Amanda Lester and the Black Shadow Terror

by Paula Berinstein

  “I knew we should have taken a cab,” he said. “I was aware of the shadows. I just thought it would never happen to me.”

  “I agreed with you,” said Daisy. “We’re both at fault.”

  “Holmes, you say,” said Efrem, as they drew closer to 221B. “I’ve heard of him. Dashed odd fellow.”

  “He knows his business,” said Nick.

  “How do you know him?” said Efrem, peering at Nick a bit suspiciously.

  “Only by reputation,” said Nick. “He’s done some work for my fiancé’s father.”

  “Do tell,” said Daisy. “Something juicy?”

  “Now, sweetheart,” said Efrem. “I’m sure it’s private business.”

  “Nothing that exciting,” Nick said. He did not want to have to tell too many lies. It would be difficult to remember them. Besides, he didn’t want these people to think he was involved in criminal activities. “Just some accounting issues.”

  “Really?” said Daisy. “Sherlock Holmes would get involved with something that dry?” She leaned forward confidingly. “I hear he’s a drug addict.”

  “Daisy!” said Efrem.

  “It’s all right,” said Nick, resigning himself to having to make up more stories. “It had to do with embezzlement. A bad business involving a crime syndicate. He did a bang-up job. Whatever you’ve heard about his, er, associations, he’s very professional.”

  He was in for a pound now. But Daisy loved it.

  “I knew it.” Daisy grinned at her husband. “I told you it was true. See? Mr. Muffet just confirmed it.” She turned back to Nick. “And Sherlock Holmes cracked the case?”

  “That he did,” said Nick, hoping the woman would keep her big mouth shut when they got to Holmes’s. She seemed so caught up in the detective’s dark side that she might say anything, and that wouldn’t be good for Amanda.

  “Oooh,” said Daisy. “How positively romantic.” She was beginning to remind Nick of Amanda’s blowsy cousin Despina, although Despina was much older. How an accounting case, whether or not it involved the famous Holmes, could be exciting he couldn’t imagine. But these women, who were so alike they could have formed a club, could apparently find intrigue in anything.

  They had reached 221B Baker Street. Nick looked up to see that Holmes’s lights were on. Good. He rang the bell. Nothing happened for half a minute or so. Then he heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and a lot of muttering.

  “Don’t they know what time it is?” Mrs. Hudson, Holmes’s landlady, was saying. “Foolish nonsense.”

  The door opened just a crack. Mrs. Hudson’s nose, eyes, and mouth were visible, but the rest of her head was hidden by the door and its frame. She was not amused. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” she said.

  Nick put on his best contrite face. “So sorry, madam. It’s just that we’ve encountered one of the shadow monsters and wanted to speak to Mr. Holmes while the details are still fresh in our minds.”

  “Shadow monster?” said Mrs. Hudson. “Here?”

  “Not exactly here,” said Efrem, “but close by.”

  “Glory me,” she said. “I’ll get him at once.”

  As she was leading them up the stairs she said, “Was it very large then?”

  “Twenty feet high,” said Efrem, who a few minutes earlier had claimed not to have seen it.

  “Thirty,” said Daisy. “With huge teeth.”

  “And glowing red eyes,” said Efrem.

  “My word,” said Mrs. Hudson. “I’d have fainted dead away.”

  “We didn’t,” said Daisy emphatically.

  “My word,” said Mrs. Hudson again. She knocked on Holmes’s door.

  “Enter,” said Holmes from the other side. Mrs. Hudson announced the trio and departed, muttering to herself about monsters and bravery.

  Holmes did not seem surprised to see Nick and his new friends. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said cryptically.

  Daisy’s eyes went wide. “You have?”

  “Of course,” said Holmes. “Now, tell me about the shadow.”

  Daisy and Efrem looked at each other as if to say, “How did he know?” Efrem spoke.

  “We were just coming home from a party at our friends the Bartlesbys when—”

  “No,” Holmes interrupted. He gestured toward Daisy. “You tell.”

  Her eyes grew large. Efrem looked as if he was about to protest, when Holmes said, “Mrs. Doohickey?”

  Daisy blushed. “Well, it is as my husband said. We were coming home from the Bartlesbys. It was a nice evening so we decided to walk. About a quarter of an hour after we left we were crossing Weymouth Street when this huge black thing rose up in front of us.”

  “Were you afraid?” said Holmes.

  Daisy blinked. “Of course we were afraid. It was a monster.”

  “Mrs. Doohickey, do you like dogs?” said Holmes.

  “Why no,” she said looking perplexed.

  “Do you take sea voyages?”

  “No, sir. I can’t swim and I’m deathly afraid of drowning.”

  “And you, Doohickey,” said Holmes. “Why did you refuse the posting in India you were recently offered?”

  Efrem’s jaw dropped. “How did you—”

  “The answer, please.”

  “I, uh, well, to tell the truth, I don’t like tropical places. Snakes and all that.”

  “Thank you, sir and madam. I have all I need. You may go now. I will be in touch in a few days.”

  “But you haven’t heard about—” said Daisy.

  “As I say,” said Holmes. “All I need.”

  Efrem and Daisy looked at each other, then at Holmes, then at Nick.

  “Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” said Efrem, looking confused and a little affronted. He put his hand on his wife’s shoulder and began to guide her out of the flat. Nick turned to go with them.

  “You stay,” said Holmes. Nick looked around. “Yes, you, Mr. Muffet.”

  Now it was Nick’s turn to blink. Holmes waved the Doohickeys away and closed the door behind them. He sat down, steepled his fingers, and eyed Nick.

  It became a bit of a staring contest. Finally Nick spoke.

  “You were trying to find out if they’re phobic. The shadows are targeting people who are particularly susceptible to fear.”

  “Very good,” said Holmes. “Now who are you?”

  Nick stared at him. “I am an accountant with Sidebotham and Pole.”

  “You are not.”

  “Why don’t you think so?”

  “Let’s stop the charade, shall we?” Holmes narrowed his eyes. “You are a practiced criminal—reformed but still a criminal. You are English but you have spent time in California, where your young lady was born and raised. You are desperately in need of my help to save her, and you are from the future.”

  Nick’s jaw dropped. “Watson doesn’t do you justice.”

  “No he doesn’t,” said Holmes, but that is none of my concern.”

  Nick walked over to the window, then turned around and faced the great detective.

  “Let me see if I know how you could tell. You saw me picking pockets at King’s Cross. I am obviously no amateur, but there was a hint of regret on Amanda’s face, so you knew I was doing it out of necessity.”

  Holmes did not respond.

  “You heard us speak and could tell where we were from. Most Americans cannot replicate English accents, so you figured I was the real thing.”

  A corner of Holmes’s mouth rose almost imperceptibly.

  “You saw my desperation then, and you see it now. I know you recognized me, and you know I know. I would not have come here had I not exhausted my options. I am obviously attached to Amanda and she’s not with me. Therefore she is the one in trouble and I am desperate to save her.”

  Holmes smiled ever so slightly. Nick took his reaction as a compliment.

  “I’m not sure how you figured out the part about the future though,” he said. That really was mind-boggling. There wasn�
�t a lot of science fiction available in 1890, only Verne and Wells really, which implied that general awareness of the notion of time travel wasn’t widespread. But Holmes wasn’t just anyone.

  “I saw you in Picadilly Circus,” said Holmes. “I have never beheld fasteners such as the ones on your trousers before, nor footwear like those rubber shoes you were both wearing. Since I am well acquainted with international dress styles both present and historical, and since you did not appear to have come from the sky, I could only assume that you were from the future.”

  “You’re good,” said Nick.

  “Of course I am,” said Holmes. He eyed Nick up and down. “I would guess perhaps late twentieth, early twenty-first century.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Your young lady’s attitude,” said Holmes. “Women in this day and age may be bold but they’re not equal. Your Amanda acts as if she’s every bit your peer and expects to be treated that way. Considering present and historical rates of societal change, I would say that it will take perhaps another hundred years for that to happen.”

  “Bravo,” said Nick. “You’re only thirty years off.”

  “I wonder where I went wrong then,” said Holmes. “Perhaps the rate of change has moderated.”

  “Actually it’s sped up,” Nick said.

  “A calculation for a lazy day then,” said Holmes. “Now, how can I really help you?”

  Nick told Holmes everything except for a few tidbits that made him look particularly bad. He figured he may as well since the detective probably knew it all anyway. He told him about Blixus and how he’d been adopted and fallen in love with the girl he’d been forced to target. He talked about Legatum and losing his hearing and his exile in the Midlands, and about Simon’s history machine. He told him about Stencil and Amboy and Amanda’s terrors and how he had vowed to fix her if it was the last thing he did. And then he told him about the murder.

  Throughout it all Holmes listened and did not say a word.

  Nick had never told Amanda, but there were only two things in the world he feared: losing her, and Sherlock Holmes, or at least the idea of him. He was scared to death of anyone who might be able to see through him, for all his life he’d had much to hide.

  Ever since he’d found the courage to leave Blixus he’d struggled to do the right thing. He desperately wanted to be a better person but sometimes it was easier to fall into his old ways. When that happened he’d be so ashamed he couldn’t stand himself and had turned to even more self-destructive behavior. Sometimes, believing it was all he deserved, he was even tempted to go back to his old life.

  Most of those secrets he’d never told anyone, especially Amanda. There was only so much he could ask of her kind and forgiving heart. He suspected she knew there was more but was either too tactful or too fearful to ask. He’d long wondered what he’d do if she did. He didn’t want to lie to her, but if he told her the truth he would surely lose her.

  Up to this point he hadn’t had to face her but he’d always worried that one day he would. How that might happen he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t nervous about people blabbing about him because in the worst cases only he knew the truth. What really concerned him was that someone might get the truth out of him, perhaps through the use of one of Moriarty’s formulas, or that Scapulus Holmes would turn out to be freakily perceptive like his ancestor and uncover the truth just by looking at him.

  Now, as he faced the one man who could undo him, he was on the verge of panic. He needed Holmes’s help to save the girl he loved, but that help might cause him to lose her. He’d never felt so pressured in his life.

  “You intrigue me, Mr. Muffet,” said Holmes, breaking into his thoughts, “but I’m not inclined to take your case.”

  Nick’s heart sank. “Why not?”

  Holmes laughed wryly. “Because you’re a criminal.”

  “I was desperate,” Nick protested. “Surely a little petty theft in order to survive isn’t so bad.”

  “I wasn’t referring to your pickpocketing activities,” said Holmes.

  Oh no. This was what Nick had been fearing. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about, sir,” said Holmes. “Armed robbery, assault, conspiracy to commit murder—shall I go on?”

  Nick tried to swallow but couldn’t. He’d told Holmes none of that. “There were . . . extenuating circumstances.”

  “Nevertheless you harmed people. Ruined lives.”

  “And I’m deeply sorry.”

  “Prove it,” said Holmes.

  “Do you mean that I should make restitution?” said Nick.

  “Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking,” said Holmes.

  “I don’t understand.” By this time he was sweating profusely. Anyone would have been able to read his mind, not just Holmes.

  “Don’t play games with me, Mr. Muffet.”

  “I have money. I can make payments to the victims.”

  “The dead ones?” said Holmes.

  Nick wanted to scream. The faces of his victims haunted him constantly but he couldn’t bring them back. “Obviously not,” he whispered.

  “Then there’s only one thing to do,” said Holmes. “You must turn yourself in.”

  Nick felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. He deserved prison—he knew that. But if he were to do as Holmes suggested he couldn’t save Amanda. Without a miracle from Simon she’d be doomed. How could he desert her when she needed him most?

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “Then I can’t help you,” said Holmes.

  But Nick knew that his chances of saving Amanda’s life without Holmes were minuscule. He needed the great detective’s credibility and entree to places he could never go.

  There was more, however. Without Nick, Amanda would probably never be cured even if she did manage to gain her freedom. The horrific visions would persist and she’d either lose her mind or die. He couldn’t let that happen.

  “Anything but that,” he said.

  “You fear prison then,” said Holmes.

  “I’m not afraid of being locked up, no,” said Nick. “I’ve spent my life in a kind of prison already.”

  “It’s the girl, isn’t it?” said Holmes. “There’s more there than meets the eye and it has to do with the shadows.”

  Nick’s mouth fell open. Holmes was even better than his reputation. “Yes. It’s a long story but you’re correct.”

  “And I take it that merely stopping the shadows wouldn’t be enough,” said Holmes.

  “Yes,” said Nick.

  “So you don’t want to go to prison because your Miss Lester needs you,” said Holmes. “In that case I suggest a deal.”

  Nick said nothing. Holmes’s words sounded promising but there was always a catch with him.

  “Nothing to say, eh?” said Holmes. “Smart. Very well then, here it is. You may know that I was once, er, involved with a woman. Normally I make it a rule to avoid entanglements, but in this instance I could not help myself.”

  Nick held his breath. He knew who the woman was but he could not tell where Holmes was going.

  “There was a child,” said Holmes. “I have never seen her, but I know.” He paused for a moment, lost in a reverie. “You will make sure her descendants fare well. That is my price.”

  “Sorry,” said Nick. “I don’t follow.”

  “If and when you return to your own time, and I have little doubt that you will, you will seek out Irene Adler’s descendants—my descendants—and make sure they survive. I do not ask that you become involved or change them in any way. I simply want the line to continue. Can you do that?”

  “I-I don’t know,” said Nick. “What if there are no more descendants?”

  “Then your work is done,” said Holmes. “But you must be one hundred percent certain of that before you give up. Obviously I cannot be there to supervise so I must trust you. Do you accept?”

  At first thought what Holmes was a
sking was trivial. But as Nick pondered the request he realized it was huge. It wasn’t that there might be hundreds of descendants—or none—by now. It was how to make sure they survived in a world full of peril, including whatever danger the descendants might create for themselves. When he thought about it he could see that it was nearly impossible. Holmes was good—damn good.

  “Why do you trust me to do this?” Nick asked. It made no sense. Holmes was asking the impossible from someone who would never have to account for himself.

  “Because you care,” said Holmes.

  “I’m trying to reform but I’m not perfect,” said Nick.

  “I’m not asking you to be perfect,” said Holmes. “I’m asking you because while you may be a criminal, you are nothing if not loyal. If you agree to my terms you will keep your promise because you are honorable, and because of the nature of the promise.”

  This made no sense to Nick. In what way was he honorable? And why should a promise to look after some random people who might not even exist matter to him? What was Holmes up to?

  “I can see you are uneasy,” said Holmes. “Very well then. We will consider our association at an end.”

  “No, wait,” said Nick. “I admit that I don’t understand your motives, but I understand what you’re asking me to do and I am capable of doing it. I accept your offer.”

  Holmes smiled wryly. “A wise move. Now, shall we get down to business? I will need to see the body. Meet me here at 10:00 AM sharp. I will have news for you then.”

  Nick was used to Holmes’s way of doing things, as so many of us are. He did not gush, protest, or inquire. He simply nodded and left. He looked at his watch. One AM. Nine hours to go.

  14

  Well That Answers That Question

  The trainers looked positively horrid on Despina’s feet but so be it.

  “I think you look lovely,” said Hill.