Crazy Little Thing Called Death

[4] The Phone Call

Chapter Four: The Phone Call

Alia headed home in the taxi. It dropped her off outside her apartment, and she paid in cash. She had a strange phobia of banks. It was starting to drizzle rain when she headed inside. So much for the fresh air outside, she felt annoyed.

She headed up the grey concrete steps, heading inside where it was arm. When she walked in, she wiped her feet on the mud stained grey mat, before heading to the elevator. Pressing the up arrow, she waiting for the elevator to come down from where ever it was.

The door's dinged open, and she stepped inside, wondering where everyone was. She hit the twelve button, heading up to her floor. The doors closed with a thud, and she felt the elevator rise under her feet, flying up to her floor. Just seconds later the doors dinged open, and she stepped out into the hallway. Her doorway was just off of the elevator opening, and she walked down the red carpeted floor to where it was.

The door was a mixture of password, and crank combination. She cranked the combination, right twelve, left eight, and then back six right. Then she typed in, 21855000752198.

The door popped open, and she headed inside. She closed it behind her, and dead-bolted it. You could never be too careful.

Her apartment was immaculate. She had gotten a one room apartment, it had a bed pushed along one wall, with a TV mounted to the wall at the foot. There was a low Japanese style table in the middle of the room, with one cushion in front of it.

There wasn't a refrigerator, just a tiny beer fridge propped against one wall. A closed laptop sat on the bed. There were a few books sitting on a low shelf, but other than that there wasn't anything else in the room.

She walked across the room, sitting down on the edge of her bed and flipping open the thin, silver laptop. "Hello Alia" The screen blinked, as she clicked on the email button.

'Twelve Un-read Emails' flashed on the screen. She scrolled through them. Three for Viagra. Two from her mother. One from her sister and one from the other sister. One asking her to buy something – two from work. One from her old best friend and one from Sherlock already.

She ignored them all, and flipped the laptop shut, standing up off the bed. She pulled off her jacket and tossed it on the end of her bed, before walking over to the short beer fridge. Opening the door she glanced inside. Empty.

She shrugged to herself and muttered, "I'll survive." Sighing she closed the door to the little fridge, walking back over to her bed. Having just laid down she closed her eyes, not even bothering to change out of her clothes. Outside the sky was rapidly dimming, and the first stars were starting to twinkle.

She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she heard was the insistent ringing of her telephone. Sitting up, she rubbed at her eyes, mind still fuzzy from sleep. Alia was pretty sharp to wake up though, and she stumbled across the room and picked up the phone.

"Hello?" She mumbled, still rubbing her eyes, becoming more alert by the second.

A soft voice spoke on the other end. "Dr. Alia Morton. Criminologist. Forensic Psychologist. Police Officer."

"Who's calling?" She asked a barb in her voice, fully awake now, clenching the phone in her hand.

"Of course that's not your real name." The voice hissed.

She broke out in a cold sweat. "Who's calling?" She asked again, her voice an octave higher. No

body knew but her very close family that she had changed her name.

"If you do not back off the Moriarty case, I will kill you." The voice told her, in an almost purr.

"Once again." Alia told them with dead calm tone, "Who's calling, and what do you want?"

"Stop working with Sherlock and Watson." The voice told her with a little laugh, "Your apartment window makes an excellent viewpoint."

Bristol glanced up to see a tiny red light glancing up and down the wall beside her. She ducked out of the way under the table. Her knee's knocked against the wooden floor, and she scraped the skin off the palms of her hands.

"And if I don't stop working with them?" She hissed, rubbing at the pinkish raw flesh on her hands, trying to make the burn go away.

"Then you will die. Along with everyone you know. But they'll all die first." And with that the phone call ended. Bristol sat underneath the table listening to the dial tone for quite a number of minutes.

Should she drop the case? Save her family? Or have collateral damage like she had told Watson just earlier.

She climbed out from under the table. The least she could do was worn them. Before she took this son-of-a-bitch down for good.