Fleeting Impressions | J.M.

7: rossini in theater

I was almost tempted to call my brothers after all this time, I really was. But then I got a text from an unknown number later today. Well, not really unknown.

'I will prove to you that I only have eyes for you. I'll just get rid of the obstacle in our way to finally be together.
Enjoy our game,
Your king.

#SaveStrawberryShortcake
@ 452 abbey rd.'

Wouldn't take a genius to know who sent me the text. And it took me less than a second to know who was referring to.

He has Emma.

And I have to find her and get her back safely. She doesn't deserve any of this, she is innocent. I'm not sure what James has in mind, and what he is all capable of, but I can't make a mistake of underestimating him this time. A life could be at risk.

I call one of the only cabs in this small town to give me a ride to Abbey road.

The game is on Mr. Moriarty.

I will win.

Pulling up to 452, it's not what I expected. Instead of a classic abandoned warehouse that any villain would lead me to, it is a theatre.

Oh how appropriate. Putting on a show for me, dear James? I knew you had the flair for the dramatics.

As soon as I rip open the heavy oak doors I am greeted with the sweet sound of La Gazza Ladra and wonder if he has somehow stollen my playlist. Or, is he in fact a fan of Rossini? If so, he has an impeccable taste in music.

I walk to the front and sit center by the isle, waiting for the show to start. A whole audience empty except me and my baited breathe.

My hands tighten on the arm rests after the curtain is finally pulled back. Emma sits, a red dot trained on her forehead. Her form is shaking, wavering with fright. The wooden chair under her looks as if it is a prop from the back. If I was the one sitting in the chair I would have broken it by now, they are flimsy though it is hidden behind lavish swirls and details. I would not expect Emma to know that.

The speaker cracks to life and the voice that drops out is one that runs through my head on a daily basis. Poor Emma though, it seems as if she was clueless of her true kidnapper. A silent tear falls from her eye.

"My queen, welcome to the show. I would say sit back and relax, but this is a performance that you will take a part in. A pick your own destiny kind of show," the crazed pitch of his voice reveals his true excitement for this game of ours. He basks in the danger and the control.

"The first question, what is my favorite ice cream?" I furrow my eyebrows. Well this is easy.

"Mint chocolate chip," I answer and the dot disappears. I take it that was a correct answer. One step closer to getting Emma to safety.

"How did we meet?" He asks.

"The ice cream shop," I answer with no hesitation. The dot trains on Emma forehead.

"Wrong," he barks out. I can hear the slight disappointment in his voice. He's angry.

"I want you to deduce Emma now," he redirects my attention.

"She's scared. Petrified. All she's even known is this small town, she's never been anywhere else. She doesn't know about men like you, because men like you have never shown interest in her before. She is just a regular girl," I pause and his growl keeps me going when I see two more dots appear by her heart.

"Fine," I mutter. He wants more details. "She clings to men for a semblance of safety, drifting from boyfriend to boyfriend because she is scared of being alone. The silence kills normal people like Emma and she can't stand solitude. But more than others, she thinks she needs a protector. Probably stemming from an event with her father when she was younger."

The dots stay trained on her. "Oh come on it's just details, I've spilled her soul to you." I shout. Frustrated at last. This man is psycho.

"Keep going or you both won't walk out of here alive."

"The event. When she was young if I would have to deduce would probably have been when she was at least 10 years old. Maybe older. That's when girls start to mature into themselves, as ladies. Her father. It was definitely the father because that's why she needs a man now. It parallels in the significant other she needs. She needs someone strong. Physically and mentally. Her father beat her. Pushed her aside and left them," I see Emma's tears multiply by tenfold. A waterfall that I know I'm causing. But I can't stop. Even if it hurts her, I know he'll do worse.

"And that's why she clung to you so bad. I've never seen her so head over heels for anyone before. But you have a way with words. You have an entire criminal network at your disposal and even if she didn't know that, she picked up on the control you yield. Years of neglect and abuse has made a survival instinct in her to attach to the most primal of males. You even have a hot streak in you, you let your anger flare out at anyone and can't control it. You do this because you are bored. You want someone to mess with and that just had to be me."

I never realized I started to deduce him until the words start pouring out of my mouth and he stops me with a warning shot next to Emma's head by an unseen sniper.

"That's enough," he roars.

My lips clamp shut. I hope I didn't just get Emma killed.

—-
Authors note:

A little fun fact; the original James Moriarty from Sur Arthur Conan Doyle has a Meyers Briggs personality type of INTJ.