Fire and Ice (Thomas Shelby Fanfic)

Sarah

Jacks P.O.V:

I kept to the shadows of the brightly lit train station, not a very easy task for most but for me it was a piece of cake.

    Today is the day my inspector will be arriving to Birmingham England, and I want to be sure this isn't just a set up and that it is actually him. Why is he here? Does he know who I am? The war was a long time ago, Sarah was a long time ago. I leaped back into the corner I was standing in as I realized I was starting to fidget, a bad habit of mine that drew in the unwanted attention of others. My eyes swept over the entire platform, taking in all of its dull colors and even more dull people.

Until they found something vibrant, something unusual, something out of place. It was a blonde haired girl in a emerald hat and same color coat. Her outfit alone was a color contrast amongst the bustling grey and black people within the station but that wasn't the only suspicious thing about her. No, it was her attitude. She walked with an air of superiority and meaning with every heeled step she took.
Her small frame and beautiful face held a certain innocence but I could see straight through her.

Something you pick up after staring a man dead in the eyes before you shoot him. And she was no angel from god, in fact she was far from it. I slowly tore my gaze from her in attempts of finding the man I was here for but quickly returned my shocked brown orbs to the perimeter surrounding her dainty figure. Why? Because my inspector exited the train right after her, and instead of departing ways and finding a carriage to take him to his new office he began to walk beside the girl.

I made a mental note to be careful around her if I ever come face to face with the pretty she-devil. I then slinked through the crowd until I was ten yards behind them. I pretended to act like I was lost and started to follow them, listening to their conversation as I did so.  Normally I wouldn't be so public about my sleuthing but this was a different matter, a personal matter. I caught words such as 'Garrison', 'Police force', 'Winchester', 'Shelby', and 'Guns'.

But nothing involving me or my girls, that somehow put me at ease but also intrigued me even more. I'm a smart person, I can put two and two together, so what do they want with the Shelby family? Or is it just one of the Shelby's they need? Did Winchester call for an inspection on the Garrison for possibly hidden guns and he was sending ole Campbell and his whore to execute it? I smirked at the thought but continued to listen in, I couldn't hear much over the train whistle or crowd and since they obviously didn't come here for me I decided to leave them be for now and ditch the scene.

Acting as if I found my correct exit I excused myself as I pushed through people to make a quick escape. I dusted myself off as my black boots came in contact with the road and waved a carriage over.

"Where ya headin' to miss?"

Asked the skinny old man who operated the wagon.

"Small Health."

I replied, taking his hand as he helped me up into the carriage. He nodded and spat his tobacco out onto the road before snapping the whips and leaving the station behind. I felt bad for the horse, no one should have to endear whips and bridles. Metal and leather that cuts into your skin, animal cruelty is what that is but I was in no position to argue it as the horse and buggy was my only mode of transportation at the moment. I kicked back and relaxed as we passed many farms and hitchhikers along the way.

Reminding me of much simpler times when I would ride and care for my neighbors horse because I couldn't afford my own. I would never use a bridle nor saddle, only bareback. This gave me a strong connection with the horse and we both learned to trust one another with our lives. Her name was Ophelia, after the moon for Uranus, because constellations and space have always seemed to fascinate me. I always loved that name, it suited her well as did her coat. It was as black as the night sky with tiny white flecks that resembled stars.

She was my first friend before Sarah. Sarah and I met in grade school when I found a group of boys picking on her, pulling at her long blonde braids and teasing her for her freckles. They were trying to lift her skirt up with the end of a stick and if it hadn't been for me and my impeccable aim they would have succeeded. But there I was, a short skinny red head with as many freckles as their victim, threatening a pack of boys two years older than me.

I had picked up a fairly good sized rock and thrown it with all of my might at the stick, thankfully the boy who held it didn't have a strong grip and dropped the branch as soon as my rock touched it. This then drew their attention to me giving Sarah the chance to escape, which she thankfully took. I picked up a few more rocks and threatened to do the same to their faces if they came any closer to me or any other girl in the school for that matter.

They all laughed at this, not taking me seriously. My face was, at this point, as red as my hair. But before anything could get out of hand, literally, Sarah came back with the teacher in tow. The tears on her face now dry and an accusing finger was pointed at the dumbstruck boys. Our teacher, Mr. Stanley, was a strict man that would use the ruler as punishment for anything he could. And that day the ruler was put to perfect use.

Ever since then Sarah and I were inseparable, and although she was three years younger than me I acted as her older sister and swore to protect her for the rest of our lives. She believed me and I believed me too, that was until the war occurred. I, along with a small handful of women, was chosen for Britains Secret Female Sniper Society. An unknown group of skilled female sharpshooters sent into battle to hide in abandoned buildings or trees and take down the enemy from the skies.

Because I was apart of such a secretive and exclusive group I barely ever saw or heard from Sarah, and when I returned from the war I discovered that she had been raped and killed. I was so angry at the world for fighting, so angry at the monster who had done this to her, and so angry at myself for not being able to stop it like I had always been able to. For years I asked around about her killer but only received minimal detail about himself and the case.

It was as if her death had been swept under a rug and forgotten. But I didn't forget, and I never will. Which is why I'm so keen on getting the revenge Sarah and I both deserve. Why I wish to kill the man who killed her. Why I'm going to kill Inspector Chester Campbell. Because he was the one who did those god awful things to her!

He never served in the military so he would've been here when it happened, he is an inspector of the crown meaning he has many connections and with a single phone call a rape and murder case can become as irrelevant as a missing cat, and lastly I've been informed that a man with his description was last seen with Sarah the night before she died. There's enough evidence and hatred there to fuel my thirst for his blood. I want him to scream, to feel pain like he's never experienced. I want him to beg for death before I actually give it to him.

Because that's what he deserves. I was snapped out of my thoughts as the carriage came to a halt.

"That'll be two shillings miss."

The driver said as he helped me out of the buggy. I nodded and paid the man, before walking over to the chestnut horse that pulled the four wheeled craft.

"He's very handsome, what's his name?"

I asked,  stroking his snout gently.

"Don't have one, he's a working horse so he don't need one!"

The driver said gruffly, not giving me time to reply as he quickly snapped the reins and vacated the bustling town. I frowned deeply because of his comment and spat on the earth he stood on only moments ago.

"It's people like you that bring society down."

I muttered before swiftly spinning on my heel and making my way towards the Garrison, after a day like today I needed a few stiff drinks to wash away the memories. I entered the pub just as the sun was setting, unaware that a certain blue eyed Peaky Blinder was watching me from the safety of the streets shadows.