Detective Who?

Chapter 5

I encountered no one on the trek to the family home.

The streets were quiet; the good quiet.
Not the 'somethings wrong, every living creature has disappeared and wondering if you're about to get robbed' quiet, but the 'everyone is asleep, no one is around' quiet.
In short, it was peaceful.
Sometimes I forget how peaceful the city could be as I'm dealing with the scum of society on the daily.

Now that I think about it, I haven't gone on a walk for a long while. I used to wander around town with Milo every lunch, so we weren't cooped up in the Block all day, but it seems work has been cutting into our lunch hour more often these days.

Owls hooted, a stray cat bounded down from a wall just to jump back up again, and I'm pretty sure I saw a bat flying past on my left.
Fresh air was nice, as the cold pre-winter wind helped ease my headache when I greedily inhaled it. The chill stung my nostrils only a little, and I was sure the skin at the end of my nose was turning pink.
I reached a hand up to scratch it only to be reminded very quickly that it was broken. My feeble attempt to please myself left a spiking pain in my whole face, as the intense discomfort spread out from my nose to the surrounding tissue like a growing spiderweb.

Ignoring myself for the meantime, I instead tried to focus on my surroundings.

The brick pathway was smooth and dry beneath my feet, in spite of the ice attempting to crawl its way over the curb. Cobble roads jutted off from the main one to my right, either hooking behind businesses or becoming separate lanes into housing estates.
They had all seen better days, as the stones forming the street have been worn down from the constant abuse they have taken both under horse hooves and the cariage/cart wheels being pulled.

I was surprised at the tranquillity of the night as I didn't spend much time outside after dark. Most people wouldn't think that when they first looked at me, as a muscly six foot tall man, being scared of walking alone at night was quite humorous.
It isn't that i'm afraid of being outside at night. It's that I simply prefer to walk around when it's still light outside. Some of this may be due to the fact that my mother used to tell me to never go outside when the sun wasn't out, and this put a lasting impression on me that the outside at night was bad.
Technically, I was right as I could have easily gotten lost or been kidnapped as a child, but these dangers still resonate with me today even if I know full well that I'm not going to get lost or taken.

My lag home finally ended as the gates to my parents' house came into view.
Realistically, it wasn't far away as it only takes five minutes to get there, but it took me fourteen minutes because I had lost all my energy from fighting.

The family house was the largest house in the area, which wasn't surprising considering it was a mansion.
My parents bought the house shortly after they got married around 30 years ago when my dad got a job at the Block. This resulted in them watching the development of the surrounding area over time. My mother speaks fondly of the time the town was closer to a village instead of a city, but neither of them can deny the benefits of living close to all the essential shops.

On the outside, the house looked daunting and old-fashioned, but the inside was pure home.

The imposing gates were ten feet tall and joined the ends of the four-foot wall that circled the whole property together.
They become less imposing and more presumptuous the more you see them because you start noticing the details in the construction. Such as the patterns made in the metal are actually animals and plants, as well as mountains and the elements.
My mother even added the artistic sprinkle in the burglar-deterrent spikes as they are specifically moulded into the appearance of holly leaves.
Why someone would spend so much money on a gate is beyond me but my parents say it should look nice as it was the entrance to the home and considering they had the money for it it was like 'ok then'.

Personally, I would be fine with a wooden gate that was rusted over and hanging off its hinges, but Mum had an idea, and Dad had the funds.

It creaked slightly as I pushed it open and creaked again when I pushed it back. I was sure to put the latch back on and drop the drop bolt before walking up the driveway. The pathway was a large circle with a water fountain in the middle and grass patches on either side. Flowers bloomed from their beds running alongside the wall, but it seems a few of the seeds have gone astray as a handful of tulips were sprouting haphazardly in random places on the lawn.

Walking to the front door took an eternity, but opening the door proved to be an even harder feat. You see, our door was magically locked, so no amount of battering, bashing, or lock picking would succeed in getting it open. The only way to enter is with a key, aka, a handprint. It was very simple to use - put your hand on the door handle, if you have an allowed handprint you may enter and the door will open but if you don't it just won't open on mater how hard you try.

Dry blood coating my hand was messing with the system, and I wasn't being allowed access. I scratched some of the blood off with my nails and then rubbed my hand on my trousers to lose some of the flaky bits.
However, it still wasn't enough.
A quarter of my print was still being obstructed, so I spat on my hands, rubbed them together, and then wiped them on my jacket.
Thankfully, that was successful, and the door parted for my entry.

The foyer was deathly silent, and the only noise was the deep rhythmic ticking from the grandmaster clock.
My parents were already in bed, and I was the only one of my siblings staying the night, so I had to avoid making noise and potentially waking them as they would know it was me.

I slowly made my way to the grand staircase and was sure to skip out the creaky second step when I started my assent. Clutching the handrail like a lifeline, I plopped one foot above the other until I was at the top of the stairwell. That was impressive in itself as the stupid thing has too many steps to count. This is actually true as I tried counting the steps when I was thirteen but lost count when I got past 20.

The hallway to the right led to my parents' ensuite room, as well as the library and my dad's study.
The hallway to the left housed mine and my siblings' rooms.
There were six rooms in total - all being ensuites - but one was a junk room since there were only five of us.

I was thankful my room was only the second door on the left, and the dark wood of the familiar door put my mind at ease. Shrugging off my jacket wasn't as difficult as I expected it to be, but untying my shoelaces proved to be a problem when I discovered a dislocated knuckle on my right hand. Popping it back into place was easy, and I was used to the shot of pain that accommodated it. Taking off my belt was the last thing I did because I couldn't be bothered to change into my sleep wear and flopped down onto he bed like a fish out of water while still in my clothes.

My mother would probably fuss over me when she sees my state tomorrow but for now I rested my head on the pillow, flung the duvet over me as best as I could, and let my exhaustion wash over my body as a wave, sinking me into the dark depths of unconsciousness.

Authors note - Hi all, thanks for giving my story a chance, and I'm greatfull to everyone who's read this far.
Just a heads up that the early updates will be a bit all over the place, but once I create a good schedule, updates should happen around once a week.
Thank you all!