Stephen had been walking for over an hour. The rain had stopped and city was heavy with the humidity. The pavement seemed to move itself under his shoes. At this point it was beyond him to slow down. His mind was elsewhere. It was with her.
It was with the smell of early blooming wild honeysuckle that grew on her fence. It was with the talcum powder that he had knocked over in her bathroom. It was with the leftover lasagna in her fridge from a candle lit night in. His mind wandered through the empty house as his body led by his feet navigated the empty streets.
Inspector Runane walked through the garden smelling the honeysuckle as his eyes took in so many small details. He’d seen the bathroom with the spilt talcum powder and the foot prints in them. He’d seen the dinner tapers burned down into dripped piles because of the breeze from the window. Now he looked at the body, there on the grass. Her head was turned away from the garden gate.
Stephen hated goodbyes. He hadn’t wanted her to see him go. He knew her tears and her broken heart would call to him and he would be unable to go.
Cyanosis suggested strangulation. The coroner would declare drowning early in the morning.
Her hair had been brown; it had fallen in ringlets that framed her face. Stephen remembered. He longed for her eyes so soft, so trusting, but in his mind’s eye he could not call them up. Every time he looked all he saw was the pleading frightened visions as she had struggled. It took him quite a while to clean up the water on the floor around the claw foot tub. He had dried her hair. Not that it had mattered it had begun to rain as he kissed her goodbye. That was past though. Now he had to move forward. It was time to leave. That’s why he had done it. He wanted her to be just the way she had always been. He couldn’t take her with him, he rationalized. This way there was only one goodbye. She would have him forever.
Stephen climbed the stairs to the flat he rented. He packed his bags and took a shower. Now he lay to sleep dreaming of candlelight dinners.
The Inspector spread the photos out in front of him. On the wall was a layout of the victim’s home. He took each photo and thumbed tacked into place beside its correct room. The dryer had still been warm when they arrived. Inside was a bundle of towels. It was strange the wine bottle and one of the glasses had been wiped down. The handles on the faucet had been, too. What he had forgotten was the knobs on the dryer. Unfortunately, the fingerprints were mostly partials and were not matches to anyone in any of their databases.
Runane had a hard time reading the coroner’s report. There had been bruising across her chest and collar bone they even extended out onto her shoulders. They suggested that she struggled quite a bit because her assailant had to keep adjusting his hold and changing his amount of pressure. Her name had been Marie. She had died around nine in the evening. None of the neighbors were aware of her dating anyone. No one knew anything about this man that she had dinner with and then had promptly killed her.
The sun came up glistening in the damp that hung on the city By the time sun had reached it's zenith Stephen was thousands of feet up heading towards the Old City.
6.12.2009
6.09.2009
Sar and the Lady
The breeze dances ‘tween the mountains and cliffs. We call her Nar of the sailor’s fair-wind, Su-sara of the table-turning fate, Orara of the gambler’s lucky streak, Masann of the time-passing change but mostly she is called our Lady. She moves to her own music in the vales. Just now she dances in twisting turns in the valleys between the steel and stone that make up the city of Varhar. In the alleys, her alleys in the poorer districts her children, the city’s children, the children unclaimed by any other, move about, not gypsies necessarily, but more likely tramps and thieves. I’ve heard such children suckle at the breast of hunger, and learn to pick a proper pocket before they can walk. Who’s to say it’s true, and who’s to argue. It’s a half truth anyway.
Today one child of our Lady gambles not just with coin but with life and soul. Let me tell you there’s nothing our Lady doesn’t love quite like a wager. He’s eight but his generally malnourished state and street speech make him seem well closer to six. He’s got dark hair and smells heavily of the streets. But his reputation as a card player has allowed this particular rapscallion into the Gray Lion tavern without so much as a second look from the staff or customers.
Across the card table sits a man of more than 20 stone. He’s dressed in rich fabrics. His mustache is greasy and fingernails are tainted by years of smoking the dark plant appear a grisly black in the tavern light. In his hand, three cards lend their illustrations to the light of the gas lamp behind him. Before him on the table are two cards and the stack to pull from.
The boy draws his third card. He doesn’t look at it. He fears if he does too soon, he’ll jinx it, and he hopes to bluff his opponent. On the table the yellow tinged cards seems to sparkle before him. The first is a red flower its stem wrapped around a gray tower. The second is a rider at full gallop with a sword through his chest. The boy called Sar looks at his two earlier cards once more and pushes his last three weeks earnings, from both cards and streets, to the pile just left of the face up cards. It’s all the money he’s ever had and the largest sum he’s ever held.
The merchant twists the right side of his mustache between his fingers and leans across the table. As if whispering a great secret he begins. “Ya sure? That kind of money could buy a soft bed and hot food for a month.”
“Why ya got second thoughts?” Counters the dark haired lad as he takes a swig of his ale.
“Nah. Just want to be sure ya know what yar in for,” says the merchant, as he leans back with a soft chuckle and another twist of his brown mustache. He puts a larger sum on the table. Silver pieces rattle in their purse as it is plopped onto the table. “Tell ya what, kid. Since yar ‘bout to lose everything I’ll call it so ya needn’t scrounge for more coin.” Then with a flourish of his wrist he lays down his three cards.
They’re numbered cards depicting stacked stones with the red flower in their corners. There’s a three, a five, and a seven.
“That’s fifteen stones plus the ten on the table.” The merchant chuckles and takes a long drag on his wide-bowl pipe.
The boy smiles and turns over his third card. His smile turns into a grin. He leans in close in mimic of the merchant. “Well, then I suppose you lose.”
He lays his cards on the table. The first is a three of swords being juggled by a man, the second is a nine of swords stuck in the ground of a battle field. The last card is a woman standing in that battleground a blade in her hand, the princess of blades.
“So that what 1 blade on the table, three and nine is twelve, so thirteen, plus the princess is twenty-six. Sorry to tell you this sir, but I’ve won by two because blade cuts stone.”
The merchant’s once jolly demeanor has faded. He pushes the money at the kid and turns away in disgust. Sar doesn’t think twice he scoops up the money and is gone in a flash.
Today one child of our Lady gambles not just with coin but with life and soul. Let me tell you there’s nothing our Lady doesn’t love quite like a wager. He’s eight but his generally malnourished state and street speech make him seem well closer to six. He’s got dark hair and smells heavily of the streets. But his reputation as a card player has allowed this particular rapscallion into the Gray Lion tavern without so much as a second look from the staff or customers.
Across the card table sits a man of more than 20 stone. He’s dressed in rich fabrics. His mustache is greasy and fingernails are tainted by years of smoking the dark plant appear a grisly black in the tavern light. In his hand, three cards lend their illustrations to the light of the gas lamp behind him. Before him on the table are two cards and the stack to pull from.
The boy draws his third card. He doesn’t look at it. He fears if he does too soon, he’ll jinx it, and he hopes to bluff his opponent. On the table the yellow tinged cards seems to sparkle before him. The first is a red flower its stem wrapped around a gray tower. The second is a rider at full gallop with a sword through his chest. The boy called Sar looks at his two earlier cards once more and pushes his last three weeks earnings, from both cards and streets, to the pile just left of the face up cards. It’s all the money he’s ever had and the largest sum he’s ever held.
The merchant twists the right side of his mustache between his fingers and leans across the table. As if whispering a great secret he begins. “Ya sure? That kind of money could buy a soft bed and hot food for a month.”
“Why ya got second thoughts?” Counters the dark haired lad as he takes a swig of his ale.
“Nah. Just want to be sure ya know what yar in for,” says the merchant, as he leans back with a soft chuckle and another twist of his brown mustache. He puts a larger sum on the table. Silver pieces rattle in their purse as it is plopped onto the table. “Tell ya what, kid. Since yar ‘bout to lose everything I’ll call it so ya needn’t scrounge for more coin.” Then with a flourish of his wrist he lays down his three cards.
They’re numbered cards depicting stacked stones with the red flower in their corners. There’s a three, a five, and a seven.
“That’s fifteen stones plus the ten on the table.” The merchant chuckles and takes a long drag on his wide-bowl pipe.
The boy smiles and turns over his third card. His smile turns into a grin. He leans in close in mimic of the merchant. “Well, then I suppose you lose.”
He lays his cards on the table. The first is a three of swords being juggled by a man, the second is a nine of swords stuck in the ground of a battle field. The last card is a woman standing in that battleground a blade in her hand, the princess of blades.
“So that what 1 blade on the table, three and nine is twelve, so thirteen, plus the princess is twenty-six. Sorry to tell you this sir, but I’ve won by two because blade cuts stone.”
The merchant’s once jolly demeanor has faded. He pushes the money at the kid and turns away in disgust. Sar doesn’t think twice he scoops up the money and is gone in a flash.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
