Sherlock Holmes Blood Orchid

by John Pirillo

  Watson took Constable Evans right arm with his hand. “Tell me what happened to her? Where? When?”

  “She had a blood orchid, same as this one, lying just inside the bosom of her blouse.”

  “Tell us what happened to her?” Holmes demanded.

  Then Constable Evans did.

  Chapter Four: Late Night Walk

  Carolyn and Richard Mayfield worked at the docks on the MidBells shift. They were very fortunate. They had a job where both were in the same building.

  Carolyn, going on thirty, petite and smiling all the time, rarely got in an argument and all the men of her shift loved her. There was even talk of her one day taking over when the General Manger retired, which should be soon now.

  She managed shipping and had the official title of Shipping and Goods Manager.

  Her husband was tall and broad shouldered. Not as bright at bookkeeping and math as she, he was smart also, but more in terms of organizing crews. So he was officially titled Crew Manager.

  Over two hundred men and women worked in the building they managed. And that was just on their shift. So when anything of note occurred there, almost a thousand people knew about it.

  “Night!” Richard told the Morning Shift Manager, Axel Rumford.

  “See you at noon?” Axel shot at him as he turned to leave.

  “Make sure the kids come too,” Richard told Axel. “We love having them around, you know…”

  Axel nodded. He did. Carolyn was not capable of having children. She had been in a serious accident as a child that had damaged her sexual organs. She had been lucky to have survived at all.

  “Will do, laddie!” Axel told his younger friend. Although only five years older, he still saw Richard as a child compared to himself.

  Richard found Carolyn signing out at the log on the way out and he followed suit.

  “Call a cab?” He asked.

  She shook her head. “The sun’s almost up. Let’s walk. It’s only a couple miles. We haven’t had a stroll in forever.”

  He looked into her eyes and marveled at the depth of warmth he found there. He always did. She had been a profound influence on his life from the beginning when they had met at Church of Mother Mary for Sunday prayers.

  He had seen her from behind and thought she looked interesting. Bold if not brash, he had whistled at her in the middle of prayers.

  Not only Father Murphy, but she and dozens of others had turned to look at him.

  He had flashed his best smile at Carolyn and waved as well.

  She had blushed.

  After church he couldn’t get that beautiful face out of his thoughts and he did another brash thing. He hopped into the same cab she had just climbed into.

  “Hello?” He had said.

  She had given him a stunned look and then laughed.

  That was the beginning of the best days of his life.

  They waved at their friends still checking out, then held hands, tightened up their coats against the sea breeze and began walking.

  They talked about the sea gulls, the pigeons that made their rounds above their home, the merchant ships that were sailing down the Thames, the rumors of war with Germany. Everything and anything. They loved hearing each other’s voices. And they were in love and when one is in love like they, even the slightest of moments is precious to self.

  A perfect couple could never have been made any more perfect.

  “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

  They both stopped and turned around.

  Chapter Five: Tram Station

  Holmes and Watson passed over the yellow tape that was blocking access to the tram platform. A Station Manager paced worriedly in his office, glancing out the one window that overlooked the platform as he did so.

  Constable Evans arrived with his father, Inspector Bloodstone, nodded to Holmes and Watson, and then went into the station proper to speak with the Station Manager.

  Challenger and Conan were pacing the track. Even though the train barely touched the tracks because of the powerful engines that lifted it to lighten its load and speed up its travels, the wheels on occasion touched down and on those areas which tended to be the same because of braking patterns and timing, the tracks were glass smooth.

  Challenger had hiked about a mile up the track and Conan the opposite direction. Both men were bushed, but they wouldn’t miss out on the action for anything.

  As Challenger made his way back along the tracks towards the station he thought of Harry, who was missing out on everything. Harry was on a special mission for the Queen. He was really looking forward to Harry’s return, because it would mean the team would be back together again and probably involved with the Queen’s mission as well.

  Harry had insisted on going first to protect his friends from possible adverse circumstances as he called them. But Challenger knew that merely was a softer way of saying that dark magic was involved and they might not be safe from it. Or more exactly, Harry, as powerful a wizard as he was, might not be able to save them in an emergency.

  Challenger shuddered at that thought.

  They’d been through a lot together, he, Harry and Conan, but of late the tasks had grown more cumbersome, and infinitely more dangerous. He smiled in spite of that negative outlook. It was not his nature to dwell on the past, or on the negative. He was a man of action.

  Harry, a tremendous onstage personality, in real life was quite modest in a flamboyant sort of way and quite charming to the ladies, which forever got him in trouble with Mina Harker, the love of his life, who continued to stick to him despite his sometimes falling from moral certitude in his liaisons.

  But flawed as Harry was in some ways, h e was first and foremost an honest and sincere man. When he made mistakes he owed up to them. He never liked to Mina and maybe that was another reason she endured his infrequent peccadilloes, but more likely she knew she would outlive him and just felt sorry for his limited lifespan. Being the daughter of Count Dracula, she didn’t age at the same rate as other women might.

  Challenger continued searching. He wasn’t sure for what; just that he would know when he saw it.

  Harry would understand that. He was a highly intuitive man. This is partially why he was so exceptional at his magic as well as his stage performances.

  Challenger could relate to that. Just as he was the master of exploration and digging into tunnels, caverns and thick jungles, so was Harry as equally adept at sniffing out the darker magics through his intuition and handy use of personal magic.

  He worried for his friend at that moment anyway, but then he shook it off the moment he remembered that Mina Harker was traveling with Harry. She would never let harm come to his friend. Ever!

  He stopped suddenly. Why hadn’t he been using his torch? Oh yes, he had excellent night vision. Still.

  He had almost missed it.

  He stooped and retrieved what he had spotted.

  He frowned. Why would someone put a flower between the train tracks? Then he held it up closer and turned his torch on it.

  He gasped.

  No wonder it had been hard for him to see clearly. It was a…blood orchid! They were almost licorice black and had a deep red throat with narrow stripes of white hard to see if standing too far away.

  He almost crossed himself and dropped the dratted thing. Everyone who had ever come into contact with the occult symbols…usually died.

  Something wicked this way comes flashed through his mind.

  Then a voice startled him from his musings.

  “Rather late to be taking a stroll along the tracks, isn’t it, Professor Challenger?”

  Challenger was so startled by the voice and the lack of any footsteps accompanying it he did what normally would have been a foolish thing for him. He stumbled on a track tie and fell forward.

  This probably saved his life.

  “Challenger!”

  He rolled over, reaching for his weapon, but whoever had spoken to him was gone, and then he realized he had a
sharp cut on the back of his head. He sat up and felt it. He looked.

  Blood!

  Holmes and Watson came running up.

  “What happened?”Holmes questioned him. “Did you get a look at the man with the knife?”

  “Knife?” Then he remembered the blood on his hands.

  Watson pulled Challenger’s head forward. “Dear God, Challenger, you have a gash at least nine inches long across the top of your head.”

  And that was the last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness.

  Chapter Six: Saint Mary’s Hospital

  “Did you see any brains when you performed the surgery, Watson?” Conan asked.

  “Not really,” Watson replied drolly.

  Holmes chuckled. “A man driven as he is requires no brains, just stamina.”

  Harry Houdini laughed. “Seriously, Holmes? Seriously?”

  “Oh quite, I’ve known him forever and not once has he ever relied on his brains to do anything worthwhile.”

  Conan, Harry and Watson laughed.

  Holmes sighed. “I wonder when he’ll come back to his senses.”

  “Probably never,” Conan laughed.

  “I beg your pardon!” Challenger roared, his eyes popping open.

  He tried to sit up and two pair of hands restrained him

  “Easy old chap, your brains are likely to spill all over the place and we wouldn’t want you to lose any more of them than you already had,” Harry told Challenger as he grinned into his face.

  Challenger then realized he was on a hospital bed. And he had a huge lump on his skull, part of which was a huge bandage and another part his swollen scalp as a result of the wound.

  Holmes nodded and Harry and Watson let go of Challenger’s shoulders.

  He glared at them.

  “I don’t fancy the way you all were just talking about me. I have more than enough brains to go around for all of us.”

  Conan and Harry exchanged confused looks.

  Holmes smiled. “Challenger, you’ve been heavily sedated for hours. And we only just walked in here with the permission of your doctor.”

  Watson grinned. “I fancy I did a bang up job on that thick skull of yours. Which fortunately for you, truly is thick. The blade that was used on your head was quite sharp. Had the man been just a fraction closer, he actually might have reached your brains…as little as they are,” Watson finished with a grin, “…when you’re sedated.”

  Challenger had been about to explode again until he realized Watson was merely trying to humor him and distract him from the pain that was suddenly beginning to return overwhelming, as if he had been struck over the head by a sledgehammer. Which from his memories, he had in the past.

  Challenger calmed down, once he realized he had just been under the influence of the drugs Watson had administered to him.

  “How long have I been out?”

  Holmes pulled his pocket watch from his vest pocket and cocked an eyebrow. “Well, if you don’t count the several hours it took us to lug you to a proper vehicle, perform quick bandaging to stop the blood flow, rush through downtown London traffic and…”

  Challenger held up a hand. “I get it. Long!”

  Holmes nodded with a smile, and then he gave Challenger a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, Challenger, whoever attacked you didn’t spoil your good looks.”

  “Not that he ever had any,” Conan quipped.

  Challenger scowled at Conan. “You fiend!”

  “Don’t be so hard on Conan, Challenger,” Watson told him. “He carried you all by himself to the waiting ambulance.”

  “Really? Conan?”

  Conan groaned as he stretched. “Yes, and I have a sprained back to prove it. You really need to go on a diet, Challenger.”

  Challenger barked with laughter.

  Then he stopped.

  “I was cut and I didn’t even feel it.”

  “Did you feel anything at all?” Holmes asked, his face now deadly serious. “Anything?”

  “Well, first thing I heard this voice behind me. No sound of footsteps, no rocks rattling against the tracks from movement. And you know how much gravel they always lay down beside the tracks.”

  “I do,” Holmes replied.

  “But for some crazy reason when I heard the voice it made me lose my balance and I stumbled.”

  He glanced at his friends, who were all listening intently now, their faces as serious as Holmes.

  “I guess that’s when he struck me with the knife.”

  Challenger sighed unhappily. “I didn’t have a chance to see him at all. Only the Blood orchid I had picked up. Last thing I remember.”

  “Blood orchid?” Holmes asked. “Where?”

  “I found it on the tracks. Very peculiar. I don’t see how it could have survived any train passing over the track and it had not all that long before. Some kind of small miracle that.”

  Harry and Holmes exchanged glances.

  “Tell me, Challenger; was the voice familiar in any way?” Holmes asked.

  But his words were lost on Challenger. The man’s eyes had slammed shut and his head fallen to the side.

  “Challenger!” Conan cried out in concern.

  Watson turned to Conan. He held up a syringe. “His blood pressure was accelerating. And in his condition it could precipitate a stroke or heart attack. I could tell by the way his eyes were dilating that he was under a great deal of strain from the head injury.”

  Conan nodded. “Yes, yes, I should have realized. He’s lucky to be alive.”

  Holmes looked away, the gears of his mind turning on the information he did have.

  “Harry, did you learn anything on your jaunt?” Conan asked.

  “Actually, I did,” Harry announced proudly. Then he lost the smile crinkling his face. “And none of it good.”

  Chapter Seven: Founders Hall

  Earlier.

  Byron Forthright and Ellen Forbes passed the guard on duty. The night watchman. He was officially a constable and officially off duty, working for extra money for them to make sure that everyone leaving the hall were safely to their vehicles.

  Lately, there had been rumors of violence in the area. A new London Gang had surfaced of late that preyed on lone individuals, who traveled alone at night. They would knock them unconscious and if a male, beat them and strip them naked. They never took anything valuable. They were just cruel.

  The women. Byron shuddered at the image of what he had been told about that.

  The constable touched his cap to him and Ellen. “Goodnight! Will there be any others of your group departing this evening?”

  “No, Constable Arnold, we’re the last!” Byron told the constable.

  “Very good. Your carriage should be here shortly. It’s always on time and it’s only a minute off its normal time.”

  “How can you tell?” Ellen asked him, curious as to how the man knew their routine.

  “Oh, easy enough. You two never leave the hall before ten to MidBells and it always arrives right about…”

  MidBells began to sound in the distance.

  Ellen and Byron exchanged amused glances, then looks of surprise when their carriage rolled into view around the corner and the driver pulled the carriage to a stop in front.

  But something was wrong about the driver.

  He wasn’t wearing his normal livery.

  “Something wrong, sir?” Constable Arnold asked, watching the expression on Byron’s face.

  “No, no, probably just tired is all. It’s just…”

  He leaned closer to the constable and whispered, “That’s not our driver.”

  “Perhaps a new one?”

  But Ellen was already stepping down to get into the carriage.

  The driver nodded to her, his eyes shining brightly from the reflected moonlight. She nodded back, not really looking into his face.

  “Seems fine to me, sir,” Constable Arnold pointed out as she got safely into the carriage.

  Byron
shrugged. “Probably just touchy because of all the rumors going about. And drivers are not chained to their coaches now, are they?”

  Constable Arnold laughed. “Ah, those rumors. Well, there’s some truth to them, there is. But I don’t think you have anything to fear this night.”

  Then a scream came from inside the carriage.

  Arnold and Constable Arnold both turned to look, but the driver was gone.

  They rushed to the carriage. The door had been flung open, as if someone were in a hurry to leave. Ellen was sprawled across the back seat, her arms dangling over into the foot section.

  A Blood orchid sprouted from the cleavage of her blouse and tiny streams of blood were coursing down her chest just below the orchid and onto the floor.

  “Dear God!” Byron hollered. “Constable, do something!”

  Silence.

  “Constable, my friend has been brutally murdered. Do…something!” He demanded.

  “Perhaps I can help?” A voice asked.

  Byron felt the chill of Arctic winter settle upon his soul as he turned to look at who had spoken.

  Chapter Eight: 221B Baker Street

  “A blood orchid?” Harry asked. “Where?”

  Watson, seated across from Conan, moved a pawn into place, then looked at Harry, who was shuffling a deck of cards and making them fly up into the air, and back into their places in the deck…perfectly.

  “At each of the crime scenes. Carefully placed on the victim’s bodies.”

  “Yes, Watson and not only that…but the women in their cleavage and the men in less convenient spots,” Holmes spoke up.

  Harry looked over at Holmes. “I’ve seen this before, Holmes.”

  Holmes cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

  “In India. There is a deadly cult there. They are called the Worshippers of Kali and they use the blood orchid as their symbol of worship.”

  Watson raised both eyebrows. “We’ve run into their cult before, haven’t we, Holmes?”

  Holmes eyed Watson questioningly, and then Watson abruptly shut up. That was another Holmes and not this one.

  “What did you learn of them, Harry?” Holmes asked.