It's about a private detective who has no powers in a world where people can control the elements. enjoy :)
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Prologue
Thurs. 01/05/2011 01:54 am
The
warehouse was large, abandoned, and silent. Oh so silent. He liked the
quiet. It was the only time he could
hear him, really hear him. He liked to think that he was always there, silently
watching, but in the quiet… oh in the quiet he sang.
He told him
who was innocent and who was guilty. He told him their crime and their
punishment. He told him who should live and who should die.
She’s one! The voice chimed. She did
it, she should be punished!
He smiled
and stood up from the metal staircase; the voice was so beautiful, so precious,
his pleas had to be answered.
She was young,
mid-twenties. She had blonde hair and blue eyes with flecks of yellow in them. A
half breed Lord, bastard child of one of the noble houses and mother to another
mongrel bitch. He didn’t know how he knew, but the voice had assured him of her
guilt.
She was
dressed in a long skirt, low cut shirt and sweater, a meter of rope and a cloth
gag. Her makeup was run down her cheeks, staining the cloth.
Her name was
Jessica Winters and she needed to be punished.
“Do you know
what linchpin theory is?” He asked, walking around her and placing a hand on
her shoulder.
Even if she
knew the answer she couldn’t tell him. Her mouth was stuffed with the gag and
her breathing was too ragged from the crying.
“No? Let me
tell you. It’s a theory that explains that making yourself indispensable in a
job makes you far less likely to get fired. However looked at in another way
you could argue that it explains a way to take down an entire company. Take out
the vital employee and the company falls apart.
“It applies
to all sorts of things. Families, clubs, teams, governments, the economy … a
man’s sanity…” He paused for a moment, breathing hard, looking away and
listening to the voice as it whispered in his ear. “Even the evolution of the
human body.” He paused and allowed her to turn her head to look up at him, such
terrified eyes. The voice cackled its pleasure. “The heart has evolved as a
linchpin of the human body. It’s done a good job, you can’t imagine anyone
getting rid of their heart can you? A kidney, a piece of liver, some blood or
bone marrow, sure, you can even survive without a lung. Hell you can even
damage your brain and everything else might keep working… but your heart?
No-no-no-no… still if someone took that heart away from you..?”
She tried to
fight against her restraints and he let go of her shoulder, backing away a
step.
He walked
around to look at her, smiling down as she looked up, terrified. “Don’t worry.
I won’t be taking your heart. This all really has nothing to do with why you’re
here.”
She seemed
to relax a little, but his expression turned hard. “You, mongrel, are accused of diluting the blood of the pure, and in turn
causing the murder of future elements.” He said. His hands moved behind his
back and he spread his legs to rest shoulder length apart. “Your
selfish ways will be destroyed and the world will be a better place for it.”
She screamed
against her gag, crying out for someone who wasn’t there to save her. They
didn’t. Her eyes pleaded to let her go but he did not oblige. “For this crime
you have been sentenced to death.”
She moaned
against her restraints, tears flooded her face and she lay forward on her
knees.
“You will
not destroy anyone else.” He raised his hand toward her and turned its back to
her. His hand tensed, the fingers curved slightly and her eyes widened. She
gagged, sputtering, trying to breathe, but she couldn’t.
A few
moments passed and the girls head lolled forward. She was dead. He relaxed his
hand and let his arm drop to his sides, leaning his head back and letting out a
sigh of relief.
One murderer dealt with. The
voice congratulated.
“Countless
to go.” The killer replied. “But don’t worry; they will all pay.” He promised,
turning to look at the whisperer.
One
Tues. 06/05/2011 4:54 pm
Ferron Tower
Why do you do it? I always get asked the same question. I’m
always asked ‘why’. There are a million other careers I could have chosen. So
many other choices I could have made. So many other things I could be doing. I
had so many opportunities, but every time I think about it I always come back
to this choice. I know that this is the path I should be on.
Still… that
doesn’t mean I always know why I do it. It doesn’t mean I never question my
choice. I’d be insane if I didn’t.
I’m a
private detective. A guy with a laminate and a gun. If I were an element maybe
it’d make more sense. If I could throw fire, control water, move the air,
control electricity, hell even augmenting my body with the world’s natural
minerals would be a huge help in this line of work, but I can’t.
I’m not an
element. I’m just an ordinary guy. Well… not ordinary. I’m smart, very smart.
They told me when I was a kid that I’d be a doctor or an astronaut. An
accountant or a scientist. Never an investigator for hire.
I had a lot
of options. A lot of options. But no
matter what I imagine I keep coming back to this.
I must have
a death wish.
“Alex
Ferron, put the gun down.” I call across at the soon to be former heir to the
Ferron house. He’s a lord but he lost the right to be called such when he
murdered his brother.
He wipes the
sweat from his brow, eyes darting around the room looking for both a way out
and a reason for the sweltering heat.
I ignore the
sweat dripping down my forehead, keeping my eyes focussed on him. I’m not as
hot as he is; I took my coat and jacket off before I came into his office. I’m
no fool, I know what I’m doing.
I believe
that fact less every time I have to remind myself of it.
My gun is
level, held straight and braced against the recoil that I hope I don’t need to feel.
His gun is shaky, pointed over my shoulder more than it’s pointed at me but he
can’t be expected to know that. He’s not trained with a pistol.
Unlike me,
he is an element. He’s a Soaker,
capable of releasing water through his bodies pores or controlling and
manipulating it telekinetically after drinking or absorbing it through physical
contact.
I knew he
was a soaker before I came in to confront him about the death of his brother,
that’s why I went down to the boiler room and turned all of the heating systems
up to maximum.
A little uncomfortable
for me, paralysing to him. The heat dries out the room, dries out his skin, the
water he’s absorbed to fuel his magic evaporates and he’s left as a normal man.
A normal man with a gun. I wasn’t expecting the gun.
Most
elements rely so heavily on their powers that they don’t carry weapons. Their
arrogance is usually why I can best them but when Ferron realised I’d come here
to arrest him he drew the pistol from the top draw of his desk.
“I said, put
the gun down.” I repeat as he levels it on me. Now it’s aimed at me. Suddenly I wish I owned a bullet proof vest.
I make a mental note to have my office administrator buy one for me- then
remember I’m in the process of replacing the admin after my last one quit. “The
police are on their way. You can’t run from this.”
“How did you
know?” The lord asks, wiping his shirt sleeve across his head. “How did you
figure it out?”
Why do they
always ask? Do they think they’ll be able to get a do-over?
“Murder
weapon was too clean.” I tell him. “When a normal person wipes their finger
prints off there’s still traces of blood. A soaker cleans it and they remove
all traces. The blood becomes a part of the magic and it gets taken away.”
“That’s all
you got?” He asks.
I notice a
slight upwards curve of his lips, relief? I’m not sure. Put me in a controlled
setting and I’d be able to read him like a book, but here? Now? I’m not sure.
The heat, the high stress indicators..? I’m just not sure.
“No.” I
shake my head. “That’s how I figured out I should be looking at the nobility,
not the staff of his company. At first I thought there was a house war I didn’t
know about. Killing one of your father’s sons would be a strong message from
the other nobility, but it’d have been a stronger message if they went for the
heir.”
“He was
about to be made heir.” Ferron Shouted.
“Yeah, I
know.” I respond. “Your father told me. He told me how he was planning to name
your younger brother heir to the Ferron fortune and take your name off the
inheritance documents.”
“One of them
found out! They wanted to hurt him!” Ferron argues.
I shake my
head. “It wasn’t public knowledge. The only people your father had told were
your mother, you and your brother.” I pause and take a step forward. “Must have
made you angry; to have him take everything you worked for, and give it to your
little brother?”
“I didn’t
kill him.” He shouted. Anger shows on his face. His hand moves up to touch his
hair. A subconscious indicator of guilt, corroborating what I already know.
“Your dad
told you what he planned to do and you lost it.” I tell him, calmly. “You
confronted your brother, but he wouldn’t listen, so you took the tyre iron from
his tool kit and you hit him over the head with it.” His gun lowers slightly as
his eyes dip and his lips curve down in shame. That one I can tell. “You hit
him again and again and again…”
“I-” his gun
droops to point at the floor. Mine remains raised, but I’m less worried about
his. “I didn’t mean to-” he looks up at me, “I was just so angry!” He reaches
up and runs his hands over his face. “I just wanted to talk to him. I offered
to work alongside him. Me and him running the company, but-” I step forward and
let go of my gun with one hand, reaching out for his. “He told me that as soon
as he had control; I’d be out on my own.” He looks at me again as my hand grips
the barrel of his gun. He lets go and looks into my eyes. “How could he do
that? He was my brother.”
The irony
isn’t lost on me.
Two
Tues. 06/05/2011 7:29 pm
Hunter’s Upper West Office
I walk
through the front door of my office and duck as a fantasy novel slams into the
wall above the door. I hate fantasy novels, why do people need to read about
worlds with fake magic when you have crazed Elements running around the real
one.
“What the
crap, Amy!” I shout, straightening up and hitching my bag back up on my
shoulder. I look up at the frustrated young woman sat at the desk just outside
my office. She’s
sixteen, blonde with green eyes. She looks just like her mother- my late wife Millenia, ‘Lenny’ for short -except for the hair;
she has my hair.
“Where the
hell have you been!” she shouts. “You know I don’t have a ride home without you!”
I notice the worry lines and downward curve of her lips. It’s fear not
annoyance that she’s displaying.
“I’m sorry,
hun, you knew I was going to confront Alex Ferron. After I cuffed him I had to
wait for the cops to arrive, then I had to go with them and give them my
statement. I’m sorry it took me so long, but you knew it was going to be a late
one.”
Her
expression softens. She’s temping as my assistant while I look for someone new.
My last assistant quit on me, something about sexual harassment.
Not from me,
from Will; my occasional partner.
I had
intended to call an agency, but it’s the summer holidays and she offered to do
it for less… and I couldn’t think of a good enough reason not to let her. It
was either bring her in here where it’s relatively safe or let her find a job
with god knows who- or even more terrifying; send her to stay at her low born
hating nobleman grandfather while I was at work.
“You should
have called.” She decides, moving around the desk and walking to me. She
punches my arm, I pretend to be wounded and she hugs me briefly before picking
up her book. “Better not have lost my page. You ready to go?”
I smile.
She’s a smart kid, top of her classes at school, or close to it. “Almost, just
got to e-mail Lord Ferron the invoice for having his son arrested.”
I step past
her and walk through the door to my office, quickly reading the lettering
across the frosted glass; James Hunter P. I.
“So it was
the son who did it?” Amy asks, following behind me.
I pause and
look around at my office. Three years ago the room was practically empty. I’d
paid for the large office to be impressive, but the ply-wood desk and
un-cushioned high school chairs did a lot to take away from the décor. Now
though… glass desk in front of the window across from the door with a high
backed leather swivel chair behind it. A black leather sofa and arm chair set
with a small glass coffee table to the left of the door and a personal bar to
the right. I don’t drink on the job but sometimes my clients need a stiff one.
On the wall
to the left are thirty nine framed cheques with ‘validated’ printed across
them. One for every successful case. Sometimes the trophies worry me, I’ve seen
so many low life, serial killers with their trophies not to create a parallel
between the cheques and some psychos collection of their victims hair.
“It was.” I
say in response to her question, bringing myself back from the brink of psychotic
accusation.
“Not the foreman?”
My initial assumption. He’d just been fired by the victim and his home was in
foreclosure. There were angry voicemail messages, provided by the actual
killer, and testimony from a lot of workers that they had argued. Seemed to
make sense. He was very angry and angry people do stupid things.
“Nope.”
“You’re
sure?”
“His father
was going to name his younger brother heir to the fortune. He confessed that he’d got angry and beat his
brother to death. Plus the gun he pointed at me was a pretty good indicator.” I
explain, switching on my computer and sitting down behind my desk. I grimace
slightly at the mess. I like tidiness, but sometimes I just can’t be bothered.
Amy paled a
little. “A gun? I- I thought he was a soaker, that was bad enough.”
“He was, but
he was a smart Soaker. I heated him up, made it so he couldn’t use his powers,
but he had a gun as backup.” I look up, noticing her discomfort. “Hey, it’s
alright, I survived didn’t I?”
She nodded,
crossing her arms, self-consciously. “I know, but… I don’t know, I think that
him having a gun makes it more real.”
I raise an
eyebrow and the computer chimes on. “Sorry, I’ll be sure to tell you something
more fantasy next time.”
She smiles
slightly, covering her fear. I bring up my e-mails and wait a moment for them
to fill into the inbox.
One e-mail
from my informant in Amy’s mother’s estate, one from the police to acknowledge
my report, ten from various spam sites that I’m certain are illegal, but
instead of reporting them I send them to the spam folder.
“Any phone
calls while I was out-”
“-Trying to
get yourself killed.” I look up at her. A raised eyebrow expression with head
cocked to the side, arms crossed and body leaning cockily on her right leg. She
got that sarcastic expression from me, the humour was forced but the worry
behind it was real. “Yeah, a couple of telemarketers and a Mrs Rhyan; Wants to
know if her husband’s cheating on her.” She sighed, recalling her list. “You
get a lot of calls about watching husbands, don’t you?”
“Yup.” I
nod, double clicking the e-mail from her mother’s family. They used to be all I
did, but since saving Great Lord Bowler’s niece from her then boyfriend my
reputations improved and I can afford to be picky. “That’s the trouble with
having publically displayed, number, people think their partners are cheating
and run straight to the nearest business phone book.”
“I noticed,
though, it’s all lantines-”
“Amy.” I
say, sternly, looking up at the girl. “You know how I feel about that
language.”
“Sorry.” She
responds, embarrassed.
“We’re all
people. Humans. Noble or common born.” I remind her, looking back at the e-mail.
The word ‘lantine’ was what the slave class was called centuries ago. Common
people had dropped the name, believing that all people were born the same, but
the Nobles, like Amy’s grandparents on her mother’s side, clung to the
distinctions.
“I just
noticed; it’s always common-folk.”
She continued.
“Yup.” I
agree, reading through the e-mail from her grandfather’s people.
“Do nobles
not cheat like common-folk?” She asks.
I look up at
her and frown, shaking my head. “The common-folk get married for love, so when
they think that their husband or wife is cheating; they care, they want to know
what’s happening, they want to stop it if they can.”
“And the
nobility doesn’t?”
“The
nobility already know. They marry for money, power and alliances. Once they
have an heir to their estate they often get mistresses, servants that they
sleep with…” I explain.
“Mother
loved you.” She disagreed.
I looked up
at her with a soft expression, nodding. “There are exceptions to everything,
hun. We married because we fell in love, even though your grandfather
disapproved, cutting her off from the family fortune.” I look back down at the
e-mail and smile, chuckling to myself. “Speaking of your grandpa…” I say as my
eyes zip down the page in front of me. “He’s filing for custody again.”
Her arms drop
dramatically to her sides and she releases a sigh of exasperation. “What now?”
“Citing a
dangerous environment.” I read aloud. “Told him you’re working here then?”
She curses
and I look up at her with a strict eyebrow raise. “It was his idea.” She sighs.
“I thought he was just being a good grandfather…” I roll my eyes. I love her
but she’s incredible naive. “Don’t worry, he won’t win.” She promises, sitting
down opposite me and resting her hands on the table.
I raise my
eyes in surprise. “He won’t?”
“I’ll just
tell them I want to stay with you.”
I smile.
“You’re not going to do that.” I tell her, “Just because your grandpa doesn’t
want me near you doesn’t mean I’m going to have you alienate yourself from
him.”
“Why?” She
asks. “He’s nothing but horrible to you.”
“But he’s
your family, you love him. I know you do.” I say. “Besides, who else am I going
to turn to when I run out of money if we’ve both alienated him?”
She laughs
and nods.
“Don’t worry
about it.” I tell her. “We’ll get through it.” This was the sixth time he’d
tried to take her away from me. He lost his petition every time- partly because
the courts maintained that I was a capable and loving father, partly because
the social care professional assigned to my area is a former client I saved
from jail who keeps helping me out –but that doesn’t mean I’m not worried. He
has a mansion and access to all the best schools. I have a three bedroom
apartment overlooking Alduain square. Incredibly nice for someone who’s not a
Nobleman, but it’s still not a mansion.
I bring up
my invoice template, fill in all the details and attach it to an e-mail before
sending it off to Lord Ferron. I doubt I’m ever going to work for the old man
again, but he wanted to know who killed his son and now he does.
I stretch
and shut the computer down, grabbing the days newspaper out from under the pile
of documents I was reading before I realised what Ferron had done, and stand
up.
“Ok, grab your things and we’ll head out.”
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That was it, hope it wasn't too tedious.
Video!
- James
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