Worlds Apart

Chapter 1

S P I R A L L I N G  •  D O W N

Sep. 09 2020 01:00 CET

Outskirts of Dalbyen / The Port Inn, Dalbyen

Lightning streaked across the sky, splitting it into two. A deep rumble of thunder followed it. Rain lashed against the windows as the midnight blue SUV sped down the country road, spraying specks of mud and gravel onto its sides. The meadows on either side of the road were nothing but golden blurs to the exhausted yet determined eyes of Daisha.

Had this journey been leading to a case they faced on a day-to-day basis, the silence would have been filled by ceaseless chatter on Owen's part, and fond exasperation on Daisha's. But not today, as the mission they faced was a monumental one — one which could lead to events much bigger than itself. Today, no theories or conjecture on how long they would take to conduct the investigation or when the next roadside café would appear or laughter and giggling filled the silence. Apprehension had taken a resolute hold on their tongues and on their minds, leaving them incapable of pondering about anything other than the looming threat and what awaited them if they dared to fail.

Approximately an hour ago, when he had arrived in Daisha's room after she received the call for help from the Port Inn, Owen had been torn between dread and excitement. As the glass and cement outside our windows melted into wood and red-tiled roofs, then into glazed lakes and fiery trees, he stared out at it all, his expression the epitome of anxiety, fingers fiddling with the hem of his sweater.

Through the curtain of harsh rain, Daisha could make out a signboard up ahead, leaning lifelessly towards the dirt road. She tried not to think about how much it reminded her of a grave marker leading to her doom, its ominous lettering spelling out Welcome to Dalbyen in white peeling paint and scars of rust peeking from underneath, eerily reminiscent of dried blood.

"We're almost there," said Daisha, breaking the heavy, oppressive silence. Owen jumped at the sudden noise, glancing at her, then once he registered what she had said, nodded numbly.

Frowning, Daisha directed her attention back to the road. It had taken a short time for her to arrive at the conclusion that Owen was not easily frightened, preferring to face any and all adversity head-on. Apparently, this situation was not one he was prepared to deal with; despite this, Daisha hoped he would compose himself and provide her the necessary support when she needed it. It was also likely that the cause of his unease was that the upcoming case was still in the near future, towering over them with its imaginative formidableness. Things such as these always appeared to be unfathomably difficult to overcome until it was finally here, and then you realise that in reality, it's much simpler than what your apprehension made it out to be. ...And then there was Owen's infamous impatience. He would certainly feel better once he no longer had to wait.

Vague shapes took form in the distance, barely visible through the gloom. They gradually materialised into low-rise buildings, and Daisha promptly recognised the inn they were heading to — a large board above the double doors declared the building as the Port Inn.

In spite of her resolve to remain calm and collected, Daisha's apprehension grew, threatening to take over her every sense.

This was it.

‡   ‡   ‡

On the outside, the Inn was a generic oak brown triple-storeyed building with a wide front porch. Stepping past the double doors and into the building's warm embrace felt like entering a whole new world: the foyer was a long, homely room, with small metal chandeliers dotted across the ceiling, casting a golden glow over its polished wood. In the middle of the left wall sat a brick fireplace, a fire burning merrily in the grate. Littered throughout the room were cushioned chairs around coffee tables; a blonde woman was perched on one of the armchairs, glancing uneasily at the doors through which they had just entered. Double frame casement windows — hazy light from the streetlights spilling inside through its frosted edges — sparsely lined the walls, yet Daisha could imagine they would let in enough light during the daytime. Wine-red curtains hung at their sides. A dark teak reception desk was placed near the far wall, a staircase beside it, doors leading away from the foyer on either side. The whole room had a rustic feel to it. Daisha immediately felt some of the tension in her shoulders recede as the warmth seeped into her frozen, travel-weary hands, and a single glance at Owen told her it had the same effect on him.

They quickly crossed the room to talk to the man, Daisha at the lead. He introduced himself as Vidar Ulberg, the manager of the Inn, the one who had informed Daisha of the murder. He was short, with a stocky build. His accent was neither that of a native English nor a native Norwegian speaker, but an unfamiliar one that Daisha couldn't determine if she had ever heard before. As he had dark hair and olive skin, she deduced he was either an immigrant or of mixed descent. He was quite unpleasant, choosing to forego politeness for blunt practicality, and for that — to her own surprise — he had her respect.

Even as he talked, however, a scowl was permanently etched on his face. "Regine Ihle was the victim, murdered here in one of my rooms — #03. People avoid this place now, I get less than half of the customers now than I did just weeks ago."

Before he could give them any more details, the jittery blonde woman who had been sitting in the waiting area approached them, scurrying over with a nimbleness Daisha hadn't expected her to possess.

"Are you Detective Vancleave? I— I need to talk to you... if you don't mind." The willowy woman had a soft, airy voice, and her haste and frequent stumbles made her words sound like an unsteady stream of hissing steam, bound to dissipate into nothing at a moment's notice. Her jade green eyes were wide and shifty, wild blonde locks framed her pale face in knotted waves, her fringe falling into her eyes. Her narrow fingers tugged intermittently at her sleeves.

"Sure. May I know your name?" Daisha spoke gently so as to soothe her nerves. She ignored the fact that this woman knew exactly who she was, unwilling to interrogate her over such a small detail.

"Oh! O— Of course. I'm Elin Ihle. Vidar told me that you and your partner were coming to investigate my cousin Regine's murder."