Island Noire: Death at Dawn

A Vice Fanfic

Off one island and onto another. Vice thought as he secured a wood wall to its foundation.

He had left The Island. Things were starting to become too much for any one person to handle. So, as soon as The Storm hit, he had been on his boat, sailing away. The Storm had been a strong one -stronger than any Storm he could remember- and it had taken him all the way to another island in just a day.

The natives called this island: Valhalla and it was very different from The Island. Valhalla was bigger, the rivers and oceans were clearer, the mountains were taller -one even floated- and the people were more inventive. The natives could build towers with circular spires, curved stairs of copper, industrial style stills to make more beer, and they could make an array of utensils. They could even use a single tree to carve a proper bar counter, and had done so for the island's pub.

Even the way the islanders wore their hair was different. They didn't keep their hair in the short, parted way the way he had always seen. Instead, they had all manners of hairstyles. From short, to long, to extremely long, they had it all. Vice, however, had stubbornly stuck to his cropped hair and continued to wear his navy and white aviator cap. The mere thought of growing out his hair and wearing a different hat made him shake his head.

Just as Vice secured another wall, a bush - just a little ways away - started to shake. Vice looked at the bush and the shaking stopped. He blinked and stared at the bush before shrugging and going back to work. As he prepared the next wall, the bush shook again.

With a frustrated sigh, Vice secured the wall and looked at the offending shrub.

"Hello?!" He called out to it.

The bush's shaking stopped a moment before replying to him with a short shake.

Vice looked at the bush quizzically. "Um...would you like to come out from that shrub?"

The bush gave a little shake.

"Is that a yes?"

Another little shake.

"...Is that a no?"

A long shake.

"I can see this being the start of an interesting and meaningful relationship." Vice sighed, half serious.

The bush gave an offended shake -which looked very much like a "yes" shake, but with more of a twisting motion, like a saber cat shaking its ruff.

"Did you...hear me?"

A long shake.

"Oh...um...well then," Vice coughed. "Please forgive my rudeness. Would a cup of tea perhaps make amends?"

The bush shook enthusiastically.

Thoroughly weirded out, Vice hastily set his cooking pot over the small fire pit he had built upon starting construction, and quickly made a small pot of tea.

"I hope you don't mind chamomile. It would seem that I lost all my other tea bags during my trip here." Vice said, slowly approaching the bush.

The bush gave no response.

"Hello?"

Still no response.

Vice stopped and waited a moment before calling out again. "I made the tea...I was hoping to continue our chat, Mr...Shrub."

To his disappointment, the bush remained motionless.

Vice rubbed his eyes and stared up at the sky. "First I lose all my tea bags and now I'm imagining things." He walked back to his unfinished house, sat down, and raised the cup to his lips. "Well, no point in letting good tea go to waste."

Two sips in, the bush started to tremble. Vice jumped to his feet, spilling tea everywhere, and marched towards the bush.

"Alright, enough of these bloody pranks!"

The bush didn't slow its trembling at his approach; in fact, it went from trembling to violent shaking. Noting the suddenly violent reaction, Vice hesitated a moment and picked up a rock before continuing to walk towards it. Raising the rock above his head, Vice swept some of the branches aside. The shaking stopped immediately and the parted branches revealed a fedora. Confused, Vice rummaged through the bush, moving different branches aside, but he didn't find anyone. Now completely befuddled, Vice lowered the rock and exchanged it for the fedora.

It was a plain silver-white thing - the only other color was the royal purple band around the crown of the hat - but it was in good condition. The suede material was unblemished and looked like it would go well with his white and navy attire.

Vice looked around once more for the hat's wearer, but he was the only person around. He looked back at the fedora, only then noticing that he had been turning it over and over in his hands as if it was his. He stilled his hands and stared at the fedora. He stared and stared and stared. All the sounds around him went silent, his only focus being the fedora. He slowly raised it to his head. Without knowing why, he felt compelled to wear it. It was important. It was imperative. He removed his aviator's cap.

The moment the fedora rested on his head, everything went black.

-:-

A loud knocking made Vice's eyes snap open. His hands gripped the arm rests of his chair. His eyes widened as he realized that his present surroundings were not the island. His eyes swept around the room.

He was in an office. The walls were papered with a dull green color and the floor was an even drabber brown checkered pattern. The walls were lined with bookshelves and filing cabinets, the latter had a small card - each with a different letter - on every drawer. An empty pin board was hung on the wall to his right, making that space the only part of the wall that didn't have a filing cabinet against it. Vice stood and touched the board, unable to believe what he saw. He looked at his arm, noticing that his clothing had changed too.

He realized that his dyed hide clothing had been replaced with a business suit. His undershirt was white, but his jacket and slacks were navy. Vice's hands went to his head and felt the brim of the fedora. He tugged at it, but it didn't budge. It was stuck to his head.

Vice turned back to his desk, impressed by how nice it looked, and rummaged through the drawers to try and find something to help remove the hat. The drawers were full of blank paper, different colored strings, pins, staplers, and extra pens - none of which would have been able to remove the hat - so Vice looked around for something else. When he looked behind him, he noticed a small bookshelf. Several upside-down shot glasses and a decanter of scotch immediately caught his attention.

"Oh, bloody yes." Vice breathed. He poured himself a generous portion when the knocking sounded again. Vice jumped, but recomposed himself. "Um…come in," he said hesitantly.

A woman entered the office and Vice slammed his glass of scotch to keep from staring. The woman wasn't scantily clothed, in fact, she was quite the opposite. Her brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she wore a business suit with a professional black skirt. However, the skirt accentuated the fact that her sharply legs seemed to go up to her elbows.

"Mr. Versius, sir? I'm sorry to disturb you, but a case just came in. Mr. Donnelly said to give it to you right away."

"Ah, yes...I'll...take this case...immediately." Vice stuttered.

The woman smiled politely and placed a vanilla folder on the desk.

"Thank you, Ms...um."

"Swanson." The woman provided, looking confused. "Your secretary, sir." She added.

"Ah, yes. I apologize, Ms. Swanson. I'm having a bit of a dead brain today."

The secretary smiled and turned to leave.

"Um, Ms. Swanson."

"Yes?" She turned.

"For how long have you been my secretary?"

She looked at him, oddly. "Three years now, sir."

"Ah, right...yes...three years...yes...ah...Thank you. That's, that's all I require." He said awkwardly.

Swanson nodded and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Vice poured himself another glass of scotch and slammed it before sitting at his desk. He picked up the folder and opened it.

"Victim is Andrea Taylor." He read. "Found at six this morning by a neighbor. She was pronounced dead at the scene."

Vice's shoulders sagged and he sighed as he thumbed the brim of the fedora. "What have you gotten me into?"