Chapter 5

                                    

                                          
Fisher and I slipped through the kitchen window of the Praed Street theatre fifteen minutes later, and silently made our way through into the auditorium. Newham jumped up as we came through, sweeping me off my feet into a bone shattering hug. Next to me, I heard the dense thunk of Isabel's body colliding with Fisher's as well.
                          
"We're fine" I whispered in Newham's ear, as he carried me-yes, carried me-over to a seat in the stalls and sat me down.
                          
"W-we've got t-the stuff" Fisher added, over Isabel's shoulder. Newham beamed.
                          
"Bring it all out."
                          
Between us, Fisher and I created a two-foot square carpet of weapons and ammunition from our bags. Newham looked thrilled, and it scared me a little.
                          
"Gorgeous" he commented. I shared a look with Isabel. We both weren't keen on this side of Newham, it seemed.
                          
"I'll get these sorted" he told the gathered group. We dispersed, and I found myself sitting with Fisher and Isabel, on the edge of the stage.
                          
"Fisher?" I asked.
                          
"Mm?"
                          
"Can you remember anything more about that girl you saw in Newham's flat?"
                          
"What?" Isabel butted in, sounding alarmed. She looked at Fisher, and then at me, and we both looked awkward. 
                          
"B-basically, A-Allie and I got interrupted by someone w-when we were...getting the weapons" Fisher began to explain. "I told Allie to run, and when the person came in, I-I grabbed them from behind. W-when she screamed, I pushed her to put her off balance, and r-ran."
                          
"But what was she like?" I pressed. "Height? Hair colour?" 
                          
"I-it was difficult to tell, the r-room was dark" Fisher wavered. "W-why do you want to know?"
                          
"No reason" I muttered vaguely.
                          
"I...I don't know" Fisher said bluntly, snapping himself back into focus. "I-I really don't."
                          
"Would it help if we re-enacted it?" I asked, and, with Isabel watching on bemusedly, I scrambled to my feet, getting onto the stage and, pulling Fisher with me.
                          
"So" I enthused. "I assume you were standing here, Fisher, and then this girl came through the door..." I mimed opening a door, walking in front of the little Inspector, with my back to him.
                          
"Then...Then I did this" Fisher sighed, reaching forward and grabbing me, one arm across my throat and one around my waist, pulling me back so I was off balance.
                          
"Then?" I asked, teetering precariously. 
                          
"T-Then she screamed, and...and I let her go" Fisher added quietly, letting me go as he had said. I turned to look at him.
                          
"Helpful?" I said, smiling. But Fisher wasn't smiling.
                          
"That was weird" he commented. 
                          
"How?" I demanded instantly.
                          
"Deja vu" Fisher murmured. My head snapped around to Isabel, who had gone white. 
                          
"No, Izzy!" I sighed, coming over to take my sister's hands. "Absolutely not. Don't be silly."
                          
"Don't be silly" Isabel repeated dazedly. "Don't be silly. Don't be silly."
                          
"IZZY!" I snapped sharply. She blinked, taking a deep breath.
                          
"I'll go and sit with Hettie. See how she's feeling" she smiled, getting up, giving me a quick hug and walking off. Fisher looked at me sternly. 
                          
"W-What was that?"
                          
"Demons" I replied cryptically, without smiling. 
                          
I left him, undoubtedly puzzling, and went to tackle Newham. The business with this girl was beginning to slip from my mind, but now that knife was bugging me. I sat down, a few feet from Newham, who was wrestling with a little silver hand pistol.
                          
"This is for you" he smiled, as he saw me looking. "Auto-loading system. Point and press." He pushed the pistol into my hands. I looked at it dubiously, before leaning over to slip it into my side-bag. 
                          
"Thanks" I replied, unsure of how to react. He busied himself with another little pistol whilst I gathered my thoughts. 
                          
"I found something" I began. "In your flat. That knife that came out of the clock. Why was it there?"
                          
Newham froze a second, before dropping the gun and looking up at me, sat on the chair. 
                          
"It's the craftmanship, if you must know" he told me. "It's not British, and it's not American. I wanted to find out where it was from, because I thought it might help work out whose it was."
                          
"But you shouldn't have taken it" I pointed out firmly. 
                          
"Nobody else was going to!" Newham argued. "It's not a problem, is it?"
                          
"No" I sighed pacifyingly. "I'm sorry. It just surprised me to find it."
                          
"Not a problem" Newham smiled, eyes back on the gun in his lap. I shrugged, leaning back on the little chair and calming myself. Everything was going to be fine. 
                          
Absent mindedly, I took the little silver pistol out of my bag and inspected it. It wasn't very ornate, it was short, squat, robust and gleaming a dull silver in the dim light. It was tiny, too. Smaller than my hand, and I had small hands. I didn't want to mess with it, in case it went off, but some small part of me wanted to know precisely.
                          
"How does this work?" I asked Newham again, who again looked up from his task and came over to help me.
                          
"It's really simple" he explained quickly. "Point it at whatever you want to shoot, and press the trigger."
                          
I looked again dubiously at the weapon in my hands. Something so small shouldn't be able to take a person's life.
                          
I put it away again.
                          
"I'm hungry" Fisher commented, sounding a little petty.
                          
"I agree" Dr. Scott chipped in from the side. "And Hettie will need some sort of food soon."
                          
"I'll go" Newham offered instantly, before I had a chance to stop him. "There's a bakery a few streets down. It won't be shut for another..." Newham checked his watch "half an hour."
                          
"Be careful!" I pleaded, as he got up, pocketed a gun, and headed for the door. 
                          
"I will be" he promised, as I got up with him, hugging his chest and refusing to let go. He carefully unpeeled me.
                          
"I'm going to be fine" he assured me. "Now sit tight and keep it down."
                          
He slipped out of the door, and the rest of us settled down again, in the dimming light. Hettie seemed to be calming, and when I volunteered to take first watch the other three gratefully lay down on some of the seats, and everything seemed to be fine. 
                          
But midnight came, and went, and I was still on watch. Because Newham still hadn't returned.