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milwrites · 4 years

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Weird that it happened twice, right?

chapter four - masterlist

a/n: i’m really proud of this one, it’s a real favourite of mine, and is the end of where the story follows canon. obviously no one has died that does in-game, and i intend it to stay that way :) italics are john/narrator as usual :)))

word count: 3k

T/W: sexual assault, death, blood, lots of swearing.

Fingertips brushed against each other once more as guards pulled us in opposing ways, the 17 men being separated from the 2 women. I resisted violently, the men restraining me simply slipping a gag into my screaming mouth. A yell from John and I was thrown into the second cell in the past month. The women around me were terrifying to begin with, all of them much older than me and they spoke with not an ounce of tenderness, but I appeared to bring out the maternal nature in all of them. Perhaps the sight of a battered teenager in a prison that most died in before they were even hung softened even the hardest of hearts. They all seemed to protect me in some way; a few offered me some of their food from between the bars, others sliding me illicit bars of floral soap. I didn’t know what to make of it, didn’t think I deserved it until many of them opened up. They were mainly killers, but most had exacted revenge on a man who wronged them, and then kept killing. I told them stories in return. I had been educated as a member of the upper class, even if I had been treated poorly, and could recall many tales that had offered me escape from my life. I told told them stories of the mighty Thor and devious Loki from the norse myths, and managed to condense entire plays of Shakespeare into about ten minutes. It let us leave the penitentiary for a while, go to Asgard or Venice or the faerie kingdom of a Midsummer night's Dream.

John didn’t get the same level of closeness with his inmates. The men were killers or worse, and while John could play the act better than all of them, he stayed silent as much as possible. His thoughts were so loud as to overpower his voice, he could feel death coming once more and this time he knew Vesta wouldn’t appear to save him. He wished he could have said good bye to Jack. He wished he could have told the kid how much he loved him, how proud he was, how he was going to be a great man one day. He knew Arthur would look after him, and hoped that upon seeing the man assume responsibility for a child, Mary Linton would return to him, and they would raise Jack as best they could. If not, he consoled himself that Sean and Karen adored the child, would spoil him rotten of course, but he would be happy. He wondered if he’d been good enough. He decided he hadn’t. Decided that a good father would have quit this life long ago, a good father most definitely wouldn’t be hung for his crimes before his child could celebrate his 5th birthday. Tears were falling freely, as he thought about the boy being told neither parent would return home, that he would never ride down to the river to see deer with Vesta again, never play cowboys wearing his father’s hat again. He bit his fingernails to stumps and his lips a bleeding mess just considering every one of his past mistakes.

A prison guard rattled my cell to wake me. My sleep was fitful, dreams bloody. I’d braided my hair days ago, flyaways sticking to my sweaty face, which to the guard must have seemed like an invitation to enter my cell and pin me to the wall. I scratched and bit and kicked at him, my every effort doing nothing against the large man. I was crying great gulping tears, terrified at what was about to happen and even in the moment feeling guilty as I thought of John. The man let out a choked gurgle, the wet sound of blood filling his throat.

The woman in the cell beside her had been hiding a shiv for weeks, not planning on using it but keeping hold nevertheless. She had lodged it in the man’s meaty neck, and I pushed him off me, shaking with residual fear and snot still dribbling down my chin. “We- we’ve got to-“ I sniffed. “Got to get him out- and hide the shiv.” I never got the chance to move him. Other guards had heard the racket and were gathering outside the cell. A younger man pulled him out before locking my cell again, and I cried out in horror as they shot my saviour there and then. Gone. She didn’t cry out as she fell, her eyes only widened and her lips parted in a silent gasp. A fresh set of tears gilded my cheeks, the woman having given her life only to protect me from the assault almost every woman in the jail had been through. I wondered if it had been the kindness I had tried to offer, or how young I seemed, or even that it was that enough women had been through hell at the hands of the guards, but it would stick with me forever, the selflessness of a self-proclaimed murderer.

I felt hollow and empty, like the fear of death had been wiped from my mind. Death was so casual here. There were hangings every day, multiple at once. The guards told me regularly that I was to be hung with Marston, and it gave me comfort to know the last face she saw would be the one she loved most dearly. It even set me counting down the days, eagerly waiting to die at the promise of seeing him once more. How far away England seemed, that simplicity of life only punctuated by threats and callous words.

I didn’t see the balloon pass over, and was unaware of the commotion it had caused. I also didn’t hear the shots fired as a set of guards were killed out in the fields and an ultimatum was shouted over the prison walls. And what an ultimatum it was.

My cell door was opened by a scared looking boy, barely older than myself, the grip he held on my shoulders tight enough to bruise. I knew in that moment my time had come, and wryly wondered if this would get me to Valhalla. I welcomed death at that point, as it meant seeing John, maybe for all eternity. I held my head high.

Until I was greeted by an ever-so familiar voice.

“She don’t look too bad all things considered. Head’s still up high ain’t it, Mrs Adler?” The deep tenor of Arthur Morgan was joined by Mrs Sadie Adler’s western drawl. “Let’s get Marston and then we can assess our wounds maybe.”

I gaped at the sound of them, speaking lowly to the boy still gripping me tightly. “Well I’ll be damned.” It had been long decided in my mind that no one was coming for us; the first few weeks had me nursing a candle of hope that spluttered out soon after.

Cobblestones gave way to weed ridden grass under my bare feet even as the cast iron gate of Sisika Penitentiary groaned and shuddered its way open. I stumbled across the threshold, over it, and out onto the island, wasting no time in careering into arthur. He slipped me a revolver and a clip of ammunition. Another protesting screech of ill-fitted hinges and the gates rolled open for a second time.

He’d grown a beard, I noted with a face of disgust.

The miserable expression he’d worn for over a month faded away to a tentative smile at the moment he saw her wrinkled nose and creased brows. A niggling voice in his head hissed poisonous accusations against the girl: she hated him now, she had been hoping he rotted there so she could leave and live a better life. She suffocated it with a beaming grin, leaving Arthur’s side to cannon into him at full pelt, only knocking most of the air out his lungs. She mumbled into his chest, a slurred comment about how much she’d missed him, peppered with expletives and the odd nonsensical noise. A low rumble of mirth and a sharp exhalation of air was his only reply, him not trusting words enough to express himself.

“Ah hate to break up this heartfelt reunion but they are startin’ to shoot at us.” Reminded Arthur, the world having faded quite away for us both. Indeed, bullets were raining down from the battlements, being blocked only by the brick wall the convicts and their rescuers had gone and hidden behind. Chunks of plaster flew from the wall, chinks of light shining through. Sadie started issuing orders.

“John, (Y/N), make a run for it now ‘n’ we’ll cover you. There’s a boat in the marshland.”

We bolted. John seized my hand and held tight, his long strides easily outstripping my much smaller ones, and practically dragging me across the fields. Engaging the guards was suicide, between us we had 12 shots while each guard would have around 16 - and would be on horseback too. Instead we hid, darting from cover to cover, Arthur and Sadie leaving piles of bodies in their ever destructive wake. I saw the boat with a gasp, the sudden realisation that I was still alive, still with John and oh-

We would see Jack again.

John clambered into the boat first, giving me a hand climbing in. Two neat piles of clothes sat in the bottom of it, one with a hat on top and the other with- “Are those my guns?” pure delight shine through my question, my eyes lighting up as I spied the distinctive blued metal of my pistols. I rummaged a little more in the pile to find that they were my clothes too, and I scrambled to get changed while we waited for Sadie and Arthur. John did the same, happier to see his hat than guns, but expressing enjoyment at the reassuring weight of them at his hip. I let out another delighted laugh; I had found that Sadie had fully stocked my bandolier with ammunition, it spanning my chest with shiny cartridges peeping out from their leather keepers.

The gunfire came closer, Sadie taking a running jump into the boat and Arthur following closely, giving the boat a powerful push before entering it himself. For a while the only noise was the splash of the oars hitting the smooth water and the breathless recovery of the fighters, until John spoke up. “I don’t know how to thank you. I thought Dutch was gonna orphan Jack if I'm bein’ honest.” Arthur and Sadie exchanged apprehensive glances. Arthur inhaled deeply, looking pained as he explained himself. “Dutch, well he didn’t exactly sanction us comin’ for yer. He actually told us not to. Said he had a plan and such but it was bullshit so we came anyway. So don’t expect a great welcome I guess.”

The silence returned again, none of us knowing exactly how to respond.

beaver hollow - 1899

John didn’t know how many more times he could cradle her close to him like this, broken and beaten. He held back his rage for Jack’s sake, who was soundly sleeping leant against his father’s other side, too tired to fully register their return. He hated that his every dream ended with her dying in his arms, and that he had to wake up and see her dreaming the same dreams. She shifted in her sleep, muttering something that sounded distinctly like a threat, and moved closer to him. Beaver Hollow set him on edge. They didn’t have a proper tent, more a canvas shelter with two bedrolls under it, and he found himself shielding her with his body from prying eyes when she woke up in distress most nights.

I hadn’t told him what happened in Sisika. It seemed needless to me; he already knew it had been hell, because he’d been though it too. I didn’t need any more pity from him either.

The early hours of the morning cast a rosy glow over our prone bodies and the quiet stillness of the camp. Neither us them were asleep, both pretending for the others sake that we were.

“John? I need you over here a moment.” Dutch hollered from the other side of the hollow. Not receiving more response, he strode over to them, calling John again. “Can it wait?” I had no trace of patience in the way I spoke to him. I hadn’t challenged Dutch's seeming lack of action to spring them from prison, but the deep injustice was constantly boiling beneath my skin. “You aren’t busy, Miss (L/N). Neither is John.” Her tone had riled Dutch and he talked coldly to her, still taking the moral high ground as ever. I had sat up to speak to him, a shawl draped across my shoulders to for warmth. John started to stir, placing a restraining hand at my arm that I ignored. Dutch turned from me entirely, addressing John about a job he wanted to send him on. I fucking snapped. Stood up and started talking. “Shut the fuck up. Shut up. How can you ask him to go out on a job for you right now? We have been back less than 24 hours, Dutch, his son hasn’t even been able to speak to him yet. Remember his son? The one you were more than happy to orphan as long as it didn’t mess up your goddamn plan? You claim to care about every one of us, and yet when it really comes to it it’s only Micah fucking bell that you rescue every single time. You sprung him from the gallows within a week, and let me and john rot there for more than a month, let jack be parentless for a month.” I laughed a spite filled laugh. “But fuck it, eh? We’re back now aren’t we? Never mind the fact that we were beaten to shit in the meantime, never mind the fact that he might not be ready to head out again. At least you still have the money.” A crowd was gathering, Micah moving to Dutch and urging him to shut me up. Dutch shrugged him off, letting me continue. “You know. A woman died for me. She had no ties to me, had no idea who the flying fuck I was, and yet she gave her life to protect me. A guard tried to rape me. In my cell. And she stuck a shiv through his throat. That woman was a killer, a murderer, a convict, and yet she was willing to die for me having known me three weeks. She did more for me than you. I have stole and lied and why? Because you asked me to.” My voice had broken, tears streaming down my cheeks and yet never breaking eye contact with Dutch. John’s hand reached for his gun, Arthur stopping him, at my words. I didn’t look at him, but reached my hand out to meet his, gripping his fingers tightly. I swallowed. Turned around and scooped a now awake Jack into my arms, wordlessly carrying him to the horses as he begged to see Bonnie.

Everything changed for Dutch in those moments. He watched the girl carry the boy toward the horse that had been so aggressive without her, her small body relaxing as she patted her mare. Piglet followed over, then John, who settled next to her with his arm around her waist. A family. He saw then that it was a family that without Arthur and Sadie would have been broken beyond repair, the child an orphan and the two animals never to see their mistress again. The sight of Jack wriggling from (Y/N)’s arms to play with the terrier forced him to recall watching the boy crying inconsolably into her wiry fur. It had been 2 weeks since John and (Y/N) had gone, and Jack had thrown as many tantrums as he could muster to bring them home. Exhausted, hurt and with nothing having changed, the boy had sat on the floor and cried floods of silent tears, which Piglet had come over to lick away. The dog had sat herself as close as she could before him and allowed him to just clutch at her. Dutch had ignored it as best he could, ignored Hosea too, refusing to take responsibility and instead letting Micah assure him that it was for the greater good. He should have known the man was only too happy to let them die. He felt a fool. “Quit wallowin’.” Arthur's voice cut through his self-pity. Dutch glared at him for a moment before nodding and moving to leave his tent. Arthur caught his arm. “I tell you this now, Dutch, I will kill Micah myself if you don’t. he’s a rat. he’s why Pinkertons been findin’ us so damn fast.” His voice was low with anger. “You do it. I'm done killing.”

We were still playing with the horses, I had myself wrapped up and grooming Bonnie's sleek coat properly, luxuriating in the way I was able to talk to John about nothing in particular. Jack and Piglet had tired already, sat side by side with Old boy grazing beside them. Dutch cleared his throat. I didn’t look up from the knot I was pulling from my mare’s tail. John raised his head, face set and arms folded, expecting confrontation.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it. I know that.” Dutch began with his hands as if in surrender. “But I can only offer you my heartfelt apologies - I failed you, my son, you and your family. And vesta I-“

I turned around to look at him, my face already softening. “I can never understand how it must have been. But I'm getting you out of this. All of you. No more plans. I was thinking-“ I cut him off, filled with a rush off forgiveness for him, an urge to hug him taking over me. I never had that much self-restraint. I looked up at him from the hug. “Let’s start again.”

We watched the sun setting across Roanoke ridge, basking in the residual warmth before the wintery chill of November air really set in. He pulled me in even closer, his warmth spreading into me, he and kissed the top of my head.

“Let’s start again.”

#john marston x reader smut #rdr2 #john marston #john marston x reader

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hunypie-sugalump · 4 years

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Hero Sitter

(This is a WIP)

Chapter one

"Lady Justice, we meet again." Said the evil mastermind, Asinine Hope.

The girl in front of him, Lady Justice, grinned, taking a bow, "Here I am. Y’know, for someone named Asinine, you don't realize your stupidity."

"Funny! As usual. You see, Lady Justice, this time I have my victory assured! 20 years ago, after my home was destroyed by a knife wielding deer, I was taken in by my aunt and uncle. And when they too died by the hands of that snollygoster of a deer, my uncle, a Russian veteran from WWII, left me… This." Asinine pulled out a gun of silver and red, with a sinister smile on his face, "This gun, though looking as simple as a glock, is a gun with the power to shoot rounds at 70 miles per hour, and is loaded with bullets able to penetrate even SuperMan himself! Lady, give up while you have the chance."

"I know that you think you have to do this to redeem yourself and your family, but you don’t. Stop this madness, Asinine."

Asinine laughed, "I'm not gonna fall for that bull crap. You’re gonna get shot whether you like it or not!"

Before anyone could utter another word, the wall behind Asinine crumbled to pieces, revealing a woman in a suit of red and white. As soon as this woman saw that darling boy and his sweet butt, she grinned, “Asinine! There you are!”

Once Lady Justice focused real hard she noticed that this too was a villain, one that had only recently made the newspapers, "Gabby Power?" Lady muttered, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

Gabby glanced at Lady, but quickly looked back at Asinine, "Oh, look at you, facing your arch nemesis! You think you're gonna beat her, right? Huh? Well, too bad!"

"What?? Gabby, what are you even doing here?" Asinine asked in reply.

"Baby, I told you you'd regret breaking my heart! I told ya, lover boy, that you'd wish you'd never been born! I'll put you through the process I call H.E.L.L.E! Short for, 'Harley Evan's Long Life Ended'!” Gabby grinned and pulled a ray gun from behind her, lifting it onto her shoulder, “Say goodbye, babe!”

Meanwhile twenty miles to the east

A man walked down the street with a gun in his coat pocket, a grin on his face, and no worries on his mind. As he strut down the sidewalk, people gave him funny looks from all sides; mothers passed by in a rush, covering their children's eyes, and men avoided eye contact. It would be easy to say this man was a thug, or a widely known assassin, but the truth is much easier to state. The man had forgotten to put pants on.

Peter Harris was not a serious man whatsoever, and took his sweet time with simple things. Unless you count putting your pants on. Let’s just say, he really does not like those dastardly things. At this moment in time, Peter was on his way to meet with his boss, Asinine Hope, at the abandoned warehouse, of which he had forgotten the whereabouts. What a huge mess.

“Well I’d never! Young man, where are your pants?” Asked an old lady.

Peter looked at the lady down at his legs and back at the lady, “Well, where are yours?"

"I'm a lady! I don't wear pants!" She said patting down her dress.

"See? We all have our different reasons. Different strokes for different folks." Peter shrugged and went on his merry way. This man did not care for other people's opinions of him, as all of those opinions were, quote un quote, Ninnyhammer’s having a wack at being high and mighty.

With a whistle and a skip, Peter started to wonder why he was outside in the first place. There had to be some sort of reason, after all. If he had no reason to go out, he would still be sitting on his bed, eating cheese puffs and playing cs go with his friend Mark. Or maybe he’d be climbing through his boss’s window to steal some cheese puffs.

“Wait a minute!” Said Peter, his eyes widening with realization, “I’m out of cheese puffs!”

Of course! What a completely sensible reason to get out of the house, cheese puffs! He thought to himself. Pete started to march himself to his boss’s apartment to steal his supply of cheese puffs once again. But another realization kicked him in the rear; he had been walking for six miles, which explained why his legs were as sore as pillaging monkey during the civil war. Not that he cared or anything, but man was this inconvenient at that exact moment in time.

Peter sighed and stopped at the side of the sidewalk, giving his legs a stretch before walking into a shop called ‘The Comfy Cafe’ with pep in his step. Once the cafe’s door opened, a ring sounded, causing people to instinctively look over.

And how they wish they didn’t. Everything went silent as Peter walked through a group of women and picked up a book, flipping through it’s pages. After a while the silence was lifted by a few mutters, which were seemingly about Peter and his lack of pants. Though many others would be uncertain, he knew they spoke of him! But, not caring at all, he simply sat down on a couch and crossed his legs.

He read on from an intriguing line that was, ‘barrels of apples filled the cavern in miss liberty’. Reading at the speed of a mildly slow giraffe, he started to feel well rested and calm; despite the fact that there were three young women standing in front of him with their arms crossed.

“Ahem.” Said the tallest, standing in front.

Peter then slowly looked up and smiled, “Can I help you?”

She shifted her weight onto her left leg, “Yeah, do you mind?”

“Hm?” Peter looked around before shaking his head, “Oh! No, I don’t mind at all, no one’s sitting here.”

“Uh… What?” The lady tilted her head, as she was now puzzled. Probably malfunctioning, thought Peter, so he stood like a proper gentleman.

“In fact, I gotta go, I’ve been sitting here too long. See ya, robo bird babies!” Peter grinned and threw the book onto it’s shelf before strutting right out of the cafe. What an interesting encounter, Peter thought to himself. He shrugged and kept walking towards his boss’s apartment, he knew if he thought about it too long he would surely forget the whole deal. Now that his mind was off the ladies at the cafe, he realized that the streets were now near empty, though he hadn’t a clue as to why. Perhaps it was early dinner time? Once he looked at his watch, that seemed totally reasonable; 4 pm is usually when his boss ate early dinner.

This wasn’t the least bit concerning to him, but there was one thing. Peter’s boss usually calls him to ask him over for early dinner. Maybe his boss was busy? Maybe, just maybe, he was dealing with a certain hero?

“Hey, someone put up a poster of Lady Justice!” He said to himself with a grin, “Cool.”

Normally a villain's henchmen would despise their boss’s arch nemesis, but not Peter. He had what you would call a major crush on the hero, and he didn’t mind that his boss knew. Thinking of Lady Justice and Asinine hope made his mind feel weird, as if he were forgetting something. Something that was not cheese puffs. That knife wielding deer, maybe it was taking care of that knife wielding deer! Nope, didn’t sit right. Was it making that poisoned cake for Asinine’s adopted sister’s abusive boyfriend? Peter was especially excited for that, he made a killer poisoned cake. But that wasn’t it.

Maybe it had to do with both Asinine and Lady Justice! He thought to himself with a grin. And then it struck him. Peter stopped dead in his tracks and grinned, his life source emitting pure despair, as he realized,

“I FORGOT TO FEED MR. TWINKLES!” Cried Peter, instantly disappearing and reappearing in his home, aggressively opening a cupboard, grabbing cat food, slamming it shut, plopping the cat food on a plate and slamming it down on the ground. Once he had done this, a small black and orange kitten came running, and started to eat the food.

“I’m so sorry, Twinkey babey, it’ll nevah happen again!” Peter rubbed his face on the little babey, before standing up and putting his hands on his hips.

A long dip of silence then pursued the room, when suddenly Peter snapped his fingers, “I’m supposed to be helping boss fight Lady Justice! Eh, I’m only an hour late.”

#wip #hero sitter #need writing advice

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couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name · 7 years

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A Definitely Incomplete List Of My Favorite Moments From The Lightning Thief (book), because I'm having Feelings

Percy very causally mentioning times he accidentally hit a school bus with a canon or dropped fifth graders into shark-infested water

Grover Underwood

Just everything he’s ever done

Percy running an illegal candy ring out of his dorm room

“I was worried they found out I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the internet and were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.”

When Percy thought Grover was going to give him some deep, meaningful commentary on life to make him feel better but Grover just wanted Percy’s lunch

Percy tried so hard to do well on his Latin final and Chiron somehow thinks it’s a good idea to tell him he’s ‘not normal’ in front of the class my poor boy

That one part where Percy essentially went “Oh hey mom’s home!!! Better reschedule this panic attack I was having!!”

When Percy did that weird hand sign (that was never explained) and the door slammed on Gabe so hard he flew up the steps

The fact that when Grover finally tracked Percy down he wasn’t wearing any pants. Like, there was literally no reason for him to not have the fake feet and the jeans on. No actual reason for him to be free balling it. Percy just needed a shock apparently. Showing up in the middle of a hurricane with no pants, dramatic ass satyr I love him.

The SATISFYING DEATH of Gabe’s Camaro + Sally apparently learned bullfighting just in case because she truly is the best mom

Percy killing the minotaur with its own horn

Percy dragging Grover over the camp line while crying for his mom literally end me

“You drool when you sleep.” could we get more iconic here

Percy teasing Annabeth about her crush on Luke

When Luke stole some toiletries for Percy and he got a little choked up because it was apparently the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him

The fact that Chiron basically told Annabeth that Percy was her destiny

The fact that a recovering alcoholic god of wine who hates children was deemed fit to run a camp for children

Not so fun: Percy, upon meeting Mr. D, immediately recognizing the signs of an alcoholic and going out of his way to sit far away from him ‘just in case’

The fact that everyone just expected him to hear ‘the greek gods are real’ and move on?? why would no one let this boy be in shock omg

Zeus apparently had a thing for the fluffy 80′s hairstyles

“the real world is where the monsters are”

The fact that Poseidon could have claimed Percy at literally any moment but he apparently decided he really needed that dramatic reveal during capture the flag.

When Zeus was feeling Extra Dramatic(tm) after Percy’s claiming so he started making it rain inside the camp boarders and everyone was lowkey freaking out

When Annabeth pulls off her invisible cap and declares she’s going on the quest with him and Percy was like, beyond unsurprised that she was there and didn’t even attempt to fight her

Chiron forgot to give Percy a sword from his father for like, an entire month.

Grover with those freaking flying shoes oh my God

Annabeth blushing literally any time Luke talks to her

IN THIS HOUSE WE LOVE AND RESPECT ARGUS, HEAD OF CAMP SECURITY

lmao when Percy and Annabeth start bickering about something and Argus just winks at Percy because he knows

When they were playing hackey sack with an apple but it got too close to Grover’s mouth and he just ate the whole thing

The entire bus scene oh my God

“I was about to become the ADHD Poster Child of the Year” as he’s CRASHING A BUS

Annabeth on a fury’s back

the explosion. just. all gr8.

When Grover tries to play a path finder song and Percy just immediately slams into a tree. Also the fact that the path finder song was actually just a Hillary Duff number.

“You two are giving me a migraine, and satyr's don’t even get migraines!”

Percy actually, truly trying to sell the story that the three of them are circus orphans who got separated from their ringleader

Grover: hey guys this place is REALLY SHADY and we need to leave

Annabeth and Percy: but f o o d

Can you imagine walking into a store and finding your dead uncle’s body on display? Like????

When Medusa revealed herself and Annabeth’s running around invisible, Percy’s swinging a sword blindly and Grover’s flying around screaming and trying to whack her with a stick: everyone here is a MESS

When Annabeth was overly annoyed with Percy after that ordeal??? Sweetheart you fell for the trick too

Name something more iconic than 12 year old Percy Jackson mailing the decapitated head of Medusa to the gods on Mt. Olympus in an act of sheer pettiness. I dare you.

When Percy was insisting on taking first watch while the others slept and Grover was basically like “hey kiddo listen to this” and played a song that immediately knocked him out so he could sleep all night

“Percy. Say hello to the poodle.”

Percy seeing all the Greek creatures from the train window

When Annabeth was dragging the boys to the St. Louis Arch and Percy’s claustrophobic ass Did Not Want To Get In That Tiny Elevator but he went anyway because he wanted Annabeth to be happy. That boy has had it bad since the start.

“I am Echidna!”

“Isn’t...isn’t that a type of anteater?”

“I HATE AUSTRALIA.”

How many times has Percy actually been poisoned throughout all the series I literally want a count

‘Lemme just, uh....jump off the fucking St. Louis Arch and hope I don’t die when I hit the water.’

There is just something very aesthetic about Percy lighting a fire in the bottom of a river

Percy’s got so much pent-up rage that he’s just immediately ready to wreck Ares upon meeting him omfg

THE THRILL RIDE O’ LOVE

Annabeth getting so worked up and flustered over going down there with Percy because it’s a love ride and Percy’s just like “you literally do not have to make this a Thing” lmao

Annabeth wouldn’t let Percy touch Aphrodite’s scarf because she didn’t want him getting infected by love magic but then...touched it herself lol

The entire sequence with the mechanical spiders and the cameras and the ride itself

Percy’s plan to get off the ride!!!! He’s so smart okay can people stop calling him stupid!!!

Grover trying to catch them both in mid-air but they‘re too heavy so the three of them just kind of slowly crash into one of those face-cut-out posters lol

Percy, turning to the camera’s broadcasting this shit on Olympus: “Show’s over! Thank You! Goodnight!”

THE FUCKING ZOO BUS

Everything about that scene omg. The animals they had to help. Trying to convince Grover of how great he is. The baby percabeth. my h e a r t

“What if it does line up like the Trojan War? Athena versus Poseidon?”

“I don’t know what my mom will do. I just know I’ll be fighting next to you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my friend, Seaweed Brain, any more stupid questions?”

Do you hear that sound? That’s me, ages 13-21(+) sobbing uncontrollably oh my God I love them so much

‘let’s just set a fucking lion loose in Las Vegas’

“I put a Blessing of the Wild on them, so they’ll safely find food and shelter wherever they go.”

“Why can’t you put on of those on us?”

“It only works on wild animals.”

“So it would only effect Percy...”

“HEY!”

When they get to the Lotus hotel and Grover starts playing that game where the deer shoot the hunters azxjhnhdjx

Percy physically having to drag his friends out of there once he realized it was the lair of the lotus eaters

When Annabeth gave the taxi driver her lotus credit card and he started calling her “Your Highness” lmao

Every time in this book Percy comes close to uncovering a Dark Truth the people around him are just like “let’s not worry about that :) “ and my polite boy actually shuts up it’s so wild because I would just keep going lol

CRUSTY THE WATER BED SALESMAN

Listen that entire scene has lowkey always been one of my Favs and I’m not even sure why but Percy chopping his head off was g r e a t

The entrance to the Underworld is DOA Recording Studios and I love it

“We, uh...all drowned in a bathtub.”

Poor Charon just wants his Italian suits he doesn’t need all this bullshit

Grover almost getting dragged into Tartarus: not good. very bad. bad shit.

Annabeth getting emotionally attached to Cerberus in the span of 3 minutes: RELATABLE

‘huh my backpack that I thought I got rid of five days ago is getting weirdly heavy, that’s not suspicious though, right?’

When Hades just starts monologue-ing about all the shit he has to put up with

“what kind of awful things do you have to do to get sewn into Hades underwear?” p e r c y

when Percy realizes the Master Bolt is in his backpack and he’s just like. tell me why. why. I’m a good person. what did I DO.

When Percy has to sacrifice his mom to get Annabeth and Grover out of there I Cri Evey Tiem

My cute lil’ baby yelling around on a beach to get Ares to show up

ahdbsjznx when Grover gives Percy a crushed, half eaten tin can for good like and Percy is just like “Grover...I don’t know what to say.” I LOVE HIM

My sweet son kicking the god of war’s ass. bless. blessed on this day.

The news crews who suddenly started backtracking and writing Percy as a hero

Percy, choking back tears, giving Gabe’s store’s phone number out on national television and promising everyone free appliances IM STILL CACKLING I LOVE THIS BOY SO MUCH HE’S ICONIC

Hades actually releasing Sally because he’s Not As Big Of A Dick As He Could Have Been

Percy: hey I think there’s a really good chance that Kronos was behind this whole mess-

Zeus and Poseidon: XXX KRONOS DO NOT INTERACT XXX

Poseidon rolling his eyes at literally everything Zeus says and does

Poseidon and Percy’s whole talk omg my sweet boy just wants his dad to love him and Poseidon’s trying to figure out how to show affection when he basically signed this kid’s death sentence I’m crying

A man will never satisfy me as much or in the same way as Sally Jackson murdering Gabe Ugliano did

Percy was spending months of summer stressing over who the friend that’s supposed to betray him was but like...Sweetie you had exactly three (3) friends and you knew two of them weren’t gonna hurt you

ahbdjsnx when Percy and Luke were having their conversation in the woods and like Luke’s acting shady af the whole time but it’s literally not until he litters that Percy is like “something...is Wrong.” this boy I s2g

Percy getting bit by a scorpion is Not A Favorite Moment but the nymphs helping him out was

Percy making his Official Decision to go home for the school year only after Annabeth reveals that he actually did talk her into trying again with her family

I didn’t mean to write out a summary of the whole damn book it’s six am listen I’m just feeling nostalgia for the original series in this chili’s tonight

whoops

#the lightning thief #pjo #percy jackson #Annabeth chase #grover underwood #molly mumbles

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mhsn033 · 4 years

Text

Golden eagles breeding success at Scottish Highlands estate

Listing copyright Chris Gomersall (rspb-photos.com)

Listing caption Nearly a third of golden eagles being tracked by satellite died in suspicious conditions, in step with a Scottish authorities chronicle

Golden eagles respect bred at a “rewilding” estate within the Scottish Highlands for the major time in 40 years.

An eagle pair successfully reared the chick at an synthetic eyrie on the 10,000-acre Dundreggan estate.

This positive news came because it emerged that a young tagged gold eagle is understood as Tom has long previous lacking within the Strathbraan apartment of Perthshire.

Tom used to be being satellite-tracked by natural world charity Raptor Persecution UK.

Springwatch presenter Chris Packham has been working with the charity on the tagging mission.

Listing copyright Trees for Existence

Listing caption The 10,000-acre Dundreggan estate is owned by Trees for Existence, which objectives to revive the feeble Caledonian wooded subject

On the Dundreggan estate an synthetic nest used to be built 5 years within the past excessive on a rocky crag, on the remains of an aged nest web page.

Its perform used to be to support a pair of golden eagles to mate. It used to be made the use of branches from the native pines and birch bushes that quilt the mountain slopes.

Doug Gilbert is the supervisor of the estate. He has been checking the eyrie each spring for the closing 5 years. He described it as a “rewilding successes story beyond our wildest targets”.

He instructed the BBC: “I feel happy. Completely unbelievable. To respect done a minute bit of management, and to respect a wild fowl desire it’s a honest situation to be, and form a chick, then it’s very perfect.”

Mr Gilbert acknowledged the “rewilding” methodology adopted at Dundreggan had helped. The estate primitive to be managed for deer stalking, and the animals have a tendency to graze on comfy saplings earlier than they’ll became used.

Now the deer inhabitants has been reduced to a stage the attach bushes can grow yet again. “Golden eagle-friendly” mountaintop forests had been replanted, containing hard, waist-excessive “wee bushes”, such as dwarf birch and downy willow.

There has been a recorded elevate in shadowy grouse, which is a fundamental food source for golden eagles.

On the opposite hand Mr Gilbert acknowledged: “I attain ache for the security of the chick. They are famend for wandering rather a long way distances. There are several shadowy spots the attach eagles on a traditional basis recede. Some of them are neatly inner fluctuate of a young golden eagle – factual 50 km away, and chicks can straggle back and forth for 100-150km.”

“What we’re doing here could no longer commerce the direction of historic previous,” acknowledged Mr Gilbert. “Nonetheless if we can form one chick, barely than one being killed in varied locations, then it’s a honest element.”

Young eagle Tom ‘lacking’

Spherical 120 miles south, within the Strathbraan apartment of the Perthshire uplands, the young tagged golden eagle is understood as Tom has been reported lacking. Tom used to be hatched in Argyll in Also can 2019.

Listing copyright Raptor Persecution UK

Listing caption Tom the eagle hatched in Argyll in Also can 2019. His closing known subject transmitted by his assign earlier than it stopped working used to be on Also can 18 in Perthshire.

Four of the eagles that had been tagged by Raptor Persecution UK (RPUK) in 2017 respect since disappeared.

Police Scotland confirmed they respect got utilized enquiries relating to the lacking golden eagle. They acknowledged no criminal activity had to this level been established, but are appealing for files.

It is unclear what has occurred to Tom. While some negate that its assign could simply respect stopped working, golden eagles attain face persecution.

A need of grouse taking pictures estates are positioned within the Strathbraan subject. In step with the RSPB, Tom is now the sixth golden eagle to respect disappeared in this apartment since 2014.

A video printed by Chris Packham on Twitter highlighting Tom’s case has to this level had nearly 300,000 views. He acknowledged: “We effect no longer need any proof as to what occurred, moreover that the assign, which had a bulky battery, and used to be transmitting continuously, failed catastrophically.

Listing copyright Raptor Persecution UK

Listing caption Farmers, gamekeepers, shepherds and local other folks had been having a gaze out to appear within the occasion that they’ll receive any designate of Tom

A chronicle by Scottish Natural Heritage (SNH) in 2017 concluded that a third of satellite-tagged golden eagles had disappeared suspiciously. It chanced on that 41 of 131 tracked birds disappeared between 2004 and 2016.

Scientists verbalize they respect got dominated out malfunctioning tags and wind farms as that which you would possibly per chance be ready to mediate causes for the eagles vanishing. The scrutinize additionally chanced on that nearly all of conditions – even supposing no longer all – had been in areas that are managed for grouse taking pictures.

The major adviser on science for Scottish Natural Heritage (SNH), Professor Des Thompson, instructed the BBC it used to be “horrible” that disappearances persisted to occur.

“Our scientific chronicle to Scottish Government on the fates of satellite-tagged golden eagles chanced on there used to be a pattern of suspicious job surrounding the ‘disappearance’ of lots of these birds. This work gave rise to Professor [Alan] Werritty’s Grouse Moor Administration Memoir which ministers are brooding about.”

Golden eagles, along with other raptors such as fowl harriers or red kites, prey on fowl species which had been particularly reared to be killed for sport, fancy grouse or pheasant. The disappearance of Tom comes no longer prolonged after a uncommon white-tailed eagle used to be chanced on poisoned on a grouse moor in Aberdeenshire.

Ian Thomson, head of investigations at RSPB Scotland acknowledged: “We respect had 50 or so golden eagles straggle lacking in identical conditions on grouse moors since 2004. It is within the character of a young eagle to be nomadic. They straggle throughout Scotland, splendid up to the Interior Hebrides, then when they straggle back and forth to the grouse moors within the East, they recede mysteriously.”

“There had been no prosecutions for the killing of a golden eagle in Scotland,” acknowledged Mr Thomson. “It is an steady stain on the reputation of a nation that likes to painting itself as one among wild pure class.”

In step with the closing national look, in 2015, there had been 508 pairs of golden eagles in Scotland. Conservationists verbalize that their fluctuate could very neatly be remarkable better; two-thirds of broken-down territories are mute unoccupied.

Ruth Tingay, from RPUK, instructed BBC News: “The Scottish authorities has known about the persecution of golden eagles on grouse moors for decades. It has kicked it into the prolonged grass. The case has been made; there would possibly per chance be mammoth public toughen, and there has been each opportunity to legislate. It is positive the industry can’t self-protect an eye on.”

On the opposite hand, Tim Baynes, who’s moorland director for Scottish Land & Estates, acknowledged: “Native estates had been actively all for efforts to receive the golden eagle… We realise that after a assign stops transmitting there’ll be hypothesis as as to whether or no longer it has died or has been killed. On the opposite hand, as searches respect chanced on nothing and eagles had been recorded flying within the apartment quickly after the assign stopped transmitting and thereafter, this fowl could neatly be mute flying round with a malfunctioning assign.”

A spokesperson for the Scottish Government acknowledged it condemned “within the strongest that which you would possibly per chance be ready to mediate phrases” any crime utilized against natural world, and that it used to be taking decisive action in a wide range of ideas.

“The Animals and Wildlife Act which has factual became law increases basically the most penalties for basically the most fundamental natural world crime – including the illegal killing of birds of prey – to 5 years’ imprisonment and an infinite splendid, and extends the time available within the market to Police Scotland to analyze.

“We additionally commissioned the Werritty chronicle on grouse moor management and can publish our response within the autumn.”

There are different satellite tagging initiatives going on in Scotland. In step with the RSPB, they are regulated by the British Have faith for Ornithology.

These that produce the tagging prefer to be in moderation educated; there are most efficient “a handful” who respect permission. The initiatives straggle their files to the police force, who then desire whether or no longer to lead any investigation. The organisation acknowledged they are 98% respectable.

The Scottish Government is at the moment brooding about its response to most latest self reliant chronicle into the management of grouse moors: The Werrity Evaluate used to be printed December 2019.

Be aware Claire on Twitter.

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archimage-writings · 4 years

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The Game Is Afoot - 1st Draft

As promised in the last post, here is the 1st draft. Again note, this is awful, as most 1st drafts are. This is even worse than most of my first attempts because writing sprints are about writing fast, not well.

Also note that this is not the Holmesian novel I’ve been working on.

The § is the scene marker my app uses.

The Without further ado, here is “The Game Is Afoot”

The Game Is Afoot

about 9000 words

§ - HOLMES -

“Watson, the game is afoot!”

“What do you want, Niles?” I rolled over in my bed, my cell phone at my ear. I’d been in the middle of a nice dream when the phone rang shattering the beach to shards. My mind was still groggy as I focused on the frail British voice in my ear.

“The game is afoot! We’re needed!”

Niles, my neighbor was a harmless soul, but calling me out of a sound slumber was unusual. “What foot? What are you talking about, Niles?” I glanced at the clock by my bedside. Five in the morning. I groaned.

“Are you alright, Watson?”

“I’m fine,” I mumble. “And don’t call me Watson. My name is, Katelyn…Katelyn Alden. Now what are you going on about a foot?”

“Watson, there is a dead body on my front lawn.”

I yawn and sit up. It’s too early for this nonsense. “What is it this time? A squirrel? Or maybe a deer?”

“No, Watson. A man!”

“Is he cutting your lawn, by chance?”

“No, of course not. Don’t be silly. He’s lying face down on the grass.”

I rub the grit out of my eyes. “You’re not imagining things again are you, Niles? You know the last time you imagined someone was trying to poison Mrs. Hudgeon. It turned out to be someone selling Girl Scout cookies.”

“I’m not imaging this–and I still think that girl was up to no good. Mrs. Hudson would have died, had I not eaten those biscuits.”

I yawn again. “Listen, Niles, I’m tired. I got back late from the hospital. I’ll come over once I get a few more hours of sleep. OK?” I drop back down onto my bed.

“No, Watson. This is important. There is no time to waste. We must ascertain the identity of the victim and apprehend the foul perpetrator before he can enact his plans.”

“What plans?” I realize I’m far too wide awake now to go back to sleep. I curse.

“What did you say, Watson?”

“Nothing. I just asked, what plans?”

“Why, the nefarious plans the murderer has of course.”

“Of course.”

“Come, Watson. You know I need your level headed ness and objective point of view. I’m too interred in my own studies to know much about the way of the common people.”

I grumble and admit I’ll never get back to sleep now. “Ok, Niles. Just give me a few minutes to shower and throw some clothes on.”

“Good lad. And stop calling me Niles, you know my name is Holmes, Sherlock Holmes.”

The line went dead. I cursed.

Half an hour later I was standing next to Niles Jewell on his front lawn. There was indeed a dead body lying face down on the grass in a brownish pool of blood. It took me a long moment to register that this was not some sort of prank. Then my training kicked in. I knelt by the man and felt for a pulse on his neck. I glanced up at Niles. “He’s dead. Did you call anyone?”

“I called you, of course,” was the thin balding man’s reply. He wore a plaid bathrobe which was his usual attire. His shoes were his bedroom slippers. He held a pipe in his hand. I’d tried to get him to stop the vile habit, but he’d just waved me off arguing it steadied the nerves and focused his faculties. I question his faculties.

“I meant did you call the police?”

“No. No disrespect Scotland Yard, or Inspector Lestrade, but they are not up to this.”

“We’re in America. This is Philadelphia. There is no Scotland Yard.” I knew Niles wasn’t dangerous and just had a fixation on Sherlock Holmes. “You should call the police, Niles.” He stood there gazing at the body. “Holmes, call the Yard,” I commanded.

“Ah! Good idea, Watson. I’ll do that. But first, what do you make of the crime scene?”

I stood and to humor my neighbor I glanced down at the body. He was beyond anyone’s help at this point, and I was curious. “Well, given the blood flowing out of his head and the white ornamental stones along your curb,” I point, “and that one has blood on it, I’d say he tripped and hit his head on the stone. Simple accident.”

Niles stood in silence a moment pondering my brilliant, but simple deduction. “No, Watson. This was no accident. The man was murdered.”

I glanced from the victim to Niles. “How can you say that? All the evidence shows an accident.”

“No, my dear fellow.” I wince. “The victim, had he hit his head on the stone, would have died on his back and not face down on the earth.”

“Maybe he was alive after he hit his head and rolled over before he died. And if it was murder, what about the blood on the stone?”

“It’s possible, but unlikely he could have made it that far from the stone. The amount of blood on his head points to an almost instantaneous death. As to the blood on the stone…” Niles steps closer and peers at the whitewashed rock that had smears of red-brown on it. “As to the stone…the murderer smeared his hands on it while making his escape. If you will note there are smudges of blood on the grass between the body and the stone. Also note the grass, which has not been mowed all week, is flattened in a large area. There was a struggle here. The murderer killed the victim and in his haste to escape stumbled and grabbed at the rock smearing it with the victim’s blood.”

I stood there with my mouth agape as I examined the scene and the clues Niles had laid out. “You should really call the police.”

§ - WHO IS IT -

A short time later Niles front yard was cordened off and several officers were investigating the scene. The photographer had done his job and the EMTs were standing by to take possession of the body. Niles and I stood off to the side. An officer walks over to us. “Well it looks like an accident. The man must have been a burglar, tripped over one of the rocks during the night and hit his head on another. The bloody rock points to that.” My eyebrows go up.

Niles peers at the man’s badge. It read “Lewis”. “Inspector Lestrade, it’s obviously murder to anyone with a bit of wit about them.”

The officer blinks in confusion. “The name is Lewis, and I’m a Sargeant, not an Inspector. And what makes you think this was murder?” Niles repeats the observation he made to me. Sargeant Lewis rubs his chin before speaking. “Well, the matted grass isn’t really conclusive. I’m sure the Coroner will have something to say about the loss of blood and cause of death. We’ll let the experts tell us what happened. The photographer walks by us. “All yours Sarge.” The Sargeant nods then turns back to us. “We’re going to take the body to get it autopsied. Before that, I want you tell me if you recognize the deceased. He pulls the yellow tape up and lets us into the secured area of the yard. The EMTs are loading the gurney with the cloth covered body onto the ambulance. The Sargeant pulls the cloth down to reveal the face Niles.

My jaw drops. Nile’s eyes narrow to mere slits, his mouth a thin line. He peers at the body. His one eyebrow goes up. “Interesting.”

“Is he a relative?” The Sargeant asks. “He looks like your brother.”

“I have no brothers–or sisters.”

“Are you sure?” I recover from the surprise.

“Certainly. I know him. It’s me. Well, a younger version of me, that is. Note the small birthmark on the left side of the neck.” One hand points to the body on the gurney, his other hand the spot on his neck.”

My mind scrambles to make sense of this announcement. “You? How is that possible? What were you–he doing here? Who killed him?”

“Good questions all. I have some studying to do.” Niles turns and marches toward the back door of the small house. He turns back at the porch. “Oh, and Watson, see if you can find out if there were any reports of him–me in the area last night.”

“My name is Katelyn,” I grumble.

§ - EVIDENCE -

“Well, what did you discover?” Niles asks the next morning.

“One of the home security cameras across the street at the convenience store picked up the murder. Unfortunately, the video is grainy and I couldn’t make out much about the killer. It was definitely a murder. I’m surprised the police haven’t checked around for home survellaince.”

“They’ll get around to it, I’m sure. Too bad about the video quality. What can you tell me about the murderer?”

“Well it was a man. About 5’7” judging by the size of you–your–the victim,” I stumble.

“So, an inch shorter than me.” I relax as Niles ignores my slip. “Clothes? Anything unique about him?”

“No. It was hard making out any details. Just jeans and a t-shirt from what I could tell.” Niles nods. I pause as I replay the video in my mind. “Wait! There was something. He walked with a limp. He was favoring his left leg. I’m sure of it.” Niles drops into the plush arm chair and lights his pipe. He takes several puffs, deep in thought as he stares at the wisps of smoke curl their way toward the ceiling. He looks at me. “How was the murder committed?”

“He used the rock. The victim was walking across the yard toward the front door. The murderer came into the frame from the left and grabbed the white rock with the blood stains on it. He bludgeoned the victim before the victim even had a chance to turn around. You were right about death being instantaneous. He just collapsed onto his face right there and then.” I didn’t bother mentioning the fact that Niles was wrong about how the rock had gotten blood on it.

Niles sprung up from the chair and pushed his walker over to the front door. “Come, Watson! We must confront the perpetrator.”

“You know who did it?”

“Of course.”

§ - Randolf Blakeslee -

We stand a few doors in front of a house two doors down from Nile’s. I had followed Niles, trying to get him to tell me who he thought had killed his doppelgänger, but the old man had remained silent. Now, he pounded on the door.

“I–I think you should call the police if you think you know who did it.”

Niles turns to me. “Of course I know. Have you ever known me to be wrong?” I remained silent. My friend had always idolized Sherlock Holmes to the point of taking on the persona as part of his onset dimentia, but had never had to deal with a real murder. “What if you’re wrong?”

Before Niles could respond, the door swung open under his fist. The face of the man who opened the door flashed through a spectrum of emotions. Anger at the pounding on his door gave way to shock then to controlled annoyance. “Well, what do you want Jewell?”

Niles Jewell stood a moment trying to comprehend the question. “Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. You must have me confused with someone else. You sir are Randolf Blakeslee, are you not?”

The house owner’s expression turned to anger. “What are you going on about? Of course I’m Randolf Blakeslee. You know who I am. Now why are you pounding on my door?”

“We are investigating a murder,” Niles announced. Randolf’s expression doesn’t change. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“No. Of course not. Why would you think I would?”

“No need to get bent out of shape. I was just wondering if you had, by chance, seen anything unusual over the past twenty four hours.”

“No. I was busy with my practice.”

“Ah, yes. Your violin practice. Well, sorry to have bothered you. We must keep looking.”

The door slams in our face.

“Not a friendly neighbor, is he?” I ask rhetorically.

“He is our murderer–or at least my doppelgänger’s. Did you notice he didn’t ask why we were asking around? That’s something the police would be doing. He wasn’t a bit surprised except when he first saw me.”

“Yes, I did notice that. He covered it well, however.”

“Not well enough, Watson. He is our killer. I’m sure of it. Now the problem is, how to prove it to the satisfaction of the Yard. Let’s get back to the scene of the crime.” Niles peers up at the sky. “A storm is coming and I want to check the site for clues before they are washed away.

§ - NEW CLUE -

“Look here, Watson.” I cringe at Nile’s call. I should be used to his idosynchrosies by now. I walk over to stand by his walker. He’s pointing to a small object laying among the blades of tall grass. “See what is is, would you?”

I kneel down and retrieve the thing Niles has spotted. I hand it to Niles who stands with hand outstretched.

“Ah. Interesting. This appears to be button.”

“It is a button.” I know he means well, but the poor soul does have a way of stating the obvious. “From a man’s shirt,” I add so as not to sound condescending.

Niles nods. “That it is. That’s why I so enjoy your companionship. You have a knack for stating the obvious.” I flinch. Was he reading my mind? “When you get a chance, could you use your computer thing and see if I have any relatives I may not be aware of. Also, stop by the Yard and see if they have been able to identify the victim.” He moves toward the door to his home.

“Wait!” I call. “I have an idea. Can I take a blood sample from you?”

His eyebrow goes up. “Why?”

“I want to see if your blood matches the blood of the victim. That would prove definitively if you two are related. I can also get a DNA sequence comparison done.”

“That would be [something]. But I assure you we are not related. I have no living relatives.”

“None that you know of,” I correct.

§ - EVIDENCE -

The next day I find Niles rummaging through his neighbor’s garbage. “What in the world are you doing?”, I ask.

Niles looks up from his messy task. “Ah, Watson. I’m looking for evidence.”

“Have you found any? I came by to tell you what I’ve discovered.”

“No. Nothing yet. Give me a minute, won’t you?” He dives head-first into the recycling bin. Grunting and scraping sounds accompany the rocking back and forth of the large plastic bin. A moment later, Niles emerges with a stray piece of paper stuck to his shirt and a triumphant grin on his face. He drops back to the pavement and grasps his walker. His breath is fast and shallow. Despite his expression, he looks tired and older than I’ve ever seen him. He holds a cloth aloft in his bony fist the way a soldier would display a won banner or trophy. “Here! Here it is! This is the shirt. Note the blood stains. Note the missing button,” he pants, then adds, “We have the proof.”

“Are you OK?” I walk up to my friend as he seems to collapse into himself against the walker. “Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

“No. No,” he waves me off. “I’m fine. Watson, we have the proof.”

“Yes, yes. Let me get you safely back to your house and we can discuss what you found while you rest. You don’t look well.” I follow behind Niles as he maneuvers his walker back to his house. His pace is slower than before. His exertions in the bin have taken their toll.

§ - DISCOVERY -

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the ER?” I had insisted Niles go back to his bed. He’d grumbled and argued, but was too exhausted to put up any fight beyond that.

“I’m certain. Stop babying me. I’m old enough to be your father.”

“Grandfather,” I correct.

“So what did you find out?” I hesitated. I wasn’t sure he’d take the news given his condition. “Well? Don’t keep me waiting. What did you find out?”

“Well, the autopsy revealed what we thought. Death was almost instantaneous due to his brain being crushed from the blunt-force trauma.”

Niles nods as he takes in the information. “Anything else? Come on, Watson, I know you well enough to know when you’re holding something back.”

I sigh. I’m glad he’s already lying down. “Very well. The DNA analysis of your blood and the victims came back a positive match.”

“Meaning?”

“It means you and he are related. He isn’t you, of course. But he’s a very close relative.”

“A brother?” Nile’s eyebrow shoots up.

I shake my head. “Probably not. Probably more like a son.”

The other eyebrow shoots up. “Son? Are you sure?”

“As sure as a DNA analysis can be. There’s always a large margin for error, but the sequences have a lot of matching base pairs. Pretty much half.” \[NEED TO RESEARCH THIS]

Nile’s face droops. He lays on his bed silent. I worry the shock may have been too much for him, but then he whispers to quiet to hear.

“I’m sorry, what?” I prompt.

He looks back up at me and shakes his head. “Nothing. I was just remembering.” He makes a concerted effort to compose himself in the bed, then begins, “Thirty-five years ago I met a woman. She was the most amazing creature I’d ever met. We fell in love. Nature–uh–took it’s course, shall we say.” His voice drops. “Things didn’t work out between us, and we lost touch. I–I’d forgotten about her. Maybe I wanted to.” His voice is sad and what energy he had seems to leave him. A broken and deflated man lies on the bed in front of me.

I put a hand on his arm. “That’s ok. I now this is a lot to take in. Try to get some sleep and rest. I’ll check in on you tomorrow to make sure you’re doing ok. Do you need anything before I go?” He shakes his head, but says nothing.

§ - PLANS -

The next morning I walked over to Nile’s house to find him in the kitchen cooking his breakfast. “Ah, Watson. Perfect timing. Care for a spot of tea?”

“Why are you out of bed? You probably should be taking care of yourself.”

“Coffee it is then.” He pours a cup and places it in front of me on the kitchen table. “As to my taking care of myself, I do my best work when I am busy and active. Laying about in bed all day will kill me as sure as a bullet might, just a bit slower I would think. And before you ask, I admit hearing I have a son was a bit of a shock, but that’s all in the past now. Literally, and figuratively. What matters now is that we tie my son’s death to Randolf Blakeslee. I have a good start on that with his shirt.” He points to the item in question that was tossed haphazardly over a stool. “The missing button matches the one we found in the yard. The fact the shirt is still stained with dried blood is definitive proof. I imagine Randolf Blakeslee, realizing that blood was difficult to clean, decided to toss the incriminating item out.”

“Well, if we have proof why don’t you call the Pol–err–the Yard?”

“Because as you should realize, the missing button is not enough. He will merely claim he lost it in a previous visit to my house.”

“And the blood?”

Niles ponders a long moment as he sips tea from his cup. “That would be more difficult to explain away. He might claim the shirt was stolen and used by someone else. No, Watson, we need to more directly tie Mr. Blakeslee and bring him to justice.”

“And what about the motive? Don’t the police need a motive?”

“That they do. And that, as the saying goes, is the gist of it all. I have no inkling of one, but I am sure one will become obvious.”

“And how do we do that?” I sip the coffee. I grimace. It’s instant.

“We get Mr. Blakeslee to confess, of course.”

§ - FAMILY -

I followed Niles out to his yard–the crime scene. The yellow tape had been removed the prior evening and although most of the indications of the murder were gone, the ground and grass were still discolored despite the rains overnight. The blemished stone had been removed by the police during the original investigation as evidence, and a brown muddy pool was the only indication that it had ever been there.

“We need to determine Randolf Blakeslee’s motive. The question is how?”

“Niles, I just had a strange thought.” I kicked myself for not having realized this earlier. “What if the murderer wasn’t after your son. What if they confused him for you.” I peer at Niles. “After all, you two do look alike.”

Niles’ eyebrows shoot up. “I hadn’t thought of that. Good show, Watson. I have to consider what this does to my theory.” He sits down at the kitchen table and holds the tea cup between his hands. He peers into the liquid as if reading the tea leaves. I knew better than to interrupt his reverie. Having done so once before had led to an angry outburst and a spate of sailor-like talk. A minute or two later he looks up. “It matters nothing.”

“What?”

“The fact that the murderer accidentally killed my son instead of me, doesn’t change the clues my deductions. It doesn’t change the motive, the circumstances, or the evidence. All of those are indisputable facts. The only thing that changes is the victim. The fact the murderer mistook him for me is of no import–except of course to my son.”

“Aren’t you at all upset about not having met your son and then losing him?”

“Nonsense. I didn’t know I had a son until a day ago. Before that I didn’t have a son. Now that he’s dead, I don’t have a son. So there is no difference either way. A difference that doesn’t make a difference is no difference.”

“I think I’d be very upset. After all, he’s family.”

“You’re being overly sentimental, Watson. What matters is bringing his murderer to justice. That’s the only thing I want to see done. Not because he’s my son, mind you, but because it is the lawful, and honorable thing do do.”

I sat and sipped the coffee I couldn’t taste as I tried to make sense of the old man across the table from me. “What if the murderer comes after you, if they find out they killed the wrong person?”

“I’m sure they already now. The look of surprise on Randolf Blakeslee’s face told the tale. The next step will be for us to get Blakeslee to admit to the crime. In order to do that we will need the help of Inspector Lestrade.” My mind took a moment to translate Inspector Lestrade to Sargeant Lewis.

“Why?”

“An admission of guilt to an officer of the law will more easily stand up in a court of law.”

“Oh. And how do you plan on getting this admission of guilt?”

“Not me, Watson. You.”

§ - THE PLAN -

I hadn’t planned, or wanted to be part of Niles’ plan, but it didn’t sound dangerous, and with the Sargeant present, I felt safe enough. I had reluctantly given in to Niles’ plea for my help. I didn’t want to see the old man injured or closer to a total collapse from exhaustion and exertion. I stood in front of Randolf Blakeslee’s front door. My hands were sweating and my heart was racing. I glanced to my right where Sargeant Lewis stood behind the cascade of a willow tree; close enough to hear but out of the way enough not to be seen from the front door. I took a deep breath and knocked.

The door swung open and Blakeslee peered down at me. “Well, what do you want?”, he barked. “I’m busy.”

I took a deep breath. “I–I just want to apologize for my friend’s behavior the other day.” I waited for a response, there was none. “He shouldn’t have bothered you and accused you.” I gulped. “Niles means well, but he’s not altogether here, if you know what I mean.” Blakeslee grunts an affirmative. “Anyway, I just wanted to apologize on his behalf.”

Blakeslee’s demeanor softens from anger and annoyance to just annoyance. “He’s an idiot. And crazy. He’s a crazy idiot. Your apology is accepted. But if he ever comes around looking for so-called clues again, I’ll call the cops on him.”

“I understand and will pass that on to him.”

I turn to leave but Blakeslee says, “And tell him to get rid of those stupid rocks. Those abominations belong in the 1960s with him. They bring the value of the entire neighborhood down. Property values are important, you know.”

I blink. “I’ll tell him.” I turn and take a few steps from the door, and spot the Sargeant still behind the tree. I turn back to Blakeslee. “Oh, and one more thing… Niles probably won’t bother you again. He told me he knows who the killer is and he has enough evidence to convict him.”

Blakeslee blinks. “Who was it–the murderer I mean?”

“I don’t know,” I lied, “he didn’t tell me.”

There is a pause. “Well whoever it is deserves what’s coming to him.”

I fish in my pocket. “Oh, one other thing.” I produce the button from Niles’ front yard. I hold it out to Blakeslee. “You didn’t happen to lose a button, did you?”

He peers at the round bit of plastic in my palm and flinches, but recovers quickly. “No, sorry. I don’t like buttons.” He points to the zipper on the sweatshirt he wears. “Where did you find it?”, he probes.

“Oh, Niles found it in his front yard.”

“And what makes you think it belongs to me–not that it does?”

I shrug. “Niles says its not his, and wanted me to ask you in case you were around the yard and lost it somehow.”

“No. I told you. It’s not mine. Now go away. I’m busy.” He prepares to slam the door. “And tell your friend Niles that I want him to stay away from me. It’s bad enough a crazy person like him lives in this neighborhood without having him accuse people fo murder.” The door slams.

“Well, that wasn’t very productive, was it?” Sargeant Lewis observes as he joins me on the sidewalk. “I told you he wouldn’t up and admit to a murder just because you show him a silly button.”

I nod. I–we didn’t expect he would. We just wanted you around in case he did something drastic like attack me–or confess.”

We walk down the street to the patrol car that is parked beyond the view of Blakeslee’s home “Well, my lunch break is over. Tell Niles he should go through proper channels the next time he needs our help.” Lewis takes a few steps toward the car. “Oh, one more thing… are you married?”

“Nope.”

Lewis grins, then hops into his patrol car.

§ - THE TRAP -

A few minutes later I’m back at Nile’s kitchen table. Niles is mulling the events I had just recounted to him. I ask, “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

“Of course. Why would I waste my time following the clues to their logical conclusion otherwise?”

“You’ll be in danger.” Without saying a word, Niles gets up and walks over to a cabinet. He pulls a drawer open and removes a small caliber pistol. “I didn’t know you had a gun!” I exclaim in surprise.

“I don’t like using it. It’s only for self-defense.”

“Have you ever used it?”

“No. And I hope I never have to. But better safe than sorry, as the saying goes.”

I feel uneasy and \_\_\_\_ “Why don’t you let the police handle it? Why do you need to get involved?”

“Because I am. Because my son was murdered.” His expression is serious and determined, more than I’d ever seen. He sees the concern on my face and the expression softens. “Don’t worry, Watson. I’ll be fine.” He pauses. “But if anything should happen to me, know that you are my dearest and most trusted friend.”

I watch as he turns to head upstairs to his bedroom. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay here–just in case?”

“No. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. You know your way out. Make sure you leave the door unlocked when you leave.”

I grimace. I hated the plan. It was crazy to think this old man could actually pull off this more crazy plan. I glanced at my watch. It was almost 8 P. M. Niles pulls his way up the steps to the second walker he kept by the steps. I sit and wait until I hear him enter the bedroom, then leave his home. He may not want me to help, but that doesn’t mean I can’t or won’t. I leave the front door unlocked–he’d never forgive me if I disappointed him. I then make a call to Sargeant Lewis.

§ - THE CONFRONTATION -

Two hours later, I’m back at Niles house. The front door stands open. My body tightens as my nerves fire on all cylinders and my heart and breathing begins to race. I rush into the house, Sargeant Lewis close on my heels. He tries to restrain me, but I push him out of the way and run into the dark home. I flip the light switch expecting to see Niles body lying in a pool of blood, but the kitchen and small living area are neat and I disturbed. The Sargeant enters after me, with his pistol drawn. He sees everything is in order, but doesn’t relax. I bound to the stairs, but Lewis blocks my way.

“Hold it. If there’s someone in the house that isn’t supposed to be here, you don’t want to be running into them. I’ll go up first.” he whispers. “I’ll let you know if it’s safe to come up.”

“No. I want to go up. He’s my friend. Besides, what if whoever broke in is still here?” I indicate the first floor with a sweep of my hand.

“Ok, but stay behind me–several paces. And if I tell you to run, you run. Got it?”

I nod. We walk up the steps, slower than I would want to, with me several steps behind the Sargeant. He pauses at the top of the staircase and scans the area. He moves toward Niles room. I follow. He motions me to the side of the bedroom door. I’d seen enough TV cop shows to know what to expect. He positions himself on the opposite side of the door from me. He crouches, and tries the doorknob. He pushes the door open. There is darkness inside, and no sound or motion. Sargeant Lewis moves through the doorway in a crouch, his pistol sweeping the room. I see him reach for the light switch while still maintaining his focus on the room. The light comes on and I watch as the officer quickly sweeps the room then stands slowly. “Stay there,” he commands in a horse whisper. He disappears from sight for what seems like several minutes. He reappears. “He’s hurt,” he says in his normal volume. “Call 911.” I run into the room and spot Niles splayed out on the floor. I gasp. There’s a pool of blood that seeps into the carpet around him. “I told you to call 911.”

My eyes are frozen on Niles’ body. I fumble and pull my cell phone out of my pocket. Somehow, I manage to dial emergency services. I join the officer next to Niles’.

“Is he dead?”

“No. He’s alive, but his pulse is weak.” The Sargeant removes his hand from Niles’ neck. “Don’t touch anything in the room. We’ll want to check for evidence.”

“He was shot, wasn’t he? He had a gun.”

The Sargeant looks at me. “Yes, that’s a small caliber bullet hole in his chest. Do you know the type?”

“Yes. It was a small caliber.” The sound of the ambulance arriving draws our attention. A few moments later the EMTs have rolled the unconscious Niles away on a gurney. I want to go with them, but know I can’t do anything to help find the assailant if I do. I return to Niles bedroom where I find Sargeant Lewis searching under the bed.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

His head pops up. “The gun. It has to be here somewhere. Also, for any other clues.” He gets up off the floor and feels under the large wooden beaurau that stands against one of the walls. “Hello, what this?” He pulls a small object from under the beuarau. I stare at the small cloth mouse.

“It looks like a toy.”

“A cat toy to be precise.” Lewis turns to me. “Does he have a cat?”

I shake my head confused, “No. I don’t think he ever had. He considered cats too informal. Now why would he have a cat toy?”

The Sargeant shakes his head. “Don’t know. But I’m sure it’s a clue. Maybe the assailant dropped it in the struggle.

§ - THE FIGHT -

Niles was startled awake to find the assailant standing over him in his bed, with a pillow between his hands. Niles groped for the gun under his pillow and managed to pull it forward just as the pillow slammed into his face. The shock of the impact forced the gun out of his hand before he could fire a shot. The pressure of the pillow on his mouth and nose increased. Niles fought to breathe as the panic slammed into him the way the pillow had. His hands flew to the pillow instinctively. He fought to pry it from his face as his assailant cursed and yelled. The pillow remained firmly seated on his face despite his best efforts. He brought his knees up but the quilted blanket under which he slept made any impact minimal. He continued to thrash with his legs and knees hoping for a lucky blow. His breath continued to escape. Fresh oxygen was harder to come by. Frantic to breathe, Niles rolled over onto his side. Precious oxygen flowed into him as the pillow was unable to create a complete seal with his face. He gasped. The air revived his mind and energy. He released his hold on the pillow and groped for his assailant’s face. He scratched at the man who cursed then screamed in pain as Niles’ fingernails dug into the man’s neck. Niles dug deeper and the pressure on his body disappeared as the man rolled off of him. The pillow came off of his face. Niles shifted his hold on the man’s neck to his body and pushed him away with all his might. In the darkness, the man toppled off of the bed onto the floor.

Niles groped around on the bed for the pistol, but came up empty. His assailant recovered enough to yell, “I’m going to kill you Jewell. This time, I’m going to get it right. I’m tired of your superior and condescending attitude toward me and everyone in the neighborhood. I’m through with your stupid white rocks and you. Once I kill you we can all go back to our normal lives.” Niles yelped in surprise and fear as the pillow hit Niles in the face, but this time it bounced off it and fell to the bed. It took a moment to realize that he’d not been injured. Niles scrambled for the light switch. His hand toggled the nightstand lamp on. His eyes burned by the sudden brightness, but he scanned the bed for the gun. It wasn’t there. It must have fallen to the floor.

Niles scrambled out of the bed as quickly as his body and age allowed him. His walker stood on the opposite side, where Randolf Blakeslee stood, gun in hand. Niles’ panic turned to terror as he stared at his own weapon pointed at him. The small dark opening of the barrel appeared much larger than he remembered it.

“Hold it right there,” Blakeslee commanded. Niles freezes. His breath is shallow. His heart hammers against his chest. His eyes are held by the wavering gun in his neighbor’s hand. “You’ve caused me and this neighborhood enough grief.”

“Wha–what did I do ever do to you?” Niles voice cracks under the strain.

“You exist. Your going around in a bathrobe all day–even when outside. You’re not a two year old, you know. You keep going on about you being ‘The Great Sherlock Holmes’.” Blakeslee spits the title like a cobra spits venom. (? ) “You’re just an old stupid man with delusions. You should have been institutionalized a long time ago.” Blakeslee sweeps the gun across the room. “Look at this. Tell me who has a shag rug in their bedroom in 2018? Your stupid white rocks. I hate them–no I loathe them. Lined up along the perimeter like a platoon of soldiers. No one does that now. It wasn’t even cool back in the 60s. That’s your problem. You live in the past. You don’t even have internet, I hear.”

“I–I don’t need it.”

Blakeslee looks at him as if he were a creature from another planet. “Everyone needs the internet. Everyone has the internet.”

Niles’ response is as firm as his jaw. “I don’t.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “Now give me the gun, Randolf. You do’t want to do anything stupid. You’re in enough trouble murdering my son.”

“Your son? So that’s who that was. I thought it was you.” Blakeslee stands musing a moment. “Well, I don’t see adding a second murder would do more harm than one. I’ll be rid of you and your antiquated ways once and for all.”

Niles’ eyes fix on the gun barrel as Blakeslee raises it to point at Niles’ head. There is a maniacal triumphant grin on his neighbor’s face. Blakeslee squeezes the trigger. Niles stares, and gives one last silent prayer.

A click.

Niles reacts faster than he had been able to in the past thirty years. He throws himself across the twin bed at the gun. He slams into Blakeslee’s arm forcing it and the gun it still held away from him. Niles’ breath is forced out of his body as he hits the edge of the bed with his stomach. Blakeslee falls back against the wall. Pain racks Niles as he struggles to reach for the gun hand that now helps Blakeslee get his footing. Before he can, Niles fights the pain and lack of breath to scramble off the bed and lunge at his neighbor. The impact throws both of them against the wall. Niles grabs hold of the gun hand. The adrenaline surging through his body allow him to force the hand away from him despite the neighbors younger age and greater size. Niles’ vision blurs and turns red as he fights to keep from getting shot. Blakeslee roars and flings Niles away from him and onto the floor by the bed. Niles hits the rug with his back and groans in pain. He lies there, panting, his eyes wide and fixed on the gun that levels at him once more. Blakeslee’s breathing is fast, his teeth are set in skeletal grin. His eyes are slits of hate.

“Enough. You don’t know when you’re beaten. Well, let me tell you, you are beaten. I’ll kill you and they’ll think you killed yourself, or maybe a burglar broke in. Farewell Niles.”

A loud retort and something slams into Niles chest. He looks down and sees the red stain growing on his favorite robe.

§ - THE GOODBYE -

“So that’s what happened.” I explained to Sargeant Lewis. “Niles managed to tell me everything before he passed out again.” We were sitting in the ICU of the hospital. Niles lay unconscious in the white bed. Tubes and electrical leads were hooked to him. They chirped and beeped in time with his heart and breathing. I knew that as long as they did, he was alive.

Lewis indicates Niles with a tilt of his head. “What do the docs say? Is he going to make it?”

“Well the bullet is out, but it severed an artery (which one). For such a small bullet, it did a lot of damage. They say it depends on Niles. They’ve patched him up the best they can.” I pause. “I hope he makes it.”

Lewis takes a step toward the door. “I’ll check back later to see how you two are doing. I have to get back to work.” I return the smile. Mine is weak.

I take a seat on the chair next to Niles’ bed. His eyes are closed, his breathing labored despite the ventilator that assists him. The rhythm is normal, but I can tell he’s struggling. His skin is sallow. My eyes fill with tears. My heart feels like a cement truck has driven over it. I watch him lie there. We’d been friends from the first day I’d moved into the neighborhood. He’d come over and introduced himself. That was ten years ago. We were both much younger. The sounds in the room drowned out those in the rest of the ICU outside. I had been in enough of them now but I found it unsettling seeing a friend in one. We’d been told to disassociate from our patients, and it’s something I’d been able to do–until now.

A movement of a finger drew my attention. A moment later, his eyes fluttered open to a slit. He was conscious. His eyes darted from side to side as he made sense of where he was. They settled on me. I got up and put a hand on his.

“How are you?” I manage through my tears. He looks up at me with his blue eyes. There is a twinkle in them, but he’s too weak to move and the intubation makes it impossible for him to speak. “Don’t worry you’ll be ok.” He blinks an acknowledgment. “The police have gone over your house. They weren’t able to find the gun. Do you know where it is?” His eyes shift from side to side. I take that as a no. “How about a cat toy, do you know anything about it? We found one under your bureau.” His eyes open a smidge wider, then his eyes shift left and right. He tries to tilt his head but closes his eyes instead. “Don’t worry. It’s not important.” His eyes open. There is an intensity in the way he looks at me \[need to foreshadow this as meaning he has a clue or deduction. ]. “Yes, we know it’s a clue. We think the attacker dropped it, and probably took the gun.” His eyes scan up and down, a yes. I wasn’t sure he’d be able to answer, but I had to ask. “Do you know who it was?” Another scan up and down. “Was it Blakeslee?” Another scan. He tried to speak, but the tube made him struggle instead.

Startled, I put a hand on his shoulder. “Niles, don’t worry we’ll get him. Rest. Stop trying to speak.” Niles hand goes to mine. The O2 pump starts to gurgle. I run out of the room, yelling for help as I go. Two nurses and the doctor on call rush in the room. I try to go back in but one of them bars me and tells me to stay out of the way. I stand and watch helpless as the heart monitor breaks rhythm and takes on the monotone of flatline. The doctor yells for the paddles and a few moments later applies a convulsive shock to Niles’ chest. The tone continues. Another jolt. I watch in horror as Niles body rises then falls with the electricity. A nurse hands the doctor a syringe. He injects the IV line feeding Nile’s hand. There is still no sign of a heartbeat. My own is trying to burst out of my body and to fly to help Niles. Another application of the paddles produces no change. The doctor drops the paddles on the \[machine here] and stands looking down at Niles a long moment as the heart rate monitor wails its steady tone. He glances over at me. His face is dour.

I rush into the room and fling my arms around Niles. He is silent, unmoving, cold. The doctor places a hand on my shoulder. I ignore him as I cry a river on Niles’ chest. There is no heartbeat. “There was nothing else we could do. The bullet did a lot of damage to the artery.” He pulls his hand away as I look at him through tears and red eyes. “I–I’ll leave you along with him for a while. Take your time.” He turns and motions the nurses out of the room.

I don’t know how long I cried like that. I don’t know what I was feeling apart from a deep and lonely emptiness. Finally, when I had cried myself out, I sat on the lone chair and talked to him, even though I know he can’t hear me. “I’m sorry, Niles. I wish I hadn’t let you act like bait the way you did. But, you’re such a stubborn man. If I had stayed in the house, maybe I could have prevented this.” I sob through hiccoughs. “I promise I’ll get Blakeslee to pay for what he did. It’s two murders now. I promise your death won’t go unavenged.” I sigh as I stare at Niles who looks like he is sleeping. For an instant I imagine he’ll wake up and start telling me about his latest observations. I swallow. I know he won’t be waking. “You’re my best friend. I’m going to miss you, Sherlock.”

§ - END -

Sargeant Lewis and I stand in front of Randolf Blakeslee’s home. I pound on the door. “I wish you had let me handle this,” Lewis says.

“I need to see this through. I promised him, I would.”

Lewis nods. “I understand. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Before I can respond, the door swings open. Blakeslee squints at us in the bright morning sun. “Well? What do you want?”

“Randolf Blakeslee, I have a search warrant.” Lewis produces the paper in question. “Please stand aside.” Lewis an the two officers he brought with him move past Blakeslee who stands with his mouth agape. I give Blakeslee a cold stare as I walk past him and into his home. The interior is small, smaller than Niles’ house. And, unlike my friend’s, this one is cluttered and disorganized. The living room is filled with \_\_\_. Blakeslee is a hoarder. The officers systematically go through the room shifting piles of \_\_ as they search. After several minutes of searching, Sargeant Lewis confronts Blakeslee who has been silently watching, his eyes darting from officer to officer as they go about their search. “You could save us all a lot of time and effort. Where is it?”

“Where is what?” Blakeslee replies staring as one of the officers goes toward a closed door.

“The gun you used to kill Niles Jewell and his son.”

Suddenly, Blakeslee lunges toward the officer who has his hand on the doorknob. “Stop! Don’t open that!”

Lewis’ eyebrows shoot up as he grabs Blakeslee by the shoulder. “Ah, so that’s where it is.” He nods to the officer who had stopped at Blakeslee’s yell. He turns the knob and pulls the door open.

The policeman’s face goes through a rapid spectrum of emotions. First, there is boredom, then surprise. This is quickly followed by confusion, disgust, then horror. His face turns green and he begins to retch. I stand next to Lewis and Blakeslee and wonder what could be so bad when it hits me.

The stench slams into me with the force of a brick wall propelled by a cement truck. I stagger back as I try to keep my stomach from trying to escape my body by way of my mouth. I rush out the front door and am quickly followed by Blakeslee and the officers. We all bend double and either vomit on the lawn or try to gather our breath and wits.

“What–what is that smell?” Lewis finally manages to blurt between gasps of fresh air.

“I told you not to open that door.” Blakeslee appears to be in distress, but not as much as the rest of us.

“It–it–“, the officer who had opened the door stammers. “It’s a giant cat litter box. The entire floor is covered in sand and cat fecal matter. Even though the window was open a crack. I guess that’s for letting the cats in and out.” He promptly retches again. This time, I join him.

§ - CONCLUSION -

A day later an abatement team showed up in protective gear to clear out the small room that had been converted into the world’s largest litter box. The officers went back in and an hour later came out with a baggie whose contents I could not make out. Sargeant Lewis walks over to me. “We got him. We found the gun in a drawer by the bed.” He shakes his head. “How stupid can you be, not getting rid of it, or even hiding it?” Randolf Blakeslee who stood outside by the front door, seeing the gun in the baggie makes a dash past me in an attempt to escape before the police arrest him. I dive at the man. We crash to the grass. I hear his breath rush out of him as he hits. He recovers before I do. His eyes are wide, and he has the look of a trapped animal. He tries to hurdle over me but I instinctively fling a hand up to protect myself. My hand closes on his ankle and he loses his balance and topples to the ground.

Lewis recovers from his surprise and grabs by an arm that he bends behind Blakeslee’s back. With a practiced motion, he cuffs one hand and then the other as Blakeslee struggles to free himself.

§ - END -

A week later Niles was buried. It was either providence or coincidence, that Blakeslee was sentenced that same afternoon. I attended both events. Sherlock had trapped the murderer at the cost of his own life. To me, Niles would always be Sherlock Holmes, and I, his Watson.

-END-

#sprint holmes afoot

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