Status: updates are kind of slow. sorry.
Hard Water
xiv
“I've heard bad things about this place, you know. They suppose it’s haunted.”
Heller stopped walking to throw Marsden a doubtful look, prising a cigarette and a cheap, battered lighter nearly devoid of fuel from her coat pocket. “Aye. And who told you that, young Michael?”
“Stop calling me ‘young Michael’. I'm only five years younger than you,” Marsden replied huffily, cold breath escaping from his mouth as he spoke, “and the locals did, when I asked them about the victim. Said she lived in the big ol’ house up on the hill with the iron windows and shutters. Gives them the shivers, it does.” He watched as Heller tried to light up unsuccessfully, her bare hands too stiff and numb from the cold to flick the switch properly. He looked down guiltily at his fine leather-clad hands, gloves gifted from his ma for Christmas. “Here. I’ll do it. But I thought you didn't smoke anymore, Francine.”
Heller took the now-lit cigarette from him gratefully, uttering a quiet word of thanks before taking a long drag. “I don’t usually, but now I have to listen to you tell me ghost stories when we’re trying to work a case.” She smiled up at the younger man ruefully, tucking brown wisps of hair behind her ears, and they continued trudging up the hill to the Garrisons’. Harris had taken Maxwell in at the station in order to assist in officially identifying the body, and Heller was vaguely worried that he would have another attack. She’d seen it happen so many times, yet she still couldn’t imagine the emotional trauma that had to come from such a task, especially when it involved such a close relation. Mr. Garrison hadn’t been dealt kind cards in life. Once again, she found herself furiously contemplating why bad things always, always seemed to happen to good people.
Still, she couldn’t afford to be presumptuous. She didn’t know anything yet.
“It should be unlocked,” she said as they reached the door. “They trust each other around here.”
Marsden batted away the overgrown thistles and weeds that crowded the porch and reached out to carefully twist the handle. stepping back slightly to watch the door swing open a few inches, granting them a small view of the darkness inside. “Perhaps a little too much,” he said quietly, almost to himself. He stood for a moment, on the doorstep, hesitating, until Heller spoke.
“Well? Go on then. Go straight inside.”
“I…don’t want to.”
Heller stared at him, dumbfounded. “What?”
“I said I don’t want to. Okay? Doesn’t feel right.”
“Marsden,” she said slowly, “you’re a scientific investigator. You’re not supposed to feel. You’re supposed to observe, analyse, and deduce. Now get in there and do your job. I was in here just before; there’s nothing wrong with the house.”
Marsden shot her an unsteady glare, but compliantly moved inside the house, smart leather shoes producing creaks on the wooden floorboards. It was dark and damp inside the hallway, but a soft, warm light burned from inside the living room to the left, sending streaks of orange up the staircase. He made for the light, but Heller nudged him forward in the direction of the steps. She was only slightly smaller than him and he could feel her breath on his neck, almost making him jump. “Her bedroom’s up there, according to Mr. Garrison,” she said from behind him, and he got the feeling that she was talking just for the sake of it, to make some noise and drown out the eerie silence of the house.
“Goddamnit,” Marsden hissed, nearly tripping and falling flat on his face as they began their ascent, “it’s so fucking dark. I can’t see a bloody thing.”
“Don’t you carry a torch?”
He thought for a moment. “Left it back at the station.”
Heller groaned, resisting the urge to rub her face tiredly. “Some fucking genius you are. Please tell me you at least brought your camera.”
“You mean the massive piece of equipment hanging around my neck?” came the sarcastic reply.
“Yeah, the only massive piece of equipment you own.”
“How original. At least I’m not blind.” he tutted. They stood uncertainly on the landing, unsure which room to begin with. The first floor of the house was even more menacing than downstairs, with shadows dancing across the floor and pitch-black doorways looming at every angle.
“I can’t see, can I? Seeing as someone forgot their fucking torch. Idiot.” Heller began to run her hands along the walls. “Do these people not own ligh- ah, there we go.” The sparse influx of dull yellow light did little to warm the place up, but at least now the cramped space was easier to navigate, as she could now make out a thick square on the ceiling that indicated an attic. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades. She felt Marsden shiver a little beside her – the house was drafty and bursting at the seams – but his threats of ghosts and demons lingered in her mind more than she’d liked to admit.
A door to her right caught her eye. It was white and looked freshly painted, making it stand out against the otherwise musty interior of browns and beiges. Heller shuffled forward and pushed it open, almost jumping back as it seemed to swing open of its own accord. She was almost forced to shield her eyes as they were assaulted with a barrage of evening sunlight streaming through the window, the dusty blue curtains pulled right back to expose the room that almost certainly belonged to Elena.
“Oh, no.” whispered Heller.
Inside, stacks upons stacks of books were piled on the pale pink-and-white dresser, titles from 'Motherhood: The First Steps' and 'Everything You Need to Know About Childbirth', to 'The Complete Book of Scottish Baby Names' gracing the front covers. A crib was pushed against the wall, blankets and sheets neatly folded like it was still waiting to be occupied. Marsden had moved inside silently while Heller stood in shock, and was now kneeling on the grey carpet, peering under the bed. “A rattle. Dummy. Stuffed animals. Bibs. Nappies, even.” he observed, getting to his feet, his face scrunched up in confusion. “But no baby.”
“Jesus Christ.” whispered Heller.
“So either this girl had some serious issues, or there’s a kid we don’t know about.” Marsden ran a hand through his hair, looking almost sheepish. “I’m willing to bet it’s the former, but looking at all this…”
“She wasn’t pregnant when she died?”
“Her body’s been taken to the mainland for an official medical examination and x-ray, but no, no signs of pregnancy.”
To think Harris had thought this would be an open-and-shut case, Heller mused. She would’ve laughed to herself if the situation hadn’t been so dire. Instead, she watched out of the window as the sun melted into the ground, beginning to set behind the hill, casting shadows over everything that dared to fall into its path.
Heller stopped walking to throw Marsden a doubtful look, prising a cigarette and a cheap, battered lighter nearly devoid of fuel from her coat pocket. “Aye. And who told you that, young Michael?”
“Stop calling me ‘young Michael’. I'm only five years younger than you,” Marsden replied huffily, cold breath escaping from his mouth as he spoke, “and the locals did, when I asked them about the victim. Said she lived in the big ol’ house up on the hill with the iron windows and shutters. Gives them the shivers, it does.” He watched as Heller tried to light up unsuccessfully, her bare hands too stiff and numb from the cold to flick the switch properly. He looked down guiltily at his fine leather-clad hands, gloves gifted from his ma for Christmas. “Here. I’ll do it. But I thought you didn't smoke anymore, Francine.”
Heller took the now-lit cigarette from him gratefully, uttering a quiet word of thanks before taking a long drag. “I don’t usually, but now I have to listen to you tell me ghost stories when we’re trying to work a case.” She smiled up at the younger man ruefully, tucking brown wisps of hair behind her ears, and they continued trudging up the hill to the Garrisons’. Harris had taken Maxwell in at the station in order to assist in officially identifying the body, and Heller was vaguely worried that he would have another attack. She’d seen it happen so many times, yet she still couldn’t imagine the emotional trauma that had to come from such a task, especially when it involved such a close relation. Mr. Garrison hadn’t been dealt kind cards in life. Once again, she found herself furiously contemplating why bad things always, always seemed to happen to good people.
Still, she couldn’t afford to be presumptuous. She didn’t know anything yet.
“It should be unlocked,” she said as they reached the door. “They trust each other around here.”
Marsden batted away the overgrown thistles and weeds that crowded the porch and reached out to carefully twist the handle. stepping back slightly to watch the door swing open a few inches, granting them a small view of the darkness inside. “Perhaps a little too much,” he said quietly, almost to himself. He stood for a moment, on the doorstep, hesitating, until Heller spoke.
“Well? Go on then. Go straight inside.”
“I…don’t want to.”
Heller stared at him, dumbfounded. “What?”
“I said I don’t want to. Okay? Doesn’t feel right.”
“Marsden,” she said slowly, “you’re a scientific investigator. You’re not supposed to feel. You’re supposed to observe, analyse, and deduce. Now get in there and do your job. I was in here just before; there’s nothing wrong with the house.”
Marsden shot her an unsteady glare, but compliantly moved inside the house, smart leather shoes producing creaks on the wooden floorboards. It was dark and damp inside the hallway, but a soft, warm light burned from inside the living room to the left, sending streaks of orange up the staircase. He made for the light, but Heller nudged him forward in the direction of the steps. She was only slightly smaller than him and he could feel her breath on his neck, almost making him jump. “Her bedroom’s up there, according to Mr. Garrison,” she said from behind him, and he got the feeling that she was talking just for the sake of it, to make some noise and drown out the eerie silence of the house.
“Goddamnit,” Marsden hissed, nearly tripping and falling flat on his face as they began their ascent, “it’s so fucking dark. I can’t see a bloody thing.”
“Don’t you carry a torch?”
He thought for a moment. “Left it back at the station.”
Heller groaned, resisting the urge to rub her face tiredly. “Some fucking genius you are. Please tell me you at least brought your camera.”
“You mean the massive piece of equipment hanging around my neck?” came the sarcastic reply.
“Yeah, the only massive piece of equipment you own.”
“How original. At least I’m not blind.” he tutted. They stood uncertainly on the landing, unsure which room to begin with. The first floor of the house was even more menacing than downstairs, with shadows dancing across the floor and pitch-black doorways looming at every angle.
“I can’t see, can I? Seeing as someone forgot their fucking torch. Idiot.” Heller began to run her hands along the walls. “Do these people not own ligh- ah, there we go.” The sparse influx of dull yellow light did little to warm the place up, but at least now the cramped space was easier to navigate, as she could now make out a thick square on the ceiling that indicated an attic. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades. She felt Marsden shiver a little beside her – the house was drafty and bursting at the seams – but his threats of ghosts and demons lingered in her mind more than she’d liked to admit.
A door to her right caught her eye. It was white and looked freshly painted, making it stand out against the otherwise musty interior of browns and beiges. Heller shuffled forward and pushed it open, almost jumping back as it seemed to swing open of its own accord. She was almost forced to shield her eyes as they were assaulted with a barrage of evening sunlight streaming through the window, the dusty blue curtains pulled right back to expose the room that almost certainly belonged to Elena.
“Oh, no.” whispered Heller.
Inside, stacks upons stacks of books were piled on the pale pink-and-white dresser, titles from 'Motherhood: The First Steps' and 'Everything You Need to Know About Childbirth', to 'The Complete Book of Scottish Baby Names' gracing the front covers. A crib was pushed against the wall, blankets and sheets neatly folded like it was still waiting to be occupied. Marsden had moved inside silently while Heller stood in shock, and was now kneeling on the grey carpet, peering under the bed. “A rattle. Dummy. Stuffed animals. Bibs. Nappies, even.” he observed, getting to his feet, his face scrunched up in confusion. “But no baby.”
“Jesus Christ.” whispered Heller.
“So either this girl had some serious issues, or there’s a kid we don’t know about.” Marsden ran a hand through his hair, looking almost sheepish. “I’m willing to bet it’s the former, but looking at all this…”
“She wasn’t pregnant when she died?”
“Her body’s been taken to the mainland for an official medical examination and x-ray, but no, no signs of pregnancy.”
To think Harris had thought this would be an open-and-shut case, Heller mused. She would’ve laughed to herself if the situation hadn’t been so dire. Instead, she watched out of the window as the sun melted into the ground, beginning to set behind the hill, casting shadows over everything that dared to fall into its path.