10 August 2012
I smile, watching him rush out of the gate. Maybe Charles isn’t as bad as I thought. We walk down the street, attracting many a curious glance, people stopping and staring, pointing at us, the manically happy doctor and the red-headed trainee detective. Before, I would have blushed violently and run away, never wanting to be the centre of attention. Now though, I walk confidently, head held high, without a care in the world. I have changed a lot, but for the better. Charles passes me a bit of paper, and I glance at it. The address of the factory is scrawled on it, in rushed handwriting; 13 Windover Street, Smiths and Sons, cotton factory. One of the largest cotton factories in London. A perfect place for a pickpocket gang to hide. Charles leads me down an alleyway, then left towards the factory gates. He looks at me, an inquiring look on his face. It takes me a while, but I soon realise what he is doing. I answer by pointing to my boot and taking out the short knife that the chief gave me. He nods and pulls out a small pistol from his inner coat pocket. A group of workers approach and we quickly replace our weapons, we do not need any suspicious looks. Breaking into a factory is hard enough, without people thinking something is up before we even set foot inside the gates. They stop to talk to one of the guards, and then push open the wrought iron gates, walking past us, deep in conversation with each other. I glance at Charles and he nods. We slip through, into the yard, unnoticed by the guards. The shadows hide us as we sneak past people leaving work. I stare down at my chest, watching it rise and fall with my rapid heartbeat, nerves fizzling and adrenaline pumping. The door to the storage room stands in front of us, looming, taunting. Charles nudges me and smiles encouragingly. This is it.
The room is dark, shadows creeping from wall to wall, whispers echoing. My nose wrinkles as a wave of musty, old air hits me, tickling my lungs with the immense amount of dust. The small, grimy window offers little light, throwing a sliver of silver on the floor. Charles and I step into the room, cautious. Everything seems normal; the room is abandoned, empty. SLAM! I twirl around, heart beating faster, thoughts screaming. Charles reaches out to the door handle. It's locked. I step forward and shout out. "Look. We know you're in here. Just come out and tell us what happened." I try to sound as confident as possible, whilst in reality, my heart races and every instinct in me tells me to run, to leave, to get away. A figure steps out of the gloom. She walks over to a lantern and lights it, the glow washing over her tanned skin, illuminating her facial features. Her eyes bore into my soul, golden orbs filled with hatred. Long black hair frames her face, thin lips forming a cold line. She is slim, too slim, ribs showing through her tattered dress. She was dressing up. Just like Raven before she died. "Badger. Why?" Charles asks, his feet held in a strong stance, jaw clenched. She laughs, and walks towards us, lit match in hand. I resist the urge to step back, instead, I walk forward. "Okay. I killed her. Good reason too." "What? Why would you possibly want to murder an innocent girl? Your friend?" She giggles, then speaks; "You thought she was my friend?! Really? No, no, no. Why would I be friends with someone who stole my lover?" I glare at her. "Phillip never loved you. He thought you were cold-hearted. You still are." She paces the room, twirling the match in her hand. I'm surprised she hasn't burnt her fingers yet. "I may be, but at least I had a reason. She stole him from me. She deserved it, the little posh brat. She shouldn't have even joined our gang, but Phillip begged me. 'Oh, Badger, please let her stay!' He's stupid. Thought I didn't realise what was going on between them. Of course I knew! The glances, the smiles, the notes slipped under tables. It was obvious. I decided to let it go, knowing he would be crawling back to me after she left. But then they took the photo. Spent my money on a stupid photo, then went and bought a pretty frame for it?! I wanted to burn it, show them who was boss. She ran away with him. She was pregnant. So, I tracked her down and killed her. I had to. She steals Phillip from me, and then expects sympathy! She didn't belong with us; she was posh, rich, cared for. I stole the photo and burned it, removing all evidence that she had ever loved Phillip. And, if you were wondering, I don't care that I did it. I have no regrets and no sympathy for pathetic detectives like you. " She blows out the match then waltzes over to us. Her hand reaches down to her boot, and I realise what's going on just after it happens. A swift movement, a flash, a bang. Panicking, I take out the pistol from my cloak pocket, pulling the trigger before I have chance to have any second thoughts. She gasps, clutching her arm in agony, slowly sinking to the floor. I rush over to Charles, his chest rising and falling rapidly, wheezing and choking. Blood pours from the wound, and his eyes begin to glaze over. "No. No, Charles. Don't leave me. You can't leave me. Please. Please!! Please..." I whisper, trailing off at the end of the sentence, tears streaming down my face. They blur my vision and I only just see Charles smile faintly before he slips away, leaving alone in the dark.
***
"Good work, Elizabeth. Your first case solved. You have great potential you know! Only next time, don't wound the murderer!" The chief inspector laughs, grinning widely, not realising the reality of the situation. I smile half-heartedly, take my next file and run out of the office. Tears fall behind me, leaving a trail of sorrow and despair. I keep running, not wanting to think, not wanting to feel. My best friend is dead. Dead. I roll the words over my tongue, bitter in my mouth. I come to a stop in an alleyway, sobbing hysterically, choking, dying inside. Slowly, I compose myself and take a paper out of the file. 'Murder: Young man aged 23, drowned in a river.' The words comfort me, telling me that I am not alone in my torment. I know my future will be filled with many more cases and many more brilliant people, but I will always remember him as the first. I solved the murder, but I lost a friend. A cruel price for a worthless cause. Anyone else could have solved this case, found Badger, and arrested her. But, what's done is done, so, I sit up, pulling another paper out. Life goes on, and so do I.
Raven. The Final Part • Opuss № I