Fillmore: The Sign of Four

Act 1: Appearance of a Four

"Dawg, man."

Cornelius Fillmore, X Middle School Safety Patrol Officer, muttered to himself as he strode into division HQ. Flicking his eyes around the room, Cornelius picked up on the high buzz of activity surrouding the office. Commissioner Vallejo was secluded in his office, apparently yelling at someone. The soundproofing was excellent. Tehama was scribbling away at her desk, pink-streaked hair tied up as usual, but most would be instantly attracted to the ample cleavage she was displaying. Anza was hanging around the water cooler, cracking jokes and his knuckles with the other goons on the Patrol.

Cornelius sunk into his chair, his computer flashing that he had a dozen new emails. He wasn't going to read any of them. There were more important things to do. Fillmore tossed a sideways glance over at his partner's desk, sadly entry. Ingrid Third, science genius girl extraordinaire had been missing in action for three days. There was involuntary clenching of his fists before Fillmore had to consciously remind himself that was futile. Casting his mind back, he reviewed the fateful incident.

It was a cold day. He was with Ingrid, and the detective pair were probing the bridge club society room. The student council election was upcoming, and various reports had been streaming in of irregularities: false names on the voter rolls, fake ballots, threats to candidates. An anonymous tip to the Safety Patrol had suggested the bridge club, and with Folsom threatening to turn HQ into a yogurt spa, there was no choice but to follow up on every single lead.

The club was pristine: Wooden tables with neatly stacked cards and scoresheets were arranged throughout the room. Ingrid was searching the bookshelf. On removing "Sherlock Holmes, Bridge Detective", an ominous rumbling sounded. Fillmore whistled. "A trapdoor. Nice, Ingrid. Let's check it out." Slipping down the rope ladder, Cornelius flicked on his flashlight: Empty. At that moment, a thumping sounded upstairs. "Ingrid! Talk to me!" Scrambling back up the ladder, Fillmore jumped into a now-empty room.

Running to the exit, his suspicions were confirmed: An empty hallway. "Dawg."

Vallejo strode out of HQ. "Okay people, we got something." The room quickly gathered round. "We busted a midget, of all people, who's confessing to being part of some gang calling themselves "The Sign of Four". Crazy, I know. Either way, he's saying that this whole spate of election problems is masterminded by them. He's saying they replaced the printing press in the old pool room after the baseball card ring was broken up. Let's go people, but be careful. We all know what happened to Ingrid."

"Let's do it!" Anza shouted from the back. People ran out the door.

Ingrid shook her black locks as she returned to consciousness. It was a dark room. The next thing she noticed was that a ball gag had been strapped into her mouth, affording her the ability to breathe, but not to make a sound. Attempting to move her arms, she made a further unpleasant discovery: she had been securely bound to a wall, or some other stone surface.

"Crackers." That was the first real thought running through the mind of X's smartest student. It only took her scant seconds to realize there was little hope of escape. "Fillmore..."

Cornelius nodded to Anza, who subsequently kicked in the door, jumping inside the darkened interior of the old swimming hall. "SAFTEY PATROL!" Fillmore followed him inside, only to stop short and sigh. It was obvious the place was empty. His walkie-talkie crackled. "Fillmore, get back to base. Now." "Anza, you and your guys search the joint. I'll catch you later."

Vallejo strode up and down the floor of the HQ. "These people are too good. I just can't understand! First of all, with most of the force raiding the pool, we get reports of one of the lead candidates for Vice-President is beaten and is in hospital. Second, the midget escapes! Folsom is going to have our heads! And no, we don't know how he did it, so don't ask. Finally, don't let it get out Third is missing. That's the last thing we need. Okay, get to work, people!"

Fillmore slumped back into his desk. Email flashed. Back to basics. He grabbed a magnifying glass and headed out. Back in the bridge club, Fillmore started a methodical examination of every nook and cranny of the room. Releasing the hidden trapdoor about a half-hour into his search, a card fluttered out as the ladder dropped. Scrambling to the empty wood-panelled room beneath, Fillmore reached down to pick up a playing card.

Turning it over in his browned hands, the detective's eyebrows furrowed. The four of clubs. Dextrously flipping it over, the furrow only deepened: the reverse was embossed with a symbol which looked somewhat like a snake coiled around some sort of tree - nothing he recognized. Fillmore put one hand on the ladder when he heard a deep chuckling echoing from the room above.

"No need to climb up, Officer. I'd hate to be forced to trap you down there. And unlike your...delicious...partner, I have no interest in your capture, and little faith you'll figure us out in time."

Fillmore choked back a harsh retort. "I think you're all too short on time, my man. But where's Ingrid? If she doesn't come back, it's only going to be all too hard on you when it goes down. Give it up."

"Officer Fillmore, your feelings are almost too much for my ruined heart to bear. However, I'm afraid you'll simply have to wait for her return - unless you were to give up this foolhardy pursuit, of course. Not that I have any belief you've got what it takes upstairs, if you catch my drift. Consider that token my way of making this somewhat interesting."

"After all, Ingrid's the one with the brains. Not to mention, other, ah, desirable attributes." A second ominous chuckle echoed throughout the bridge club.

Fillmore tightened his grip on the ladder, and with one swift, incredibly athletic motion, flung himself back up through the trapdoor. The room, however, was empty: no sign of the mysterious protagonist. "How did he...". Fillmore's voice trailed off. Back to headquarters.

Tehama stood behind Fillmore, consciously pressing her pert breasts (especially fine for an eight-grader) into his back as she commented on the embossed card. "Looks Asian, for sure. India, maybe? I'm not sure. We need an expert." Fillmore stood, forcibly pushing the Hawaiian import off him. "Agreed. And of course, there's only one place."

Ingrid had lost track of time in her contained abyss. Twelve hours. Maybe more. Maybe less. Her metal bindings had long since began to dig into her exposed wrists, and a small rivulet of dried blood had ran down her arm some time ago. She knew it was just a matter of time before someone came - kidnapping, after all, was an extremely serious crime. The question was, of course, how long and how unpleasant her captivity was going to be...and if she was going to be found alive.

The raven-haired detective pushed such dark thoughts from her mind, settling herself back in for another wait when a gleam of light appeared, seemingly below her. Squinting at it, the light roared into brillance for a brief second. Ingrid tried to instinctively throw up her hands to protect her eyes, but only succeded in provoking another gash in her left wrist from her handcuff. Temporarily blinded, Ingrid closed her eyes, squeezing away the light.

Voices sounded. Close. Ingrid tried to open her eyes, tried to see, but could only percieve four shadowy figures standing in front of her.

"Well, well. It looks like the time has finally come, Ingrid Third."