A BIRTHDAY

SKYRIL!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! :D

Skyril, I think you were the first person I chatted to on Derek's blog. Y'know, along with Lynith Fae and Insanity Moonshine (cupcakes?). You and I are basically seniors now (mumble grumble no-one gives us any respect mumble we started the blogs grumble damn noobs are taking over mumble grumble...), and you and I have had an epica friendship complete with some awesome points or discussion :P ("There's no place I would be, since I found Serenity...").

Sorry for all the brackets :P In the end, I hope you are having and continue to have a fantastic day :) No complimentary story, I'm afraid :/ I've heard that Kal's is brilliant, though.

*hugs tightly* Once again: Happy Birthday, Skyril! 

Private Investigator Story No. 2, Part 1

Hiya.

(Before I go any further- Please, can you guys tell me if this colour is easily readable? I only put it here to define what the story is, and what the random crap that I say is. If you can give me feedback, it would be greatly appreciated :)

I was going to post a pic of me and Derek, but that's the thing- it was only one picture that I managed to get, and it's kinda dark :P I'll post it another time, maybe. 

Camp was great. Canberra was awesome. I probably spent too much money. Bought the new Gone book, 'Fear', though. Still have a massive list of books to read. Still have a lot of homework. 

Been working on this for a while. It is set not too long after my first Private Investigator story. Includes the same main character; Jacob Reynolds. I'm going to release it in parts, as I'm not even close to finishing right now...
(Here's a quote that I found. Yes, I can chuck quotes before I post my story. Although, I can't find much about the guy who said the quote. For all I know, the guy could be a mass murderer who happened to be really good at saying stuff. Still: I like the quote. Without me having to write a deep and meaningful talk within this post, I'm sure we can all relate.)





In dreams, no man wears a mask.

-Edward Counsel

I’m tumbling, tumbling down the rabbit hole… bouncing off the walls, hitting razor sharp edges and flying piano keys and escaping unscathed.

How far I’ve fallen, I don’t know. A raven flies by, illuminated by red and blue sirens that come from somewhere… There’s a mirror below me, spread out over the rabbit hole’s floor, and I can’t move as I hurtle closer and closer until it breaks and shatters when I collide and flail through it.

Through the looking glass, my mind tells me. And then the sound is transforming and I’m tumbling on to the road, glass jabbing through my coat as I roll across the asphalt. I’m Silvio, I know, reliving his final moments. I see myself, the Private Eye, striding through the glass window I’ve smashed with Silvio’s body. Everything plays out before me, with Silvio’s, no, my arms moving and pushing myself to my feet. The Private Eye- also me -shoots the two men dragging Miranda away, as Silvio backs up a bit. The bartender runs out holding Silvio’s gun and I break his neck, not able to stop myself. The gun’s in my hand, and before I know it, I’m standing above Jacob, ready to shoot him. But then he hasn’t a face and Miranda kicks the gun to him, and the .44 bullet enters my skull painfully, not just allowing me to die but to experience it through slow motion, feeling it carve through my head and-

I wake with a shudder that turns to a scream, and sit up bolt right in bed. My hands pat down my chest and grip my own face. I grab a handheld mirror and flick the light on me, breathing heavily. I’m me, Jacob Reynolds, me, me, me… Not Silvio. Not dead.

I sit there for a moment, staring at myself in the mirror, examining myself. My last couple of cases were months ago. The last one was a complete failure. I just hadn’t been concentrating. No-one had died, which was a plus, but in the end, some shiny police detective got the score. I blamed the lack of concentration on the job I had before that. It had been huge. I consider any job with gunshots fired and people who were killed to be pretty big.

All these weeks later, and the ‘bad guys’ are still being cleaned up. Every now and then, a couple of lunatics in trilbies will be arrested for running rampant with their 50’s weapons and the like. I tend to leave them alone. There’s nothing but bad memories down that path.

Two of my best friends were killed on that case. The client hadn’t been lenient enough on the details of the case, which would have helped my friends, I reckoned. Afterwards, I paid him a little visit. I don’t think his jaw will be the same ever again.

I tilt the mirror to the side and read the back-to-front time on my alarm clock. It’s 3:34am. Of course it’s this early. I’m always plagued by the same nightmare, and always wake up around the same time. Ever since the case.

I restlessly wipe the mirror with my sleeve and end up smudging it even more than it already was. I try and recall my dream, and the thing that stands out now is the mirror I smashed through, at the bottom of the rabbit hole…

Hah, I think. The rabbit hole. Through the looking-glass. A looking-glass is a mirror. References to Alice, tumbling down the rabbit-hole. Surely I can have some more original dreams than that…?

I know without trying that I’m not even going to get to sleep again. I move to my kitchen, kicking aside a cardboard box or two. The only good thing about those two cases was the money that I earned. It was more than enough for me to move to a new apartment, with a beautiful penthouse view. But the money’s starting to dry out. I spent it way to fast.

My hands make a coffee without me thinking too much about it, and within no time I’m looking out of the huge window, eyeing the city below me that’s just starting to wake up.

I clean the house. I flick on the T.V, get bored, and sit by the phone, eyeballing it. I grab an old book from the shelf, The Big Sleep, but only get through a few sentences before I start squirming in my seat. No matter where I move, nothing’s comfortable.

I throw the book across the room and stand, glaring at everything. Especially the phone.

It’s not until an hour before midday that I finally, finally get the call. “Took you long enough,” I spit at the phone before picking it up. “Hello?”

“Hello! Can I speak to Mr. Reynolds, please?”

Oh. I cover the mouthpiece and sigh loudly, closing my eyes. It’s the police detective, the one who worked out the case I couldn’t solve two months back. What’s-his-name, Randal, Randy…

“Speaking.” I say.

“Oh, hi! It’s me, Detective Inspector Lucas Ames. Remember, from the-”

Not Randal, then. So close.

“-but it was ok that you didn’t figure everything out, because you gave me a chance, and now I’m looking at a new promotion!”

“Oh, yay,” I tell him unenthusiastically. I can almost hear his jaw muscles creaking down the line as he beams. “What do you want?”

“Nothing, nothing!” he pauses and I sigh. “Well…”

I know what he’s going to say. He’ll be really struggling on a case, and won’t be able to solve it without me. And of course, I’ll end up doing most of the work. It’s what happened before, pretty much. I had solved most of the case, but just couldn’t focus enough to put it all together. Then Ames comes along and uses all of the information I had gathered.

“…I need help with a case.” Surprise, surprise.

“Maybe I’m not interested.”

I smirk as the inspector gasps. “What? But it’s a case! You’re, like, obliged to take it!”
“One; just because I’m a Private Eye, doesn’t mean I’m obliged. I always call the shots about which job I take,” I tell him. “And two; I want a look at the paycheck before I even consider working with you!”

I hang up and glare at the phone. Ten seconds pass. Almost twenty. Then it rings again.

“Five thou-” he starts to say.

I cut him off, “No. Ten.”

“What? Six, final offer. I’ll find another Private Eye if I have to.”

“There are no others. It’s me or it’s no-one. Seven and a half.”

“I can always hire interstate, you know.”

“Sure you can. And it’ll only take you, what, an extra month to solve it?”

I pause, leaning back against the wall in my apartment. I can hear him breathing heavily on the phone.

“Fine. Deal, whatever. Seven thousand, five hundred dollars.”

“Good.” It’s my time to smile. “When do I start?”

“Today. Just follow the sirens.”

I sigh, glancing at my reflection in the massive penthouse floor-to-ceiling window to my right. Looking past my reflection, I see the busy streets and tops of buildings peeking up at me. No sirens.

“I know you think you just sounded really, really cool, Lucas, but I can’t see any sirens.”

He makes a sound of exasperation. “Look at the street directly below you.”

I press my head to the glass. Below me is an electronic scaffold used for cleaning windows. I think the mechanism got stuck, because it’s been there for more than a week. The cleaner had to climb through an apartment window after two hours of being there, I remember.

“Still not seeing anything,” I tell him.

He sighs again. “Look past the scaffold.” There’s something in his tone that suggests he’s starting to get annoyed. Finally.

“Right-o.” I lean to my right and see the entrance of the apartment block swarmed with policemen and their cars. Standing apart from them, in a dark suit, is someone who I guess is Lucas. He waves.

“Holy crap, Lucas- I found the sirens! And there’s this dashing man waving his hand at my window, trying to get my attention!”

“That’s me. Quit the sarcasm and get down here.”

I try to sound shocked. “How do you know where I live?”

He hangs up.