We’re alone out here with this madman.
Morrie gripped me tighter, and I drew comfort from his presence. It would take a fellow madman to get us out of this mess, but that was exactly what Morrie was. Morrie didn’t rage like Heathcliff – instead, he used his considerable intellect to think his way out of every jam. I could already see the cogs moving in his mind, his eyes flicking into the trees and then back at the gun as he considered our options. He tried again. “I can help you. I can give you the money and the means to disappear forever, and no one need know what happened here today.”
The officer jabbed his gun in the direction of a narrow path winding up the side of the peak. “Walk. Don’t make me ask twice.”
Chapter Two
“Why are you doing this?” My fingers clawed at the dirt as I scrambled up a steep bank. “Where are you taking us?”
The officer didn’t reply. He jabbed the barrel of his gun into Morrie’s back, urging us to keep moving. Morrie gripped my arm, which was a bit awkward given the angle we had to climb, but no way did I want him to let go. Every few feet he gave me a reassuring squeeze.
But there was nothing reassuring about this situation.
The worn tread of my Docs slid in the soft mud as I fought for footing. The rain had eased off now, but fat droplets still toppled from the leaves to splash on my cheeks. I shivered as my wet clothes clung to my skin – if I’d known I’d be hiking around the wilderness with two madmen, I wouldn’t have worn a Misfits hoodie and nylon leggings covered with skulls. With every step, I grew more certain that Morrie and I wouldn’t make it out of this alive. Before long, our corpses would be buried in this same mud that now caked my favorite leggings.
I never got to meet my new guide dog, or tell Mum how much I loved her, or say goodbye to Quoth and Heathcliff. I won’t find out more about my dad. And Dracula…what would he do without us chasing him? I never got to solve the mystery of Nevermore Bookshop or finish writing my novel…
Hell, I never even told the boys I was writing a novel. Being surrounded by books and murder and magic all day had inspired me. I thought maybe… if I could get over my shyness of having others read my work, being a writer might be a great career for me as I lost my eyesight. I wrote a short story about one of our cases and gave it to them over Christmas, but watching them read it made me feel physically ill. I knew it would take me a long time to get the book to a point where I’d be happy sharing it with them. Now… they never would, and someone might find it on my laptop and read it out loud at my funeral—
Argh.I cringed at the thought.The only good news is that at least I won’t be there to hear it.
As I neared the top of the bank, I snuck a look over my shoulder, trying to recognize the cop. I’d been in and out of the police station so many times with all the murders I’d helped solve I knew nearly all the uniformed officers. Had one of them been paid off by one of Morrie’s criminal buddies to kidnap him? If this guy wasn’t even an officer… he’d gone to great lengths to whisk us out from right under Hayes’ nose.
But the cop had his hat pulled low over his head. All I could tell was that he was middle-aged, with a few wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, tall (almost as tall as Morrie) with a wiry frame but broad, muscular shoulders. Even though I was puffing and drenched in sweat from the walk, he strode on without so much as a single faltering breath. The gun in his hand looked real enough.
My fingers gripped a gnarled root, and I used it to pull me over the top of the slope. An even steeper slope bore down on us, although rough stairs had been hewn into the rock. The officer waved his gun, and Morrie and I trudged our way up.
At the top of the hill stood a small bothy – a tiny hut with a sloped corrugated iron roof, a crooked stone chimney, and a stack of wood in a small lean-to beside the door. Off to the side, I could see a small outhouse, flies buzzing around the door. Morrie threw his arm around my waist and pulled me close as the cop slid a key into the lock and shoved the bothy door open.
“Get inside.” The cop waved his gun, beckoning us into the darkness.
My stomach twisted.This is it. This is where I die.
My Docs scuffed the stoop as I stumbled inside. I put out a hand to steady myself, and noticed the long-sleeves of my hoodie – the writing along the sleeve read, ‘Dig Up Her Bones.’How appropriate. At least I’ll leave a fierce-looking corpse.
Panicked laughter bubbled up inside me. I stood beside Morrie in front of the cold fire. My fingers sought his, desperate for a last moment of comfort.I wish I had time for one final searing kiss, for one last chance to tell Morrie what he means to me. I wish…
The panicked laugher rattled through my body as we faced the officer. Morrie remained perfectly calm, that haughty smirk still playing across his lips. He whistled a tune under his breath.
The constable folded his long body into a sagging wingback chair. Instead of shooting us, he set down the gun and tugged off his hat, revealing a head of dark, curly hair. He reached into a leather pouch on his belt and removed a wooden pipe, which he set between his lips, and tapped a measure of tobacco into the chamber. As he leaned back in the chair, he tugged at the corner of his chin, pulling up a flap of skin until he peeled off a latex mask, revealing a younger, cleaner face underneath.
Beside me, Morrie stiffened. The tune died on his lips. “It can’t be.”
I glanced at Morrie. His face had turned bone-white. That infamous smirk had left the building.
The Napoleon of Crime looked…terrified.
When I glanced back at the officer, his eyes had changed color. At first, I thought it was a trick of my deteriorating retinas. I leaned forward and squinted harder. No, his eyes definitely changed. Where had a moment ago been plain brown orbs were now a clear and bright grey. His curly hair sat on the table – a wig that hid dark, close-cropped locks beneath.
I was staring at a completely different person.
A seriouslyhotperson, all cheekbones and hardness and a cruel, intelligent smile. Firm lips beneath a hawk-like nose curled with disdainful amusement. He reminded me a little of Morrie – intimidating and fascinating in equal measure.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
The constable leaned back in his chair and blew a perfect smoke ring. With sparkling grey eyes watching my face, he thrust out a hand to me, lowering his chin to meet me with an even stare. “Allow me to introduce myself, Mina Wilde. My name is Sherlock Holmes.”
Chapter Three
