The Weeping Angels

“Find anything yet?” Emma peered around the doorframe.

Eric quickly straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. “Nope,” he shook his head, as if for reinforcement. “Nothing yet.”

“God you’re so slow!” Emma stamped her foot and glowered at him. “You’ve been doing this nearly all day. Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”

“Yes I’m sure.” Eric snapped. “Just run back along to whatever you were doing.” He waved her away with his hands and turned back to the computer screen.

All day he had been trying to find out something that could prove the seemingly impossible wrong. He had started out confident, sure that it couldn’t be possible.

But apparently it was. Nothing. He had found nothing. So, technically, what he had said to Emma was correct. Only they were talking about different things.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly and Eric looked over at it. Ten to five. Come back tomorrow. Fresh mind, he thought wearily. Maybe then it will all make sense to me.

He quickly printed off the documents he had opened on the desktop, saved them to his private file and turned off the computer. He stuffed the white paper into his shoulder-bag and walked out of his office.

“I’m going now.” Eric said to Emma as she gathered her things.

“Wait for me!” She called and clutched her things haphazardly to her chest. She hurried over to where he stood waiting by the door.

“What for?” He asked as they walked down the stairs and out of the building together for the second time that day.

“So, what’s your plan?” Emma asked in a honey-sweet voice. “Rest tonight and come back tomorrow with a fresh mind?”

Eric sighed inwardly. “Yes actually.”

Emma stopped walking as they reached her car. “Good.”

“Do you really think that you are the only one that wants to solve this case?” Eric snarled.

“No, I only..” Emma began but Eric cut her off.

“Then stop ordering me around.” He turned and stalked away towards his own car. He knew he shouldn’t have taken out his frustration on her, but there was just something about her that always seemed to rub him up the wrong way.

As he slid into his car he saw Emma still watching him. He breathed deeply and turned on the ignition. What he really needed was something to drink. A good stiff drink. That might help him work things out in his mind.

Eric drove home, his mind still preoccupied with all that had happened in one day. He had known that the case of the Weeping Angels was odd, but this was just more than he thought he could handle.

“Surely some things should just not be allowed to happen.” He sighed as he parked. “God, why does everything have to be so….complicated?”

He hurried up the stairs two at a time and eagerly opened his door. The comforting smell of home filled his nose and he breathed deeply. The one thing that seemed to be familiar. He kicked off his shoes and walked into the kitchen. Eric grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured himself some brandy. The warm liquid slid down his throat and he breathed out slowly, letting go of his frustrations.

He pushed the events of the day from his mind as he guzzled down the rest of his drink and poured another. Eric drank this one slowly as he wandered into the room next door and turned on the television set. The monotone voice of the evening newsreader filled the air. Eric watched her blank face as she read out what had happened around the world that day. He drained the rest of the liquid and smacked his lips together.

His thoughts turned to dinner as the newsreader wound up. Eric turned and walked back into the kitchen. He pulled some leftovers from the fridge and slid them into the oven. He turned it on and then walked back into the living room. The news had finished and a soap opera started. Eric grimaced as he flicked through the channels. He turned the tv off and walked back to the front door where his bag sat on the ground.

Eric picked it up and slowly walked into the kitchen. He sat at the small table and emptied the contents on to it. He shuffled through them, looking for the document which proved that Emma was the grand-daughter of Sarah Knok. He stared at it, almost willing it to change, for the words to dance around and rearrange themselves.

But it never happened. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, reminding himself of the needed haircut. The smell of burning filled the air and Eric sighed, pushing himself up from his seat to retrieve his food. It wasn’t badly burnt, only the top part. He slid it onto a plate and sat back down at the table.

He ate a few mouthfuls before pulling the pieces of paper to him once again. There was no way around it. Emma Squire was the grand-daughter of Sarah Knok.

Eric grimaced as he chewed. He didn’t know why, but he dreaded telling Emma tomorrow.