Snapdragons

Trust Your Instincts

The sun crawled even lower. The industrial district looked like a fallen city in the crouched glow, like broken columns and spires and abandoned fortresses. The smell of factory work lingered through the evening air.

"The location of Phineas Barlow," Edwin whispered. "Are you ready to search it?"

Alistair nodded. Edwin tried the door, which was locked, of course.  "How do you plan to get in this time?" Alistair inquired.

Edwin surveyed the situation. "If Mr. Barlow got into the house to begin with, then there must be…" His voice drifted off as he turned the corner of the house and stepped into a small alleyway, littered with shattered glass. "...a broken window."

"Great. More things to climb," Alistair muttered.

Edwin used his shoe to kick away remaining shards of glass at the bottom of the window, which had evidently been hit several times with something hard. Then he slid his legs through and disappeared into the dark house. Alistair was about to attempt to follow by himself, seeing as there was no other choice, but Edwin reached his hands back through the window, offering support. So Alistair took the surprisingly warm hands that he'd held several times before and followed the same motions, one leg over, then the other. When Alistair made it through the window, Edwin steadied him before releasing his hands.

It took a minute or two for their eyes to adjust. They were in some sort of parlor with old sofas and dusty carpeting. In the back of the room was an ornate staircase that looked eerie while drowned in the dark. The sun had just set, but they knew that they would not be seeing a moon through the cloudy sky. Or rather, smoggy sky.

Alistair ran his fingers over the nearest smooth surface. Wood, doily, wood. His fingertips turned gray with dust. "Edwin…" Alistair glanced behind his shoulder. Edwin was tacitly observing a table with a few ornaments dotting its surface. "How did you get invited to play Snapdragons?"

Edwin lifted a silver paperweight shaped like a stallion. "A letter in the mail." His words were quiet and brief, his eyes flitting over the metal horse, then Alistair's expression. The stallion was lowered back to the table, slightly off from the circle of clean wood it had left in the sea of dust.

Alistair suddenly noticed how dry his mouth was. He tried swallowing, but it only left a lump in his throat. "I think," he started in a hushed voice while still gathering his breath. "I think Mr. Barlow had been stalking me."

Edwin's eyes widened slightly, his face showing concern. Was this the facade or was being threatening the facade?

"I do not know how else Ms. Endicott could have received a letter right after I arrived at her home," Alistair muttered, picking up an inkwell, observing its engravings, and then shifting his attention to a pile of papers. The papers were scattered across the floor, blown by the wind from the open window. The house truly looked a mess, scuffs along the carpet, furniture in odd places. It would take a while to search everything.

Edwin's lips parted to respond, but he paused. Thump, thump, thump. The sound of footsteps upstairs interrupted.

"Who's there?! What are you doing here?" spoke a gruff, agitated voice.

Edwin turned, his back to Alistair. Or rather, in front of Alistair. "We're detectives," Edwin spoke. "We were given permission to search your location."

When met with silence, Edwin started toward the stairs and through the dark, each step a creak that he didn't bother masking. Alistair was again left with no other choice but to follow up the sooty staircase. The upstairs was similar to the room they entered in. Dirty, disheveled, and unsettling.

There was a long hallway, and from the hall sprouted several doorways, each with the door opened and wrinkled carpet pooled at the entry. By then, the night had made their acquaintance and was shaking their hands with the intent of swallowing them in a firm hold later on. Navigating through the hallway was a fickle thing. It required you to spread your fingers forward to feel your way through like you were waiting for the dark to guide you. Truly, they were on their own. A trust fall.