Redtown 487

Masks that Veil Cherry Lies

"It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts." Sherlock Holmes: A Scandal in Bohemia, Arthur Conan Doyle.

Tommy held a cup of warm coffee in his hands as he stood on a cozy balcony. He watched courtyard trees dance to the tune of the wind. The nearly sleepless night weighed heavy on him, eyes sunken into a head filled with busy thoughts. He was used to this; a new case always held a firm grip on his mind, forbidding him to slip into rest, not even for a moment. He wrote a few things down in his leather-bound notebook, but not as much as he wished for. It had been a little over seven hours since the body was found, so it was reasonable not to have much just yet. But Tommy continued to wrack his brain, coming up with theories and ideas of how to proceed.

He was yanked back to the present by the sound of his phone: a quick chime indicating he was needed. He stepped off of his balcony, setting an empty coffee cup in the sink before checking who messaged him. Wilbur had sent Mr. Schlatt's address and demanded that Tommy arrive ASAP. Tommy threw on his cream suit jacket and secured a red tie around his neck. He placed his trusty journal in the inside pocket before leaving his apartment. He made his way to the streets, calling for a taxi.

The address was outside of the city in a notoriously wealthy neighborhood off Snowchester Avenue. It didn't surprise Tommy; Schlatt was the CEO of a large company. Even named after himself. They drove through brass gates into a quiet neighborhood with houses so extravagant they were filthy. At least that's what Tommy thought.

He noticed Wilbur standing on a stone-paved sidewalk waiting for his arrival. Tommy stepped out of the taxi and greeted Wilbur.

"Ah, finally made it," Wilbur smirked.

Tommy rolled his eyes, pushing past Wilbur's smug expression.

"Quite the neighborhood," Tommy said while looking at their surroundings.

"All the most wealthy and powerful people live in this area. I know Dream is west of here," Wilbur explained.

They followed twisting rocks that led to a lavish mansion, observing wood pillars cradling intricate masonry. A fountain with crystal waters encircled delicate flowers, and the smell of cut grass greeted them. Tommy couldn't remember the last time he stepped onto the large spruce deck, finding himself in front of intimidating front doors. The metal flowers carved around the doorbell he pressed were the only thing Tommy saw that he could afford.

Through stained glass, Tommy noticed a silhouette. The figure seemed familiar; Tommy wondered if an old friend of his remained here. As the heavy doors opened, his question was answered.

"Tubbo!" Tommy grinned.

It had been years since he last saw him. His brown curls fell in front of bright green eyes that stared back at Tommy. The small stubs on his head had grown to be full pointed horns, fuzzy ears drooping on either side of his face. He wore a suit with a small towel draping over his left arm. His appearance was dissimilar to the cozy sweaters and bee pins he used to wear in high school.

Tubbo seemed devastatingly different. Burn scars shot beneath his dark freckles on his cheek. His eyes were tucked behind tired lids, lacking any sense of buzzing light he used to carry. Tommy assumed his home life wasn't as lavish as it seemed.

"Tommy, it is a pleasure to see you," he said softly, but his words sounded prerecorded like they weren't his own.

Tubbo bowed slightly to them — a polite gesture ill-received by Tommy. Tubbo was a stranger now; the person in Tommy's memories was nowhere to be found.