by John Pirillo
Conan moved his chess piece and turned to listen.
“They believe that whoever is blessed by the blood orchid is saved from having to be reborn. They achieve liberation from the cycle of birth and death.”
Holmes chuckled. “If only it were that easy.”
“Oh, it’s not,” Harry said, his expression deadly serious.
“Each person that is given a blood orchid is usually found dead, horribly mutilated. They die terribly!”
Conan shook his head. “Savages!”
Harry turned to Conan. “Oh, that’s not the worst of it. These worshippers are not the ignorant or the confused; they are highly literate and educated people…usually top of society.”
“But here in London?” Conan said with a sneer. “Fat chance of that happening here. No proper Englishman would ever have anything to do with such barbaric practices.”
Holmes frowned. “We are not dealing with a proper Englishman. And you appear to have forgotten about the followers that Moriarity accumulated. They performed similar murders.”
“Yes,” Conan agreed. “But neither Moriarity nor his murderous cult of followers exists any longer.”
“You hope,” Watson said.
Conan gave Watson a nervous look.
Watson shrugged.
“No, wait!” Harry said, raising a hand for attention. “Watson, didn’t you say that Challenger was greeted in a very proper voice by the attacker?”
Watson sat up sharply on his chair. “By Jove, he most certainly did!”
He glanced at Holmes.
Holmes steepled his fingers in thought, but said nothing.
“Watson, did you notice anything unusual during your autopsy?”
Watson frowned. “Yes. Most peculiar.”
“Explain,” Holmes asked.
The others turned to watch Watson, who shuddered once before speaking as if a sudden, sharp and icy wind had blown across him. “The insides.”
“Yes, yes, Watson, please continue,” Holmes demanded.
Watson eyed his friends a moment, as if weighing how he should approach them with his observations.
“Things were growing inside.”
“What sort of things?”
Before Watson could speak further Mrs. Hudson broke the sudden chill in the air when she came upstairs with a huge tray of warm sandwiches and a pot of steaming coffee.
“Still telling horror stories? Come, come, gentleman, and a little food will bring the color back into your faces, as well as your hearts.”
Watson jumped up to help her. “Dear, no need for you to bother yourself this late at night.”
She scowled at him. “What, and I’m not man enough to endure such hours? I’ll have you know my mother was in labor for forty eight hours and still managed to cook dinner for all of us kids the next morning.”
She put the tray down and hurried out of the room.
“That was peculiar,” Conan muttered.
“Not at all,” Watson said, setting up plates for everyone. “She’s just worried about Challenger as much as the rest of us.”
He winked. “She’s a tad off her game when she’s worried about one of us.”
“God bless her!” Conan uttered, truly meaning it.
“He has,” Watson added with a grin.
Harry and Conan burst into laughter.
“What was so funny?” Watson demanded.
No one spoke up.
But the smell of food soon overcame the irritation they had briefly felt with each other. They began setting up their food to eat.
Then. Just as they began to settle down and eat, a pounding came from the front door.
Watson took the sandwich from his mouth and put it back gently on his plate, got up and headed for the coat rack.
“Whatever’s gotten into you, Watson?” Holmes asked with a smile.
“Fiendish thoughts and visions of tearing a killer’s face from his head for interrupting our sleep and meals for the fourth time this evening.”
Conan pulled out his pocket watch. “Morning actually, Watson. Only one hour shy of morning traffic, I fancy.”
Watson just growled angrily and headed downstairs.
Chapter Nine: Founder’s Hall
Holmes, Harry, Conan and Watson climbed forth from the police wagon they had ridden in. Constable Evans climbed from the driver’s seat and joined them as they headed for a taped off area, which included a carriage and two bodies.
Inspector Bloodstone stood waiting for them, his breath making foggy spirals in the air as he breathed. He frowned at them as they joined him.
“This is just one hellishly bloody mess,” he described in no uncertain terms. “The Queen awoke me not even forty minutes ago. It seems that Founders Hall is quite important to her and…”
He gestured to the two tarp covered victims.
He eyed Holmes thoughtfully. “Strangest thing is that each one of the bodies had a bloody orchid attached to them.”
Holmes and Harry exchanged glances.
Watson lifted the first tarp to reveal Ellen’s body. The blood orchid was tucked in the usual spot, between her cleavage and just above her blouse. He went to the next body and drew that tarp aside.
It was Byron, a blood orchid peeking from the top of his trousers.
“Disgusting!” Watson declared.
“Quite so,” Holmes agreed as he noted the positions of the orchids.
Harry stood there, his eyes narrowed in thought.
“The two power centers of the male and female.”
“Power centers?” Watson demanded. “How can a flower have anything to do with any kind of power?”
“Oh, Watson, do mind your manners,” Holmes reminded him. “Harry is not speaking of any such thing as earthly powers, but rather spiritual powers. Were you not, Harry?”
“Indeed,” Harry replied, confirming Holmes statement.
He touched his heart and then his crotch area. “Two important chakras. The lower one generates the power to create anything. The upper one, he touched his heart, is what opens us up to the Will of God and all that is of love.”
“Sounds like a bunch of rubbish to me,” Watson said with a yawn. “God, my eyeballs feel like a cat scratched them out of their sockets.”
Holmes patted his friend on his shoulder. “Cheer up, Watson; I suspect this crime spree is near an end.”
“How can you say that?” Watson demanded.
“Because of this…”
Holmes had been looking towards the far steps of Founders Hall and spotted something small and black laying on the second step.
He headed that way, followed by the others.
He leaned down and plucked a blood orchid up and turned it over so everyone could see it.
“The killer’s calling card.”
“But no body,” Conan pointed out.
“Exactly,” Holmes agreed. “And I find it hard to believe anyone as capable as this killer would leave anyone about to identify them. This might explain the drops of blood leading to the doors.”
“But we haven’t even examined the steps yet, Holmes. How could you know that?” Inspector Bloodstone demanded.
“Elementary, dear Inspector. As you know the Queen finds this Founders Hall to be important…”
“Therefore there would be a guard,” the Inspector added with a smile.
“Brilliant, Holmes! But even so where is he then? We only found two bodies.”
“Look here!” Harry pointed.
Several steps up there was a spot of blood.
They rushed to examine it.
Holmes dropped to a knee and touché it. “Still wet.”
Watson dropped beside him and examined the splotch, then spotted a second higher up.
“A second one.”
They got to their feet and followed the spots of blood higher and higher until they came to a pair of tall doors, which closed Founder’s Hall.
Holmes turned to Constable Evans. “Has anyone passed th
rough these doors?”
“Not a soul, Holmes.”
Holmes took his handkerchief out and touched the right door knob. He plucked it back and revealed blood.
Constable Evans ran down the steps and began giving orders to the constables, who went to their police wagons and began harnessing weapons to their belts in preparation for a possible battle.
Holmes eyed the tall doors. He tried opening one. “They appear to be locked.”
He reached out and touched the other door. But it didn’t resist. Instead, it squeaked open, revealing a pitch black interior.
“There should be power on,” Constable Evans said as he joined them at the entrance.
“Get that blasted power back on!” Inspector Bloodstone roared at his men.
Several of them scramble towards the side of the building.
“I suggest we not enter without a light,” Holmes said.
They didn’t have to wait too long.
The power came back on.
Lying on the floor, just inside the entrance was Constable Arnold, a Blood orchid at the top of his pants, his chest slashed open, pools of blood about him.
“Bastards!” Inspector Bloodstone cursed.
Holmes stepped closer to the Inspector. “Bastards?”
Inspector Bloodstone eyed his son, and then sighed. “I was hoping it wasn’t true, but it apparently is.”
He looked into Holmes face.
“There is more than one of them!”
“There’s more, isn’t there?” Holmes asked. “You were expecting us to find this body, weren’t you?”
Inspector Bloodstone looked away. “Yes. The modus operandi of this criminal…these criminals…is that once someone has been given the Blood orchid or even see it, they will die.”
Conan crossed himself.
Watson and Holmes immediately looked at each other.
“Challenger!” They both cried out.
The sound of their cry startled someone in the shadows. They darted deeper into the darkness of the hall, knocking chairs aside as they plummeted deeper into the darkness of the auditorium.
There were no lights on inside that room.
Chapter Ten: Shadows Move
“This way, Watson!” Holmes cried out and leaped over a table, landed on another and leaped from table top to table top, with Watson close behind, flashing his torch ahead of him and Holmes to light their path.
Conan, Constable Evans, Harry and the Inspector broke up into pairs and took the right and left aisles, sweeping down them with weapons ready.
The shadow sprang from its hiding place near the stage of the hall, leaped onstage and then ran for the side exit.
Holmes stooped as he landed on the next table. He had spotted a large, heavy ashtray. He grabbed it and gave it a toss with all his might.
The ashtray smashed into the legs of the runner. They fell forward from the impact and smashed into a stack of chairs that were piled ten high.
The chairs tilted over on the person.
A scream.
More chairs fell as that pile knocked into the next and then the next.
More screams.
Constables came running into the Hall, torches in one hand and weapons in the other.
The overhead stage lights slammed on.
Holmes stepped back from the huge switch for the stage lights he had just thrown and eyed the tumble of heavy chairs and writhing limbs.
“Inspector,” he said as the Inspector stopped before the nearest of the people struggling to break free of the weights on them.
“I suspect this will cover your explanation of more than one.”
Harry suddenly snapped alert.
“See here, Holmes!”
Holmes came over and Harry grabbed the man’s arm, stopping it from moving. He twisted it hard to the right, eliciting a scram of pain from the buried man, but didn’t let go.
Holmes stooped closer and looked at what Harry had notice. Inscribed on the fallen man’s wrist. The blood orchid!
“Holmes!” Watson hollered as a horrible thought flashed into his mind.
“Watson!” Holmes cried out. The capture of the cult members had chased thoughts of Challenger from his mind, but now he remembered. Their friend was in grave danger if any more of the cult members were out and about.
“Hurry!” Holmes urged his friends. “Challenger’s life could be in great danger!”
“Inspector, we’re through here,” Holmes hollered at the Inspector as he ran past him and the gathering constables.
Watson and the other friends ran after Holmes. Their fear they might be too late to save Challenger burning into their hearts!
Chapter Eleven: Saint Mary’s Hospital
Challenger was snoring so loud that a passing nurse in the hall outside fully expected to see a huge train come barreling down the hallway any second now.
She smiled, and then turned into a right room, after opening its door and closing it.
The hallway was still again.
Inside Challenger’s room he lay on his bed, arms stretched out as if he were about to be laid upon a cross. His favorite sleeping position. He had finally gotten comfortable with the pains in his head, thanks to Watsons’ timely shot.
A vase of flowers sat on a table next to his free hand. It was filled with beautiful roses. An antique. It had a gift card lying against it and a note that read, “Get well, I love you. Mrs. Hudson!”
Challenger’s face had looked haggard and strained, but now it was composed and peaceful as if all that had happened previously were no longer in his mind on any level whatsoever.
The door to the room opened. The lights in the room went out and a shadow fell across Challenger’s body.
Challenger snorted once, then started awake, perhaps because he was more finely attuned to danger to his life than most, or more likely because a large cockroach had just crawled onto his pillow and onto his right ear.
He smacked his ear with his hand, chasing the bug out, and then scowled angrily. “Blasted cockroaches are everywhere these days!”
Then he spotted a shadowed form standing at the foot of his bed. He also noticed that the lights were now out.
“Nurse, I specifically demanded that the lights remain on!”
Then the cockroach scrambled across his arm.
“I say, can’t you do something about these damned bugs? A man can’t sleep worth a damn with them crawling into his orifices!” He complained.
The silent form stepped closer, slowly lifting something in their hands for him to see. They turned a bit so the light could strike the object.
A cold shiver went up and down Challenger’s spine.
A blood orchid!
“Oh bollocks!” He snapped the moment he recognized the flower.
He immediately strove to get out of the bed, but then he suddenly realized he couldn’t. He was strapped down tight. And he could only move his right arm.
“Pleasant morning,” a woman’s voice told him.
She approached the side where his arm was strapped down. “You are beloved of the Goddess. It is only right that I help you redeem your soul.”
“My soul doesn’t need redemption, thank you!”
A huge knife suddenly appeared in her free hand. It blade was long and sharp. And blood stains were on its handle.
“Such a pleasant morning to die,” she said.
“Blimey!” Challenger roared. “Can’t we discuss this like civilized beings?”
She turned slightly and he shuddered with horror. She was smiling.
Then she charged him with the knife.
Chapter Twelve: Hallway
Holmes, Watson, Harry and Conan ran down the hallway for Challenger’s room, when they heard a scream and a sound like a heavy gun being fired.
Watson kicked down the door to the room and everyone entered with weapons drawn.
Challenger was lying on his bed, sprawled as if dead.
“Oh dear God!” Conan cried out.
Harry clutched at his heart. “We’re too late.”
Conan began to weep.
Harry felt as if the world had suddenly gone dark.
“Dear God!” He uttered, his voice tired and strained.
Holmes, however, stepped into the room and then around the bed. “Good work, Challenger. It appears you are cleverer than any of us had thought.”
Challenger opened his eyes, but barely. He croaked. “So I wasn’t dreaming about you fellows thinking I had no brains?”
Then he lost consciousness again.
Watson rushed to his side and felt for a pulse.
He looked at everyone. “He’s just worn out.”
Then he saw what Holmes had suspected on entering the room. The nurse lay on the floor, and the antique vase of flowers lay shattered about her head with flowers all across her. All roses.
“Oh dear!” Watson sighed.
“Is something wrong?” Conan demanded, fearing that Watson wasn’t telling him everything.
“Yes, look for yourself, Conan.”
Conan stepped around the bed and saw what Holmes and Watson were looking at. “Oh dear, Mrs. Hudson is going to be so mad. That’s her favorite vase!”
The nurse suddenly sat up and screamed angrily, raising her knife.
Conan reacted before anyone else could and kicked her in the face. She flew back against the wall and lost consciousness.
Conan looked at the shoe he had used. “I can’t believe I just kicked a human being. And a woman to boot.”
Holmes glanced at Conan. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Conan. Least not yet.”
Holmes dropped to a knee beside the unconscious woman and pulled at her blouse.
“Holmes!” Watson cried out. “Have you no shame?”
Then he and the others gasped when Holmes pulled the blouse all the way open to reveal flesh that was merging into the shape of a plant.
Harry shook his head. “They never give up.”
“What do you mean?” Watson asked.
Harry looked at his friend. “Challengers not the only one of us who’s seen the blood orchid. We all have!”
Before their eyes the form of the woman began to transform. She slowly withered and dried up until a nurse’s uniform was slopped over the remains of a pulpy, thick wood with tiny black leaves shriveled along it like rows of hard bark.