Trails in the BitsExasperating, irritating, exhausting, worrying: all words Mueller could apply to his prince.
However, there were the rare and treasured times they could sit peacefully with only the soft strumming of Olivier’s lute to fill the silence.
Unfortunately like all good things they too quickly come to an end. And so it was with this case. “Care to join me in a duet, dearest Mueller?”
Estelle woke up and gave her room a fuzzy look, wondering what time it was. Too early probably, but Joshua could be up…
Her thoughts stumbled over themselves. No… Joshua was gone. This was only a short stopover before they set off again.
She dragged herself up and tried to ignore the feeling that she could almost hear a familiar tune just outside earshot. She dove into her belongings digging for the harmonica. She ran her fingers over it lightly, softly humming brief snatches of the song.
“I will find you, Joshua.”
And she will drag him back by his ear.
Woven Together in DarknessMoonlight trickles through the window. It’s a peaceful night, but none of that peace reaches the man tossing and turning in bed.
Cabanela’s eyes shoot open with a sharp gasp. He lies still, tentative, waiting for the shadows of pain to be real or to fade; he doesn’t know which to expect. He doesn’t know if his breath will shatter fragile bones or calm his pounding heart. He doesn’t know where to attach the heavy feeling and fear of loss.
A decision that seems to skip his brain and goes straight to his hands is made. He’s sitting now, automatically dialing a number, his hand throttling the phone’s receiver until his eyes fall on the clock. It’s far too late. They’re fine, they’re fine. He’s fine. Who is he to go calling over this like a small child?
He sets the phone down carefully. He’s calmer now. Of course he is. What’s a little nightmare to him? He sinks back into his pillows and closes his eyes. He has an
Case ClosedJowd left Kamila with Lynne with many hugs and a promise that he would be back soon. There was another he had to visit.
Now that he stood in front of the door of one specific room he found himself stuck. Wasn’t it strange how he hadn’t hesitated to follow the guard to his death, yet here he couldn’t move? He set his shoulders. There was no escaping what awaited him in that small hospital room.
Cabanela appeared asleep when Jowd entered. A blanket covered most signs of injury, but his brow was furrowed.
Sleep was good, Jowd thought as he took a seat next to Cabanela’s bed. He looked to need it - didn’t he always - and he looked bad in the junkyard office. If he slept through this visit it was all for the better. There was no harm in letting talks wait; it was even sensible. He needed rest.
His hopes for a delay were dashed just as all his plans had been trodden on when Cabanela’s eyes opened and fixed on him. A wide smile lit his face and it was then
FragmentsHe doesn’t realise what he’s doing until he’s half way down the street. He stops dead. His hands whiten around the handlebars. Feet slide off the pedals. Stopped. It’s the right street. It’s the wrong street. The house is empty now.
The newspaper is discarded without a second glance. His line of work brings him enough lies as is. He doesn’t need to read them as well.
He turns the bottle over and over in his hands. He’s not a fan of ketchup, never was, never will be. It was granted a place in his refrigerator for one man alone. He puts it back. His absence won’t outlive its lifespan.
It’s a simple act that constricts his throat. Pull out a pen. Sign a report. The pen is red. Something borrowed, something kept. It slides back into his coat pocket.
He leaves the coffee shop with two coffees and two donuts in hand. It’s only when he returns to his lone desk that he sees his mistake.
The movie’s words wash over him in a famil
Raindrops on StoneAlma was most decidedly not a night owl. Let her husband and their friend see the hours of the night no person should be forced to see. So, it was with some displeasure she woke up in the darkness at a time she would have preferred not to have known.
Her displeasure faded to the worry and confusion that had become a regular part of her days. She could dimly see Jowd’s shape sitting up in the dark. She joined him and lightly touched his arm.
“Nightmares again?” she asked softly.
“I don’t recall,” he said in a voice that sounded far too neutral.
Her heart would have sunk if it didn’t feel like that was its default position these days. Lies again.
“Something is bothering you,” she tried.
“Everything is fine.”
Then why does it feel like I’ve lost a part of you? Why does it feel like you’ve lost me? I’m right here, love, always. The words stuck in her throat. She wondered what would happen if she coul
Four MinutesThis wasn’t supposed to happen. His ears are still ringing, but can’t drown out the horrible sounds at his feet. It doesn’t mesh, the man at his feet and the man who’d been at his side only moments ago. He’s a wreck, struggling to breathe, choking on his own blood, staining that pristine coat of his red.
“Can you save him?” Jowd asks.
“Not from injuries,” Sissel says, remembering another such time there was little he could do. Wasn’t this bad then though.
Jowd crouches down and Sissel notices his hand is still clenched around his gun. Cabanela seems unaware, his body fighting just to breathe.
“Four minutes,” Jowd says in a voice of deadly calm. “He always was too stubborn for his own good.”
Sissel can’t feel the chill, but he does feel the dawning horror.
Jowd rests a gentle hand on Cabanela’s shoulder. “He can’t make it.” His mouth thins, nearly gets lost in his beard and
The papers are spread in a sprawl across the table in front of Cabanela. He ignores them, leaning back in the chair, idly twirling a pencil. He knows them by heart, scoured through them all for every last unchanging detail.
It’s plans cycling through his mind. Seeking answers they don’t yet have. Fine tuning details. Make sure everything is right, nothing missed.
Five years seemed an unending stretch and now it’s come down to a few short weeks.
Twirl, twirl, snap.
He stares down at the broken pencil and it’s as though it breaking has snapped something in him. It falls from a suddenly slack grip.
The Professor comes up from the basement and freezes in the doorway. The Inspector is hunched, face buried in his hands. He thinks he detects a quiver in that coat, sees his shoulders heave, lock into place, lose that battle, and heave again.
He backs away silently. Let him have his moment, one that was a long time in coming, the professor suspects. He’s no couns