Blackguard Posted November 23, 2011 Share Posted November 23, 2011 Bonny Lane was not the nicest of streets in London, despite its name. Yet, neither was it a dangerous one, normally. A seamstress was a trade that required one to be available for any lady's emergency, whether it be early in the day or late at night. This time, it was the latter. A gentleman claimed his wife needed an emergency repair of her gown. An unbolted door had found that the man was not alone. The other with him was not his wife. The door was shut behind the pair, the bolt thrown again. * * * * The candle was burning down to its last moments on the bed side table. So too was Judith Still's life. "I don't know nothing!," she insisted hysterically as she was held down on the bed by one man, while the other fingered her down pillow now in his hands. "We plan to keep it that way," the standing man whispered in a tone that was almost comforting. "Good night Judith." All she could see was the pillow descending, covering her vision as well as her nostrils. Breath came with great difficulty and she struggled mightily to free herself from the vice-like grip that held her in place. It was too late to scream. In fact, it was too late for hope. Too late. Once the deed was done, the man with the black gloves removed the pillow to check her breathing. It would seem that Judith Stills had died in her sleep. The pillow was replaced under her head. One figure paused to stand over the corpse, crossing himself before he moved to cross the room back towards the door. But it was not the door that was used to exit. It was important that the bolt remain thrown. Instead, a window provided the better exit. Gloved hands closed the window all but a small opening. Let it seem that Judith had been desirous of fresh air. Was that not her dying wish? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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