A Mark Left Behind

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***

"So that was how you managed to deliver those letters across the world…"

In a dark room two people spoke and another watched in the dark.

One was a man wearing a white shirt and sat on a wooden chair as he looked at the other person.

"Yes, with ample time even something as inefficient as that is possible… though I suppose you already knew."

The other much younger person nodded.

The single light bulb that hung on the ceiling with only a single piece of rope holding it swayed. Light had shown on the other person's figure.

A young girl around 18 years old wearing a black long coat is illuminated.

Charlotte Holmes held an intrigued look on her face. Her hands kept tightly inside her coat's pocket as the cold winter weather made her pale face a little flush.

"...Truly, you are a one-of-a-kind criminal. Alright, you can do what you wish to. If not then my client's vision will be lost."

"Hmm… After meeting you Miss Holmes, I could say those words right back at you. I hope you enjoy my concert and my masterpiece."

The man smiled at the young lady.

"I too wish you luck, conductor."

With those final words, Charlotte Holmes left the dark basement room with her trusted confidant and partner, Rachel Watson.

"...That man was quite interesting. Although he doesn't quite compare with the thrill I felt with the case when I first met you. But he… is a different flavor I suppose."

Holmes commented, Watson listening on whilst looking at their surroundings.

The aftermath of the Christmas Eve party throughout the city of London was evident.

From empty glass bottles laying on the ground to the disorderly mess that was somewhat evident upon a closer inspection, it was surely a large party that would have been a sight to see.

"Yes, he isn't the typical criminal and his intentions are pure. Though the methods he used are not very orderly or lawful… I suppose he fits the saying 'there is evil in good' quite well."

Watson replied as Holmes brought out her pipe to smoke from.

A slow walk ensued.

Watson who kept to herself, reminisced about their recent adventure of finding the culprit of the 'Case Of The Blinded Orchestra'.

'...As always, I can not read Holmes and what she is thinking…'

Watson thought, staring at Holmes' back.

She sighed to herself and then looked at the white sky that had snow dripping down like descending feathers.

'It's Christmas today… I hope Holmes likes the present I got for her, though knowing her she would forget about the present if she doesn't like it… Let's hope.'

Watson bitterly kept her thoughts on the word 'hope' as old war memories resurfaced.

"Ha…"

'I suppose I truly am relaxed now, thinking about thoughts about whether the other person would like my present or not…'

"Holmes, there is some time before the conductor's final piece is happening, correct? Let's eat at a pub nearby, knowing the large party that happened yesterday there's no doubt that a pub is open."

Breathing out smoke, Holmes replied, "Oh? I am fine with that proposal… Alright we missed breakfast so suppose we should eat nearby. Do you know a pub we can eat in?"

Smiling, Watson replied back,"Yes. Let's go Holmes, I'll treat you this time."

***

"Isn't it cold?"

"...Hmm… I suppose, but it makes me feel alive."

"...This is only the third time of us meeting but each time I can't help but think about how I can never read you."

"Is that so Mr. Detective?"

'Although I realized it before… Miss Martin truly is… No, that would be an insult.'

Alvis shook his head slightly.

"I'm here to inquire, are you going to go and get your sight back?"

"Oh, did the person who blinded me finally say something?"

"You could say that in a way…"

The white curtains flapped with each cold intense wind that passed by yet Saint Martin merely hummed feeling the cold rather than shivering like a normal person would.

'So she's a mana user…'

Alvis couldn't know otherwise how a person could naturally endure such coldness as if it were nothing.

"I decided. I'll go. I want to see what kind of person would do this and for what reason… Though saying 'see' seems a bit funny in my case."

Smiling, Alvis replied.

"I see, alright I'll come in a few hours."

"Yes, see you soon Mr. Detective."

Saint Martin waved at him and Alvis watched the saint-like person in kind.

'There are many mysterious people and things as well. Saint Martin is one of such beings. I cannot tell if she is truly a good person but… Even if it is a facade I wouldn't mind calling her an 'angel'.'

As soon as Alvis stepped out of the room he felt warmth, Saint 'Martin's room was 'sealed' through some method he could not understand.

'...If I can, I want to study her further after this case has ended.'

Alvis looked up and into the second floor of the building as his feet left behind a trail of footsteps.

A discerning room with windows open was only one, one with flapping white curtains.

Alvis turned around and left the hospital area completely.

'...Hmm, I didn't see Dr. Watson in the hospital today, could she perhaps be on an adventure with Charlotte Holmes at this moment?'

As such idle thoughts kept Alvis' mind full, within a few minutes another phenomenon had appeared.

Grumble…

"Oh right… I forgot to eat breakfast today."

The streets of London were sparsely populated unlike the night prior with a festive mood.

'Though I doubt that tonight will be any different than the last.'

Most establishments gave workers time off these two days, it was more than likely that another large party would ensue like the night before.

Finding a pub, Alvis headed into the building.

'...'

Two women stared at Alvis and in turn, he stared back.

'Charlotte Holmes and Rachel Watson…'

Walking up to the duo, Alvis asked, "If it's alright, would you mind sitting here?"

Charlotte Holmes simply stared at him while Watson replied in her stead.

"Yes, though I don't know how Holmes would respond you may sit there. It's quite the coincidence that I see you here Mr. Quinn."

"Yes, you as well Dr. Watson. I was wondering why you weren't at the hospital today."

"Oh, you were looking for Watson you say?"

Charlotte remarked, her eyes as always studying the newcomer.

"Yes, I was in the hospital today and wondered why Dr. Watson wasn't in the hospital. I'm quite a frequent visitor after all."

'Is she trying to unnerve me? I've faced it before but she truly doesn't let her guard down at all. I wouldn't be surprised if she already knows my occupation or at the very leasts some theories about it.'

Keeping silent, Holmes went back to her meal.

"What are you doing here Mr. Quinn?"

"Oh, after I visited the hospital due to a task I was quite hungry and came into this pub. Who knew that I would see Detective Holmes and Dr. Watson eating in here as well?"

After ordering a meal, Alvis turned back to Holmes.

"Actually Detective Holmes, I'm a detective myself."

"Is that so?"

"Yes and I was hoping you could tell me about the case you were working on. I'm actually in the case as well and I haven't found any clues…"

"Didn't your letter give you the location just a few hours ago? You should have your answer then."

"Even if you say that I will not be satisfied with that answer. There must be some kind of mystery within this case, otherwise I have wasted my time."

"Don't you know Mr. Quinn? A detective must solve their own cases. After all, what good is a puzzle if you get another person to tell you the solution?"

Holmes responded with a calm expression, huffing a puff of smoke from her pipe.

Alvis held a bitter expression.

"You are right… Perhaps I was being too reckless and impatient after finding such a large case."

The food on Alvis' plate had lost its warmth as Alvis didn't touch a single grain.

As Alvis pulled his chair back and grabbed his hat he turned back to the two women.

"Then… I suppose I'll see you two at the Theatre Royal Haymarket in a few hours."

"Yes, we'll see you there Mr. Quinn."

Alvis left his share of the bill as Watson waved and the two were left alone.

"Holmes, why were you so unpleasant towards Mr. Quinn? It is unlike you to act as such. Is this the first time I've seen you act your age?"

Watson teased.

"That man… He has the aura of a criminal. I wouldn't doubt if the reason he came to this particular pub was to inquire on me as I did on him."

"Is that so? I've seen him multiple times during my working hours in the hospital but he never seemed the type to be a criminal. Rather in my eyes, he seems more like the kind of person to be robbed of his possessions daily."

Holmes breathed out another smoke before responding.

"Nevertheless, that man holds secrets. I recommend you Watson, never get close to those kinds of people. They will ruin your life in the blink of an eye and leave with no remorse, only leaving you in a pathetic state of tears flowing."

"I would never, Holmes, I'm the kind of person who meticulously picks their partner. If they turn out to be such a person I think I would be the one to kill them instead. Besides… I already know of such a person and I would never get close to that particular person at all."

Watson's brows furrowed as she thought of a particular person.

"Oh well." Holmes emptied her pipe onto a tray, "Let's go Watson, the play is starting in a few hours. We better get the best seats before others come and take it away."

"Ah, yes."

* * *

Theatre Royal Haymarket, a theatre that opened in the 1700's it wasn't a particularly large theatre but it was more than enough for the audience it was about to hold.

Alvis checked his watch.

'11:50 AM.'

Saint Martin held Alvis' arm as he escorted her into the building.

"Ah! My eyesight… It's coming back."

Saint Martin held her face as her eyesight gradually came back to her.

"I suppose you should go backstage."

Alvis pointed at the sign with instructions in the hall leading to the theatre.

"Oh, yes!"

As the two separated, Alvis found a not even half full theatre as he saw a particular duo in the front row.

Unlike the rest of the detectives, Alvis sat at the back for the view and waited for the show to begin.

* * *

Let us tell the story of a young man.

…

From an early age, he had noticed that unlike other children, he could find no success from any endeavor he pursued.

From talking to physical activities, he would always fail without a doubt.

And so… It frustrated him to no end.

It was as if he was cursed.

Rejected by the world.

But one day he found himself walking.

'What's that sound?'

He asked himself.

It was something he had never heard before.

The sound of strings meeting a bow and producing sound that turned into melodies.

By the time he had reached the sound, a small audience had gathered around the performer.

On his hands was a musical instrument, one so elegant that he couldn't help but watch until the performance had ended.

He didn't talk to the man, but he knew from that day his future path.

'It's been many years since then.'

A man calmly walked to the stage.

In the audience were more than fifty people, not a grand audience he had once dreamed of but one that would be his last and final.

'Everything… everything has led up to this.'

His final masterpiece, something that would allow him to take the stage and become the 'main character'.

The man could not describe his feelings at that moment.

His curse… One that plagued him of such torment had eventually led to his final performance.

It was ironic, something he had so hated had finally shown its worth and for once, he had not regretted being born into this life.

He bowed to the stage of detectives and glimpsed at a young detective in the front row with her partner.

A smile found its way onto his mouth.

Turning around, he raised his baton into the air.

An orchestra awaited his instructions.

As the baton lowered, the piece began.

* * *

I cannot describe what I am feeling as I watch in awe.

As I watch the conductor take the stage, an illusory pair of wings appear behind him.

One of the wings are fragmented glass forming feathers and the other are different kinds of notes in all sorts of color.

I rub my eyes but the illusion is still there.

On the conductor's head are 'strings'.

Those 'strings' are inserted into everyone through the top of their heads in the theatre.

From each detective to all the orchestra members, the strings 'vibrate' sending emotions and instructions.

Yet, unlike how that may sound, the strings are warm and pure of any impurity.

Perhaps I am the only one who can see this sight.

As I look for the briefest moment to my side, I can see the eyes of all detectives in the room glued onto the conductor.

As the piece goes on I suddenly see flying notes and bars.

It is the conductor's intent manifesting into reality.

"Haha…"

Just what am I seeing?

Within just a few seconds I notice that the music in the air forms into a story.

As the piece reached a crescendo I start to see another sight.

The conductor… is fading.

It was too faint to notice at the start but I confirmed as I watched onwards, the conductor is burning his life to finish his 'masterpiece'.

I am shocked.

The emotions that I had felt throughout the piece are too overwhelming.

It may have even surpassed the despair and madness I felt during my 'regression' cycle.

I watched in silence as minutes passed.

The story is somewhat along these lines:

The story begins with a young orphan who struggles in the harsh world.

Surviving was hard and merely surviving until the next day was a miracle.

As I slowly look at the unfolding story, I realize. It is the life story of the conductor.

From adolescence, adulthood, to finally his current position.

At times in the story tears flow, at others smiles form…

From anger to joy all emotions that could be felt, were felt.

The music slowly lowered in intensity, the sound was dropping.

The image in the air fluttered into nothingness as I realize it was not the orchestra but the conductor who had already faded too much.

His left arm which was just in conjunction with his right in coordinating the orchestra had long since disappeared.

His 'crown' of 'strings' looked lifeless, the strings were thinner and were now dark.

His wings were breaking.

From his right side which reflected his memories in each fragment of glass turning into particles of light. To his left consisted of now black notes which slowly turned into small pieces until they no longer existed.

His both legs had also had long turned into nothingness

I… No, everyone could tell from a glance. He was dying.

His hair was slowly turning white.

As the final bar was played, he turned towards us.

I could see within his glassy eyes a sense of fulfillment, he had accomplished what he wanted.

There was no longer a 'crown' nor 'wings', only a dying man remained.

With a final smile, he bowed to us, his audience…

Then, he faded, like he never existed in the first place.

All that remained were his clothes and baton that stood in his place.

It was from then I realized just how long this musical piece lasted for.

It was a staggering twenty minutes.

The string instrument players all had bloody hands and their bow hand were twitching.

The brass instrument players all had sore throats.

All players were injured in some way.

I thought about my words at Charlotte Holmes as I had said I would have regretted taking this case if not for some mystery.

How naive.

How could this simply be compared to 'mystery'?

It was something else entirely.

Though it is preposterous, I wholeheartedly believe that this scene was something that I was sure I would never find again.

The moments after that day were in a blur.

Though some key points were remembered.

I had read about the man's life through his journal which he left to the detectives and his wish to both 'be the main character' and 'create the best masterpiece'.

I firmly believe he completed both.

I had given my present to Jill the Ripper on that day.

A few days after that incident, many of the musicians quit playing instruments altogether as they said 'It never compares to 'that'.'

Miss Martin was one of the few who did not quit and rather, took the opposite approach saying, 'I will honor that man's life by keep on playing.'

But one fact remained through all the turmoil.

That man was truly the main character for those brief twenty minutes.

And by the time I realized, the next year had already arrived.

***

Close.