Episode 2 - A New Case

Jeffrey

wrote everything he knows—absolutely everything—about the condition of the

corpse, the situation; technically he’s a witness so he don’t need to ask for

information from other people. But different perspection from other source

might help; so why not?

“No,

no. I don’t suspect anything at all. Im just enjoying myself,  standing in the front row; watching Sophia

and her husband pulling the bell’s chain, then a body suddenly fell from up

there!”

The

young lady is pointing at the attic, her hand is shaking, and her eyes a bit

unfocused. She wont get near the hole in the ceilling—connected to the top

floor, where the bells hang. As if she expect another body will fall from there

at any moment. Jeffrey can’t blame her—or her frantic pacing. So he followed

her wherever she goes, from the corner of the stage to the other side, and back

to the corner—but never once she step towards the middle back of the stage,

where the body land.

The

corpse is already brought to the hospital, leaving a simple chalk drawing on

the floor that indicates the position when the corpse landed. The dead body is

gone, but the horror still lingering. Even Jeffrey himself smell a faint scent

of decaying meat—it could be his imagination running wild. But how the young

woman beside him wrinkled her nose and move her fan furiously indicated

something else.

Whatever

it is, it’s still here—the odour he mean, not the ghost. Ha ha.

“The

body fell when the chain is pulled... is it exactly happening when the bell

rings or after?”

The

woman paused, clearly thinking. Trying to summon the memories needed. Jeffrey

wait patiently, hand holding a pen, he’s writing everyhing he’s got on the only

paper available, which is the wedding invitation—sorry, Warner.

“It’s

after,” The woman decides. “The bells ringing a few times before the body

fell.”

“Yes.

That’s all I need. Thank you so much for the cooperation, Miss....?”

“It’s

Swann. Miss Elizabeth Swann,” She answered, thought looking a bit confused

about the detail Jeffrey asked her.

Behind

her, a police officer held up a roll of police line. Warning him that he need

to move the witness out of crime scene so he can secure the building—well, not

exactly a crime scene at this point; not when the murder isn’t happening in

this building, but who knows?

Jeffrey

leads Miss Swann off the stage and towards the front door.

-----

Theres

a humming sound, blowing wind, and horns; when he answer his phone. Warren must

be on his way back from the hospital. But, why is he calling while driving?

“Hi,

Warren. How’s the man?”

He

heard Warren snorted from the other line. “More like a boy,” The man

murmured. “He’s fine, all stitched up.”

Jeffrey

sat on the upper step in front of the building, watching the police officers

doing their job. He pulled out a pack of ciggarates and a lighter from his

coat’s ****** pocket.  “And his grandma?”

“Not

his grandma, just some concerned citizen,”Warren

clarrified. “He’s an orphan, living alone. The girl is a friend from the

church.”

Jeffrey

brown eyes move from a bunch of working officer towards his phone. Now, that’s

pretty interesting. But he should be more concerned about the corpse; it’s

iconic appearance means more work for him. “How’s the visum?”

He

place the phone back; next to his right ear, just in time to hear his friend’s

dissmissive answer. “Just started when i left.” And the line went dead.

-----

Jeffrey

decided to take a look at the building while he’s waiting for Warren to arrive.

He ducked under the police line—wrapped around the giant pillar surrounding the

outside border of the building. The black haired man went inside, he took a

lingering look at the front door; a double wooden door, with deformative nature

craved into it; there are circles that looks like snakes bordering the door;

they are tangled, tail curling around the head—it almost look like a ring with

diamond head. There must be a deep philosophy, perhaps an important lesson one

can get by staring at it.

The

Detective moved on, because apparently he’s not in the mood for a spiritual

healing. His footsteps echoing, a welcoming sound in this earily silent

environment.

Like

the general procedure, they emptied the room, but let the funiture intact in

it’s place. The giant blue bow still lining the walls along with the bone white

long curtains on the closed window. They haven’t put down the decoration—they

can’t. Even the table; the broken glasses on the floor or standing still on

their tray—empty, half filled, and full; cold and flat brown muffins—accidently

thrown, kicked, and stepped on by the guests who all running from the horror

they witnessed in this happy day.

Walking

towards the stage—it’s a bit to grand to call it an aisle—He can’t help but

think; what a waste. Yes, such a big waste—the decoration, the muffins, the

live of a corpse who fall from the attic and ruin the party. By how the corpse

was found; it is almost impossible to assume that the man was dead because a

natural cause. The logic of everyone who witness, or heard this story—because

of course there’s going to be a story; first page in the newspaper—is to become

suspicious, curious, then questioning it’s nature. Even Jeffrey himself is

drawn to this case; despite his latest case is not yet to be solved.

That

brings forward another question; is it connected? Is the murders linked towards

one another? Then whats made them relatable? Pattern, search for pattern. The

first one was found in the victim run down apartement; the second one founded them, creating such a chaos. Pattern; the condition of their corpse is

almost similar—body almost decaying, by the odour alone one can assume they’ve

been dead days ago.

But

that could be a coincidance.

“Keep

assuming Izbell, it’ll drive you crazy,” He chided himself.

He

took a step up the stage, standing right in the middle front, and turn around;

surveying the grand room. The main door is right in front of him, thought

looking faraway. There are long blue carpet covering the floor, creating a

small—about 2,5 meters wide—path streching from the front door to the stage.

There are tables and chairs on each—left and right—side of the room, separated

from the path by a long bow held up by a couple of short stainless sticks

attached to the floor. There are also a back door in the right corner behind

him—Jeffrey will check it out later.

He

stepped backwards, his head raised to the ceiling; there are blue skies and

white clouds painted there. He kept moving, until the painting on the ceiling

suddenly cut off by a giant round hole—He stop right there; right in the center

of the hole. The long chain attached to the bell is hanging beside him.  it is about 2 meters wide—he can’t really see

the bell that hang up there from his viewing spot; everything is pitch black.

So, he look down instead, at the chalk drawing stightly on his left side, and

where the end of the chain is pooling beside his right foot.

Out

of curiousity, he took a hold of the slightly rusty chain and pulled—hard until

the bell is ringing loud. Then he runs, sprinted throught the blue carpet to

the front door, then turns right until he found the stairs that lead him up to

the attic. His chest heaving, as he climb—the bell is still ringing. Hurry,

hurry!

Theres

a small door on the top of the stair, his body slamed against that door, hands

immediately reching for the knob. The door wont budge. It’s locked.

“What

the **** are you doing?”

Eyes

widening, Jeffrey turns around. Only to find Warren standing in the middle of

the staircase. His figure is a bit covered by shadow and sharp light from

behind him—where the sun started to sink. But clearly it’s Warren; he know the

hard shape of the figure, and the white wedding gloves on his hand—gripping the

rails.

They

both in similar state; slightly out of breath, with Jeffrey a bit on the worse

side, since he’s built to investigate; not running around the town after a pick

pocketers.

Warren

looks annoyed. “What the **** are you doing?” He repeats.

The

detective opened his mouth to reply, “I was just...”

“Just what?” Now, he sound mad.

The

other man seemed a little bit out of words. Yeah, Jeffrey. What are you doing

exactly? He questioned himself.

“I

was just checking around.” It’s the closest to the truth, for Jeffrey himself

don’t understand why he is suddenly inclined to ring the giant bell like a

curious little kid. Maybe because this kind of thing—the bell pulling—didn’t

happen in the other town where he came from. But then he went running like a

mad man chased by the devil himself. Jeffrey must seen him then, and went to

follow him; thinking something important is happening.

The

sound of Warren laughing startle him—the harsh expression from before slipping

out from his features. He said, “Really? Checking around? The investigation

isn’t officially started till tomorrow.”

Oh,

well. Why nobody feel the need to slip him this little bit of information before

he started questioning a thraumatized lady? Poor Miss Swann. His expression

shifted into an uncomfortable grimace at the thought.

“It’s

late.” Warren voice sounds tired. Of course he’s tired; he got to be a groom,

and an officer, both in one day.

Jeffrey

let his tight grip loosening on the door knob. Eyes slightly shifted towards

the door plain white wooden door; gaze promised that he will come back as soon

as possible. He move towards his friend, “Alright. I’ll drive you home.”

-----

A

car pulled up in front of an apartement in St. Louis Street—it was the biggest

apartement in the city. The parking lot is visible from across the street;

guarded by a security at the front gate. Inside; a series of cars lined up

looking fancy. Across the apartement, a car window is rolling down, revealing

Jeffref who raised his hand, trying to get the security attention—the big bulky

man immediately run from his guarding post to open the front gate.

Jeffrey’s

eyes looking at the side mirror, checking for another vechiles behind him

before he drive the car across the street, past the gate into the parking lot.

He could hear the sound of gate closed immediately behind him.

It’s

nightfall already—the lamp post in the parking lot is on, and his surrounding

is dark. The trace from the sunset—the usual trace of orange, and pinkish

colour—in the west side of the horizon is completely gone. The man reached for

his phone—placed on the dashboard.

There

is still no message from Amanda, and it is almost 7 pm. Jeffrey felt heavy—she

promised to have the result ‘today’. But today doesn’t end until the clock hit

12—so there’s still a chance that Amanda will give the result as she promised. The

black haired figure sighed deeply, he put the phone back on the dasboard.

Trying

to relax, he lean his head into the back of the car seat. Facing the street lit

with head lamps from the cars running around on the road. Upon seeing what time

is it, suddenly the exhaustion he didn’t felt earlier come rushing in. The ache

in his legs, the hardness on his shoulder, and a small migraine. Nothing

unbearable; it’s mostly a pain caused by stress rather that actual physical

pain—he just wish to spend the night free from this kind of uncomfortable

feeling.

He

just staying there motionless. Eyes slowly went heavy with sleep, he didn’t mind

sleeping in his car. He think there is a spare blanket somewhere in the

backseat. But then his stomach grumbled at him. That jolted him

awake—completely, utterly, awake.

Food;

he thoughts. Surely one cant solve a crime without food. He heard somewhere

that hunger could mess with someone logical sense; whether it is true or not,

nobody knows. But for a safe stance; he probably should order for some food

delivery.

The

man reach for his phone; now only if he could remember the phone mumber of this

delicious restouran near the police station with their excellent delivery

service.

-----

Jeffrey

was standing in font of his apartement, trying to unlock the door for two

minutes straight to no avail. That’s because he doesn’t pay attention and used

his car key to open the door instead of—where is the damned apartement key

anyway?

Jeffrey

put down his working bag on the floor supported by the wall, while he checked

out his pockets one by one. Front pants pockets, back pockets, front coat

pockets, the pocket on his shirt—where is is it? The said key was found under

the crumpled wedding invitation inside his inner ****** pocket of his coat.

Where he also found out that the pen he put there is spilling its ink on his white

shirt and brown coat—creating an ugly stain of black. He cursed.

Opening

his door, he immediately went in and slammed the door closed. Only to re-open

it,  taking the bag he left outside

before went back inside the safety of his apartement.

-----

The

phone is ringing—it’s ringing with a massage notification. Jeffrey was staring

at his shirtless reflection in the mirror; slightly blurry with the moisture

from his recent warm shower. In his hand he held a shaving knive; the stubble

in his chin needs some more cutting.

But

his phone is ringing; he heard it albeit the sound was muffled by the bathroom

wall. Jeffrey left the knive in the sink, turn around to reach for the towel

hanging on the bathroom door, hang it on his left shoulder and exit the room.

Walking

past the kitchen to the middle room, he immediately throw himself on the long

burgundy sofa. His left hand reaching for the towel, petting his hair to dry,

while the other one reached for his phone. The screen is lit up with a picture

of an envelope, and ‘Amanda’ written underneath.

His

blood buzz with relief for a moment—Amada manage to find the time to do the

blood test. He waste no time to open the massage.

It

wasn’t his blood; It simply said, as if amanda send it

during a rushed break. He tried to scrolled down the messege, hoping there are

more explanation. But there isn’t. It wasnt his blood—thats it.

Jefrey

wants to burst out laughing at this, this funny feeling inside of him. It wasnt

the blood from the victim. Then whose blood is it? The bleeding blade was found

right beside the victim, inside his flat—that locked from the inside; even the

keys still dangling inside the keyholes.

His

phone falling from his grip onto the sofa, The black haired man raised his

chin, a pair of brown eyes staring at the yellow lamp installed to the ceiling.

His expression unreadable, eyebrows raised together, lips pressed tight. the

light painted his pale face in an eary colour that maybe or may not be

representing his stormy mood.

There

was a sudden knocking sound; someone is on his front door. Must be the

delivery, he thought. Immediately stand up and move to the front door, he

snatched his wallet from a coffee table in the living room—that turn suddenly

into a half office and half library section. Upon reaching the front door. He

check the peeping hole, and unlock the door when he saw a figure wearing the

familiar uniform from the restaurant.

The

wooden door swing open, before the figure outside could land another knock on

the surface. “Are you happen to ask delievery under the name Mr. Jeffrey

Izbell?”

“Yes.

Thats me,” He confirmed.

The

box is immediately given to him—it was quite heavy. Jeffrey went to put it on

the coffee table inside, then went back to pay the bill.

“Fourty

five dollars, Mr. Izbell.”

Upon

receveing the said amount, The delievery crew give the notebook to Jeffrey,

along with a pen. “Sign here, please,” he added. Jefrey is given the first copy

of the note he just signed, before the crew went on his way.

-----

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