The London Murder

Chapter III

Out of all my hundreds of worst ideas, this must be my worst one yet.

The salty air burns my lungs. The wind rips into my skin. The house I grew up in glares as I approach.

Below me, the North Sea hisses in dissatisfaction. It wants me to fall, to stumble into its open jaws. Already its claws are outstretched, the tide at an all-time high. Any higher and the house would be ripped out to sea.

For now, the house waits like an avenging angel resting on her mortal throne. It knows I'm coming, how could it not? It's known me since I was a child before I even turned one. It's watched me change into the person I am today, knows all my secrets and hidden pains.

When I moved to London, I thought I left all this behind. Yet, here I am again, on this same cobbled path, legs aching and lungs failing.

Maybe no one will be home.

Though, if I'm honest, where else would they be? It seems foolish to hope for such things, especially since it would ruin everything.

This case, August, he's probably the only one I would ever return to this place for. Although if he was alive, he'd never ask me to. Unfortunately, that's the same reason that I had to come.

He never would've asked me, so I have to do it for him. The logical solution, I'd tell him, despite the dread mounting within me. Detective King told me to stop using my head, but if I started using my heart now, it'd probably do more than malfunction.

And so, I lock away those pesky feelings. The ones that boom like fireworks in my ears. I am Detective Adams, researching a case. If anyone would ever know anything, it'd be the man who knows everything, Stephen Callahan.

My father.

I raise a trembling hand and knock, the sound reduced to static next to the thundering of my heart.

"Hello?" The door cracks open and a pair of copper eyes appear out of the gloom. Like bronze medallions, they shimmer and crack right down the center. I watch the recognition flash across her face, the way she pales and takes a sharp step back. It hurts my heart to watch the anger and bitterness and rage that overtake those copper eyes.

The way they flinch when I whisper, "Helen?"

Helen, my sweet baby sister –bless her soul– slams the door in my face.

I stand on the other side, wondering if I've made a mistake. One minute passes, then another. Maybe I should just go home–

It opens again, but it's not Helen's face this time.

Mother and Father stare down at me, two double copper blades with a mission to kill. Mother's face is drawn into a tight-lipped smile, the polite one she throws on when she's trying not to scowl. Father, on the other hand, isn't so good at hiding his emotions. He shakes his head, eyebrows knitted.

"Rita—what are you doing here?"

"I need your help."

His forehead creases and his lips part, he looks ready to throw me out. After how I left, I honestly couldn't blame him.

"Okay," –he opens the door the rest of the way. "Your mother will get us tea while we discuss this."

I nod and try to catch Mother's eye, but her smile only gets more plastic and she hurries off to the kitchen before I can really try.

Father leads me to his study and sits down at his desk, leaving me to stand awkwardly in the doorway. I know this tactic all too well. I've watched him do it to all his clients, the ones that used to come in the dead of night when they thought no one was watching.