2- Leonard

Confused? Everything will be cleared up in the third chapter, well, not necessarily everything.

2. 

   ‘THE TIMES’ HEADLINE: PREGNANT TEEN STABBED NEAR COUNCIL ESTATE, MANCHESTER. OCTOBER ISSUE.

The old man sat at his kitchen table, bespectacled, and intently reading off the front page of The Times. He had bought the paper the day before from a newsstand in the city centre. The top corner bore a food stain, a saucy splotch, and the paper itself crinkled after having been accidentally crumpled. 

A snapshot of a wounded body with blood pooling round the midsection shown under the headline. A round bump outstretched the fabric of her sweater. The roots of a tree, slivering cords, could be made out near the top of the picture.

  Sprawled on the pavement, arms searching, like the elegant poise of a snow angel. 

The old man scoffed at the image before him. He allowed the paper to slip from his hands, onto the table. Its pages fluttered and rested onto the pine top. He stood up and brewed himself a cup of coffee. One taste and he was surprised to find himself placing the mug on the counter and licking his lips in displeasure. Same filter. Same brew. Maybe the machine had malfunctioned? Maybe he’d inserted the wrong filter? 

His gaze returned to The Times.

Blood. Crimson. Pooling. The hair of his arms stood.

A rapping at the door. The hollow knocks reverberated in the small living space. This early in the morning? He mustered the sufficient energy to reach the door and peer past the peephole. A young man stood on the other side, eyes fixated on some point high above, legs slightly bouncing up and down in a synchronized motion, on the balls of his feet. His face was distorted and disproportionate through the magnified glass. Wide, droopy eyes and stunted nose.

Two more knocks. 

The old man carefully pulled the lock back, opening up. His visitor's eyes snapped down to observe him. 

 

“Is this the space of Mr. Harold Brule?”

Harold noticed he had a detective badge pinned to the his left breast pocket, and below that, the name Leonard stitched in golden thread.  

“Why yes, it is.” Harold said.

Leonard stretched out his hand- the pale skin interrupted by the knobs of bones. Harold shook it. 

                                                                                              “May I come in, sir?”

“What’s your business?”

“My business is with the law and the investigative department of Manchester.” Leonard stated, entering the apartment on his own accord, not forgetting to lend Harold a cheeky wink as he shuffled by. Harold shut the door and met up with him in the living room. 

The detective had already pulled a chair and taken a seat in front of the couch. “Please, sit Mr. Brule. I’m sorry for the early interruption, but I just have a few questions. Bear in mind that my time is sacred and if you cooperate I won't be long. Understood?”

“What’s this about?” Harold settled into a cushiony section of the couch. 

“The murder that took place two days ago. I haven't come for tea. You say you witnessed part of the incident?”

“Correct.”

“And what do you-” Leonard began, but Harold cut him short of his next query. “Who was she, the girl?”

“I couldn’t tell you exactly Mr. Brule, as we're still doing some research into the case. All I can say is that she was adopted, and grew up selling drugs for money. But that isn’t of importance right now.”

Harold nodded. Another worthless life. 

“Do you remember much Mr. Brule?”

His mind was at the bedroom window once more, eyeing two teens below. The image was crisp in his head, the shading on the roots of the tree, the ruffles on the girl's sweater, and the sun, pronouncing its magnitude.

Leonard reached over and shook his shoulder. “Mr. Brule? I'm sorry but there's no way around this.”

His mouth went arid, in need of liquid, a splash of water or coffee. “Young man, could you retrieve my coffee from the kitchen?”

Leonard brought back the mug. Harold managed a gulp and the liquid slid down his throat greasily like castor oil. His salivary glands and esophagus felt quelled, despite the vile taste. Something about returning to the bedroom window, returning to October fifth, restored the terror and nausea. He knew he would have to return though, and promptly.

“Better?”

“Yes,” He mustered. He imagined the coffee still trickling down the inside of his throat.

“We can skip the incident questions for now.”

“I thought this was only about the murder.”

Leonard proceeded. “How long have you been residing here, Mr. Brule? In the council estate, that is.”

“Urmmm, close to three years.”

“And have you ever been disturbed on your property. By hoodlums or thugs?”

“No, but I've seen many scuffles here and there. Nothing serious.”

“And the crime around here?”

“Well, I’m definitely not shocked by it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Howard thought back, to his incipient days at the estate, when the level and the rate of crime had been considerably lower, and he was able to go out for a nightly stroll without having to carry a blunt weapon, or stare back over his shoulders between intervals. 

“Sorry, I meant how bad would you consider it.”

“I know how the youth are around this area, unwanted, delinquents, drug dealers. It's increased, but that wasn't unexpected. There's no jobs in this city. The government has cut back on salaries. What are people to do?”

“Please Mr. Brule, don't bring the government into this. You are still comfortable living here?”

“I’m not bothered by it.” 

Harold looked at his coffee. The surface, calm and still, hid the dark depths underneath. Depths that the eyes wanted to unearth, to delve into. A string of steam rose from the mug, evaporating into the living room.

  

“You mentioned drug dealers. Have you or have you not witnessed a transaction of illegal substances?.”

Harold thought back to days earlier but his mind remained a blank slate.  

“I see them at night, hidden in the shades, passing objects to each other, acting like animals. Every night. I couldn't properly identify any drugs though." 

Harold’s eyes were intrigued once more by the coffee. A gentle ripple broke the surface. It expanded and died and the liquid returned to a static state. A wind knocked at the living room window, desiring entrance. The window remained closed, as it always did. 

“Mr. Brule, do you have any memory of ever seeing either the boy or the girl before- whether it be around the city or on the estate?”

His mind was leaving again, returning to the foggy vision of the bedroom window. He approached the window, and the panorama outside became clearer and clearer, except his voice had fled and the tips of his fingers trembled. Closer, he drew to the screen of glass. 

Another shake. “Mr. Brule, Mr. Brule, please stop.”

He snapped from the bedroom window, seated now on the living room couch. His pupils scattered round: the landscape of Manchester dangling precariously on a nail, the small television, looking more like an electric play toy, and the stark cabinet on which a dead lamp hung over, leaning its bulb to the ground. 

Then, the coffee. It was red.  

         

Author's Note

Thoughts?

Reviews

[ivizarx]

I don't criticize writing much cause I have to speed read most of the time because I have a sort of problem with ADHD which I avoid medication for, but I do enjoy reading your stuff ^_^ it's very interesting in storytelling and concept aspect.
A possibly suggestion is when writing, really bump up the description, I really was fond of the first chapter because of your descriptiveness there, so more than one or two adjectives is alright (though, don't get crazy with it and go over 5).
The only thing you really want to try to keep straight forward is the dialogue exchanged between characters, because normal people do not talk overly complicated, even if someone is quite smart, unless they have Asperger's syndrome, which is written quite well within your story here, although it could use some more thought and direction, Lady's comment and review is probably the best on this subject.
Your crime drama plot is pretty good though so far, I say awesome work and keep 'em coming ^_^ seems a little dirty harry.

[Robert Guttersohn]

I agree with lady on the part about the detective at the door and Harold wondering why he is there. Who should already know why he is there.
I like your description of Harold's mind. It seems his mind is attempting to block out the memory of what happened by focusing on the black coffee, the wind outside and other things. This is very typical of people with some sort of traumatic episode. I know there is more Harold is keeping from us, and I want to know what it is. Send out an alert or something when the next chapter is ready.
Typo: typed static twice in a row.

[Lady]

I'm really enjoying this story so far. Your main character is turning out to be an interesting older man, and his addiction to black coffee is a nice touch to his personality.
There are only a few things I'd like to point out that might help you polish up this story further:

Considering how dangerous Harold's neighborhood is, I really can't imagine a young detective questioning people about the murder - alone. He needs a partner. And in reality there's usually always a partner - especially with detective work, such as a police officer or so on.

The line:
"A wind knocked at the living room window, desiring entrance. The window remained closed, as it always did."
- Is somewhat false. The window didn't remain closed the other day. So maybe mention that by saying something like:
"A wind knocked at the living room window, desiring entrance. Although the window remained closed, locked, as always did - or should have unlike the previous day."

When the detective asked Harold if he could come inside and ask a few questions, Harold replied asking what his business was, and then soon after assumed it was about the murder. I'd maybe change his response since he is the one that reported being a witness to the murder, and should therefore already expect a detective to knock on his door.


As for the plot - I'm really liking this. In chapter one, you had Harold release a cry or sound when he was spying on the couple. It might be more interesting if the boy and Harold make eye contact for a split second just after the stabbing of the girl. That might make Harold's paranoia seem more appropriate for chapter two.

Keep it coming! Great work so far. Hope this helps!

Lady

[Plagued Monumentally]

I really enjoyed this. I loved how you used broad vocabulary to show that this was a mature story. I think you should start focusing on a bit more of the actions. All I really got was the detective walked in, sat down, and that was it. The stories I really like are when authors describe little things about the characters. Like, he played with his keys, or he bit his nails endlessly. Little things like that. But this was really good, much like your other chapter. I thought this was a good appetizer before the rest of the meal; if that made any sense. XD

I'm looking forward to you learning that I am a secret agent *cough* and I also look forward to you writing more to this story. Don't leave me waiting a week like you did last time!

[Omar Fendri]

perfectly written and descriptive... and the beginning is really interesting. I like you the way you presented this chapter... Too much details, more than the first chapter... and description here has such a powerful role in adding the mystery... I mean like you left me bewitched for minutes... I didn't get some of the sentences but I think that was because of the less concentration...
Perfect, again, and I am waiting the next chapter as well... Add more actions.

[Matthew Ian Herrawood W]

interesting. I must say you are excellent at describing things however i advise you to keep a tight check on how much detail you go into you are almost describing to much going into so much detail that it begins to get boring try and use a small quick sentance to describe somthing and cut out the description of somthing not needed for the story to move forward. i look frward to the 3rd chapter

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

Then, the coffe. It was red. Indeed a highly edited piece that springs into action, it almost guides the reader by the hand into the plot of no return, well balanced and tough, looking forward to your next chapter.