Helena used The Call Building as her landmark. The tallest building west of the Mississippi it stood out as a natural guidepost towards downtown. She walked off the ship, down the ramp to the shore, following a path to Eighth Street which crossed over the Southern Pacific Railroad tracks. Blissful it was early morning, she walked in riding gear and through a part of town she typically wouldn’t be caught dead in, at least she still had her mother’s sword. A walk of shame if there ever was one, strolling past the workers heading to the docks, the shipyards, or the train network, most only gave her a passing glance wrapped up in their own concerns, like eating.
As she walked, she had to chuckle at herself. After spending the past few days running through the city like a lost child looking for her mother, she couldn’t for the life of her even think what day it was. Having been knocked unconscious the night of the riot, Angus said that was last night, that makes this Thursday or Friday, it didn’t help with her time loss.
Eventually, she came to City Hall Square, by then her feet hurt. She had become accustomed to seeing average people walking everywhere, she thought: How did they ever do such a thing? She’d only walked maybe ten blocks, and she began feeling pains in parts of her body that never felt pain before. When she passed the sign for Howard Street, she knew she wasn’t far from the Wizard’s workshop, but this had become a personal quest, besides she didn’t want to show up like some lost puppy on his doorstep. Like the Knights Templar traveling from Europe to Jerusalem, she felt the need for a holy pilgrimage to find Missy.
The signs of the riot from the night before were evident all over City Hall Square, she even found the dark red-brown puddles of dried blood, that with the mounted Army patrols made it apparent something had happened. The conflict the night before was a lot more violent than Gus implied. I wonder how many people were injured? She thought as she walked.
Past City Hall, she turned right on Larkin Street continuing her trudge the seven blocks to Post Street. She finally decided to take a break, watching the city wake from its slumber, she rubbed her aching feet. Sitting and resting on the corner she couldn’t help but notice the opening to the city sewers, the grates in clear sight inset in the cobbled street.
Determined to make it the rest of the way on her own, she grunted as she stood up on her sore feet and started the march uphill to Scott Street. The skyscrapers slowly turned into three and four-story buildings, then into one and two-story single-family homes. Eventually, she came to a park and across the corner from the park sat The Mission for Wayward Women run by the right Honorable Beckett Cartwright.
Helena felt the grime of two days and the four-mile hike, hang heavy on her body, she was exhausted, her feet hurt and little dribbles of sweat ran down her back. She felt in no condition to meet a man of the cloth, finding a patch of grass under a shade tree, she decided to take a break before the confrontation.
She had just sat in the shade when a raggedy man stumbled towards her. At once she felt compassion for the man who dressed in bits and pieces of union uniform.
“I’m sorry sir, but I have no money to give you,” she said.
The man continued to shamble towards her, tin cup in hand he rattled it a few times a few pennies making a clanking noise.
She thought: Poor man must be hard of hearing, so she tried again louder, “I’m sorry sir I have no money.”
The man continued his relentless stagger to her. Helena feared he might topple onto her, his gait becoming less stable the closer he drew. She was about to scream when the vagrant fell at her feet and spoke with the clearly recognizable voice of Detective Longstreet.
“Be quiet you fool woman, you’re ruining my police work by being here.”
She couldn’t help but kick at him striking him square in the forehead with her riding boots. “What is the matter with you Mister Longstreet trying to give me my death of fright?” she shouted.
“Would you please shut up, I have been following a lead on my murder investigation, and you are about to ruin it by being here. I’m trying to watch the Mission; some strange things have been going on,” he whispered to her.
“And you’re about to ruin my investigation into Missy’s disappearance. I’ve also learned there are some strange things going on here,” she hissed back but amazed at how complete his disguise looked.
“If you don’t leave I’m going to arrest you for impeding my investigation.”
“And if you touch me, I will scream bloody murder while I fight you tooth and nail.”
Helena could see a man in a black suit walking up the street towards the main gate to the mission. “Shush someone’s coming,” Helena said.
Doyle glanced over his shoulder. “That is Cartwright,” Doyle hissed and jumped on top of her, knocking her flat and pinning her to the ground, his right hand over her mouth.
Helena was shocked at his impertinence, taken by complete surprise she didn’t know what to do. His raggedy disguise doing a fantastic job of hiding them both, and she might even admit to herself it was half pleasant having his weight on top of her. Not wanting to lose her chance
