Case1 Four Families - ch3

'M'

Sherlock Holmes looked down at only one letter, open the envelope to read. The waves of thoughts within his head flowed like water. He tried to deduce why the owner of the letter had known the man in front of him.

'Dear friend Sherlock. I hear you have a new toy. Soon I will visit - M'

A message that is short, readable in the blink of an eye. But Sherlock Holmes was immersed in his mind, considering what the normal people ignored. The paper was printed in London, indicating that his friend had returned but still couldn't find the link he was suspicious of.

The young man remained silent until he heard the unconvinced cry of the frightened visitor. Including Watson's gaze that stared at him, his eyes didn't blink.

"I'm sorry."

Sherlock Holmes smiled and apologized. Before extending his right hand to greet him politely, Norville Malcolm seemed a little hesitant but shook that hand gently.

"I was just wondering how my friend James Moriarty got to know Mr. Malcolm, who travels a lot. It's not often that James recommends clients to me."

"Eh ..."

Norville Malcolm blinked, but his astonishing exclamation did not stop Sherlock Holmes to continue speaking.

"I assumed you often travel and trade in the sea."

"Well, my family has been in this business for many generations. We trade with the East Like China or India." Malcolm nodded slowly; his round eyes flashed in amazement. He was confident that he just introduced the name.

"I met Mr. Moriarty for the first time at a banquet. We talked a lot; he was interested in the science of the East. After that, we talked a few more times. The last time he saw my condition horrible. So, I talked about what happened, and he suggested that I come to Mr. Holmes."

"Yes, if I can help you. Please have a seat and tell your story to me and my assistant Watson." Sherlock Holmes invited Malcolm to sit and turn to look at Watson's eyes as a signal to stay together.

"Before that, if you don't mind, may I ask a question." Norville Malcolm was still doubtful. "Even though I just introduced my name and I'm not a famous person, how do you know that I work in the trade?"

"Oh, that not a big mystery." Sherlock Holmes waved his hand before explaining the thought process in his brain in fluent words.

"I just noticed that your face is quite tan, which means you have to work under the sun for a long time. But when holding hands, I saw that the skin under the cloth was white. The metal buttons on your sleeve or the jewelry on your chest all have corrosion and rust signs, probably caused by saltwater reacting with the metal. And even though you seem considerate, be careful not to lose your manners when talking to me. But you don't care to style your hair properly. Probably from the habit of being always blown by the wind. Also, your shirt is made of foreign silk. Even now, your face doesn't look good but instead uses careful words, a reliable and fluent negotiator, from many of the above that make me think you are trading."

"Ah..."

Norville Malcolm gasped for several seconds, unable to speak. He couldn't believe that someone who had just met for a few minutes would even know the rust on the buttons or the type of shirt he was wearing and process the observable into his profession. He actually came to the right person, but in the impression, there was a fraction of the spine-tingling that if he had talked for longer, would his personal life be entirely understood by the young man in front of him?

In addition to Malcolm's admiration gaze. In this room, another gaze followed and quietly listened to Sherlock Holm's inference with a face that showed no emotion.

"Then ... I'll ..." Norville Malcolm lowered his gaze. His impressive expression turned pale. He clenched his fist on his knees. "What happened to it ..."

Malcolm's breath panted, sweat popped up like an automatic reaction as he recalled what had happened. He closed his eyes tightly.

"Is ... Do you believe in the devil's curse ?!" Malcolm broke out with an expression that clearly believed and was terrified of it.

"Err ..."

Sherlock Holmes opened his mouth to speak but immediately shut. Try to keep the facial expressions and symptoms that are opposed to what Malcolm thought. So Malcolm turned to Watson for an answer.

"The devil is not real," Watson denied with a cold expression.

"I think you guys must not believe it. Others said I was crazy!" Malcolm stood up in an angry expression as he rolled up his right sleeve. "At first, I didn't believe it either. But you guys look here !!!"

He pointed to his right arm with a red mark that seemed to be a birthmark if look closely, shaped like a certain character.

"This is the stigmatization of the devil! I have been living a normal life for thirty years, but this mark happened suddenly. And not just me. It still happened ... after ... my father ..."

At the end of the sentence, Malcolm's voice faded. His face almost cried as he recalled the unspeakable memories.

"Mr. Malcolm, I apologize on behalf of my partner for the bad manner. Would you like to have a drink? Tea or something stronger?"

Holmes spoke in a soft voice, sounding comfortable like a gentle rain. Hoping to help extinguish the fires of the man.

"Hmph ... it won't help." Malcolm gritted his jaw and sat down. He lifted his hand to his temple in pain. "I drink so much that I almost lose brain. But cannot calm down at all"

"A moment ago, you said 'Not just me', shows that there are others who share the same curse?" Sherlock Holmes entered the question. The tense sitting man nodded vigorously.

"We… the four family descendants are all under this curse," recalls Malcolm, "because our father made a pact with the devil and broke his vows. This... this is the result of betraying the devil ...the death of everyone in the family. Devil will come to take every descendant's life. My father, my father, was brutally killed by the devil. Then the devil will come and kill me. It's already marked me after my father died; this mark appeared on my arm."

Norville Malcolm tightened the red mark on his arm. When observed clearly, there are scars, red marks on all the surrounding skin. Because of fear and no way out, this man must have used his fingernails to frantically scratch the red marks on his arms, hoping to remove the devil's mark, but it didn't work.

"I don't know what to do!" Malcolm covered his face with a trembling voice.

"Recently, I felt I was being watched—the black shadow following me. When I sleep, that black shadow will enter the room. Leaning over to look at me. That face is so haunted that I don't even dare to fall asleep ... I still don't want to die, Mr. Holmes, I don't want to die!"

Sherlock Holmes looked at the man's agonizing face and continued to question.

"Mr. Malcolm, when your it happened, and how did your father die?"

Malcolm took a deep breath. Restores consciousness and the little remaining courage to tell in a calmer voice.

"About two weeks ago, I was trading in Bristol; rarely in London, I suddenly received a telegram from a servant saying that my father had died. I caught the train right back to London. Oh, Mr. Holmes, you don't know how bad it was when I saw my father's body. I can hardly remember him. It was horrible, like a devil, turning my father into something I didn't know."

When talking about his late father, Malcolm cried. He could not continue to speak, had to take a deep breath for a long time to be calm. Sherlock Holmes and Watson waited quietly, not speaking.

"The servants said that my father lately became strange and irritable. While serving as normal care, but was screamed as if something had possessed and was still suspicious of anyone approaching. Father's expression seemed to be in constant fear of something. After that, I looked at my father's diary. Father wrote about the promises of the four clans but didn't have much detail. So I contacted Mr. Livingston and Mr. Rosevelt to learn that my fathers had made a contract with the devil in the past. But we didn't want to die from the curse, so we tried to find someone to help break the curse."

Norville Malcolm finished the story with a tone of expectation, especially the last sentence. Sherlock Holmes frowned in distress, restraining himself from sighing. First thing first, detective not a curse breaker. He wanted this client to share the fact of the incident than devil or curse. The young man glanced at his eyes with Watson, who stood still.

"What do you think, Watson?"

"I think the devil is not real. It's what this person thought of, the hallucinations caused by heavy drinking and taking drugs." Watson said, nodding to the mark of a syringe on Malcolm's arm. "Cocaine or morphine."

After embracing full expectation, he was accused of hallucinations, causing Norville Malcolm's patience to explode. Took Watson's collar. Shouted out loud.

"I have never touched filthy things like this, not until this damn crazy thing happened !!! "

"Please, calm down, Mr. Malcolm." Sherlock Holmes removing Malcolm's hand intervenes by turning his back on Watson.

"I apolo ..."

Sherlock Holmes didn't finish. Malcolm shook off his hand and turned towards the door.

"Sorry for bothering."

"Wait, Mr. Malcolm. If demons are going to kill you, please at least let Watson follow to protect you."

Norville Malcolm turned back. His eyes stared at the detective; he was highly hopeful. Before looking at the silver-haired man standing still with no emotion, he breathed with hate, stomped his feet, and left the house.

When the house returned to silence, Sherlock Holmes fell on the sofa, eyes closed. There was no voice or movement for a while until ...

"Because of me, you lost a customer."