Moriarty's Musician

Purging the Demons, Part 5

Soo-Ling slammed her foot on the brake so hard that Annabelle had to thrust her hands out to brace herself against the dashboard. Within seconds, Soo-Ling put the car in park, whipped out a pair of silver handcuffs and in one quick motion had them fitted tightly over Annabelle's wrists.

Annabelle frantically struggled to pull her hands out of the cuffs, but of course, it was in vain.

Soo-Ling snickered at Annabelle's terrified eyes. "You know, I really can't understand what all these men see in you. What is it about you they want so badly? It can't just be for Charles Magnussen's dirt. Even Sam had a little shine for you."

As Annabelle tried to open the car door to escape, Soo-Ling pulled out another pair of handcuffs from her pocket, grabbed her bound wrists and quickly snapped them around the car handle and Annabelle's cuffs. Annabelle tried yanking at the restraints that were now secured to the side of the door. Her heart hammered in her chest. She was now at Soo-Ling's mercy.

Pulling a knife out of the sheath on her thigh, Soo-Ling held it up to Annabelle's throat and with a sadistic smile, slowly slid the cold edge across her skin. Annabelle froze as Soo-Ling brought her face up to hers.

"You know, I would just love to cut up this perfect face of yours so the boss knows I mean business."

Annabelle closed her eyes as Soo-Ling's blade pressed against her cheek, her chin, her mouth. She tried to remember the music, her secret escape where no one could reach her. Ah, there he was! Tchaikovsky handed her his violin. She set it under her chin and played his famous Violin Concerto in D Major, the very one Sherlock had chosen as they listened to her father's phonograph together after her nightmare.

Soo-Ling wrinkled her nose as she watched Annabelle's face change from one of terror... to joy. 

"What the hell's wrong with you? I'm about to cut you up and you're smiling?"

Annabelle didn't hear her– not with the violin snuggled under her cheek and the music radiating through her fingertips.

Soo-Ling sat back in her seat, sheathed her knife, and angrily put the car into drive. While the car screamed ahead on the dirt road, Annabelle opened her eyes and grimaced as the jarring ride yanked at the hard metal rubbing on her wrist bones.

Soo-Ling scowled at her. "It's no wonder Moriarty fancies you. You're as crazy as he is," she growled. "But that's ok. I already have a buyer for you and I wouldn't want to damage his merchandise. I don't want him thinking he's getting a discount."

Annabelle's eyes flew to hers. A wicked grin spread across Soo-Ling's face as she finally saw the terror she had been waiting for.

"A buyer?" Annabelle whispered.

--------

J: Professor, are you there?

Moriarty held his breath as he texted backed.

M: Jack! Are you ok? Where's Megan?

J: Yes, I'm ok. Meg is trying to help Sam. Soo-Ling shot him.

Moriarty's mouth set in a tight line as his hunch was confirmed.

M: What about William and Annabelle?

J: William is helping Meg...

Moriarty gritted his teeth as he waited for Jack's reply. He typed again.

M: What about Annabelle?

J: Soo-Ling has her.

Moriarty took a deep inhale of breath, the anxiety coiling in him at the thought of Annabelle alone with his second strongest assassin.

M: Are they still at the house?

J: No. I'm sorry. I should have tried to shoot her before she took Ann...

M: No!

Moriarty's nostrils flared as he continued to type to Jack.

M: You did what you're supposed to do– contacted me. You did well, Jack.

He impatiently watched the blinking cursor. Finally...

J: Professor. Meg said Sam's dead. She couldn't help him.

Moriarty let out a loud breath as he looked up at Sebastian. "Tell Matt and Kyle to go to the house and help Megan, then get word out to our contacts to keep an eye out for two women fitting Soo-Ling and Annabelle's description." He rubbed his forehead. "Soo-Ling's killed Sam."

Sebastian's mouth tightened. He nodded as his eyes dropped to his laptop.

Moriarty looked out over the Irish Sea and saw land in the distance. He typed again on his phone.

M: Jack?

J: I'm here.

M: Tell Megan we'll be there soon. Go into the lair and get our guns ready. Make sure they're cleaned and loaded.

J: Ok. I will.

Moriarty sighed. How right Sherlock had been. He had gotten sloppy. How had he missed the threat that was all around him— even in his own house? 

His eyes narrowed as he watched the helicopter get closer to land. He had to concentrate now. This sentimentality for Annabelle was making him weak. If he was going to get back his weapon, he needed to reject any disabling feelings for her. That's all she was to him, his weapon. 

Moriarty pulled the gun from his holster and flexed his fingers around the barrel. It was the coldness of his heart that had created his criminal empire, and it was his calculating indifference that would obliterate Soo-Ling and whoever else stood in his way.

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