"Goodnight, little one. Make sure you have a good sleep, and we'll see you in the morning." Neal looked close to tears. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his Spiderman pyjamas and caught Elizabeth's hand.
"Mummy, no!"
"Sweetie..." Elizabeth Burke gazed at her son, trying to tug her hand free without setting off the waterworks. Peter, who stood by the bedroom door. watching, chose that moment to wade in.
"Kiddo, you have to let your mum and I go. We're just going out to dinner, we'll see you real soon, I promise."
"Can I come?" Neal asked petulantly, his bottom lip trembling.
"No, sweetie. Your dad and I are going to do boring grown-up stuff all night. We're going to talk, and drink wine..."
"Yucky," said Neal. Elizabeth laughed, tracing the outline of his small feet underneath the quilt with a finger.
"Plus, you'll get to stay here, with Sarah," she said, glancing over her shoulder to where Sarah Ellis, their next-door neighbour and babysitter, was leaning against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold. The prospect made Neal visibly brighten.
"Sawah, can we have chocolate stwawberries and watch Scooby-Doo and bake a cake like the last time?" he asked eagerly, sitting up in bed. Sarah turned a little pink, looking apologetically at Elizabeth and Peter.
"I'm sorry – last time he had a nightmare..."
"It's fine," laughed Peter, "Of course you can, Neal. Just make sure you brush your teeth, ok?" he wagged his finger, pretending to be stern. The effect, usually so realistic due to his day job as a federal agent, was ruined somewhat by his smile.
"Ok, dad." Neal had cheered up a lot, but when Elizabeth stood up from his bed and made to leave, he called out again. "One story. Before you go. Please?"
Peter sighed, checking his watch. "It's ok, hun," he said to Elizabeth, "taxi won't be here for another ten minutes. Sorry about this," he added, turning to Sarah. "One quick story and we'll leave you to it."
"Oh, it's no trouble at all," said Sarah, settling back to wait.
"The Adventure of the Census Scribe!" Neal cried out excitedly, squirming into a sitting position and pointing his tiny, five year old fingers at the bookshelf. Sarah noticed that the case strained under more books than she had in her entire house, and wondered if it was because Neal was a voracious reader or if Elizabeth and Peter were just pushy parents. Judging by what she knew about her neighbours, she had to suppose it was the former.
Elizabeth pulled a thick, faded volume from the shelves and sat down on the side of her son's bed. Neal wriggled back under the covers and pulled them up to his chin, waiting eagerly for the story. The book was obviously a favourite. The cover was worn and the glossy ink of the title was starting to lose its sheen. Sarah found her eyes drawn to the picture of the man standing haughtily underneath the title. He had brown hair, striking blue eyes and was wearing a top hat and tails. Even from the drawing, she could tell that he was shockingly handsome. And oddly familiar...
"That's Neal," said Peter in an undertone, as Elizabeth began to read aloud. "He's, ah, our Neal's namesake and godfather. He was a remarkable man." Sarah nodded, realising where she had indeed seen the man before. There were several photographs of him in the Burke's house, smiling next to Peter, dressed up with the Burkes at some family wedding, standing with Elizabeth at Niagara Falls, both of them sporting sopping wet hair and goofy smiles.
"When he... when he passed, his friend made us a series of picture books about him. You know, for Neal," Peter continued, gazing fondly at his wife and son, tears glistening in his eyes. "Poor kid was distraught when 'Uncle Neal' died last year. We all were, but the books help us remember him."
"That's... lovely," said Sarah, at a loss for words. Peter laughed.
"Go on, you can say it. It's a tad weird. Neal's friend, Mozzie, he was quite the character. Making a series of books about his partner in crime was not the strangest thing he's done, believe me." There was a pause, where Peter surreptitiously wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "The books are good, at any rate. Neal seems to like them."
Elizabeth had just reached the part in the story where book-Neal was making off with half a million pounds in cash after stealing an ancient census document. At the next turn of the page, the charming hero was apprehended by police. Peter raised his eyebrows at Sarah.
"All true stories, you know. Except the last page. Neal never got caught, but we have to teach our son about morality at some point." Elizabeth put the book back on its shelf, kissing her Neal on the head before turning off the light. Neal mumbled something sleepily in reply, Peter padded across and said goodnight, and then all three adults were standing on the landing outside, slowly closing the door.
"There we go, he's all tired out now," said Elizabeth, smiling. "Come on hun, the taxi is waiting." Sarah followed them to the door, making the usual assurances to keep everything perfect for their return.
"Make sure you relax, Sarah, ok?" Elizabeth said, giving her a hug. "We'll be back in the morning. I'm sure you can hold the fort." And then they were gone in a cloud of perfume and thick coats, leaving Sarah alone in her neighbour's house, wondering about the dashing young man who had died last year and torn the Burke's family apart. She thought about the story she had heard upstairs, about the picture book that was supposedly true, and wondered about the nature of the relationship Peter, the FBI agent, had had with this other, enigmatic Neal, the man in the photographs. Above all, she wondered how he had died.
With the younger Neal, surprisingly, tucked up in bed, Sarah was free to spend the evening as she pleased. She shoved her feet into the slippers she had brought across with her and mooched into the kitchen.
She loved the Burke's house. It had the same layout as her own next door, but Elizabeth had a knack for shaping the space to her family's needs. Elegant rugs stopped the youngster's socked feet from slipping on the hardwood floor. An assortment of lamps bathed the open plan kitchen in a warm glow that was perfect for both reading and watching a romantic film on the sofa.
Sarah made herself a cup of tea: milk and a spoonful of sugar, just the way she liked it, before making her way towards the living area. She would watch that documentary on the history channel first, then make a start on that essay for her after-work night class...
A noise interrupted her, making her jump. Six taps on the door in a rhythm that she recognised: iambic tetrameter. She took a deep, calming breath, noticing that she had split a bit of the tea in her fright. Ok, so the pizza she had ordered twenty minutes ago from the Burke's landline was early, and the delivery guy was into poetry. Definitely deserving of a tip. She opened the door, hands outstretched to grab the pizza – and froze.
There was a man on the doorstep, alright, but he wasn't bringing her pizza. He was leaning against the honeysuckle covered wall of the Burke's porch like he owned the place, a dark fedora with a black velvet ribbon tilted low over his eyes, even though it was the eight o'clock and already dark outside. One hand rested on his stomach, the other hung limply by his side. Without hesitating, Sarah slammed the door shut in his face, drew the chain across and grabbed her baton from her handbag. Then she opened the door a crack and peered out into the night.
"Who are you?"
In the split second the door had been closed, the man had moved. He was now leaning against the wall, his face level with hers, though still obscured by that ridiculous hat.
"I think the real question here," he said, in a voice afflicted by an odd shortness of breath, "is who are you? Isn't this the residence of Peter and Elizabeth Burke?" Sarah relaxed her grip on the baton somewhat, but still made no move to unlock the door.
"It is. I'm their neighbour. I'm afraid they're not in at the moment."
"Ah," he breathed. "That's a pity. I don't suppose I could come in?" Sarah hesitated.
"I must insist on knowing your name first," she said. He gave her the barest hint of a smile.
"I'm a friend of Peter's, trust me." He lifted his head, and for the first time, Sarah caught the glimmer of bright blue eyes, intelligent and kind. Very slowly, she unlocked the door. For some reason, she felt that she could trust this stranger. He limped across the threshold, putting out a hand to steady himself against the doorframe. It was the hand that had been covering his stomach, and she saw that the white shirt beneath was stained with blood.
"You're hurt."
"Just a scratch. Nothing to worry about," he murmured, before falling face first onto the Burke's sofa. Sarah knew she had to call Peter. She picked up her phone and started dialling, but before she could hit green, two things happened at once.
The TV, still set to the history channel, was running a news bite. The presenter stood behind a picture of a handsome man, wearing a dark suit and white shirt, photographed in mid-sprint. Blue lights flashed behind him. He had a fedora clutched in one hand. Brown hair and blue eyes, this time open wide with fear. Just as Sarah began to connect the dots, she heard a voice behind her.
She turned to see Neal Burke standing at the foot of the stairs, his brown hair all fluffed from sleep. He was clutching his teddy bear, rubbing his eyes and staring at the man on the sofa.
"Uncle Neal?"
The man lifted his head weakly. "Hey, kiddo," he breathed, before slumping sideways in the most graceful faint Sarah had ever seen.
Hi everyone, hope you enjoyed this first little snippet! I would love to hear what you thought of it and any comments you might have! :) I've recently returned to the world of FF so apologies if my writing is a little rusty!