It was pouring rain again and he had never been a fan of the rain, even before that boat ride that his family had hitched. The countless raindrops crashed into everything and produced a roaring cacophony used keep him awake late into that night, the boat ride had simply given him a more substantial reason to dislike the harsh weather.
The radio in the corner of his office spoke only in short bursts of static, unable to reach any station during this storm, the only other sounds that reached his ears were the howling winds, that rattled his glass windows, and occasional rumbling clap of thunder.
He had just considered lighting up a smoke to pass the time but something seemed abnormal around him. His eyes darted around, searching around his office, everything had been there, his wooden desk, his metal file cabinets, his fancy liquor cabinet, and the fancy leather seats he had bought for the comfort of his clients. He had just about chalk it up to his paranoia, but then he noticed the incongruity of the photographs and painting that were hung and pinned to his wall, while the frames had still been there, inside of them was a pitch black abyss.
A white mist slithered through his teeth and out of his lips, and a hair raising chill swept over the surface of his skin. The instant his gaze had peered beyond the confines of his office something had noticed, and a bubbling green-tinted fog drifted into his office through the frames on the walls.
Without a second thought, he pulled open the top right drawer on his desk and his right hand grasped cold steel, as he held it up to his temple he felt a low hissing of a mumbling whisper crawling into his ears.
Then he introduced a bullet to his brain.
Lie Ren woke gingerly, his head was pounding both from a hangover and his escape from a nightmare, and as he shifted his weight around he found his desk chair swiveled violently, damn near tossing him out like he had been a fella who got a little too handsy with an exotic dancers at a club.
He stilled the chair with his hands and by planting his feet firmly against the wooden floor. He reached inside his coat for a smoke, he needed something to dull his headache; he had a busy day ahead, however his hand met his bare shirt. He looked around his immediate area and found nothing of note, except for the blinding beams of white sunlight that pierced the plastic shutters hanging over his windows.
He got out of the death trap of a desk chair and stumbled around his office, finding a hat on the floor and a coat thrown over a leather chair. It had been a little hard for him to spot because to his eyes they had both appeared as nearly the same shade of grey.
After bringing up a lighter towards the cigarette he had just pulled out from a pack in his coat's pocket, his eyes caught the small mirror that was nailed up next to his door, and he caught sight of the magenta eyes that nearly glowed against the grayscale world in the background.
Against his better judgment, his mind wandered back to that night on the boat, nearly thirteen years ago now, he had been a child no more than ten and he witnessed a sight that would drive most adults into madness, in fact he also witnessed that very madness take hold. Of the two hundred passengers aboard that ship, including his parents, there were only two survivors of that made it out alive, and he considered himself to be the lucky one.
He felt that losing the ability to see normal colors, and to feel emotions, was better than having a shattered mind.
Forcibly pulling himself out of, and away, from his self-reflection before he could recall the form of the falling meteor that had been catalyst, he swatted a hand down onto the control panel of my radio. Some program was talking about a fella named Van Allen and the Space Race for about a second before he turned the knob.
Smooth jazz filled the room, and he walked back to his desk. After taking a seat, he pulled open a bottom left drawer, inside were his pending cases. He grabbed the handful of files and closed the drawer with a foot. He threw the files on his desk and moved his chair closer. Shifting through the files so he could remember what it was that he was supposed to be doing, he started to jot down his observations and goals.
He heard the rhythmic thumps of shoes meeting wood only in his peripheral, but he paid it no mind. It was not until the jingle jangle of tiny metal pieces and the loud clack of his door being unlocked, that he looked up.
A brunette dolly walked through the door, her hands carrying a styrofoam box and a paper cup emitting steam, her face was marred with apprehension. It would only require a glance at the small wall mounted clock to reveal the reason. "I am truly sorry for being late!" She started as she walked forward. "There was a sinkhole on my normal route and I had trouble reading my road map! I really like this job, please do not fire me! I know that I have been late everyday but that is not-"
"Cut the gas." He interrupted her, as resignation flitted across her face she silently placed the box and cup down on his desk and stared at the wooden floor. He ignored her as he took a sip from his still hot coffee, the scalding bitter liquid flowing down his throat and forcing his mind to clear up.
Of the many cases he was supposed to be working on, there were about ten from worried parents looking for their missing children, aged five to fifteen. He tossed these files to the other side of his desk, and they landed in front of the junior partner.
"Miss Scarlatina, find out which of these cases are not runaways, and make a note of those that are, I want a detailed report on why they ran away and who gave them the idea. For the actual missing children, ask my police contacts for their files."
Shock and then grateful, her face ran through the emotions and she smiled. "Thank you, sir! I'll get right on it!" As she reached for the files, he tossed four more onto the pile, confusion stopped her hands.
"Two wives and one husband suspect an unfaithful spouse, and a wealthy kid lost her dog." As he was speaking, he was also unlocking the bottom right drawer, then he pulled out a camera and slid the contraption across his desk. "Deal with those when you have the time, and be done with them by the end of the week."
"Y-yes sir." She said as she pulled the camera strap around her neck and grabbed the files, then she left without saying another word.
That girl had been Velvet Scarlatina, and for well over a month now she had been under his employment. He was no fool, he knew she was simply taking advantage of working under him so she could use his expensive camera. However, he did not mind that she moonlit as a journalist, not as long as she did what he asked of her. And she did possess quite the keen nose when it came to discovering the truth of the matter.
Now alone once more, he opened up the styrofoam package containing his breakfast and after he stuffed his face with a meal he would rather not waste time describing, his first appointment came into his office.
After handing her the high-definition polaroids of her husband playing backseat bingo at a passion pit, she left in tears.
He looked over the check she had handed to him and thought about the case, money sure did make people move. The girl the husband was feeling up had only felt disgust the entire time, a little more investigation into her, had revealed the fact that she was getting paid by someone else to sleep around with wealthy men.
He made sure to make a separate file containing all her current and former men, doing the footwork of a case he has not been asked to handle yet.
His next appointments went by without issue, he gave a father the new address of his daughter and her new beatnik boyfriend, returned a wedding band that a circled man had lost to a night girl, and so on. His day was on schedule, and he didn't expect that to change so suddenly.
Then a lady walked in through his door, and he could tell that she was going to be trouble the moment their eyes met, because her amber eyes were burning in a monochrome world.
There had only been two prior experiences seeing colored eyes, the turquoise eyes that were glazed with frantic madness that belonged to the second survivor, and his own magenta eyes that had never gleamed with any emotion. From what he knew, their eyes had been the results of encountering that thing that fell from the stars.
Although he had lost sight of the world basked in light-based colors, in exchange he was given something else, the ability to see emotions. It was why he was able to find the truth so easily, and why he never fell for any lie or trick, but he couldn't see the emotions of people with colored eyes. He had never thought about it in detail, but now he knew it was going to be a problem.
A phantom emotion tried to influence his thoughts, he suspected it was fear. "What can I do for you, Miss?" His face and tone displayed no sign of his thoughts.
The woman lifted a hand to her cheek and she smiled. He really did not know what kind of expression she was trying to make or what emotions she had been trying to project, his focus had been on her eyes and nothing else, but he did note the fancy dress and coat she was wearing.
"It's Mrs. Cinder Alban, but thank you for the compliment, I do take care of my skin." She claimed and giggled, her eyes closed briefly and when they opened again she continued to speak. "It's about my husband." Again his face showed no reaction to her words, yet she paused and then hastily added. "I don't think he's cheating on me, but rather he's gone missing, and I want you to find him."
This time he did respond. "Have you gone to the police regarding this matter?"
The broad who called herself Cinder Albam shook her head. "It has not even been a day since I last saw him. He left late last night and has yet to return. I would be remiss if I were to cause an unnecessary scandal in the occasion that he was simply staying at a friend's home for a day."
"Who is your husband?" He asked.
"His name is Lloyd Alban, he is a respectable man and an oil tycoon." She answered.
The next few minutes passed like any other consultation, Cinder acted just like any of his other clientele would. As he was finishing up his questions, there was one more thing he needed to ask. "How did you decide on hiring me?" He had noticed that everything she promised had not been in maybes, she did not even ask if he would take this case, she had decided that before he did.
Her left eyebrow twitched imperceptibly to the average observer, but he had been watching her eyes. "My friends at the country club often told stories of you exposing affairs, so you immediately came to my mind when I was thinking of hiring a competent and smart man." For some reason her tone had shifted during her final words, and she had leaned forward a little.
"I will get right on the case and get back to you when I find anything." He stood up to shake her hand, and as he walked her out the door, he noticed that although they had talked for about an hour and that the weather outside was reasonably hot, she had not even a drop of sweat on her brow as she wore a fur lined coat. Even he was feeling the heat, and his coat was little more than a rag.
After she was gone, he tossed a hat on his head and left his office. He descended a flight of stairs and went out the door to the two story building where his office rented a room at, then he hopped in his rundown car. His fingers gripped the key he had left in the ignition, and after his engine stalled for a few minutes, he backed up onto the road.
The bright lights of the city nearly blinded him, so he retrieved a pair of shades from a compartment on the passenger side of his car. All his scheduled appointments were done for the day, and he needed to go home, it had been two days since his last shower and he has yet to change his clothes.
He drove through winding streets and began navigating through a rather bad neighborhood that he called home.
After the war had ended, the immigrants who flocked to the land of the free struggled to make a living, so they gathered in areas with low income housing. It did not take long for the less savory and more desperate individuals to resort to crime to make a living. Where as legitimate businesses would refuse to hire, criminals welcomed the fresh faces. And since the war was over, there had been a steady rise in the supply and demand for narcotics, so that meant gangs needed more people to manage that trade.
Eventually he pulled up his shabby house. Even a realtor would be hard pressed to describe his home as anything more than a shabby shed, then again, even that description was being too generous. Now that he was no longer scrapping, he had planned on moving out, however, he has yet to get into contact with the landowners. It was such a low priority, that a few years had passed already. He should probably deal with this matter sooner or later.
He removed his shades and his key, then he waited a few minutes until his car's engine stopped before he got out. The situation regarding his car almost mirrored his house, however, unlike his house, he was simply milking out every bit of use this vehicle had left in it.
After grabbing his mail, which had yet to be stolen fortunately, he went inside and took a quick shower under cold water and tossed his clothes into an almost broken washing machine. After getting dressed in an outfit almost indistinguishable from the clothes he was just wearing, he skimmed through the envelopes sent to him. Under a few bills he found a letter from Vytal Mind Asylum, the place where the second survivor was located.
When they had been rescued from the lifeboat they used to escape on that night, the state had placed both of them in there and it took a few years before he was released, but the other person hadn't been as lucky. After turning eighteen, the state no longer provided funding for their treatment, so he took up that responsibility.
The letter had claimed that the electroshock therapy was making progress and that the patient had started to paint, the doctors were urging him to visit as soon as he could. Done with his mail, he moved on to the paper for yesterday and today. He had no interest in most of the things reported, a piece about whale fishing almost got his attention, but the blaring buzzer from his dryer rang through the house.
After pacing his dry clothes in a cabinet, he stood in front of a full-length mirror and performed his daily ritual. He managed the most natural smile he could muster and held out a small card. "Hello, my name is Lie Ren and I am a private investigator. May I have a moment of your time?"
Thanks for reading! I'm always open to feedback, so please leave a review, or reply in my forum, about what you liked or hated about this chapter or the whole story. If anyone wants to be a Beta Reader, then PM me and we'll talk details.