Time's Lost Soldier

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December 2013 – London, England

The winter breeze nipped playfully at his exposed fingertips, like a loyal hound by his side. A soft smile graced his face as the gentle gesture sent him spiraling into the depths of his very soul, reminiscing over the serene memory of the hunting hound of his childhood.

The great ebony Irish wolfhound bounded back and forth in front of a small boy's walking path, just hoping for the smallest chance to trip him. The next step of the boy and the hound took this chance to slam his great big head into the side of the boy's left leg. The boy gave a startled yelp, his breath escaping in a big puff as his back collided with the ground. He glanced to his left, a squeak leaving his lips as he stared into the caramel eyes of the hound. The hound, pleased with his accomplishment, pounced onto the boy's tiny frame. A startled shriek turned almost immediately into the twinkling sound of laughter from the tiny boy's mouth. His rosy cheeks covered in drool, for the great hound laid on the boy licking his face in long slobbery strips of drool.

Shaking his head, the now grown man continued his walk through the cold, dreary, gray streets of London. From a glance about, he noticed heavy raindrops slowly drifting down from the sky. Another shake of the head, and the rain begins to pour. Startled by this sudden turn of events, he quickly changes direction to go back to the small café he saw a block back. Walking inside, he immediately noted that no one else was there. The only sound filling his ears was the pounding of rain on the windows. He cautiously creeps up to the counter, ringing the bell in the hopes of gaining someone's attention from the back. His sensitive ears catch the soft whispers of noise from the back room.

'Hello, is anyone there?' he calls out in a soft yet deep voice. A loud bang is his only answer.

'Is everyone all right back there? Do you need any help?' He hopes for a response this time, but is still startled when a face of an older man pops out from behind the curtain.

'Sorry, everything is just fine,' he hurriedly responds. 'I just dropped a few baking trays.' The man's face screams out danger to the younger man. His old combat training and adrenaline slowly kicking in, warning him in their whispery ways to be cautious.

'Alrighty then, if you say so.' He slowly replies, drawing out the sentence in almost a bored manor. Continuing to act completely calm he asks, 'I was wondering if I could have a cup of coffee.' The older man slowly draws himself up to his full height, what he deemed to be threateningly tall, but he still was not nearly as tall as the combat hardened soldier. Standing at the towering height of 6' 3", the stone-cold face of the soldier stares hard down at the old man, taunting him to make a wrong move.

'Just one minute sir, I'll be right back with your coffee. Do you want it just black or with any cream or sugar in it sir?'

'Just black please.'

As the older man turns around, he places a weathered looking hand right on the drawn curtain. The soldier curiously glances at the hand, spotting a flash of red coating his entire hand. Quietly, he creeps up behind the counter towards the curtain, reaching into his coat pocket and drawing out a British army Browning L9A1. His pointer figure delicately pushes the safety off, before resting casually on the trigger. His whole body tenses, a spring waiting to be released against an unknown force, as he gently brushes the side of the curtain away from the doorway. His eyes catch sight of the old man standing above a petite looking frame. His ears catch the endings of a low whimper and the beginnings of a taunting phrase.

'Mister Hamish, you really shouldn't be doing this. I know you have realized who I am by now, so why are you even trying to fight me. You must know that you can't escape now that you are in my grasp. For all who are dangled in front of my eyes never leave until I'm done with them. I'm the neighbor's cat who plays with the poor bird even when it's wings are already broken and it can't fly away. I give hope to the poor little bird before snatching it away again.'

The only response to the taunt is the bark of laughter from the old man. A cold harsh sound that sounds like nails scraping slowly across a chalkboard. A grin breaks across his blood-smeared face, a crazed look dances in his eyes as he wickedly smiles.

'O! The famous Thackeray Seamus is threatening me. I feel so very honoured.' The sarcasm dripping from each and ever word that leaves his grinning lips. 'I could care less if I don't leave this cafe alive. If only I get the chance to bring you down with me as well. The Scotland Yard could put me on death trail for all I care. I only need this one last victim.'

'Oh! And who is this victim going to be Hamish.' Thackeray answers his crazed speech, a devilish smirk growing steadily on her face.

'My sweet, sweet darling, you are my last victim.' Hamish cackles out, slowly dragging a butcher knife stained in blood down the side of her face.

Before the soldier could react, the girl stands up in a flash from her crouched position springing away from the old man. She turns in a flash, drawing a gun from the back of her jeans and shooting the man point blank in the head. Her face remains blank, no reaction as blood splatters stain the counters behind the man. Thackeray's only reaction to the blood now staining her face was a slight turn of the head to glance at her reflection in a pan hanging on the counter behind her. A sigh escapes her mouth as she attempts to wipe the blood from her face, but instead only smears the blood across her face even more. Groaning, she crouches right besides the body of Hamish, reaching into the pocket of his black jacket and pulling out a silver phone.

Taking a slow step back, the soldier crashes into doorway creating a resounding bang throughout the whole kitchen. Whipping around so quickly that for a moment, the soldier thought she would lose her balance and fall, Thackeray raises the pistol up once again.

'Whoa! Whoa! I'm sorry. I just came into the café for shelter from the storm outside and heard bangs in the back. I just wanted to help.' The soldier quickly stutters out, raising his hands slowly while placing his handgun down. Thackeray cocks her head to the side, slowly lowering the gun before huffing and shoving the gun into the back of her jeans. Stretching up, Thackeray glare runs up and down the soldier's body sending shivers up his spine. Her calculating stare halts just at his blue eyes before she turns her back to him and raises the phone to her field of view. The silence surrounds them as she punches a number into the phone. Raising the phone to her face, she taps her foot on the ground as she waits for an answer on the other line.

'Hey Geoffrey. I found our new serial killer. No I didn't get hurt this time. Yes I am with him now. No he is not alive anymore...It's not my fault this time, he was going to stab me in the chest multiple times, killing me dead. O, I'm sorry that you can't handle my sarcasm in this terrible situation. I thought you would know by now that I'm a sarcastic little shit in situations like this. You want the position of where I am or the situation, because I'm currently covered in Mister Hamish's blood and brain matter and would very much like to go drown myself in a bath tub. Yes of course I'm being sarcastic. No I don't need another psychoanalysis just because I shot someone point blank in the head again. Just send the clean up team please to... uhm.' Taking the phone away from her ear, she turns towards the soldier. 'Hey soldier. First, what is the name of the café we're in? And, second, what's your name?' Thackeray bluntly asks the soldier. Looking shocked, he turns around to look at the nearest menu and blurts out 'The café we're in is Leila's. But wait, how did you know that I was a soldier.'

'Oh that doesn't matter at the moment. But your name.' The soldier's face registers confusion before Thackeray sighs and closes her eyes for a moment. 'Soldier. I need to know your name. You are a witness due to you having seen a detective from New Scotland Yard shoot an alleged serial killer dead. So your name.' she demands with a stone hard face that dares the soldier to argue back. Sighing he gulps down a breath of air to steady his racing heart before saying 'My name is Kane.' Turning away from Kane, Thackeray returns to her phone. 'Sorry for the wait Geoffrey. So I am currently in Leila's café on Calvert Avenue in the back kitchen type thing with a dead man and a witness named Kane.'