IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE! Three quick, classic cases.

ON THE EDGE OF DEATH, PART SIX

CONCLUSION

There was no time to shake the rust off: Alderton ran after the mysterious figure. His large strides were fast enough to see the pursued's tail right around the corners of the hotel corridors. Life matters do not go the desired way oftentimes; among those, some of the times they're not bad enough to cause suffering, yet bad enough to warrant intense frustration and subsequent complaining. That was one of those moments for a detective who hadn't had the chance to train the body in a while. He hadn't realized how out of shape he was, until the man started going up and down in circles, to wear him out. Having soon realized the evil ploy, he activated one of his own, since the mind had bigger muscles than he would be able to ever acquire in a lifetime. John pretended to stop for good, turning the wrong way, as he was taking off his shoes. At that point he held his breath, helped by his hands, and sharpened his ears. The shadow soon realized it wasn't being chased anymore. It stopped running as well, going up the stairs instead, much to the detective's dismay, who had hoped for a downhill resolution. Flight of stair after flight, they finally reached the attic, where the indistinct figure took the semblance of a young fellow trying to open a door.

"Ah, you caught me..." he remarked in an apathetic tone that showed he did not care at all.

Our man had just had the chance to partially recuperate his shortness of breath, alongside having to deal with the dizziness as an added bonus. However, the show must not stop due to such meager obstacles. "I almost didn't. You're quite fit, Philip." Deep breath.

"You're quite smart, Mr. Alderton. Didn't think I'd have to face one of your calibre."

Deep breath. "Oh, thank you, although it doesn't make much of a difference now, does it? You had it all scheduled with minute precision." Deep breath.

"What makes you think so?"

Deep breath. "A few key elements. The times of delivery, the craftsmanship..." He had other elements in mind that would've been perfect to mention for the list, in better circumstances. Instead, he took another breath. "This last delivery was the cherry on top, carried out despite the danger of being discovered by not only the people whom you're trying to trick, but also the one who's being paid to drive you out. I'd been having the sense that it was too late, so to speak, for a bit." His voice sort of died out in the end: that was too long of a sentence for one weak breath. "I had a hunch since I saw the note you gave to the Livingstons."

"And yet, you still went into the trouble of sending the woman to fetch little Olive, and you still investigated to the fullest of your capabilities."

His heartbeat was starting to calm down at this point. "I wouldn't say my fullest... In any case, my job is more often than not about finding the truth, rather than preventing. Of course, I'm not some kind of wretch, I help innocents when I can. It's a lot easier with someone capable on my side."

Philip stayed quiet for a few moments. Much like Mrs Keene, he started chuckling, but he suffocated his laughter. "You're right, detective. It was too late since the beginning. Nothing could stop the inevitable. Now your choice is between catching me or witnessing the glorious end to inglorious creatures."

In the meanwhile, John had been able to get to a stable breathing pattern. He pretended to think what to say. "Just out of curiosity, how do you intend to escape? Is there a rope to the side of the building?"

"No, there's a tall tree that gets close enough to the attic window."

"Ah, yes, that makes sense." He turned around, and started to descend once more, this time slowly. "It's such a shame I wasn't fast enough to even see which direction the criminal went..."

Needless to say, that was the last he saw of the young man.

The moment Alice and Mr. Lloyd arrived, the ground floor was in disarray: George was being dragged by a policeman, while one of his colleagues waited patiently for a woman who must have been the famous Patricia to scream at Robert's face; Mrs Keene had been handcuffed and was being escorted to the exit. Her teary eyes caught the child in the assistant's arms, cradling her in a gentle fashion.

"Has she been harmed in any way? Is she alright?"

Alice nodded. "She was tired from all the walking she's had to do, nothing more, not a scratch."

The woman exhaled in relief. "Her grandparents are being called, they'll be here soon. Could you hold on to her a little longer?"

"Yes, of course."

"I'll forever be in your debt, Miss Camden," Grace whispered, before disappearing on the other side of the door.

EPILOGUE

Those moments right after the day blows over, the evening sprints past the horizon, when the adrenaline rush from the chaos and anger fades, they are, at the very least, unique.

For Alderton it is nothing new: laying down, letting himself empty out, staring mindlessly at the ceiling, they are just phases of the cycle. At times, a drink can help delay the inevitable, or even obscure the rest for long enough to let sleep creep into his body, if replicated over and over. Other times, the thought of substituting temporarily one addiction for another isn't so appealing. Existential disgust wraps him up tight, a helpless creature forced to confront centuries old misery, to scrape away the rotten spots in his soul using a dull knife. The dark is never frightening though, not as much as the beginning of a new day.

The situation is not too different for Alice. Her parents are back home, so she can't show it. She's in her room, pretending to be asleep. Her bed is a sealed coffin, a bottomless pit swallowing her whole. She holds on to the sides, her weak hands tightly grasping the wood, but she doesn't get up, it is of no use. That book on the table has been read many times over, every single object is in its rightful place. A scream resounds in her bones, shattering the window, duly closed. It is the same fear as ever; sometimes a sad child doesn't get to grow up. Her heart rips through her ribcage, yet the dark Isn't frightening. It's what lies within it: a monster, a demon; a want, the truth. 

Morning comes, and it's not as ugly as it may feel. Sitting at a desk is the perfect distraction, yet not distracting enough at the same time. He was so afflicted that he started looking at the day's post Alice had placed right at the centre of a table that was the only place left untouched, for now, clear by the utter chaos still reigning on it. He had tried to strike up a conversation, to no avail: no one could talk to her during an activity she was absorbed in, so the scarce gifts had been dry, and courteous, responses.

On the bright side: his aunt had announced, through a letter, that she would be visiting in a fortnight or so, for reasons he could not comprehend. Every moment spent not in her presence was a blessing to keep in mind, in times of need – the feeling was reciprocal, to be clear.

Suddenly, a movement out of the ordinary: a head straightening up.

"Did you ever find out why she killed her husband?"

His favourite kind of question. "It turned out that one of their servants had witnessed the whole thing. A stranger came to the house, causing tensions. She heard the couple fight about going to the police regarding some mysterious matter. Through the keyhole the woman saw Mrs Keene swing an object at the man, who fell to the floor. The next morning, he was found dead in the garden as if fallen from the study window, smelling like a winery."

"I see... so she tried to pass it as an accident."

"Precisely. It would have worked too, if not for the servant."

"How hapless," she commented, not an ounce of sadness exuding from those words. Then, Alice went back to work for about a whole minute, when another question popped up: "How did Philip..."

This one was so expected that John was ready to answer it before she could finish pronouncing all the words. "He was there too, hiding, he had only pretended to go away. He convinced the poor maid to follow his plan. Got her to go to the police to confess at a reasonable time, so that the officers would manage to arrive to the hotel no earlier than he wanted."

"He couldn't possibly know how much time they would take."

"He made a good estimate, and had an accomplice to slow down the carriage, the same man who brought the little girl to the house you found her in. Probably."

"Ah! So even you don't know for certain."

The detective put his hands up, as if defending himself from a serious accusation. "It's a bit difficult when the man in question is not loquacious. My estimates are also very good."

She turned back again, not hiding the grin warping her cheeks.