An orphan child

One “cool” evening old England got us accustomed to, when all you had to do was stay inside your warm house roaming the land of dreams, Officer Gangsley Taylor, and two other Scotland Yard officers, wandered the dark streets of London.

Beside them there was nobody there, which was more than normal on such weather and at such late hour. It wasn’t their wish to walk down the streets. Still, to achieve their goal they had to take this unusual action.

They were wet to the bone because of the water flowing from the dark sky, ceaselessly hit by huge drops of rain stinging them like needles. To their distress, the gusty wind blew off their cap of police community support officers. The three ran towards Moon Street. They knew nothing about this street. It was a line on the map for them, very far from the city centre on the outskirts of London.

Scotland Yards were used to such unpleasant moments. Yet, walking down the darkest and strangest streets of the city on such night it was too much even for them.

Considering the weather, it was clear that anyone except the Scotland Yard officers minded their own business. One could say the weather was triggered by unusual happenings, mysterious, meaningless recent events. Something at least as puzzling as horror stories often shared by folks who like scaring people.

Officer Gangsley Taylor and probably the other two joining him, Jones W. Carpenter and Smith Smithson, have seen far too many atrocities in their career to scare them off. They took part in real events, when the only strange thing was how humans could express so much hatred, violence, indifference, throughout history. Therefore, they left without hesitation for the place of their mission.

They faced heroically the rushing stream coming from the sky. Rain wasn’t an enigma at all. It was common for that April time when customary rainy days settled over England. Still, the three were increasingly impatient to reach the location they were looking for.

That road was so badly cobbled that one risked breaking leg at any step taken. It was flanked on both sides by tiny houses looking as if they were built just before Stonehenge. They were crummy and sloppy, crammed as if trying to transfer heat to one another in the wind blowing harder and harder. The shape and appearance of the houses killed any passer-by’s mood to visit a friend or someone in the family living in this slum.

Even Scotland Yard officers didn’t want to be in the middle of that incipient apocalypse. However, they didn’t give up.

“Good evening ...” Gangsley said, surprised at the sound of his voice.

He didn’t realize at first that it was neither the place nor the moment to be polite. The officer got silent because he noticed there was no one in front of him. He just seemed to have seen someone.

Anyhow, he saw someone's face before him. His gaze met a face so beautiful and young, like a fairy face. Despite that, it was so white, foreshadowing death, bloodcurdling only thinking of it. Not to speak of really seeing it.

Yet, Gangsley smiled as usual, somewhat calmly, for that face seemed far too odd; therefore, it was just a product of his mind.

“I think I’m going mad because of the weather”, he mumbled. “That must be!”

Officer Gangsley looked at the other two officers who almost ran in front of him and had no intention to look back, so he shook head as if he wanted to let go a disturbing thought and hurried up to catch up with them.

He looked once more behind in the dark to be sure no one passed by him and continued walking with the other two. In order to calm down, he shifted thoughts to the heat and the cigars waiting for him in the office he left for some time.

The darkness so deep, luckily for the officers, was lightened up here and there by the glow of some lamps, surviving the tempest and the bitter weather out there. At any rate, the lamps could go out at any time, like other dozen broken lamps on the side roads leading to the main street. These roads were so inky that they seemed to show them to the end of the world.

Taking advantage of those small sources of light the officers tried to read on the signposts the names of the streets they were on. Though, this wasn’t easy at all because hardly anyone could see at a distance of more than a yard, two in front of him because of the heavy rain. And for this reason, until they could read the text on the panels, they managed to absorb more and more cold and unwanted water, to their despair.

Around such a light one could see that Mr. Gangsley was as tall as a tree, a young poplar to be more precise. He had a moustache and handsome sideburns usually neat, but now they formed the background needed for the mini rain-waterfalls flowing from his cap.

In his daily life he was considered for sure a funny and charismatic guy. Even when no one saw anything exciting, he could make a little joke, taking the best of an unpleasant job.

 “We can’t stop, Jones W. Carpenter. We can't drink coffee and smoke a pipe, because I didn't take any with me. Maybe next time, I'll take both. Per contra, now let's move more airily. We almost got there.”

Gangsley Taylor's sober, firm voice somewhat revived Jones, so the officer regained his strength to go on with the same efficiency, along with the other two fellows in misery.

The officers looked for the house at number 3, on one of the most insignificant and unknown streets, Moon Street, a street down which neither of them had ever walked before. Someone else would probably look for it in the morning, waiting for daylight to come and maybe with a little luck the bothering rain to stop.

In whatever way, not Gangsley Taylor. As he got that desperate call from a Mrs. Stone, who said she heard people yelling and screaming in the apartment above her home, he and his aides headed to the address mentioned.