mary stands up. 

"Well we better get a move on. But first brush your hair."

I nod, knowing what my hair probably looks like. My guess, an atomic bomb ruin.

"What are our plans for the day?" I ask after I've brushed my hair.

"I'm just going to show you London." Mary stands up and walks to the door, placing her feet in her shoes with a stomp. "Coming?"

I stride to the the door and join her in stepping out of the flat.

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I'm exhilarated. It's mid afternoon and Mary looks like she's about to collapse.

"Let's go back to the flat. You need rest." I suggest while hailing a cab.

"No I'm fine."

"No offense but you look like you haven't slept in a week, trust me I know this."

With a sigh and a smile she agrees to go to the flat.

"Where are you going?" Surprise lingers in her voice as I hop out of the parked cab. 

"I'm going to check out the tower of London. If that's ok with you? I have money. I know how to be safe."

Mary nods. "Be back before six, ok?"

"Ok." I start walking to the tower, blending into the tourists clouding the street.

Raindrops begin to speckle my nose and umbrellas are raised to the sky like lighters at a rock concert. I'd love to go to the tower but I have other plans. Maybe it's a little early to betray Mary's trust but I don't care. People wrap around me like a robe but I'm not claustrophobic in the least. If anything I feel at home here.

So I walk with no destination in mind. I just walk and think. I feel like I should be terrified of everything right now. I'm not. I am calm and a feeling of comfort has rested on my shoulders. I still keep this sense of calm as I walk past the alley and spot a dead body.

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Sprawled in the middle of the alley lays a middle aged man with a black suit stained with blood. To call 911 or the British police doesn't reach my mind, at all. Instead I notice things. Expensive suit. New as well. No rips in it and the blood is old, obviously not his. He's well muscled but not so much that he works out all the time. And he had a weapon in his suit. And I notice his face twisted in fear and the way his hands claw at his stomach. He was poisoned. And gleaming in the corner of my eye is a silver pin, holding a scrap piece of newspaper to the corpse's lapel. And on the newspaper, written in thick blood, are the glaring letters "JM". That's when I call the police.

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I narrowly avoid getting scolding by lying that I got lost. Mary hugs me and John just meets Sherlock, who appears to be talking to an inspector with grey hair. I step towards them but Mary grabs me. 

"You're not going to investigate a murder. It's been a long day, you must be terrified. Let's go home." Mary grabs my shoulder and steers me towards the jet black cab. I don't argue but internally I need to go and investigate. I suppose I'm curious. Instead I listen to Mary and hop into the taxi that takes us back to the flat.