A/N: Hello all. This is my first foray into the Agatha Christie world of fanfiction. I was saddened and surprised to see that there's no category for Mr. Harley Quin and Mr. Satterthwaite, my favorite detective duo of the great Agatha Christie. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy.
(This fanfic is based upon Agatha Christie's "The Mysterious Mr. Quin", a collection of short stories. If you're not familiar with it, you may want to turn back.)
Disclaimer: All characters and related content belong to Dame Agatha Christie. No profit is earned except for entertainment.
o-o-o-o-o
Mr. Satterthwaite had always loved being a part of a rather queer audience. An observer of real human drama. Perhaps it was an unhealthy habit, but there was nothing that he enjoyed more in his current life. The real fascinated him more than fiction.
Why would a charming young woman suddenly commit suicide? A party guest shoots a couple in cold blood with plenty of potential witnesses. What drove him to make a bold move?
Mr. Satterthwaite wasn't sure at times whether he discovered the drama or that the drama discovered him. No matter the case, he enjoyed the makeshift "play" and its actors. He was perfectly content in watching. He never had to throw an interjection to disturb the scene.
It would seem that luck or fate had other ideas for the eccentric man. A debate over a past suicide at a dinner party had introduced Mr. Satterthwaite to a man whom had an almost magical ability to make one comprehend the obvious, yet hidden details. Mr. Harley Quin.
The circumstances of his arrival were seemingly normal enough. Car troubles had Mr. Quin seeking a temporary refuge until he heard word from his chauffeur. The man also knew the fellow who had committed suicide within the same manor and joined the conversation.
It had been a miraculous event. Using the groups's very words, Mr. Quin and Mr. Satterthwaite had illuminated a new, but highly unpleasant revelation on the case.
From that point onward, Mr. Satterthwaite and Mr. Quin would cross paths many times. Each and every encounter brought about a new mystery, a new drama to unfold.
However, Mr. Satterthwaite began to notice Mr. Quin's oddities. The man would seemingly appear wherever Mr. Satterthwaite was and disappear back into thin air. Some never heard or saw him leave.
Mr. Satterthwaite may have been old, but his eyes betrayed him lately. Mr. Quin looked like a Harlequin under certain lights. Nevertheless, Mr. Satterthwaite never took much thought into these strange occurrences until recently.
Mr. Harley Quin vanished before his eyes.
o-o-o-o-o-o
The eccentric old man tried his hardest to comprehend the bizarre event for months to no avail. Who was Harley Quin? What was Harley Quin? Surely a normal human being would not simply fade away.
Mr Satterthwaite began to look within himself for the answer.
'Have I become so invested in human drama that I invented a partner to join me? Was Mr. Quin really there at all? Surely that cannot be the case. Mr. Bristow and even Inspector Winkfield have seen Mr. Quin.' Satterthwaite brooded. 'Or perhaps he only allowed himself to be seen by certain others.'
Mr. Satterthwaite shook his head in vain. He was getting nowhere with these thoughts. The elderly man hadn't seen Mr. Quin since he literally vanished.
"Come to think of it, I never asked him of his origins. Where he lived and who his family was." Satterthwaite scolded himself. "On the other hand, maybe those questions would have made him disappear sooner."
Life had taken a dull turn now. The drama still came to him, but he barely paid attention to the stage and its actors. To make an attempt at normalizing his life, he had attended an art gallery when a burglar attacked and killed a tourist in his escape. Inspector Winkfield was expecting Mr. Satterthwaite to offer his valuable input, but was startled to learn that he had not. The Inspector asked if his friend would appear to which Mr. Satterthwaite abruptly left the scene.
"Here I am, an old man of sixty-nine wallowing like a jilted teenager." Satterthwaite jested to himself. "But still, Mr. Quin's disappearance does not settle with me that well."
With that, Mr. Satterthwaite would write the script of his own drama. Being an audience member would not suit him this time.
He had dug into the pasts of many people, some of them strangers. It was now time for Mr. Quin's past to be revealed.
o-o-o-o-o-o
Satterthwaite began his search at the courthouse. The man was cursing himself for knowing nothing more than his name. However, at the same time, he hoped that his name would be just enough. He couldn't imagine that many other people held the name Harley Quin.
To his dismay, he hadn't found anything to go by. In fact, nothing indicated that a Quin family had lived in the area.
'Perhaps he moved here on his own?' Satterthwaite thought somewhat frustrated while sitting in the courthouse's library. 'Even so, there would've been some record of his living here. Maybe he was a drifter.'
After all, it seemed to fit his personality. He comes and goes. One moment he's there and once the excitement died out, he went. Where to was anyone's guess.
'But he was awfully well-dressed for a drifter.' the elderly man argued. 'It's almost as if he is a ghost...'
He suddenly remembered an incident: Mr. Quin had once sent him a message through an ouija board.
"Could he really be a wandering spirit?" Satterthwaite questioned. "A wandering spirit with a sense of justice or simply seeking adventure?"
Spirits were the last option that Mr. Satterthwaite considered, but somehow, it seemed to make the most sense.
'He comes and goes. His appearance changes in the light. He disappears as silently as he appears. All of the characteristics of a spirit.'
"But why me though? Was he murdered? If so, by who and how long ago? Is that why he has a penchant for seeking the truth of these tragedies and helping the survivors find closure? And who better to join than me? One who seeks human drama."
Satterthwaite started as he noticed a figure out of his peripheral vision in the window. It reminded him of Frank Bristow's painting, The Dead Harlequin. The one that was sought by both Monica Ford and Lady Charnley.
"Mr. Quin?" Satterthwaite called cautiously. He received no response from the figment in the window as it had disappeared the moment he looked in the window's direction. He figured that he had spent enough time in the dusty library of the courthouse. It time to head home.
o-o-o-o-o-o
Upon returning to his manor, his butler Masters, greeted him and placed a sealed envelope into his hands.
"Strange. I wasn't expecting any mail." Satterthwaite puzzled over the parcel before opening it. Mail was never delivered on Sundays.
Masters explained that he recently found the letter hidden behind a bush months before and forgot to bring it to his attention.
Hello, my friend, Satterthwaite. it began.
I do apologize for the abruptness in which I left you. My time here has expired. However, I would not leave until I spent one last adventure with you. Harlequin's Lane. I knew my disappearance would raise more questions than answers, but you are more than capable of finding the answers yourself. But if you must know the particulars, I will share them with you.
My natural life ended some 15 years ago in London. It was ended by someone whom I trusted as a friend. A misunderstanding ensued, a gun was pulled, he fired, I fell. Those who could've helped me stood by. Just like an audience watching a drama unfold on stage. My loved ones never knew why I was killed. They sought answers blindly in their sorrow. Their closure will never come. I know what happened to cause my death, but I can't bring them closure. I died unsettled and unhappy. For some reason, I cannot reveal myself to them. Therefore, I searched for someone who could.
That someone is you, my dear friend. You, who once were so content to simply watch the goings on, have now brought closure to many people in desperate need of it.
My time on this plane of existence has come to an end, but you are well versed in your talents even without my help.
Can you bring them closure for me, dear Satterthwaite?
Mr. Satterthwaite stared at the letter and for the first time in a while felt quite emotional.
His friend, Mr. Quin, one whom he admired had specifically asked him for his help in a very personal matter.
If there was one that he, Mr. Satterthwaite was adept at, it was looking for drama. In times prior, he searched for it for his own entertainment. Now, he would gladly endeavor in searching for it in the name of one so dear to him.
o-o-o-o-o-o
A/N: That's all for my first Agatha Christie fanfic. I hope it was enjoyable!
Thanks for reading!