Post by MissChurro on Mar 24, 2016 14:34:43 GMT -5
AbiGale
Genres: Mystery, crime, historical.
Setting: Colonial/Early America.
Synopsis: "After the orphaned child Abigail is taken in by a kind detective, she moves to a new town and starts a life as his apprentice... and as a boy. After her close friend loses someone important to him in a suspected murder, the now 15-year-old 'Gale' must walk in her mentor's footsteps to get to the bottom of it, all while keeping her true identity hidden. Is it a possible feat?"
Notes: So this is my first time for a lot of things! My first time writing a mystery, my first time using this setting, and my first time writing in a first person perspective. I'd really like to improve on all three points, so all critiques are welcomed! Thank you for reading!
Setting: Colonial/Early America.
Synopsis: "After the orphaned child Abigail is taken in by a kind detective, she moves to a new town and starts a life as his apprentice... and as a boy. After her close friend loses someone important to him in a suspected murder, the now 15-year-old 'Gale' must walk in her mentor's footsteps to get to the bottom of it, all while keeping her true identity hidden. Is it a possible feat?"
Notes: So this is my first time for a lot of things! My first time writing a mystery, my first time using this setting, and my first time writing in a first person perspective. I'd really like to improve on all three points, so all critiques are welcomed! Thank you for reading!
A clunking sound followed my footsteps as I carried myself along the wooden boards of the dock. The sea breeze blew through my brown hair, and it tickled uncomfortably at my neck. I'd need it cut again soon. The salty air stung my nose, but it wasn't an unpleasant evening. The cool air helped to relieve the ache in my joints as I headed towards my destination.
"Gale!" A familiar voice called me, and I turned to see the blonde haired boy lifting large crates, a smile creeping onto his features even though I knew he was exhausted from today's heavy load. The boy is my age and a good friend of mine; however, he's much frailer than the rest of the boys in our grade, including myself. His muscles are weak, he tires quickly, and his body is easily prone to illness. Why he chooses to take on such an intensive task in his state is beyond my understanding.
"Peter," I responded, my voice coming out as more of a sigh than anything, "are you not yet finished? I can stay and help, if you'd like..."
"Nay, you should return home. You got here earlier than I did." He smiled once more and nodded firmly, his way of saying he'd take no further argument from me. He knew I would argue, as I knew he would insist. We're both quite stubborn, I suppose.
"...Very well, if you insist. See you tomorrow, Peter."
"Bye, Gale!"
And I proceeded on my way across the dirt and rubble streets only dimly lit by the candles in the few lamps that lined the roads. The pain blossoming in my legs became harder to ignore as I made my tiring journey home. I help carry and lift cargo into the ships at the docks a few times a week, and while the toll it takes on my body may be unpleasant to bear, the jingling pouch of coins I now had on my person made it worth it.
I nodded to the shopkeepers who were closing up for the night, and to the passersby who were just now heading out to enjoy an evening at the tavern and continued climbing from the streets into the dark grassy hills, and towards the source of light glowing from the small house on the other side of the hill.
I thought of my bed, and my legs began to pick up the pace. Oh, how I couldn't wait to bury myself in the warm blankets. I arrived at the red door and turned the cold metal key I'd had in my pocket. I closed the door behind me as quietly as I could, then began my climb up the creaky wooden stairs.
Once I arrived in my bedroom, I lit a candle and began to free my body of these sweaty clothes. I threw my coat, work shirt, and undershirt unceremoniously into a small basket to be washed in the morning.
I then turned to the long mirror I had leaning against my wall and let out a prolonged sigh as I began to undo the long strip of fabric wrapped tightly around my chest. I felt a wave of relief as the fabric fell from my body and released its hold on my delicate skin, leaving a bitter ache in its place.
Staring at my bare stomach, I realized it had begun to growl. I threw on a white night dress and, candle in hand, descended the stairs, tip-toeing as I did so but the creaks still ecd against the walls. I arrived in the kitchen and began to slice a loaf of bread I had located on the counter. I lacked elegance as I stuffed the slice into my mouth, but as my hunger began to gnaw on my stomach it was hard to find the energy to care.
Without much thought, I rubbed the bruising ache around my ribs as I stared out of the kitchen window and into the vast darkness.
"You're going to permanently damage your rib cage if you keep wearing that thing, Abigail."
I started at the sudden arrival of the voice but knew no fear as I turned to face the familiar owner, the greying man who was the only other holder of the precious secret that was my real name.
"Detective!" I gasped, still caught off guard as I was certain he would be fast asleep by now. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
The detective waved his hand dismissively as he walked his way into the kitchen beside me.
"No, don't worry. I just found myself craving a little late night snack." His smile was innocent, but I knew that wasn't the full truth. I chose not to press further.
"Oh, right," I broke the awkwardly growing silence, "this is for you."
I took a small pouch from my pocket and handed it in his direction, "I worked at the dock today."
I felt my hand pushed back towards myself before receiving a small pat.
"Thank you," he smiled, "but keep it all for yourself this time. I won't need it this month."
"Sir?"
"I got a case, just this evening."
A rush of excitement climbed my spine.
"A case!" I exclaimed, immediately regretting it as the high-pitched voice I forgot I had began to show itself.
"You're excited, I see. Why don't you come with me in the morning to check out the site?"
"I'd love to!"
"Then you'll need your rest. Head on up and sleep."
"Yes, sir!"
He didn't need to tell me twice. I quickly scrambled up the stairs into the warmth of my bed, and succumbed to sleep almost immediately after my head hit the pillow.
---
The next morning I was awoken by the unpleasant cawing of nearby crows. I whined into my pillow as I glanced out of the window next to my bedside and stared at the grey and overcast sky, showing me it was going to be yet another dreary day. I knew I had to get up if I wanted to join the detective today, but my dreams were beckoning me to return and I found it increasingly difficult to resist.
Knock, knock. The sound bolted me upright.
“Are you awake, Abigail?” The muffled voice asked through the door.
“Y-Yes, sir!” I rubbed my bleary eyes, trying to regain focus.
“It’s time to leave, soon. Get ready and come on down, we can eat later while we’re out.” The voice was followed by footsteps that slowly faded out of hearing as the descended the stairs.
I let out a huff as I swung my legs around to the floor and lifted my tired body, shuffling over to my wardrobe and pulling out my clothes for the day. I slipped into them practically subconsciously, my sleepy mind preferring to space out instead of focusing on my tasks. Once my clothes were on and my hair was brushed, I took one final glance in the mirror before heading downstairs to meet the detective.
He was already waiting at the door, scarf and hat in hand. I took my own ivy cap from the coat hanger and placed it snuggly on my head.
“Ready to go?” The detective smiled kindly, opening the door for me to exit first. And yet again, I stepped out of the warm room that made me Abigail and into the harsh world where I was Gale.
I followed closely behind the detective’s long black coat as he led me through the green hills near our home and towards the farm lands. As he’d told me earlier, we’d be visiting Mr. Crowley’s farm. Mr. Crowley is a nice man who the detective seems to view fondly, but I always had a childish bias against him solely because his name contains “crow,” like the bird whose cawing never fails to wake me at some ungodly hour in the morning.
“Detective Lockwood! Gale!” I was snapped out of my birdy thoughts and back into the present, where we had already arrived at the farm and the plump Mr. Crowley was waving at us enthusiastically.
“Good morning, Mr. Crowley.” The detective greeted politely, and I followed suit with a smile and a nod. “Would you like to lead us to the scene of the crime?”
Mr. Crowley nodded solemnly as the question arose and led us towards a small wooden pen near his barn. There laid three dead sheep, white wool almost entirely dyed in their own blood. I looked away and choked back a gag at the sight.
“Don’t look away, Gale. If you want to become a real detective, you’re going to have to get used to such a sight on both animals and humans.”
“Y-Yes sir…” I let out a huff through my nose and turned back to the scene.
“Was it… wolves?” I asked, uncertain why Mr. Crowley would even call us out for a simple case of predator vs. prey.
“No… observe closely, Gale. Where is the blood coming from?”
I took a hesitant step towards the poor animals, and observed the wounds more closely. I barely stifled a gasp.
“It’s just one cut… all on the same spot on each animal. One thin incision across the neck, as if sliced with a knife…” I muttered, my brain rushing, trying to wrap itself around the possibilities.
“Good, Gale. But the question is why. Mr. Crowley, is there anybody to your knowledge who’d have a grudge against you or your farm?” The detective questioned, pacing around the pen to take in the view from multiple angles.
“N-No… Not that I know of, at least…” Mr. Crowley was standing several feet away, his eyes averted from the crime. I felt a pang of pity for the man. He had no family of his own, so I’m sure his farm animals take that place in his heart, at least somewhat.
“If you look closely, the animals’ bodies are perfectly intact save for the single slit on each neck. What gain would someone have from killing an animal but taking nothing from it--?”
The detective was interrupted by a blood curdling scream in the distance, that of a boy. Fear shot through my body, as I was certain I recognized it…
“Peter?!” I called out, not thinking twice before running in the direction of my best friend’s farmhouse. I heard the detective tell Mr. Crowley to stay behind at the scene before his footsteps quickly caught up with mine.
When we arrived at the smaller farm, I stopped in my tracks when I saw a very stricken Peter on the ground, as if he’d stumbled back and fell. He was peering at whatever was inside his wide open door with one hand over his mouth and his wide eyes watering, his breaths coming out rapidly.
“Peter! Are you alright?!” It was the detective who called out, as I’d suddenly lost my voice at the sight. Peter did not respond, and it was only when we reached the open door did we see why.
Perfectly framed by the doorway, a middle-aged woman hung lifeless from a rope that was tightly mounted to her ceiling. Her blonde bangs covered her face and her light blue dress blew uncaringly in the breeze. The room reeked of alcohol mixed with the stench of death, and much of the furniture around her was overturned. All that remained neat was a table to her right side, with a slip of paper that was too far away for me to read from this spot.
“M-Mo-M-Mom…” Peter squeaked weakly, and the detective firmly wrapped his hand around the boy’s eyes, doing his best to block his sight from his dead mother before him. I did my best to shake off my own shock, and kneeled beside Peter, gripping his shaking hand within my own. I whispered a chorus of shh’s as the whimpers and squeaks escaped his body, for still no words would form between my lips.
---
We’re a small town, and our law enforcement contains only one constable and a handful of village volunteers. Thus, most cases end up in the hands of the detective until they reach court… except this one.
“What do you mean they’re not giving us the case?!” I all but screamed at the detective sitting before me, my hands resting on the table they’d previously slammed down upon when I heard the news.
“Shh, you’ll disturb Peter.” The detective reminded me of the boy’s presence. We’d brought him to our house and he was now sleeping soundly in the guest bedroom, after he’d passed out from shock due to today’s events.
“Anyway,” the detective sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose,
“I know… but they’re saying there’s no case to be given. They said with the note and circumstances, they’re ruling it suicide with no further investigation.”
“But--!” I lowered my voice, “But… something seems suspicious to me, detective. I don’t know what yet, but I can feel it in my gut…”
“The sheep.” The detective stated simply.
I tilted my head.
“What?”
“It’s the sheep that feel suspicious, don’t you agree?” The detective leaned back in his chair, staring at the wall in thought. I joined him, hoping for some clarity on the situation.
"Yes… the sheep were suspicious from the start, slaughtered by a human with no clear motive… and then this happens, the two events probably only happening within hours of each other, right?”
“Right. So, there’s a slim chance the sheep incident might’ve just been some messed up prank that coincidentally took place in the same area around the same time…”
“…Or it was a distraction.”
“Exactly. Gale, no matter what, we need to get this case re-opened and on our plates. Later, let’s head out to the scene and see if we can find any evidence to convince—“
A groan was heard through the ceiling above us. The detective and I stood up quickly, nearly in sync, and carefully headed up the stairs and towards the guest room. I knocked on Peter’s door, but did not wait for a response before letting myself in.
I’d thought a dead body hanging from a ceiling would be the most disturbing thing I could possibly see today, but I was wrong… what I saw on the other side of the guest room door pounded me in the gut without mercy.
Peter may have been born with a weak body, but what he lacked in physical strength he made up for with the strength in his heart. Peter is gentle, Peter is kind, and Peter is caring… he has an immeasurable capacity of love within him and his heart does not discriminate, sharing its contents with any and all no matter how they’ve wronged him. I’ve often compared him to the sun – not only because of his golden blonde locks that resemble its tender rays, but because of the pure, accepting warmth that radiates from within him. The warmth that shone through every crevice it could; his eyes, his smile, and his words…
That’s why this certainly cannot be the Peter I know. This boy staring straight through me with glassy brown eyes that reflect nothing but the emptiness cannot be Peter. This boy with an expression that feels so hopeless, so cold, so dead could not be Peter!
So why… why was the tenderness with which he whispered my name so painfully like Peter?
“Peter…” The words had to be forced from my throat, my mind still not wanting to accept the truth of what my eyes could see. “How are you feeling?”
The detective and I both sat in chairs beside Peter’s bed as he seemed to ponder the question, as if “how are you feeling?” was difficult to answer. Then again, I’m not the one in his position. Maybe it really was.
“I’m…” He cleared his throat, “I killed her, didn’t I?” Another tremor wracked his body, but this time he seemed able to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill once more.
The detective and I exchanged a quick glance at each other, as if to confirm we both heard the same thing.
“Peter… what do you mean?” The detective asked gently, scooting his chair closer to Peter.
“Sh-She killed herself because of me, I know it…” Peter lowered his head and wrapped his shaking hands tightly around his trouser legs.
“Peter, don’t say that, we don’t kno—“
“She and I had a fight last night. A b-big one.”
Since when did Peter and his mother fight?
“She t-told me that… I was…” Peter gulped, seeming to struggle with the words.
“Take your time.” The detective patted Peter’s back, and he nodded in reply.
“She told me that I was… a c-curse.” The tears were starting to spill now, but he continued.
“She said that God must be p-punishing her… because if only He gave her a str-stronger son… she’d be able to live happily.”
My breath seemed to catch in my throat. Something wasn’t adding up. She actually said that?
“She told me to l-leave… she didn’t want t-to see me… so I did! I ran and I ran! I s-stayed the night at my uncle’s house… but if I’d stayed b-back home, maybe I could’ve stopped her…!
“Nay, if I’d been b-born… as someone d-different… she would still be alive and happy!” His tears quickly grew into sobs. The detective opened his mouth, probably to say his comforting words of wisdom, but I would have none of it. That’s not what Peter needed right now. I shot myself up with enough force my chair fell backwards behind me.
“Peter, enough!” I cried out, “How could you honestly believe any of what you just said?! Was it your choice, to be born in the body you were?! Is it your fault, how people see or judge you because of it?! A curse, you say…? No…” I was beginning to lose my breath, “everyone knows that your presence is a blessing and your own mother should know it best! I may not have known her well, but I know she wouldn’t take her own life over this! I don’t know what could’ve made her angry enough to fight… or what could’ve possessed her to say such a thing to you… but it wasn’t true! There had to be more to it, I’m sure! She loved you… I know it, so please!”
A pink flushed across my face as I reconsidered the words I said… I called him a blessing. Out loud. I shook my head and reassured myself that Peter’s emotional wellbeing was more important than my pride.
“The detective and I will find the truth, I promise you! We will get to the bottom of this even if it takes us the rest of our lives! So please, don’t say such nonsense and have faith in us. Promise me, Peter!”
Peter was hiccupping now, his tears slowing and his composure seeming to somewhat regain.
“…O-Okay. I p-promise, Gale…” Peter hiccupped once more and nodded his usual firm nod.
“…Right. Good.” Unable to bear the sudden awkward air that set into the room, I swiftly dismissed myself and slammed the door shut behind me before a protest could be made. I leaned up against the wall and caught my breath. Just what was happening, here…?
I heard the detective tell Peter to rest, and I scurried to my own room before the detective made it to the door to see me in the hall. By the time I made it to my room and smothered my face into my pillows, my earlier adrenaline wore off and I was able to consider my actions.
I had raised my voice to Peter. I'd never once raised my voice to him, so I could only hope that would cause enough impact that he'd take my words seriously. However... there was a reason I never raised my voice to him. Because when I raised my voice the obvious femininity seeped through and having my true identity found out was something I simply couldn't afford, even if it was Peter. I trust him, but I know that the fact I'm pulling such a large facade would only hurt him. I wouldn't blame him if he shouted my secret from the rooftops, for I'd certainly deserve it.
I could only hope his shock distracted him from my voice...
I didn't get to consider it much before the detective knocked on the door and told me that lunch was almost ready. I was only halfway through slicing the bread when I heard the creak of a door and Peter stepped out, a shy smile on his face and his hands curled tightly against his chest in a protective stance.
"Peter!" I gasped, and he nodded.
"Umm... I wanted to apologize, for my behavior earlier. It appears I created quite a scene..." He shot his eyes to the ground and shuffled his feet.
"Nonsense," the detective said simply, "you created just as much of a scene as anyone in your position should."
Peter's surprised expression faded into a smile as he muttered words of thanks.
"Peter, you should eat with us." I offered him a slice of bread but he raised his hand.
"Thank you, but I'm not sure I have the stomach for it just yet..." He cleared his throat, “I actually think I’ll be heading out, now. To my uncle’s house.”
“Oh,” The detective raised his head, “you aren’t staying with us? It wouldn’t be a bother.”
“I really appreciate it, but I’m sure my uncle has heard the news by now and… I don’t really want to leave him alone. I’m sure he’ll be wanting to see me, too.”
The detective nodded with an understanding smile. “If that’s what’d be most comfortable for you. Can we at least walk you home?”
“Thank you for the offer, but you’ve already done plenty for me. It’s a short walk, and I think I could use the time alone, anyway.” Peter bowed his head slightly, a smile was once again on his face but I could still see the pain in his reddened eyes.
“Thank you for everything.” He said as he approached the door, and before I could even mutter a goodbye, he was gone.
“…Detective? Did something seem… wrong, to you? He was very different from the time he woke up to the time he stepped out…” I turned to face the man who also had his warm blue eyes locked on the door.
“Hm, yes… I think he’s shaken deeper than he let on. His sudden regain of composure that we saw just now was probably a defensive mechanism from his brain to protect himself from the emotional trauma.”
I tilted my head.
“What?”
“I’ll explain some other time. I’m afraid we don’t have the time for a psychology lesson right now, for we have a crime scene to investigate.” The detective lifted himself from his chair and I followed suit.
---
Once we arrived at Peter’s house, the body had already been taken and in the process, several elements of the crime scene had been shifted or altered. The detective looked like he was ready to yell at the constable whom we found standing there, until we realized who he was talking to.
“It’s Peter’s uncle…” I whispered to the detective as I stared at the tall man a distance away. His long hair was blonde but more ashen than Peter’s, and his eyes a shade lighter. The man was in the navy, thus had an intimidating stature and carried himself in a refined manner, which made him appear cold or hostile, but I’d had a few conversations with him before and found that to be untrue. Especially today, the shock was clear on his pale face and his eyes were filled with more emotion than ever. I didn’t know all of the details, but I know he and his sister were close, from what Peter had told me.
“Sir,” I announced myself, gaining the uncle’s attention.
“Oh! It’s Gale.” He smiled and offered a curt nod out of politeness.
“Sir, this is my mentor, Detective Lockwood. I don’t believe you two have met?”
The detective offered his hand with a sympathetic smile, “No, I’m afraid we haven’t had the pleasure.”
Peter’s uncle accepted the hand in a shake. “The pleasure’s all mine, Detective Lockwood. I’m Charles, Charles Winslow.”
“Mr. Winslow, why are you here with the constable, by the way?” I interrupted, “Did Peter make it home safely?”
“Oh, yes, he’s sleeping now. I wanted to stay with him, but the constable asked me to come out and make a statement confirming my sister’s…” He looked down at the ground, “You know, the circumstances of her death.”
The detective shot the constable a glare and he averted his eyes. “That’s hasty, isn’t it, constable? You won’t even let the poor family have a day of rest, after such a tragedy?”
The constable cleared his throat and stood up straight, “We were trying to get it over with for their sake, detective. The sooner we process her death, the sooner the funeral can be held and the family can be allowed to move on.”
“Mr. Winslow,” the detective diverted his attention from the constable and towards the shaken man, “Please don’t worry about such things just yet. Take some time for yourself and Peter. Truth be told, the constable hasn’t even let me and Gale complete our end of the investigation yet.”
Mr. Winslow’s eyes shot up, surprised. “Investigation? You mean you have suspicions that it’s not…” he cleared his throat, once again having a hard time with the weight of the word.
“Not yet, it’s just a precautionary investigation,” the detective lied, “so please don’t worry about it until it’s completed. Please, I urge you, go home and rest. There’s no point in taking on this extra stress, for now. You’ll be the first to hear if anything new arises regarding your sister’s death.”
Mr. Winslow sighed and looked down at the ground.
“We offer our sincerest condolences, Mr. Winslow. Please rest assured, we’ll discover the truth and let you move on in peace.” The detective nodded reassuringly, and I did the same to drive the point further. A small weight seemed to lift off of Mr. Winslow’s shoulders.
“…Thank you, both. I should tend to Peter, then.” He bowed slightly and then turned on his way, his legs moving slowly as they still had a bit of a shake.
“Detective,” the constable spat, “you’re interfering where you’re not needed.”
“With all due respect, constable, you made no real effort to stop me. So if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a crime scene to investigate.” The detective said, his voice monotonous as it usually was when he was angry.
“There is no crime here, detective! The woman clearly killed herself. There was even a note… and Mr. Winslow just confirmed for me that suicidal tendencies run in the family, as their mother killed herself and their grandfather before her.”
There was a rush up my spine. Was that true? Did that mean it really could be a suicide…? No, the circumstances can’t possibly be a coincidence. But that means, if it runs in the family… could Mr. Winslow have such tendencies? Could Peter? Suddenly I felt the urge to run, to leave this place and bind myself to Peter’s side… but I knew that could not be done.
“Look, constable,” the detective’s voice grew softer,
“I know your intentions are good. Trust me, we want the family to be able to move on from this quickly, too… but please, won’t you at least let us have a quick look around? We couldn’t forgive ourselves if we swept this under a rug and left the family with injustice… could you?”
A long pause.
“You have five minutes.” The constable sighed, and stepped out of the way for our passage. We both smiled and nodded gratefully, letting ourselves into the house.
Peter’s mother killed herself in the dining room, which was the first room straight inside the house. The chairs that were overturned yesterday were returned to their original position, and the note was removed from the table. All that remained untouched were the noose still hanging from the ceiling, and the knocked over stool below it.
The detective sighed and scratched his head. There wasn’t much we could get from this, was there…?
“Constable, do you happen to know how tall the victim was?”
I heard the shuffling of paper as I assumed the constable was flipping through his notes.
“Five feet, six inches.” The constable concluded.
“Gale,” The detective turned to me, “how tall are you?”
…Oh.
“Five feet, six inches, sir.” I stated, catching on to the situation.
“Then, if you will,” he gestured to the stool I was already walking towards. I set it upright, and the detective offered me his hand for balance as I lifted myself upon it.
“…Constable,” the detective said slowly, “you might want to see this.”
The constable took a hesitant step inside and his eyes widened immediately as he saw me.
The bottom of the noose didn’t even reach my nose.
“As you can see, constable, my Gale and the victim are the same height. Gale couldn’t get his neck in the noose if he wanted to, so how do you presume the victim did?” The detective shot the surprised constable a knowing look.
“Try standing on the tips of your toes.” The constable suggested slowly, and I complied. It still only reached my lips.
“And, constable, if I remember correctly… Mrs. Crawford wasn’t even wearing ss when we found her this morning, was she?” I questioned, setting my hand on the detective’s shoulder and lowering myself from the wobbly stool.
The constable simply shook his head, and lowered his eyes to the ground. “I can’t believe it…” He muttered, “in our own town, right under our noses...”
“I’m afraid, constable, that I’m going to have to ask you to reopen this case. This is officially a murder investigation.”
"Gale!" A familiar voice called me, and I turned to see the blonde haired boy lifting large crates, a smile creeping onto his features even though I knew he was exhausted from today's heavy load. The boy is my age and a good friend of mine; however, he's much frailer than the rest of the boys in our grade, including myself. His muscles are weak, he tires quickly, and his body is easily prone to illness. Why he chooses to take on such an intensive task in his state is beyond my understanding.
"Peter," I responded, my voice coming out as more of a sigh than anything, "are you not yet finished? I can stay and help, if you'd like..."
"Nay, you should return home. You got here earlier than I did." He smiled once more and nodded firmly, his way of saying he'd take no further argument from me. He knew I would argue, as I knew he would insist. We're both quite stubborn, I suppose.
"...Very well, if you insist. See you tomorrow, Peter."
"Bye, Gale!"
And I proceeded on my way across the dirt and rubble streets only dimly lit by the candles in the few lamps that lined the roads. The pain blossoming in my legs became harder to ignore as I made my tiring journey home. I help carry and lift cargo into the ships at the docks a few times a week, and while the toll it takes on my body may be unpleasant to bear, the jingling pouch of coins I now had on my person made it worth it.
I nodded to the shopkeepers who were closing up for the night, and to the passersby who were just now heading out to enjoy an evening at the tavern and continued climbing from the streets into the dark grassy hills, and towards the source of light glowing from the small house on the other side of the hill.
I thought of my bed, and my legs began to pick up the pace. Oh, how I couldn't wait to bury myself in the warm blankets. I arrived at the red door and turned the cold metal key I'd had in my pocket. I closed the door behind me as quietly as I could, then began my climb up the creaky wooden stairs.
Once I arrived in my bedroom, I lit a candle and began to free my body of these sweaty clothes. I threw my coat, work shirt, and undershirt unceremoniously into a small basket to be washed in the morning.
I then turned to the long mirror I had leaning against my wall and let out a prolonged sigh as I began to undo the long strip of fabric wrapped tightly around my chest. I felt a wave of relief as the fabric fell from my body and released its hold on my delicate skin, leaving a bitter ache in its place.
Staring at my bare stomach, I realized it had begun to growl. I threw on a white night dress and, candle in hand, descended the stairs, tip-toeing as I did so but the creaks still ecd against the walls. I arrived in the kitchen and began to slice a loaf of bread I had located on the counter. I lacked elegance as I stuffed the slice into my mouth, but as my hunger began to gnaw on my stomach it was hard to find the energy to care.
Without much thought, I rubbed the bruising ache around my ribs as I stared out of the kitchen window and into the vast darkness.
"You're going to permanently damage your rib cage if you keep wearing that thing, Abigail."
I started at the sudden arrival of the voice but knew no fear as I turned to face the familiar owner, the greying man who was the only other holder of the precious secret that was my real name.
"Detective!" I gasped, still caught off guard as I was certain he would be fast asleep by now. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
The detective waved his hand dismissively as he walked his way into the kitchen beside me.
"No, don't worry. I just found myself craving a little late night snack." His smile was innocent, but I knew that wasn't the full truth. I chose not to press further.
"Oh, right," I broke the awkwardly growing silence, "this is for you."
I took a small pouch from my pocket and handed it in his direction, "I worked at the dock today."
I felt my hand pushed back towards myself before receiving a small pat.
"Thank you," he smiled, "but keep it all for yourself this time. I won't need it this month."
"Sir?"
"I got a case, just this evening."
A rush of excitement climbed my spine.
"A case!" I exclaimed, immediately regretting it as the high-pitched voice I forgot I had began to show itself.
"You're excited, I see. Why don't you come with me in the morning to check out the site?"
"I'd love to!"
"Then you'll need your rest. Head on up and sleep."
"Yes, sir!"
He didn't need to tell me twice. I quickly scrambled up the stairs into the warmth of my bed, and succumbed to sleep almost immediately after my head hit the pillow.
---
The next morning I was awoken by the unpleasant cawing of nearby crows. I whined into my pillow as I glanced out of the window next to my bedside and stared at the grey and overcast sky, showing me it was going to be yet another dreary day. I knew I had to get up if I wanted to join the detective today, but my dreams were beckoning me to return and I found it increasingly difficult to resist.
Knock, knock. The sound bolted me upright.
“Are you awake, Abigail?” The muffled voice asked through the door.
“Y-Yes, sir!” I rubbed my bleary eyes, trying to regain focus.
“It’s time to leave, soon. Get ready and come on down, we can eat later while we’re out.” The voice was followed by footsteps that slowly faded out of hearing as the descended the stairs.
I let out a huff as I swung my legs around to the floor and lifted my tired body, shuffling over to my wardrobe and pulling out my clothes for the day. I slipped into them practically subconsciously, my sleepy mind preferring to space out instead of focusing on my tasks. Once my clothes were on and my hair was brushed, I took one final glance in the mirror before heading downstairs to meet the detective.
He was already waiting at the door, scarf and hat in hand. I took my own ivy cap from the coat hanger and placed it snuggly on my head.
“Ready to go?” The detective smiled kindly, opening the door for me to exit first. And yet again, I stepped out of the warm room that made me Abigail and into the harsh world where I was Gale.
I followed closely behind the detective’s long black coat as he led me through the green hills near our home and towards the farm lands. As he’d told me earlier, we’d be visiting Mr. Crowley’s farm. Mr. Crowley is a nice man who the detective seems to view fondly, but I always had a childish bias against him solely because his name contains “crow,” like the bird whose cawing never fails to wake me at some ungodly hour in the morning.
“Detective Lockwood! Gale!” I was snapped out of my birdy thoughts and back into the present, where we had already arrived at the farm and the plump Mr. Crowley was waving at us enthusiastically.
“Good morning, Mr. Crowley.” The detective greeted politely, and I followed suit with a smile and a nod. “Would you like to lead us to the scene of the crime?”
Mr. Crowley nodded solemnly as the question arose and led us towards a small wooden pen near his barn. There laid three dead sheep, white wool almost entirely dyed in their own blood. I looked away and choked back a gag at the sight.
“Don’t look away, Gale. If you want to become a real detective, you’re going to have to get used to such a sight on both animals and humans.”
“Y-Yes sir…” I let out a huff through my nose and turned back to the scene.
“Was it… wolves?” I asked, uncertain why Mr. Crowley would even call us out for a simple case of predator vs. prey.
“No… observe closely, Gale. Where is the blood coming from?”
I took a hesitant step towards the poor animals, and observed the wounds more closely. I barely stifled a gasp.
“It’s just one cut… all on the same spot on each animal. One thin incision across the neck, as if sliced with a knife…” I muttered, my brain rushing, trying to wrap itself around the possibilities.
“Good, Gale. But the question is why. Mr. Crowley, is there anybody to your knowledge who’d have a grudge against you or your farm?” The detective questioned, pacing around the pen to take in the view from multiple angles.
“N-No… Not that I know of, at least…” Mr. Crowley was standing several feet away, his eyes averted from the crime. I felt a pang of pity for the man. He had no family of his own, so I’m sure his farm animals take that place in his heart, at least somewhat.
“If you look closely, the animals’ bodies are perfectly intact save for the single slit on each neck. What gain would someone have from killing an animal but taking nothing from it--?”
The detective was interrupted by a blood curdling scream in the distance, that of a boy. Fear shot through my body, as I was certain I recognized it…
“Peter?!” I called out, not thinking twice before running in the direction of my best friend’s farmhouse. I heard the detective tell Mr. Crowley to stay behind at the scene before his footsteps quickly caught up with mine.
When we arrived at the smaller farm, I stopped in my tracks when I saw a very stricken Peter on the ground, as if he’d stumbled back and fell. He was peering at whatever was inside his wide open door with one hand over his mouth and his wide eyes watering, his breaths coming out rapidly.
“Peter! Are you alright?!” It was the detective who called out, as I’d suddenly lost my voice at the sight. Peter did not respond, and it was only when we reached the open door did we see why.
Perfectly framed by the doorway, a middle-aged woman hung lifeless from a rope that was tightly mounted to her ceiling. Her blonde bangs covered her face and her light blue dress blew uncaringly in the breeze. The room reeked of alcohol mixed with the stench of death, and much of the furniture around her was overturned. All that remained neat was a table to her right side, with a slip of paper that was too far away for me to read from this spot.
“M-Mo-M-Mom…” Peter squeaked weakly, and the detective firmly wrapped his hand around the boy’s eyes, doing his best to block his sight from his dead mother before him. I did my best to shake off my own shock, and kneeled beside Peter, gripping his shaking hand within my own. I whispered a chorus of shh’s as the whimpers and squeaks escaped his body, for still no words would form between my lips.
---
We’re a small town, and our law enforcement contains only one constable and a handful of village volunteers. Thus, most cases end up in the hands of the detective until they reach court… except this one.
“What do you mean they’re not giving us the case?!” I all but screamed at the detective sitting before me, my hands resting on the table they’d previously slammed down upon when I heard the news.
“Shh, you’ll disturb Peter.” The detective reminded me of the boy’s presence. We’d brought him to our house and he was now sleeping soundly in the guest bedroom, after he’d passed out from shock due to today’s events.
“Anyway,” the detective sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose,
“I know… but they’re saying there’s no case to be given. They said with the note and circumstances, they’re ruling it suicide with no further investigation.”
“But--!” I lowered my voice, “But… something seems suspicious to me, detective. I don’t know what yet, but I can feel it in my gut…”
“The sheep.” The detective stated simply.
I tilted my head.
“What?”
“It’s the sheep that feel suspicious, don’t you agree?” The detective leaned back in his chair, staring at the wall in thought. I joined him, hoping for some clarity on the situation.
"Yes… the sheep were suspicious from the start, slaughtered by a human with no clear motive… and then this happens, the two events probably only happening within hours of each other, right?”
“Right. So, there’s a slim chance the sheep incident might’ve just been some messed up prank that coincidentally took place in the same area around the same time…”
“…Or it was a distraction.”
“Exactly. Gale, no matter what, we need to get this case re-opened and on our plates. Later, let’s head out to the scene and see if we can find any evidence to convince—“
A groan was heard through the ceiling above us. The detective and I stood up quickly, nearly in sync, and carefully headed up the stairs and towards the guest room. I knocked on Peter’s door, but did not wait for a response before letting myself in.
I’d thought a dead body hanging from a ceiling would be the most disturbing thing I could possibly see today, but I was wrong… what I saw on the other side of the guest room door pounded me in the gut without mercy.
Peter may have been born with a weak body, but what he lacked in physical strength he made up for with the strength in his heart. Peter is gentle, Peter is kind, and Peter is caring… he has an immeasurable capacity of love within him and his heart does not discriminate, sharing its contents with any and all no matter how they’ve wronged him. I’ve often compared him to the sun – not only because of his golden blonde locks that resemble its tender rays, but because of the pure, accepting warmth that radiates from within him. The warmth that shone through every crevice it could; his eyes, his smile, and his words…
That’s why this certainly cannot be the Peter I know. This boy staring straight through me with glassy brown eyes that reflect nothing but the emptiness cannot be Peter. This boy with an expression that feels so hopeless, so cold, so dead could not be Peter!
So why… why was the tenderness with which he whispered my name so painfully like Peter?
“Peter…” The words had to be forced from my throat, my mind still not wanting to accept the truth of what my eyes could see. “How are you feeling?”
The detective and I both sat in chairs beside Peter’s bed as he seemed to ponder the question, as if “how are you feeling?” was difficult to answer. Then again, I’m not the one in his position. Maybe it really was.
“I’m…” He cleared his throat, “I killed her, didn’t I?” Another tremor wracked his body, but this time he seemed able to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill once more.
The detective and I exchanged a quick glance at each other, as if to confirm we both heard the same thing.
“Peter… what do you mean?” The detective asked gently, scooting his chair closer to Peter.
“Sh-She killed herself because of me, I know it…” Peter lowered his head and wrapped his shaking hands tightly around his trouser legs.
“Peter, don’t say that, we don’t kno—“
“She and I had a fight last night. A b-big one.”
Since when did Peter and his mother fight?
“She t-told me that… I was…” Peter gulped, seeming to struggle with the words.
“Take your time.” The detective patted Peter’s back, and he nodded in reply.
“She told me that I was… a c-curse.” The tears were starting to spill now, but he continued.
“She said that God must be p-punishing her… because if only He gave her a str-stronger son… she’d be able to live happily.”
My breath seemed to catch in my throat. Something wasn’t adding up. She actually said that?
“She told me to l-leave… she didn’t want t-to see me… so I did! I ran and I ran! I s-stayed the night at my uncle’s house… but if I’d stayed b-back home, maybe I could’ve stopped her…!
“Nay, if I’d been b-born… as someone d-different… she would still be alive and happy!” His tears quickly grew into sobs. The detective opened his mouth, probably to say his comforting words of wisdom, but I would have none of it. That’s not what Peter needed right now. I shot myself up with enough force my chair fell backwards behind me.
“Peter, enough!” I cried out, “How could you honestly believe any of what you just said?! Was it your choice, to be born in the body you were?! Is it your fault, how people see or judge you because of it?! A curse, you say…? No…” I was beginning to lose my breath, “everyone knows that your presence is a blessing and your own mother should know it best! I may not have known her well, but I know she wouldn’t take her own life over this! I don’t know what could’ve made her angry enough to fight… or what could’ve possessed her to say such a thing to you… but it wasn’t true! There had to be more to it, I’m sure! She loved you… I know it, so please!”
A pink flushed across my face as I reconsidered the words I said… I called him a blessing. Out loud. I shook my head and reassured myself that Peter’s emotional wellbeing was more important than my pride.
“The detective and I will find the truth, I promise you! We will get to the bottom of this even if it takes us the rest of our lives! So please, don’t say such nonsense and have faith in us. Promise me, Peter!”
Peter was hiccupping now, his tears slowing and his composure seeming to somewhat regain.
“…O-Okay. I p-promise, Gale…” Peter hiccupped once more and nodded his usual firm nod.
“…Right. Good.” Unable to bear the sudden awkward air that set into the room, I swiftly dismissed myself and slammed the door shut behind me before a protest could be made. I leaned up against the wall and caught my breath. Just what was happening, here…?
I heard the detective tell Peter to rest, and I scurried to my own room before the detective made it to the door to see me in the hall. By the time I made it to my room and smothered my face into my pillows, my earlier adrenaline wore off and I was able to consider my actions.
I had raised my voice to Peter. I'd never once raised my voice to him, so I could only hope that would cause enough impact that he'd take my words seriously. However... there was a reason I never raised my voice to him. Because when I raised my voice the obvious femininity seeped through and having my true identity found out was something I simply couldn't afford, even if it was Peter. I trust him, but I know that the fact I'm pulling such a large facade would only hurt him. I wouldn't blame him if he shouted my secret from the rooftops, for I'd certainly deserve it.
I could only hope his shock distracted him from my voice...
I didn't get to consider it much before the detective knocked on the door and told me that lunch was almost ready. I was only halfway through slicing the bread when I heard the creak of a door and Peter stepped out, a shy smile on his face and his hands curled tightly against his chest in a protective stance.
"Peter!" I gasped, and he nodded.
"Umm... I wanted to apologize, for my behavior earlier. It appears I created quite a scene..." He shot his eyes to the ground and shuffled his feet.
"Nonsense," the detective said simply, "you created just as much of a scene as anyone in your position should."
Peter's surprised expression faded into a smile as he muttered words of thanks.
"Peter, you should eat with us." I offered him a slice of bread but he raised his hand.
"Thank you, but I'm not sure I have the stomach for it just yet..." He cleared his throat, “I actually think I’ll be heading out, now. To my uncle’s house.”
“Oh,” The detective raised his head, “you aren’t staying with us? It wouldn’t be a bother.”
“I really appreciate it, but I’m sure my uncle has heard the news by now and… I don’t really want to leave him alone. I’m sure he’ll be wanting to see me, too.”
The detective nodded with an understanding smile. “If that’s what’d be most comfortable for you. Can we at least walk you home?”
“Thank you for the offer, but you’ve already done plenty for me. It’s a short walk, and I think I could use the time alone, anyway.” Peter bowed his head slightly, a smile was once again on his face but I could still see the pain in his reddened eyes.
“Thank you for everything.” He said as he approached the door, and before I could even mutter a goodbye, he was gone.
“…Detective? Did something seem… wrong, to you? He was very different from the time he woke up to the time he stepped out…” I turned to face the man who also had his warm blue eyes locked on the door.
“Hm, yes… I think he’s shaken deeper than he let on. His sudden regain of composure that we saw just now was probably a defensive mechanism from his brain to protect himself from the emotional trauma.”
I tilted my head.
“What?”
“I’ll explain some other time. I’m afraid we don’t have the time for a psychology lesson right now, for we have a crime scene to investigate.” The detective lifted himself from his chair and I followed suit.
---
Once we arrived at Peter’s house, the body had already been taken and in the process, several elements of the crime scene had been shifted or altered. The detective looked like he was ready to yell at the constable whom we found standing there, until we realized who he was talking to.
“It’s Peter’s uncle…” I whispered to the detective as I stared at the tall man a distance away. His long hair was blonde but more ashen than Peter’s, and his eyes a shade lighter. The man was in the navy, thus had an intimidating stature and carried himself in a refined manner, which made him appear cold or hostile, but I’d had a few conversations with him before and found that to be untrue. Especially today, the shock was clear on his pale face and his eyes were filled with more emotion than ever. I didn’t know all of the details, but I know he and his sister were close, from what Peter had told me.
“Sir,” I announced myself, gaining the uncle’s attention.
“Oh! It’s Gale.” He smiled and offered a curt nod out of politeness.
“Sir, this is my mentor, Detective Lockwood. I don’t believe you two have met?”
The detective offered his hand with a sympathetic smile, “No, I’m afraid we haven’t had the pleasure.”
Peter’s uncle accepted the hand in a shake. “The pleasure’s all mine, Detective Lockwood. I’m Charles, Charles Winslow.”
“Mr. Winslow, why are you here with the constable, by the way?” I interrupted, “Did Peter make it home safely?”
“Oh, yes, he’s sleeping now. I wanted to stay with him, but the constable asked me to come out and make a statement confirming my sister’s…” He looked down at the ground, “You know, the circumstances of her death.”
The detective shot the constable a glare and he averted his eyes. “That’s hasty, isn’t it, constable? You won’t even let the poor family have a day of rest, after such a tragedy?”
The constable cleared his throat and stood up straight, “We were trying to get it over with for their sake, detective. The sooner we process her death, the sooner the funeral can be held and the family can be allowed to move on.”
“Mr. Winslow,” the detective diverted his attention from the constable and towards the shaken man, “Please don’t worry about such things just yet. Take some time for yourself and Peter. Truth be told, the constable hasn’t even let me and Gale complete our end of the investigation yet.”
Mr. Winslow’s eyes shot up, surprised. “Investigation? You mean you have suspicions that it’s not…” he cleared his throat, once again having a hard time with the weight of the word.
“Not yet, it’s just a precautionary investigation,” the detective lied, “so please don’t worry about it until it’s completed. Please, I urge you, go home and rest. There’s no point in taking on this extra stress, for now. You’ll be the first to hear if anything new arises regarding your sister’s death.”
Mr. Winslow sighed and looked down at the ground.
“We offer our sincerest condolences, Mr. Winslow. Please rest assured, we’ll discover the truth and let you move on in peace.” The detective nodded reassuringly, and I did the same to drive the point further. A small weight seemed to lift off of Mr. Winslow’s shoulders.
“…Thank you, both. I should tend to Peter, then.” He bowed slightly and then turned on his way, his legs moving slowly as they still had a bit of a shake.
“Detective,” the constable spat, “you’re interfering where you’re not needed.”
“With all due respect, constable, you made no real effort to stop me. So if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a crime scene to investigate.” The detective said, his voice monotonous as it usually was when he was angry.
“There is no crime here, detective! The woman clearly killed herself. There was even a note… and Mr. Winslow just confirmed for me that suicidal tendencies run in the family, as their mother killed herself and their grandfather before her.”
There was a rush up my spine. Was that true? Did that mean it really could be a suicide…? No, the circumstances can’t possibly be a coincidence. But that means, if it runs in the family… could Mr. Winslow have such tendencies? Could Peter? Suddenly I felt the urge to run, to leave this place and bind myself to Peter’s side… but I knew that could not be done.
“Look, constable,” the detective’s voice grew softer,
“I know your intentions are good. Trust me, we want the family to be able to move on from this quickly, too… but please, won’t you at least let us have a quick look around? We couldn’t forgive ourselves if we swept this under a rug and left the family with injustice… could you?”
A long pause.
“You have five minutes.” The constable sighed, and stepped out of the way for our passage. We both smiled and nodded gratefully, letting ourselves into the house.
Peter’s mother killed herself in the dining room, which was the first room straight inside the house. The chairs that were overturned yesterday were returned to their original position, and the note was removed from the table. All that remained untouched were the noose still hanging from the ceiling, and the knocked over stool below it.
The detective sighed and scratched his head. There wasn’t much we could get from this, was there…?
“Constable, do you happen to know how tall the victim was?”
I heard the shuffling of paper as I assumed the constable was flipping through his notes.
“Five feet, six inches.” The constable concluded.
“Gale,” The detective turned to me, “how tall are you?”
…Oh.
“Five feet, six inches, sir.” I stated, catching on to the situation.
“Then, if you will,” he gestured to the stool I was already walking towards. I set it upright, and the detective offered me his hand for balance as I lifted myself upon it.
“…Constable,” the detective said slowly, “you might want to see this.”
The constable took a hesitant step inside and his eyes widened immediately as he saw me.
The bottom of the noose didn’t even reach my nose.
“As you can see, constable, my Gale and the victim are the same height. Gale couldn’t get his neck in the noose if he wanted to, so how do you presume the victim did?” The detective shot the surprised constable a knowing look.
“Try standing on the tips of your toes.” The constable suggested slowly, and I complied. It still only reached my lips.
“And, constable, if I remember correctly… Mrs. Crawford wasn’t even wearing ss when we found her this morning, was she?” I questioned, setting my hand on the detective’s shoulder and lowering myself from the wobbly stool.
The constable simply shook his head, and lowered his eyes to the ground. “I can’t believe it…” He muttered, “in our own town, right under our noses...”
“I’m afraid, constable, that I’m going to have to ask you to reopen this case. This is officially a murder investigation.”
