Deducing Tragedy Part Two: Speak No Lies

My earliest memory is of a wooden spoon raised against me. I was three; my foster parents at the time were not kind people. In all honesty I believe they hated kids, girls especially. I remember that day with crystal clarity because that was the day I grew up. Three years old and I realized something that most go there whole lives unaware of. I was mortal, I would die one day and there was nothing anyone could do to change it.

But so were they.

They were going to die and in that moment, as the spoon came down with a hard crack against my back, I knew their blood would be on my hands. I couldn’t wait.

When I was four I was moved to another foster home. These people didn’t beat the children that passed through their walls but there was a heavy level of distrust. I was only four years old but they treated me like a common criminal. I remember walking through the house and seeing everything of value locked in heavy glass cases. I would press my nose against the glass as look at all the pretty plates and statues of beautiful women. Some of them were fairies being the delicate little things that they were. I remember being puzzled by them. Why were they so delicate? Why were they so fragile and sweet? What was the point?

“Emily,” a man in a funny suit asked me later in the week. “Why did you break the statues of the angels?”

“They weren’t angels,” I said running my fingers through the hair of the doll I had been handed upon arriving in the strange building. “They were fairies.”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Angels are strong,” I said still not looking at him. “Angels are God’s army. They are warriors.”

“And Fairies?”

“Fairies are weak,” I looked him in the eyes, “Fairies don’t deserve to live.”

When I was nine my life changed. If you were to ask my sister she would say for the worst but in reality, my reality, it improved dramatically. And that improvement came in the form of Jim Moriarty.

My new foster family was very athletic. Everyone in their care was required to begin a sport of some kind, mine was gymnastics. I don’t mean to brag but I was good, quickly making it to nationals. Two weeks before the competition I got a letter. There was no name or return address but I could tell it had come from overseas because of the amount of the stamps bearing pictures of the queen of England. In the letter he told me about how interested he was in me and my future. He said that my abilities in gymnastics were astounding and that he could make me stronger. All he needed was a sign from me; something to tell him that I wanted the future he offered.

When I was nine I killed my foster dad. Using the strength I had gained from the lessons he paid for I pushed the kitchen knife into his chest and stopped his heart. My Foster mom sent me away shortly after that. She could never prove it but knew I was the one who killed her husband. I didn’t mind, my only concern was if Jim would be able to find me in my new foster home.

Two months later the Foster mother came into the room I shared with four others and gave me a forced smile. “Emily there is a boy here to see you.”

“What boy would want to see her?” the older girl, Samantha, sneered receiving a collection of giggles from the others.

“A rather charming one,” Jim said rounding the corner in a smooth motion that knocked the air out of Samantha’s chest- Actually, now that I think about it that might have been me knocking her across the back with one of my heavy textbooks but the point remains the same. “Emily, sweetheart, there’s no need for violence.” He winked and I smirked.

“I did what you asked,” I said as he pushed me on the swing a few minutes later. “You promised-“

“All in good time, Love,” he said.

“Okay,” I sighed, “Just not too long okay?”

“I would never make my princess wait,” he said walking around to the front of me.

I made a face, “Princess?”

“My little Fairy Princess,” he smirked, pushing down on my knees to keep the swing going. “The way you glide around during your performance reminds me of a fairy-“

“No,” I cut him off as I dug my feet into the ground to stop the swing. “Not a fairy.”

He cocked his head to the side as he knelt in the ground before me, “Why not, Love?”

“Fairies are weak,” I said looking into those deep brown eyes. “I will never be weak again.”

A smile spread across his face, “I can see that… my Angel.”

I fell in love with Jim. I suppose it was inevitable. An impressionable young girl wandering from foster home to foster home looking for someone to actually give a damn about her and then came this dashing young sociopath who whispers all kinds of sweet nothings in her ears. Jim made me feel like I was a person, like I mattered. He made me stronger so that I would always be his Angel and never be the Fairy.

“Today is the day, Love,” he said rounding the corner into my room many years and, four foster homes, later. “I’m taking you away from here.”

I stood up from my desk and slid around my chair so I was facing him. “Why now?” I asked crossing my arms over my chest as I leaned against the wood.

He raised an eyebrow, “Why not now?”

My lip twitched as I looked down at the floor, “Seven years I waited to hear you say those words, I guess part of me was wondering if you were ever really going to take me away like you promised.”

“I would never lie to my Angel,” he smirked and I laughed once, looking back up at him.

“So why now?” I asked again, peaking at him through my bangs. “Why not seven years ago when you had a desperate little girl put a knife in her foster dads’ chest?”

He walked forward, uncrossing my arms to hold my hands as he spoke, “Because you weren’t angry enough.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Oh trust me I was plenty angry-“

He tisked and turned his head to the side, “Not that kind of anger, the juvenile fits of a little girl not getting enough attention. I'm talking about real rage, the kind that fuels a fire in your bones and gives you the strength to do the most unspeakable acts. In these seven years what has happened to you?”

“Nothing goo-“

“Give me details,” he said leaning into me.

“I was rejected-“

“By?”

“Everyone,” I growled. “Teachers, students, every single person that called themself my foster parent.”

“And why did they reject you?” he asked winding his hands around my waist.

“Because I'm different,” I said through narrow eyes. “I dared to be the Angel rather than the Fairy.”

“God’s perfect warrior,” he smiled pressing his forhead against mine. “My Angel of Fury, if you could have your revenge on these people how would you take it?”

I locked eyes with him as I raised my head so that our noses brushed and I breathed in his air, “They rejected me with their words, I would make sure they could never speak again; in this life or the next.”

“You would rip the words from them,” he mused, “maybe cut a few throats along the way?”

“More than a few,” I whispered getting drunk off his breath.

“This is what I was waiting for, Love. The rage to fuel my perfect assassin.”

“And then what?” I asked, his lips were so close, I could almost feel them on me.

“That is for Eva to decide,” he smirked stepping away from me.

I shivered from the sudden loss of his warm body, “Eva?”

“Everyone has a teacher,” he said walking towards the door. “Someone to light their path; while I am yours, Eva is mine. She was the one to point you out to me and she is the one with the plan.”

“Plan?” I asked taking a few steps forward. “Plan for what?”

He turned to give me a smirk, “You’ll just have to wait and find out.”

Now, fourteen years later, I still didn’t know. Eva turned out to be the most elegant and driven woman I’ve ever met. And Jim was right she had a plan, he just neglected to tell me how long this plan would take or that he wouldn’t be a part of it. Fourteen years later I was overseeing the slowly dying party seen at the Second Light Night Club in central London and Jim Moriarty was dead. I didn’t cry when I found out; I didn’t plot my revenge on Sherlock, who I was pretty sure had survived his fall. I just left. I left the network Jim had put so much time into and I just started to travel.

I moved around the world carrying this rage inside me; rage that Jim had always been so good at channeling, and when it got to be too much I would rip someone’s throat out. I did a quick tour through America, killing all my former foster parents just like I promised when I was a little girl. Sometimes I went years between kills, sometimes it was hours. I lived like this for years before I found out Hanna had been put on my case. Yes I knew about Hanna, Jim told me about her long ago but didn’t care to know more than she existed. But now she was hunting me and well… how’s a girl supposed to resist? I certainly didn’t plan to.

I had a whole game planned out. Toying with Hanna, or Ann as she called herself at the time, was going to be great fun. After crashing the vigil, literally, I was going to make a body out of her sister just because I knew she’d never suspect it. Oh I was going to derive so much pleasure from her pain.

And then Eva got in contact with me. I guess I never really left her network’s radar and like I said earlier, she had this grand elaborate plan still. I wanted to just walk away, to just continue to do what I wanted and rip out more throats out. I would have too but she wasn’t just offering me a job she was offering me an idea.

Sherlock Holmes lived when he should have died and Hanna Hooper was a symbol of purity to everyone who knew her. She was offering me a chance to tear them apart. I would shred them with my bare hands and reap the sweet rewards.

It was almost too easy. All I had to do was target the people in my sister’s life who wouldn’t recognize the little differences in my sister and I. John, of course, is oblivious. He was my first target. Lestrade was a laugh; the poor man is harboring some serious lust for Hanna. Donavan, of course; she was fun. I got to drop my act around her a little and just be the homicidal maniac I am. I think I nearly scared her half to death.

A little more than an hour ago I was standing in the Holmes family tomb kidnapping Watson’s girlfriend under Eva’s orders. It wasn’t just a spur of the moment kind of thing like I lead John to believe. Thought Mary had seen that I wasn’t Hanna that wasn’t why I took her. Hell I don’t even know why, that’s above my pay grade. I learned long ago that what Eva wants, Eva gets.

I turned away from the dance floor to the room behind me where Mary was tied to a chair with a gag in her mouth. She looked calm, but I could see the raw panic bubbling behind her eyes as I approached her. “Close to a hundred people are down there and not one of the knows about you,” I said running an index finger down her cheek before hooking it around the bandana and pulling it out of her mouth.

She gave me an irritated glare, “you won’t get away with this. John will come with me; Sherlock-“

“Sherlock is a boy playing a game that is years beyond his understanding,” I giggled cutting her off. “Eva has been planning this since Sherlock was running around in dippers.”

Her eyes narrowed further but this time in confusion, “Who- Eva- I thought you were in charge?!”

“Me?” I laughed, “oh hell no, I could never come up with this. I didn’t get the genius gene like my sister. No, Eva is the master mind behind this. The Mother, that’s what they call her. I guess she helped kick start a few prominent figures in the criminal world. I don’t know, or care-“

“and what do they call you?” she asked in a growl. “Ann?”

I smirked leaning down so I was eye level with her, “when I was in foster system they called me Emily.”

She swallowed hard, “an-and what do they call you now?”

“Ciri Pond Crepti,” I purred running a finger along her jaw, “or Ripper Concidit to you. I am the Ripper your papers are writing about. I dumped that body at my dear sister’s vigil. I’ve killed more than five dozen people and if I’m lucky, Mary, Mary quite contrary, I’ll be adding you to that list.”

“Then do it,” she spat.

I tisked her as I stood up straight, “I’d love to sweetie but I told you, this is Eva’s game. She said not to kill you.” I smirked stuffing the gag back into her mouth. “And no one crosses mother.”