The London Murder

Chapter II

This place brings back bad memories.

         It's written all over the freshly painted window trim and imposing brick walls. The spires reach towards the climbing sun, each one more dazzling than the last. Large bushes and willow trees adorn the lushes gardens and the statues track our progress across the long, cobbled path.

         I used to wonder what it'd be like to live in such a magnificent place. Now, I wonder if it ever gets cold among so much stone and empty space. In comparison, my London flat seems positively tiny. A speck of dust next to a blinding crown.

        The Harrington Manor never rests and even now servants bustle about, anxious to curry favor with their employers. One such servant receives us in the parlor and tells us to make ourselves at home while we wait. Although her words are kind, I can't help but notice the way her nose wrinkles when around us. Like she thinks we're something dirty for her to clean.

         If I had to hazard a guess, she's not used to normal people, which isn't surprising. The Harringtons have that effect. They make you forget that there was a world before you met them, and before you know it, they become your world.

         Something dangerous flickers at the back of my mind. I know it's unreasonable to still be mad at him, but emotions aren't something I can just snap, and they're gone. I've tried that enough times to know it never works.

         "Detectives, welcome."

         We glance up to see a man and woman, their image bringing with it August's pale, lifeless face. He's a clone of his parents, always has been. Their freckle constellations mirror his.

        "Sorry to keep you waiting," the man murmurs and stretches out a hand. "I'm Lord Harrington and this is my wife, Lady Harrington." He gestures to the woman next to him, a tenderness to his smile.

        Detective King doesn't return the look but nods. "Pleased to meet you."

        "Rita?" Lord Harrington's eyes have found mine and the corners wrinkle in confusion. "What are you doing here, dear? August isn't around–"

        "Lord Harrington," I interrupt. "We have some bad news. It's about your son, Augustus Harrington."

        He frowns. "Whatever August broke, we'll pay for it–"

        "That's not necessary–" I fall silent at Detective King's glare.

        "Although we appreciate your concern," Detective King continues. "I'm afraid the damages are much worse than that."

        Something like fear glitters in Lord Harrington's stare. He grabs his wife's hand, squeezing the color from her frail fingers. Lady Harrington doesn't say a word, but her eyes speak a thousand tales. 

        Gray swirls among an ocean sky, clouds against the night. They thunder in her wordless silence and I can tell she knows. No one who didn't know would ever look that way.

        Like her clouds are about to produce a hurricane.

        "Tell us–" Lord Harrington demands. "What's happened to our boy?"

        A muscle clenches in Detective King's jaw, but I stop him. From the folds of my dress, I drag forth a chain of sterling silver. A pendant sparkles at the end, the AH initials catching the light.

        In one moment, I've stolen the breath of everyone in the room.

        Their faces, the Harrington freckles. Every single one tilted towards me, clouds blocking the light in Lady Harrington's eyes. She steps forward then and her fingers tremble as she carefully, painstakingly, collects the necklace.