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"He looks bad," Becca whispered to Paul.
"Don't stare," Paul averted his gaze slightly.
"What do you think is the matter?" Becca pressed.
"It's a tough case, Becca," the reverend stole a look at the passing detective, "it's affected us all."
"Shh, shh, here he comes," she pulled away and quickly ran back behind the bar. The door to her inn opened, the little bell ringing. Detective Inspector Alec Hardy walked inside. He was wearing a thin coat, even though a hard rain was pouring from the afternoon sky. His hair was soaked, but he looked at the newspaper in his hands with utter concentration.
"I don't think he's even realized it's raining out," Becca slightly muttered to Paul who took a sip of his drink.
She cleared her throat, "Good afternoon, Detective Inspector."
He didn't look up. He probably didn't even hear her.
"Detective Inspector?"
"What?" his eyes snapped up.
"Good-good afternoon."
He grunted and looked back down at the paper.
Paul Coates gave it a go, "How's the case, Detective Inspector?"
"Unsolved," he said bitterly.
"You're soaked to the bone, would you like a coat?" Becca proposed.
"I'm fine," the Scot barked before walking down the hallway. His wet boots stomped against the wooden floor and a trail of water droplets followed him.
"Something's put him in a mood," Paul scoffed.
"Don't be so hard on him," Becca sighed, "I pity him."
"Pity him? Becca, save your pity for those deserving of it, like Beth and Mark and Chloe. Alec Hardy needs none of it."
"He's been heckled by this town since the day he's arrived and all he's been trying to do is solve Danny's case," she argued.
"And what good has he done?" Paul set down his glass, "he's only alienated the town further. People don't trust one another."
"Yeah, because someone is a murderer."
"And that murderer could be you," Paul eyed her.
"Or you," she smirked after a moment.
"What a reverend I'd make," Paul huffed with quiet laughter.
"I'm going to go check on him," Becca nodded, "I'll be back."
"Good luck," Paul offered.
Becca's heels clacked against the wood. She followed the water trail to Alec Hardy's room. This was a rare sighting; he usually left at the crack of dawn and returned late into the night.
His door was closed, as usual.
She knocked hesitantly.
"Um, hello?" she called, "DI Hardy? It-it's Becca."
She waited, but there was no response.
"I just wanted to know if you were alright? Would you like a few towels?"
Still no response. She furrowed her brows and used her master key to open the door. Slumped in a chair, still in his wet clothes, was DI Alec Hardy, fast asleep.
"DI Hardy?" Becca called hesitantly. He didn't move.
She shook his shoulder lightly, but there was no sign that Hardy was waking up anytime soon.
Okay, she sighed, here we go.
Becca pulled against his shoulders and sat him upright. A glass of scotch lay half full by his arm. How was she going to get him in his bed?
The hotel manager went into the hallway, "Paul?"
"Becca? Are you alright?"
"Yeah, can you come give me a hand quickly?"
The reverend rounded the corner. He looked curious.
"Of course, with what?"
"In here," Becca retreated back into Hardy's room. Paul crossed the threshold tentatively, looking around the room warily. He'd only known the hard, curt Detective Inspector Hardy. Being in his living space seemed odd and uncomfortable. The man spent so much of his time putting walls between himself and others, that being in this vulnerable area made him feel like he was trespassing.
"What is it?" when he looked across the room, he saw a sleeping DI Hardy and Becca standing next to him, "Becca, what are we doing here?"
"I need help to get him to his bed," she explained, "I can't carry him alone."
"Oh, o-okay," he awkwardly shuffled forward. Becca slipped her hand under one shoulder, and Paul grabbed the other. They lifted the Detective Inspector off the chair and his head lolled against his chest.
"He's quite heavy for a skinny bloke, isn't he?" Becca huffed as she struggled to keep the DI upright.
"Almost there, you've got it," Paul encouraged.
They deposited him on the bed, where he fell like a dead weight.
"What now?" Paul asked, staring down at Hardy.
"I guess I'll change in him in some dry clothes and leave him be for the night."
"Are you going to be okay by yourself?" the reverend turned to her with concerned eyes.
She touched his shoulder and smiled, "I'll be fine, he's out like a light."
"Okay, as long as you're sure," he dipped his head, "I'll see you tomorrow, Becca. Call me if you need anything."
"Thank you, Paul," she watched gratefully as he exited the door.
The reverend stole one last glance at the sleeping Hardy and his bedroom before exiting the hotel.
Now that Becca was alone, she could work. Hardy was wearing his soaking overcoat, suit jacket, button down shirt, pants, and socks. He'd be as sick as a dog in the morning if he stayed like that.
The hotel manager retreated to his closet, but found nothing hanging. In the corner was a half open suitcase with some garments spilling out of it.
That's no way to live, she tutted disapprovingly in her mind. Becca walked over and pulled out a light grey t-shirt and a few other dry clothes. In the bathroom she found some fresh towels; she folded one up and placed it gently under Hardy's wet hair.
Becca unzipped his heavy overcoat. Water droplets ran down the side of the waterproof jacket as she hung it up by the door. She slipped his suit jacket off and left it to hang in the bathroom, along with his button-down shirt. Becca grabbed the light grey shirt, ready to pull it over his head, but her eyes caught something.
On the left side of Hardy's pale chest, she saw multiple scars. They looked like surgical scars. She looked back up at Hardy's sleeping face, wondering what had happened. The wounds looked like they were right above his heart.
Becca shook her head and snapped out of her curious thoughts. It wasn't her business. She pulled the t-shirt over his head and fit it around his abdomen.
Next, she untied his shoes and pulled off his socks and trousers. She dried off his legs and arms with extra towels and replaced them with clean, dry clothes. Once he was all dressed, he looked a little more relaxed in his sleep, less haggard.
His hands and fingers were freezing though, on account of the rain. Becca pulled open the covers and managed to move Hardy's body under them. She tucked him under the blankets, like a mother with a child.
When she stepped back, she examined the detective inspector. He looked so innocent in his sleep, free from his dark past. She always saw him with his guard up, always terse and ruthless. This was a completely different side of him, and he looked like he could be a rather nice person if he wanted to be.
Becca looked around the room. It was sad. The luggage wasn't unpacked, detective files littered the furniture, there was no color to the room.
I can fix that.
She opened Hardy's suitcase and begin to fold the clothes. She organized them neatly in the drawers and hung his suit jackets in the closet. She lined his shoes on the rack, and placed his toiletries in the restroom. Becca then organized the detective files from around the room. She knew they were classified, but a picture of Danny Latimer stared at her.
Her heart twisted. She pulled the photograph out of the folder and looked at it deeply. The young boy's blue eyes looked back at her innocently.
It's okay, Danny. Detective Inspector Hardy is going to find your killer, he's going to bring peace to you and your family. Hang in there…
She carefully placed the image back into the folder and placed DI Hardy's files in nice, neat piles on the table. She fluffed the couch pillows, tastefully draped the throw on the sofa, and placed a few snacks on the table. The Detective Inspector was as skinny as a twig, he rarely ate. All Becca saw was Hardy drinking a nice glass of scotch from time to time, nothing more.
The room looked nice, clean, and...human. It actually looked like someone was living there. Becca's eyes traveled to the sleeping Hardy, who made no signs of waking up. She sat down at the edge of the bed, when she felt her phone buzz. Becca fished it out of her pocket and saw Paul Coates had sent her a message:
How are you doing? Everything ok?
She smiled and texted a response:
Everything is good. Thank u for checking. Come by tomorrow?
A reply was sent within seconds:
Of course :)
She felt a warm feeling spread in her chest.
The feeling was interrupted when she heard a sound behind her.
Becca looked to see Hardy tossing and turning slightly in bed. His fists clenched the sheets and his brow was furrowed.
"Detective Inspector?" she called, trying to tear him away from his nightmare. Does this happen often, I wonder?
"I'm sorry," he moaned, "it's my fault the evidence was faulty...blame me…"
Hardy's sounded like he was going to drown in guilt. Becca felt her heart tear with pity. She sat down again by his side, pressing her hand against his forehead and moving the hair out of his eyes.
"It's okay," she whispered, "it's not your fault, Alec. It's not your fault." She didn't know what he was talking about, but she didn't care. Alec Hardy was not a bad man. He was a broken man, but not a bad one.
This was the first time she'd ever called him by his first name.
When she looked back towards his face, his eyes were open. She immediately felt her cheeks go red and she stood up, off the bed.
He squinted at her blearily, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
"B-Becca?" he groaned sleepily.
"Sorry, Detective Inspector," she said quietly, "I thought I'd check in. I'll leave you now."
He tried to sit up, but wobbled slightly.
She instinctively rushed forward and helped stabilize him.
"No, no," she tutted, "lie back down. You might get a cold, you were in the rain for quite some time."
He didn't resist. His head hit the pillow again and his eyes closed seconds after. Becca tucked the covers around him again and silently walked out the door before another incident. She looked at the now tidy room before she closed the door.
Becca felt good, productive. She did something nice for Hardy, he probably wouldn't care or notice, but she felt happy she could play a small part in making his life a little easier while he solved this difficult, troubling case.
She didn't realize, but she dozed off on the leather armchair in the hotel lobby. The rain pattering against the glass must've lulled her to sleep as she was doing her paperwork into the early hours of the morning.
It was the sound of the front door closing that woke her. She stirred from her sleep and looked out the window behind her to see Alec Hardy's tall, thin form cross the street from the hotel's entrance. The sky was grey and grumpy, clouds covering the sun. A morning mist clung to the town. He was the only one on the street, everyone else safely tucked into the warmth of their homes. His hands were in his pockets and he sheltered himself from the cold weather.
Becca looked at the time. 6:02 AM.
She turned around to stand up and get to her proper bed, but something covered her. It was a black, wool coat. She didn't own a black, wool coat.
Becca curiously ran her hand against the material, appreciative of its warmth. The hotel lobby didn't get much heat from the generator. The garment let off the pleasant smell of men's cologne. Her pale fingers reached for the tag hidden in the neckline, and saw the name "Alec Hardy" stitched into it.
She froze. This was Hardy's jacket. How did it get on her?
A small, yellow paper caught her eye on the small table beside her. Becca reached for it and opened the note:
Thank you for last night.
You looked a bit cold.
A.H.
She felt a warmth build inside her as she hugged the note close to her chest. A smile crept on her lips. Becca turned out the window again, but Hardy was gone, probably on his way to the station. She curled up under the black coat, breathing in the cologne, soaking in the warmth.
Alec Hardy wasn't a bad man. He was a broken man, but not a bad one.
The End.
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