William's home was not impressive from the outside- short, tucked away in a corner of Toronto, with neon graffiti slathered all over its dark-bricked surface. The plants encircling it were overgrown and yellowing, some even gradually creeping up the sides of the walls. A gravel driveway curled towards the building, leading to a square lot. The once-bright lines that marked separate parking spaces had long faded and were barely visible under the circumstances, let alone when they were covered in rain, snow, or fog. Despite this, William was rather fond of the building he lived in. Notwithstanding his pitiless landlord, and the outward state of it- said pitiless landlord refused to look after his property unless he was paid to by his residents- William had been living in it for about a year. Before that, he had shifted around from place to place, unable to afford bills for extensive periods of time, and the constant change had nettled him. He was content, now, with staying where he was. He was closer to Susannah than he had ever been before, and she was all he really had left in this world. William liked the stability that this place brought him, though of course it would be temporary stability. He wouldn't, couldn't, spend the rest of his life here. Fondness aside, the cons often outweighed the pros.
William pushed the stiff, resistant door open, grunting with the sheer effort. He was rewarded by a blast of cool air, and he sighed in relief as he slipped through the worn main room. William supposed the correct term was a lobby, but the rectangle room with the crumbling ceiling and the patchy, dust-ridden carpet didn't much strike him as a proper lobby. All was silent as he swung open another door- this one with a rusty doorknob and a sagging frame- and William made his way down a long hallway decorated with hideous green wallpaper. It was so quiet that he could hear his own carpet-muffled footsteps, and his lips tightened as he rounded a corner and heard an all-too-familiar voice dishing out orders and mild abuse.
William braced his shoulders and quickened his pace, hoping to get to the safety of his apartment (if you could call it that) before his dreaded landlord appeared in the flesh. Unfortunately, William had come at just the wrong time. Percival Giles, a rather imposing and unlikable man, emerged from one of the doors that lined the hallway of the first floor. His face was flushed with anger and he wore an expression of great distaste upon spotting William, as if a rather unpleasant smell had been put under his nose.
William and Giles had their history; even before they had properly met, Giles had taken a hearty dislike to William. Of course, he had been befuddled by this, wondering what on earth he had done to antagonize the man. William had tried to make amends for something he hadn't done, but Giles had coldly brushed off his attempts and continued to act impertinently toward William. "I'll tolerate you, so long as you pay your rent on time, Murdoch," he had said shortly many a times.
Naturally, because of this, running into a foul-tempered Giles was the least thing William wanted to do, especially after his tiring day at work. He only had time to reflect on his horrendous luck before his landlord bore down upon him.
"Murdoch," Giles snapped. He paused for a moment, searching for something to say.
"Mr. Giles," William said, as politely as he could manage. He stood firmly and met the man's distinctly unfriendly eyes, not intimidated by his manner.
After a prolonged hesitation, Giles said harshly, "That dog of your roommate's was barking last night. I got a complaint about it. Keep it down, or the dog will have to go."
"Shouldn't you be talking to George- Mr. Crabtree about this matter?" William asked politely, raising his eyebrows. Giles bristled. "I need you to pass along the message. Is that a problem for you, Murdoch?" he said, tightening his lips and scowling.
"Not at all. I was just on my way to our apartment," William replied steadily. With a nod, he brushed past his landlord and continued down the hall, glancing warily behind him several times. When he finally reached the door that led to the living space that he and George shared, he fumbled with his rusty key and inserted it into the keyhole, twisting hard. The lock stubbornly held for a moment, and William lost patience quite quickly. He shoved against the door, turning the key with all his might, and the door swung rapidly, bouncing on its hinges and nearly whacking him in the face. He moved nimbly at the last second, sidestepping the assault, and entering the small apartment. Violet was at his heels immediately, panting her welcome, and he smiled and leaned down to pat the golden retriever dog. "Good girl," he murmured quietly to himself. These words seemed to excite her, and she skittered away, no doubt to fetch some toy or other. Getting Giles to agree to keep a dog had been a long and arduous quest for poor George, and one that had nearly been unsuccessful. William believed that Giles had only allowed them to keep her because he was fond of dogs himself, though he would never admit such a thing. Either way, he was glad that Violet would be staying with them. She quite reminded him of a dog his family had once owned.
"Will? Is that you?" called a familiar voice, jerking him out of his thoughts. George Crabtree bounded into the kitchen with a funny resemblance to the dog that had just exited. His face was alight with enthusiasm, per usual, and William suppressed a smile as he turned to put away his things. George watched him for a moment, cursing as Violet re-emerged and trotted heavily on his feet. "Ow! Violet! Sweet mother of… so, how was your day, Will? I took your advice to heart on my novel… I'm two chapters in… I must say that the title character, a most tall and dashing man, is coming across very well."
"I'm glad to hear it, George," William said stolidly, doing his best not to grimace. George would no doubt dub him proofreader, and he had been hoping to sneak a visit to Susannah that evening. "My day was the usual. Tedious at best."
George tapped the pen he held against his chin. "Tedious," he repeated, slowly, smiling a bit. "That's just the word I was looking for. Hang on a minute!" He fished a pad of paper out of his pocket and set it against the counter, scribbling away rapidly.
William swung open the fridge and exclaimed in dismay as he looked through the empty shelves. Except for a few stray eggs here and there- George had an odd habit of eating eggs whole- there was nothing to be seen. He straightened up. "Where's all the food?" he asked, frowning. His stomach growled loudly, as if to accentuate his statement.
George looked up from his paper, wearing an apologetic expression. "Henry's here. He's helping me with ideas for my writing."
"And he cleaned out the fridge?" William demanded irritably.
"Er… a little," George replied, not immediately throwing his friend to the sharks.
Henry Higgins was a good friend of George's, despite their dissimilar personalities. The pair had met through work, as both were part of the Toronto Police Force, and often were lumped together to perform the most arduous tasks the force offered. Henry was quite different from George, often complaining about his job, and his sarcastic nature grated on William's nerves. Henry was certain to scoff at the strange story about the phone call, and the fact that he tended to raid the food supply whenever he was over did nothing to endear him to William.
But this time he gritted his teeth and remained silent, following George to the tiny living room, where he abruptly collapsed on the couch. Henry, who was sitting at the rusty old computer, turned in his seat and nodded. "We heard Giles shouting from here," he said with a small grin. "You didn't run into him, did you?"
"I did, actually," William replied shortly. "He warned me about Violet's barking."
"You don't need to worry about that. She was only barking because apparently, George was singing karaoke last night. She was trying to get somebody to rescue her from the horror," Henry told him, immediately.
George, who had taken a seat beside his colleague and was staring intently at the monitor, gave a little indignant twitch. His voice was miffed. "I completely nailed that song! Violet was just… my… backup singer."
"What song was it?" William had to ask, amused despite himself.
George chose not to answer. He turned back to his computer, clicking and typing quickly.
William snorted quietly, and turned his attention to the dog-eared tabloid magazine that was half-stuffed into the sofa. Wondering why on earth George would own such a thing, he yanked it out and held it up, his heart rate increasing dramatically when he spotted Julia Ogden on the cover. She wore a beautiful red dress, her thick reddish-brown hair was piled atop her head in a wave of curls and her smile was as bright as the New York scenery behind her. Tearing his eyes from the picture after a moment of staring, he focused on the bold headline and furrowed his brow. He opened the magazine and began flipping the pages, lowering it discreetly so Henry wouldn't spot him with it.
Julia Ogden, who is currently filming a hot sci-fi flick helmed by the famous Wilfred Prenfrew, managed to spare a few minutes for an interview this morning. She gestured us to a table outside of Starbucks, holding a muffin in her left hand. She munched on it as we asked her our questions, apologizing profusely- "This is all I'll eat for five or six hours. I'm off to the studio, and we have quite the block of filming on our hands," she said, groaning a bit. We were just thankful she could squeeze us in at all. Ogden has been on the rise as an actor for years, and she has recently achieved the stardom and fame we know she deserves. We asked a few questions about her film- "I love working on it. I truly enjoyed the script, and working with Mr. Prenfrew again is fabulous. I commend him for his devotion to his projects.", about her wild-child sister, who was just yesterday spotted partying hard at a club- to which she refused to comment, merely saying that Ruby's actions were her own- and about how she's dealing with fame- "It's quite bewildering, and it jumps out at you when you least expect it. Being recognized is the oddest thing I have ever experienced, but I'm happy to greet my fans and sign autographs if I have a pen handy. The paparazzi are difficult to handle, though. I doubt I'll ever get used to them."
Of course, there was one thing we were determined to ask about, and it came in the form of Ogden's handsome co-star. Ever since filming began on their shared project, speculation has arisen towards the nature of Darcy Garland and Ogden's relationship. Originally, they both insisted it was a working relationship only, but have since fallen silent on the matter. Many believe they are dating secretly, while others claim they have been dating since before their work together. Thomas Brackenreid, Ogden's agent and publicist, has said nothing about these claims, which struck us as peculiar. Brackenreid has fended off many stories about his client over the years, and always- always- has something to say when questioned by the media. Perhaps he has no retort this time around because supposed 'out-of-control' stories are true? We figured the only way to get to the bottom of this mystery was to ask the centre of the conjecture themselves.
Ogden seemed harried and a bit irritated when we asked her, and she kept her response short and formal. "Mr. Garland and I have only a working relationship. I admire him as an actor and a person, and I'm grateful I have had an opportunity to work with him. Any further rumors are completely inaccurate. I regret that I haven't yet addressed them officially."
And that was that.
What do you think? We can't help but wonder how truthful she's being- it's well known that she likes to keep her personal life well hidden from the media. Next week, we'll have an exclusive interview for you from Darcy Garland himself. Perhaps he'll be more forward.
William folded the magazine and put it away, sliding it across the floor. He found himself slightly bothered by the topic of the interview, and the gossip that it incited. Surely Julia Ogden's personal life was her own business? She had stated that she was not involved with Garland. Was that not enough for some people? Why would anybody find joy in discussing such matters? It quite frankly perplexed him, and still frowning, he glanced over at George and Henry. The pair were staring, enraptured, at the computer screen.
Henry emitted a low whistle, sitting back. "What's her name?"
George squinted a bit. "Emily Grace. She's studying to become a doctor. Her favorite television shows are Dexter and Game of Thrones." His tone was delighted. "Henry, I think she might be the one!"
Henry considered for a moment, and then shook his head. "No. She's out of your league."
"Who's in my league, then?" George asked, looking an equal amount hurt and curious.
His friend took control of the keyboard, and after a few moments sat up triumphantly. "This girl is about your league. Her name is Mildred and she's 63 years of age. Her defining features are the huge, hairy mole on her face-"
"-Henry, that's hurtful!"
"-but she might be your soulmate, George!"
"What are you two doing?" William asked, finally, breaking into their bickering. There was a short pause as he worked it out. "…Are you on a dating site?"
George had gone a shade of red, and Henry didn't miss an opportunity to be snarky. "George has an account. And if you think that's embarrassing, you should see the collection of Ruby Ogden posters he has."
At that point, George was hitting Henry pathetically.
William knew from experience that the man could not throw a punch, even when he was trying to. Shaking his head fondly, he leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes, his thoughts returning once more to the phone incident today. It couldn't possibly have been the real Julia Ogden, that at least he had determined. But then, if it wasn't Julia, who had it been? A prank call seemed the obvious solution. That was it. A prank call. Case closed.
So why did it feel as if that wasn't the case at all?