Annabelle sat down on the edge of her bed and tried to breathe. She couldn't stop the overwhelming feeling of betrayal that was consuming her. Imagining Soo-Ling in the same bed that she had just shared with James... doing things with him. Annabelle could feel the bile rising in her throat. How could she look at him again? He was despicable.
"You're an idiot. He's never cared about you," she said to the empty room.
She was nothing to him. Meg was right; she was broken, only Moriarty had done the breaking. What was next? His demand that she tell him all she knew? And what then? Once she was of no use to him, would he kill her? Her Uncle John thought so.
Annabelle thought of Sherlock; her shoulders sagging as bitterness filled her mind. How had she so completely misjudged him? She thought that he was her friend! He had actually contacted Moriarty to come and get her. Annabelle shook her head as she remembered the image of Sherlock shooting her father. Who could she trust if not him?
Annabelle glanced over at Moriarty's book that still sat on her nightstand. Picking it up, she flipped through the pages and withdrew the photo in the center. As she looked down at the woman's lovely face, she couldn't help the feeling of hopelessness that settled over her.
"What happened to you," she whispered, "and what happened to your son?"
Annabelle shivered as a chill wrapped itself around her. She looked around the empty room. If she was alone, why did she always feel like she was being watched? Quickly putting the photo back into the book, she set it on her nightstand and stood up, rubbing her arms to try and smooth the goosebumps away.
It didn't matter what Meg thought. She needed to get away while Moriarty was gone. She was nothing but a pawn in his sick game and this might be her only chance to escape him.
Annabelle opened the closet and withdrew her suitcase. She hurried to the drawers, gathered all her clothes and packed them up. She put the suitcase back into the closet. Ok, now what?
She ran her hand through her hair and sighed. Somehow she needed to find out where the nearest town was. Surely, Meg would suspect her plans if she started asking questions, and William hardly said a word to her to be of much help. But what about Jack? He must know where the nearest town was and maybe even the best way to get there.
Taking a shaky breath, Annabelle left the bedroom and headed down the hall. Descending the stairs, she prayed that she would find Jack alone. She looked into the kitchen and quickly pulled back as she saw Meg at the stove and William reading a paper at the table. She continued down the hall popping her head into the rooms until she came to the music conservatory.
She grimaced as she remembered the last time she had been in the room, and of course, just her luck, there was Jack. He sat on the window seat, furiously sketching in his book. His head swung from his pad of paper to the outside, then back to his pad of paper, his attention riveted on whatever it was he was working on.
Annabelle entered the room, not wanting to interrupt him but desperate to ask him her questions. She cleared her voice as he looked up from his book, his eyes widening.
"M-M-Miss Watson? Is e-e-everything okay?"
Annabelle smiled back at him. "Yes," she lied, "and thank you for asking. I was just feeling a little lonely is all. What are you drawing?"
Jack straightened and closed up the book as he sheepishly lowered his head. "I-I-I'm sorry, I know I s-s-should be doing my m-m-math. Please don't t-t-tell the Professor."
Annabelle's jaw tightened. What had Moriarty done to make Jack so worried?
"I would never say anything, Jack. Tell me, did he threaten you?"
Jack's eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head. "N-N-Nah, I just don't w-w-want to d-d-disappoint him. He l-l-likes when I d-d-draw, but h-h-he says not a-a-all the time."
"Oh," she said, not expecting that answer. Here she thought Moriarty would hurt Jack if he didn't obey him. It sounded like he had given a sensible direction to Jack.
Annabelle leaned against the piano as her eyes fell on the violin. She took a deep breath, recalling the last piece she had played on it, the music that had evoked such a severe reaction from her captor.
Her fingers still itched to play it again. How could she possibly forget that tune so well etched in her mind? She shook her head, trying to keep focused.
"I promise I won't tell him, Jack, but I'd love to see your drawings. Would you show me?"
Jack smiled and nodded as Annabelle sat down on the window seat beside him. He handed her his book and Annabelle was stunned at the beautiful work that graced her eyes. There were drawings of birds and trees, a few sketches of the house and gardens, a couple of Meg and William, and one of Sebastian.
As she turned the pages to nearly the front of the book, her eyebrows furrowed as she came to a drawing of Moriarty sitting in his wing chair. It looked as though he was staring into the fire, lost in thought.
Jack looked down at his sketch. "I-I-I drew that w-w-when the P-P-Professor l-l-let me sit in the study with h-h-him. He l-l-looked so sad."
Annabelle swallowed. Why did Moriarty looked so tortured? What was he thinking? She tried to smile at Jack, but she knew it didn't carry to her eyes.
"Why do you think he looked so sad, Jack?"
"B-B-Because he killed my f-f-father."
Annabelle's eyes flew to Jack's face, her mouth dropping open. Trying her best to compose herself, she brought her hand to her throat. "He killed your father?" she managed to choke out.
Jack frowned and nodded. "B-b-before my f-f-father could k-k-kill me. My f-f-father hated m-m-me."
Annabelle's breath caught in her throat. She brushed Jack's wavy hair out of his eyes and searched his face, trying to stop her own rush of emotions from stealing her words. "How could anyone hate you?"
Jack sighed and looked at the sketch. "M-m-my mother died w-w-when I was l-l-little. My f-f-father h-h-hated me cause I s-s-stuttered. He would a-a-always beat m-m-me. The P-P-Professor saw him and t-t-told him not to b-b-but he wouldn't l-l-listen. He b-b-broke my arm and my ribs, so the P-P-Professor killed him."
Annabelle put her hand to her forehead and rubbed it, trying to make sense of this new revelation. "Is that why you live here with him?"
Much to Annabelle's surprise, Jack nodded and grinned. "H-h-he wants me to go to c-c-college and be s-s-smart and b-b-brave. H-h-he said that I-I-I'm very special that's w-w-why I s-s-stutter."
Annabelle stared at Jack's face, stunned at the sincerity in his young eyes. She finally looked down at the sketch, remembering her time with Moriarty in the study. Why was everything so damn confusing?
"Do you believe him, Jack?"
Jack pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, b-b-because I'm n-n-not afraid a-a-anymore. I know he w-w-will p-p-protect me."
Annabelle's throat constricted as her eyes welled with tears. If James were a true psychopath, then he would have little empathy for anyone and care even less about their feelings. How could a monster take away a child's fear?
She turned to the first page of Jack's sketchbook, and her hand flew to her mouth. Perched at the piano, a woman with long, brown hair and a flowing white dress played the keys, illuminated by the moonlight and a single candle. Annabelle looked up and saw the piano was identical to the one in the room. And that woman...
(Special thanks to ArtyAnushka8002 for her beautiful sketch!)
Annabelle's eyes searched Jack's face again as he nervously started rubbing his pant leg.
"Who is this woman, Jack? Did you see her?"
Jack frowned.
Annabelle could hardly breathe. "Please tell me," she pleaded. "I heard the piano last night while I was sleeping. When I followed the music to this room, it just stopped."
Jack continued to stare at his pant leg.
"Please, Jack. Trust me, I won't tell anyone."
Jack glanced up at Annabelle. "I-I-I saw her when I-I-I first came here. She p-p-played a song for m-m-me when I had a n-n-nightmare. I-I-I don't have n-n-nightmares anymore."
Annabelle couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her face.
Jack leaned closer and touched her hand. "I-I-I'm s-s-sorry, M-M-Miss Watson. I d-d-didn't mean to m-m-make you cry."
Annabelle wiped her damp cheeks. "I'm the one who's sorry for getting so emotional, Jack. I'm so glad you told me about the woman. I thought I was going crazy, but it seems we've both met the lady in white." She squeezed his hand and smiled at him. "And I'm so happy to have met you, Jack. Your professor was right when he told you how special you are."
Jack's eyes shone as he smiled back. "I-I-I have one more p-p-picture to show you." He turned to his most recent sketch. Annabelle swallowed as she looked down at the picture of Moriarty looking at a violinist. She, of course, was the woman who held his eyes.
"M-M-Meg told me an a-a-artist can see things other p-p-people can't."
Annabelle shifted in her seat as she tried to process Jack's words. Could she be wrong about Moriarty? She didn't see Moriarty's rage in Jack's sketch but rather... was it... yearning? Could it be possible that he might care for her, after all?
"There you are!"
Annabelle and Jack both looked up as Soo-Ling sauntered into the room. She plastered on a smile as she came to stand in front of them. Jack took his book from Annabelle's hands, shut it quickly, and hugged it to his chest.
Soo-Ling raised an eyebrow as Jack glowered back at her. "Jack, Meg is looking for you. She needs your help in the kitchen. Now run along. I need to speak to Annabelle."
Jack glanced at Annabelle as she gave him a small smile and nodded. "I'll see you in a little while, Jack. Thank you for our chat."
Jack raised his chin and Annabelle could see a fire light his eyes. What was wrong with him? "Are you ok, Jack?"
"I-I-I want you to see M-M-Meg too. You n-n-need to come with me. P-P-Please A-A-Annabelle."
~~~~~~~
Hey! Thanks for reading! Could you give me a vote if you like the story? I so appreciate it. ☺️
I'd also again like to thank ArtyAnushka8002 for her beautiful sketches. Please check out her amazing art book if you get the chance.
There's another chapter following this.