The Murder of Eric Daryl

1. Mystery is as Dark as a Black Hole

          It was nine o'clock at night and Blake was performing a piece of music of "Moonlight Sonata" by Beethoven along with the pitter-pattering drizzle that sprinkled against the steamed-up window. Blake recently bought the jet-black-coloured grand-piano two days ago and was exultantly gratified of his cryptic skills in playing the piano. He would majestically and boastfully sit on the stool along with a cheeky and smart-looking smile on his face, his fingers going to and fro on the keys. He mastered his eligibility to play the piano that he could hit the keys with closed eyes and his mind flowing fluently together with the musicology. His eyes were red-rimmed and hag-ridden. He even grew a scruffy moustache along with a Balbo beard. 

Mort was on his armchair, perching comfortably and reading the daily newspaper that he forgot to read because of a crime-solving case occurred at Meaghan Street. A petite and gorgeous-looking fifteen-years-old girl found murdered in her study room, stabbed on her leg and abdomen in her bed. But the murderer is too weak to withstand and escape the great detective, Blake Edward. Blake soon reached the ending notes and consequently ended up with the music. 

Suddenly, Mort's eyebrows drew together and turned it into a frown. He read out loudly, in a querulous tone, "The great detective, Blake solved the case of Meaghan Street" Mort folded the newspaper perilously and flung it on the small glass table and recommenced, "But I helped also! Where's my credit! I deserve the credit! I feel like stuck in a herd of sheep!" He gave a sharp look at Blake. 

Blake turned slightly to Mort and burst into laughter then said scoffingly, "People don't need credits but merits." He got up and went in the kitchen, asking in his usual gentlemanly voice, "Cup of coffee? Or tea?" 

"I'll prefer a cup of coffee," Mort replied, inhaling the cold air deeply and exhaling it out heavily.

Shortly, Blake arrived with two cups of steam-screaming-out coffee in both hands, holding them by the C-shaped handles. He kept the two cups on the table along with a clinking sound and hunkered down on the other armchair in front of Mort's next to the glass table. 

"Cheers!" Blake exclaimed, raising his cup slightly upwards then began to drink. 

"Cheers!" a low-voiced Mort said, belatedly, starting to sip his too.

"Ah! How I wish that I get another crime to solve." Blake spoke, abruptly, shaking his head slightly in disapproval. 

"Well, I'm thinking of the opposite," Mort told, supping in a mouthful, "I'm tired of these 

Blake didn't say anything. Instantly, he got off his armchair and told Mort to sit on his. Mort was puzzled by this sudden behaviour but accepted, willingly to know what for. After sitting on Blake's armchair, Blake turned off the light and switched on for the kitchen's. Blake then stood behind Mort and launched himself, "Focus on the light of the kitchen. Feel the contrast between the dark and the light."

Mort was baffled up and proceeded as Blake said to him, ready to experience the experiment. He looked towards the light and fixed his eye toward it. 

"Don't close your eyes or move," Blake whispered, like a scryer performing a crystal-gazing, visioning the future through a ball of crystal, "Don't you see a vignetting effect growing in the edge of your vision, drowning yourself into the darkness."

 And lo and behold, it exactly happened what Blake told. Blake switched on the light and Mort's vignetting vision was lost.  

"Wow!" Mort exclaimed, "What was that?"

Blake didn't respond and moved directly on with the main point, "You see, Mort, beware. Eyes can deceive."

Mort glanced at Blake, perplexed. Blake tutted and explained, "Murder is like a black hole. It tugs in all the materials around it, engulfs them and pulverises it beyond existence. And the mystery behind it is as dark as itself."

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