Sherlock Holmes: The Dark Reckoning

by Ian Wright

  Her world became unreal; the street lights started to swirl around her and the buildings began to spin uncontrollably. She tried to scream but her voice seemed to be trapped inside her throat. She wanted to run, but her legs would not move. Instead they seemed to buckle and twist under the weight of her body and she just swayed to and fro.

  A further flash of agonising pain forced her delirious body downwards. She saw the edge of the pavement rushing towards her and was aware of a loud snapping sound as her face smashed into the edge of the kerb. Her dazed vision saw blood upon the stony ground. The ground felt icy cold on her face as she lay, unable to move. The blood she could see around her began to seem further away and she no longer noticed the coldness. She didn’t feel frightened anymore. Instead, she felt tranquil and serene as her fears vanished and her world gradually dissolved into blackness.

  v

  The man looked down at the girl laying half on the pavement and half in the gutter. Her body twitched as he looked at it. The wild excitement he felt showed in his crazed eyes, as he stood over his victim. A drop of blood fell from the head of the hammer he held, loosely, in his right hand.

  He stood motionless, transfixed by the twitching body at his feet, until her heard a carriage approaching. He ran between two buildings, concealing himself in the shadows, as the sound of the horses hooves became louder.

  The carriage came to a halt adjacent to the girl, who was no longer twitching. The man, upon recognising the four-wheeled Clarence carriage, came out of his hiding place and walked towards it. The driver stepped onto the pavement and opened the door. The two men then lifted the girl inside. The taller of the men, who had attacked the girl, climbed into the driver’s seat, whilst the other got inside with the girl. The driver beckoned the horses to move and drove the carriage in the direction of Scotland Yard.

  Inside the carriage, the man began to undress the girl. When she was naked, he took a saw and began to cut through her left arm, at the shoulder. The girl was lying on her back. The man noticed her distorted face as the carriage stopped under a streetlight. The force with which she had struck the kerb had broken her nose and jaw, and her skin was grazed and spattered with blood. Her bruised mouth was misaligned, with the bottom part of her jaw about an inch to the left of the top part. Her nose, dribbling blood, had been forced over to the left side of her face. There was a deep red mark running down the right side of her face that extended down over her right breast, where she had hit the edge of the kerb when she fell.

  He continued sawing her left arm off, when her eyes suddenly opened and her right arm lashed out at him, badly scratching his face. He recoiled violently at the shock and pain of the sudden attack. In response, he stood and stamped on her throat. Her mouth opened and emitted a faint gurgle, but her eyes remained open, staring at him.

  He took his walking cane and, still with his foot on her throat, thrust the pointed end into her left eye, forcing the eyeball to move sideways in its socket. He pulled the cane out and then thrust it down once more into her eye. This time the end of the cane tore into her brain, damaging it too much to support life. Her body jerked and twitched for a few moments and then became perfectly still. As he removed his boot from her throat, a gush of blood spewed from her lifeless lips. He completed the task of cutting off her left arm, and then dressed her.

  The carriage continued on its journey to Whitehall, and drew to a halt in amongst some shadows, near to Scotland Yard. The two men waited until the street was quiet, and then quickly dragged the dead body of the girl from the carriage and left her under an archway.

  The larger of the men walked off, whilst the other returned to the carriage and began to consider his next move. He smiled, inwardly, with the knowledge that others were finally starting to pay for what they had done.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat and beckoned the horses to move. The carriage vanished into the night, merging with the darkness, as the fog slowly swirled around the streets of London.

  Chapter 4

  In a quiet street, called Lisle Street, a hammer laid covered by frost. It had been accidently dropped in a moment of excitement and fear…

  v

  The past became the present as a man with wings flew away, eluding, once more, a man with a giant net. The net fell from the man’s grip and he found himself in a warehouse filled with the limbs of dead bodies. Various tools were scattered around, such as screwdrivers, saws and hammers. The place was full of boxes, none of which would open. Some boxes were stacked on top of each other, towering over the man, who was Holmes.

  Holmes walked through the passageways formed between the towering boxes, and found himself in front of a set of giant interlocking cog wheels, slowly turning like those of a massive clock. As he approached, the wheels ceased turning.

  The warehouse vanished and Holmes found himself running along an alley, but when he looked to his side, he saw that he was not moving. He stopped running, shouted, and closed his eyes. When his eyes reopened he was looking at a sign that read, ‘J. J. Smith’. Bemused, he looked up at the large, ugly building the sign was fixed upon. Its dirty walls were dotted with numerous filthy windows. The roof looked like the serrated edge of a saw with its repeating peaks. The words ‘Paul’s Wharf’ were written boldly in black letters on a strip of the wall that had been whitewashed.

  Below, wreckages of small boats lay upon the muddy bed of the Thames. The tide was out and the water of the river ran like a narrow ribbon along the middle of the river bed.

  Somehow, Holmes was now contemplating a narrow flight of steps that descended from Upper Swandam Lane. He began to walk down the steps and was confronted by a large, heavy door. Cautiously, he opened the door and walked through into a long room, which had a low ceiling. The ceiling had black painted wooden beams running across it. At the far end was another door, only just visible through the smoke that filled the room.

  Holmes did not venture far into the room. He looked around the dingy, smoky atmosphere and saw several inhabitants sitting or lying idle, the curse of this opium den having claimed their souls.

  The door at the far end of the room was opened, and a dead body dragged out. As he stared towards the door, its surrounding walls became transparent so that he could see two men drag the body to the water’s edge and throw it into the river. The Thames had acquired yet another secret to keep.

  As the two men returned and closed the door, the thick, brown opium smoke manifested itself into the form of a faceless figure. The figure became a man with wings, but, suddenly, he vanished through the door at the far end of the room. Once again the man with wings had evaded Holmes.

  Holmes gave chase and saw a young girl ahead clip one of the man’s wings, slightly damaging it. Two policemen appeared and managed to trip the man, but he quickly got back up and took off into the air.

  Holmes found the net in his hands again and was running with Watson, chasing the flying man who flew just above them, slightly out of reach. Holmes jumped and, this time, caught the man in his net. Both Holmes and Watson looked at the man, now tangled and writhing around in the net. A face formed upon the figure…

  v

  A judge was building the Houses of Parliament, and then a rope tightened…

  v

  The confused dreams remained with Holmes, as he gradually regained consciousness. As the potent cocktail of hallucinogenic drugs slowly wore off he knew, from his strange dreams, why Sir Charles Grey was dead.

  Chapter 5

  “I do wish you would refrain from using drugs, Holmes,” said Watson, with a worried look upon his face.

  “Do stop moaning, Watson! I hadn’t touched any drugs for months, prior to last night.”

  Mrs. Hudson arrived with the breakfast and morning papers, noticing the disarray in the room. She shook her head disapprovingly at the mass of the files, books and folders scattered everywhere, but said nothing. She had heard the commotion the previous evening and knew Holmes would have been desperately searching for somethi
ng.

  The two men sat at the table to eat. Holmes checked the date on the first newspaper he picked up, to find that it was Friday 9th December. His mind was still somewhat disoriented from the drugs he had taken the previous night. Flicking through the papers, he discovered an article that he had been hoping to find under the headline, ‘Grey Day in Parliament’.

  “I say, Watson, look at this headline. It’s in rather bad taste, as the article describes the death of Sir Charles Grey.”

  “Why do you purchase such papers, Holmes, if they offend you so much?”

  “I like to obtain as much information as possible. Although newspapers, such as The Times, provide good accounts, the views of the journalists that write the articles usually have a certain bias. Also, no single source of information contains all pertinent facts. Less serious papers often reveal information missing from the others.”

  Holmes read through every article he could find on Sir Charles Grey as he ate his breakfast. Most articles were more concerned with the political ramifications, rather than with details of the murder. All Holmes discovered was that the post-mortem had revealed nothing he didn’t already know. Holmes decided to visit Dr. Death at the mortuary later that day to get a first hand account.

  The men finished their breakfasts in silence. Holmes looked at the files lying all over the room that he had abandoned the previous night.

  He turned to Watson and said, “I had the strangest dream last night.”

  “I’m not surprised, considering the narcotics you took.”

  “Yes, I know, Watson! Please refrain from lecturing me! Anyhow, the dream has provided me with a clue. I now know where to look amongst these files.” Holmes waved his hand, loosely pointing at the files scattered throughout the room. His eyes scanned the room as he searched for the file that had been revealed to him in the dream. Suddenly, his face lit up as he recognised the file he was seeking on the floor. Holmes obtained the information he sought, from the file, with a triumphant smile upon his face.

  Watson shook his head in disbelief and asked, “How can a dream lead you to a clue in a murder investigation?”

  “If my dream is to be believed, which I think it is; then someone is taking revenge for the execution of the murderer described in this file.” Holmes held the file up towards Watson and then went on to tell him about the dream, including how he had chased the man with wings, the body that was dumped in the river from the opium den and the girl that had clipped the flying man’s wings.

  Watson was completely confused and asked, “What on earth can you deduce from all that nonsense?”

  “Oh do come along, Watson!” exclaimed Holmes, taking a book that Watson was toying with and gently hitting him on the head with it. Watson looked shocked, as Holmes laughed because of the sound the book made as it hit his head.

  Watson became angrier as Holmes continued to laugh, and suddenly shouted, “That was jolly bad form, Holmes!”

  “I’m sorry, old man,” giggled Holmes. “The book made such a funny thud as it hit you on the head. It was very amusing, but I should not have hit you with it.”

  “I should hope that you are sorry! It’s a bit much, you know – bopping a fellow’s book on his head!”

  “I have already apologized, Watson. Tell me, how would you describe the book?”

  “It’s bloody heavy!”

  Watson’s quick response caused both men to laugh. When they had composed themselves, Holmes continued, “Come along, Watson. It has been three days since the murder of Sir Charles Grey, so we must get to work.”

  “But today is Friday, Holmes, and Sir Charles was found on Wednesday. That’s only two days.”

  “He was discovered on Wednesday, but murdered on Tuesday, according to what we were told by Dr. Death.”

  “Yes, of course. How silly of me. You were about to tell me of your dream. Perhaps, you could also explain why you’ve made such a mess with all these files.”

  Holmes looked around the room and smiled, as he anticipated Mrs. Hudson’s response to the prospect of cleaning up such disarray.

  He then looked at Watson and said, “There is something about the events that have transpired, which leads me to believe this is all connected to an old case. I was searching for clues, but found only frustration, hence the mess. Now, let us analyse my dream.”

  “Very well, old fellow. But I’m afraid that you’ll have to begin as I can’t make any sense of what you’ve told me so far.”

  “Watson, I never expected anything else,” smiled Holmes, jokingly. “My first thought is that the man with wings represents a criminal. Furthermore, I believe myself to be the man chasing him with the large net. The fact that he managed to evade me on several occasions, despite my attempts to capture him, has great significance.”

  “Yes, I think I understand. Perhaps you were trying to prove the criminal’s guilt in some case, but he was able to escape justice as you were unable to provide enough evidence to have him convicted.”

  “Bravo, Watson!” exclaimed Holmes, delighting in his colleague’s interpretation. “Your reasoning matches mine precisely. Let us continue. The large warehouse containing various limbs illustrates that the man with wings was most likely a murderer. Moreover, he was a serial killer, and carried out his crimes over a relatively small area.”

  “I can see how the limbs imply the man to be a serial killer, but how do you deduce that he confined his crimes to a small area?”

  “Oh, that’s quite simple to explain. The warehouse I found myself in represents his territory, and it wasn’t very big in the dream. Furthermore, the warehouse contained many boxes that I perceived to be hidden clues. I knew that the clues were there, but were concealed from me, which is why I was unable to open the boxes in the dream.”

  “What about the giant interlocking wheels? What do they represent?” asked Watson, now completely intrigued.

  Holmes laughed as he replied, “Ah yes, the wheels. They represented the wheels of justice. As I had not been able to provide enough evidence to secure a conviction, justice could not be served, and so the wheels stopped turning. Watson, I mentioned that I found myself running in an alley, but not achieving any movement. What do you make of that?”

  “I think that it illustrates your frustration. You were trying to apprehend a killer by finding evidence against him. This is shown, in the dream, by your efforts to reach the end of the alley. As you were unable to produce sufficient evidence, your progress was hindered and so you were not moving anywhere, even though you were running. I think that when you stopped and shouted, you did so out of shear frustration, which led to you finding the clue you were so desperately seeking.”

  “Yes, I concur,” replied Holmes, “Except for the reason that I shouted. Don’t forget that, as well as shouting, I also closed my eyes. I feel that the alley represents a particular line of investigation that I was pursuing. Upon realising that it was leading me nowhere, I stopped and shouted, as you mentioned, in frustration. I then discontinued this particular line of enquiry and so, in the dream, I closed my eyes. Upon opening my eyes, I saw the sign ‘J. J. Smith’. This can be explained as me having found a new line of enquiry to my investigation.”

  Watson smiled, whilst shaking his head. “Holmes, you never cease to impress me with your ability to make such connections. I would never have attached any significance to you closing your eyes.”

  “Everything in the dream has significance, Watson.”

  Holmes poured himself some water and took a sip, as he continued, “The sign ‘J. J. Smith’ is on the side of Paul’s Wharf, facing the river. As you may, or may not, be aware, this building is on the north bank of the Thames, in Blackfriars. In fact, it is just a stone’s throw to the east of Blackfriars Bridge. I remember going there to catch the murderer.”

  “Are you saying that this sign has no symbolic meaning, Holmes?”

  “Indeed. This is one part of my dream that adheres to the actual course of events. I vividly recall Paul’s Wharf
. I first encountered it from the south bank of the Thames, and was immediately struck by what an ugly building it was. The tide was low, revealing the rotting timbers of old boats, embedded in the mud. These rotting remains lying in front of the decaying edifice of the building compounded its ugliness. I crossed Blackfriars Bridge and ventured towards the wharf. I found an unlocked entrance and ventured inside, purely out of curiosity.”

  Holmes paused, causing Watson to prompt, “Go on, Holmes. What did you find inside?”

  “The place was damp with the smell of the river. It appeared to have been unused for quite some time. I slowly advanced into the building, very carefully, due to the darkness. I could hear a lot of strange noises all around me. It was not until my eyes adjusted to the dim light that I discovered the source of these noises. Scurrying in and out of old boxes, rusting anchors and other debris, were rats. There must have been hundreds, as the entire place seemed to be crawling with them. At one stage, I thought the shock of seeing them all was about to render me unconscious.”

  Holmes watched, as Watson shuddered, and then continued, “I believe the only reason I remained conscious was the realisation that the rats would have crawled all over me, if I had fallen. I remember cursing myself for walking in so foolishly.”

  “How did you get out, Holmes?”

  “I lit a match in the hope that it would cause the rats to run away from me. Instead, it simply caused the vermin to run in all directions, like a sea of vile creatures. I just had to slowly make my way back to the door I had used to enter. Eventually, I reached the door and, with a sigh of relief, made my way through it.”

  “So what happened next?” asked Watson, now utterly enthralled.

  “I continued a short distance along Upper Swandam Lane, which incidentally, the wharf backs on to. It is a nasty little alley, Watson. The very fact of my presence in such a squalid place made me feel ill at ease. Anyhow, Paul’s Wharf is a large warehouse that has been divided into two. An archway runs along the divide from Upper Swandam Lane to the river’s edge. It runs like a long tunnel through the building. I walked into the archway, which was dark and imposing. Approximately thirty feet from the river, on the right, there is a set of steps leading down from the tunnel to a low black door. I carefully walked down the steps to the door.”