The End is not the actual end guys, don't worry about it.

Epilogue

Tintin locked the door to his apartment behind him. A week had passed since the fateful night he had found the will with Eva, and with story in hand, he felt determined.

At the bottom of the stairs, he knocked on his landlady's door as he had every day. She opened it after a second, a smiled a little sadly. "I still haven't heard anything dear. She's not been in the building."

Tintin thanked her, and turned to the door. Pushing it open, he let out a smile as the sun hit his face. He started down the street, feeling the thickness of the stack of papers in his hand. It was a good story, but he knew that it would never really encompass what had happened.

The journalist pursed his lips as he remembered Thompson and Thompson recounting Mr. William's confession of killing Mr. Hartley. He was a good man. I would've liked to have known him.

Before he knew it, Tintin was inside the newspaper office. Knocking on Mr. Crawford's door, he was soon invited in.

"Here's the story, sir." Tintin nodded, handing the editor his pile of papers.

"Excellent." The usually gruff Mr. Crawford gave him something that could have been interpreted as a smile. "Terrible about that Hartley fellow, but good work Tintin. And good story, I'm certain." He gestured to the papers on his desk.

"Well, thank you." Tintin paused. "If that's all, I ought to be off."

"Ah, well . . ." Mr. Crawford and clapped the young man on the shoulder. The affect was awkward yet affectionate as he led him to the door, saying finally, "Good luck."

Coming back to the street, Tintin walked slowly through the city he knew. He moved quietly, unobtrusively, past places he knew well – his apartment, the library, and finally, turning away from crowded streets, his parents' house.

He stood across the street, not entering. Speculating silently, something he had forgotten for a long time just beneath the surface.

What to do now. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his unruly ginger hair, which bounced right back. Ginger like his mother, the quiff like his father. He remembered them well, but the sadness had been quiet for a long time. They're in a better place.

But the house was still filled with them, in the quiet space that he kept perfectly clean, with the curtains always drawn.

"A house that needs a little life, isn't it?"

Tintin turned around, surprised to see an elderly woman. "Yes," he began slowly, "It certainly is."

Her eyes crinkled as she nodded. "There've been plenty of young people wanting to take it off the hands of whoever's kept it all these years, but they've never had any word from the owner. I've lived on this street a long time, young man – I remember the accident that killed that lovely young couple. They were so in love – I think they'd want to see love in that house again, were they here now."

Tintin smiled at the woman. "I think so too. Thank you."

The woman's eyebrows jumped, but she smiled knowingly. "What for?" Without waiting for a response, the kind-faced lady turned and went without another word.

Tintin turned and continued down the sunlit streets, sifting through his thoughts. Almost before he realized it, he was at Marlinspike Hall. He jogged up the front path, eager to see the Captain who had gotten his cast off the day earlier.

After knocking on the heavy door, he found Nestor giving him a rare smile. "Seems the weather's making a turn for the better, isn't it sir?" The butler let the guests in with familiar ease, and Tintin soon came upon the sight of Captain Haddock bounding down the stairs with a wide grin.

"Ah, I can almost smell the docks from here, laddie!"

Tintin chuckled. "I imagine you must be looking forward to getting outside after this past week."

"Captain!" An admonishing Professor Calculus entered, his hair sticking out at odd angles. "You know I don't usually involve myself in this, but the doctor clearly said you were to have no fun for at least a week!"

"No, I'm not supposed to run!" Haddock replied loudly.

"That's exactly what I said!" The professor nodded. "Now Tintin, would you like to see my latest invention? I'm still working on it of course, but it really is fascinating . . ."

Tintin went with the excited Calculus, but he knew that there was something that still needed to be done. Soon enough however, he was leaving Marlinspike Hall, happy but restless.

I've done so much for so long, he thought. Gone all over the world, seen incredible things . . . it's amazing how what you want most can change so much.

His mind switched tracks as he stopped across the street from Hartley Manor. It still looked the way it had a week earlier, but something in the air was different. The journalist's eyes alighted on a sign, and suddenly the difference became apparent to him.

The sign said simply, Hartley Manor, Home for Children.

The smell of bread baking was in the air as Tintin nudged open the unlocked front gate. The front door of the manor was opened by a tired, but happy woman, who was then followed by children yearning to play in the sunshine. They laughed as children should; they laughed like they had all they needed.

Walking up the front path, Tintin had to stop himself from just marvelling at the difference all these new lives had made to the house. Approaching the woman who had let the children out, he said, "Hello there. My name is Tintin, I'm a journalist. Could you tell me what's happened here?"

The woman's face was lit with joy, despite its tired lines. "It's Mr. Hartley's doing! And his daughter's, bless them both. He left us the funding to support the orphanage, but this –" she gestured to the estate "- was Miss Hartley's doing. She kept a few small rooms at the back of the house for herself, but now the orphanage has enough space, toys, anything we need for the children! We'll never have too much room for more little ones. And look at them, they're so happy! But oh, it'll be Miss Hartley you'll be asking for, isn't it dear?"

Tintin took a second to take it all in. She found a way to bring new life into this house.

"Yes, I would like to see her. Very much."

The woman looked sympathetic, recognizing his serious tone. "I'm sorry sir; I don't know where she's got to – packed up all her things and left about an hour ago. She said she would come visit, but not where she was going to. Did you know her?"

"Ah – yes, I did." Tintin replied, and managed a smile. "Thank you for your time."

Turning away, he moved out to the street and began a slow walk back up the street of fine houses. She's gone. Just like that. He couldn't quite believe it. She's gone. Blocking his flow of thoughts, he felt the disappointment acutely. It's her prerogative to go, I suppose. She's handled her affairs here; she had no particular reason to stay. He took a deep breath, and admitted to himself, "Except maybe me, I had hoped."

Snowy whined sympathetically, and Tintin kneeled to scratch behind his ears. "Come on, Snowy. Let's go home."

It was a long walk back to his flat, in which Tintin worked to accept the turn of events that had touched him so.

He quietly walked through the front door of his building, climbed the stairs he knew well, and unlocked the door to his apartment. He closed the door behind him, and for a long moment stood with his back against it. Opening his eyes, he moved mechanically to his small kitchen, putting the kettle on for tea. He comfortably began to fix lunch for himself and Snowy, when a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

It began with a surprise at the door, and it ends similarly. It struck Tintin how appropriate this was as he stepped back from the counter, and made his way to the door.

He took a second unlocking it, then opened it and stopped.