UGHHH APPARENTLY IVE BEEN GETTING PRIVATE MESSAGES FOR A YEAR? AND LIKE THE WEBSITE JUST DIDNT SHOW THEM? TILL NOW? AND I MISSED SO MANY IMPORTANT MESSAGES?
I'm actually really sad because some of you wrote such kind messages and I didn't see any of them :((( I really hope they get through now!
Feel free to message me now as a test and I'll write you back if I see it! If not, you can always leave a review and I'll definitely see that :) Sometimes I heavily dislike this website…
Anyways, massive massive shoutout to RogueMudblood who last year sent me a message about that Naughtycat9 person who was apparently pretending to be me on Wattpad? Like they made an account impersonating me? Would've been nice to know earlier, but it doesn't matter because they got that account taken off the site! I guess it's because Wattpad is much more active than FFN.
Song: Play With Fire by Sam Tinnesz and Yacht Money. It's really really edgy but idk I wanted to put this song in since like 2020 so here we go LOL
Warning: there's an old guy in this who's rly creepy to Clara idk what to call it but uh yeah, stay safe y'all
Enjoy!
Chapter 108
Play With Fire
The gala was tonight, and William and Clara had to prepare.
"But I don't want you to leave!" Elizabeth cried when he told her he needed to get dressed. "I want you to stay here with me and play!"
"Elizabeth, the whole point of this trip was for me to go to this event. You knew that." William wiped away a stray eyelash from his cheek. He was standing in the kid's room's bathroom getting primed for the gathering. Evan was doodling with crayons he got free from a restaurant on the backs of pink Stevia packets. Michael was engrossed in a very large, very upside-down tourism guide, and even though he was making the sound of turning pages, he'd been at the same spot for twenty minutes. William made a note to double check the swimsuit magazine was still in the trash can in his room. And Elizabeth was having another one of her fits. "Besides, Michael is ordering takeout from that Thai place and you lot can watch TV in your bed, isn't that fun?"
"NO! I HATE THAI FOOD! I WANT MCDONALD'S!"
"I like Thai food," Evan piped up. "I like Tom Yum Goong."
"SHUT UP! I hate Tom Gross Goong!"
Michael looked up from taking his eyes on a tour of something that was probably not the attractions of San Francisco—or at the very least, not building attractions. "Who's Tom?"
Evan assumed a grown-up position. "It's a traditional Thai soup made with—"
Elizabeth roared and launched herself at her brother's outstretched legs, clawing at them with stubby nails. "I WANNA EAT MCDONALD'S!"
"Jesus, Elizabeth." William ran and yanked her off. "You can have McDonald's. Michael, could you change the order?"
"Whatever." He unstuck his eyes from the 'attractions' and begrudgingly picked up his phone. Besides him, Evan wailed, clutching his leg, covered in red racing tracks.
"Evan, can it. We've gotten enough noise complaints from your sister. I don't want you starting too." William straightened his black blazer. He wore black dress pants, shiny black loafers, a black blazer and a white silk button-up. His tie was a satin violet. Apparently Clara's dress was supposed to 'off-set' it, though he hadn't seen it yet. He ran a hand through his thick black layers to try and tame them. They just grazed his shoulders and a few hairs matched the colour of his sharp eyes, moon dust.
"Well, I'm off to get your mum. Be safe."
"Bye," said Evan and Michael, both glued to something else.
"Bye-bye, Daddy," said Elizabeth sullenly. "If my McDonald's doesn't have a good toy in it, I want Evan's."
"Hey!"
William decided to leave right then. He walked down the hotel carpet to the room two down and knocked four times on the door, two slow and two fast. It had been their code in high school when he'd sneak into her room through the window.
The latch clicked and slowly Clara let him in. "Hey, Will. Woah, you look great."
And wow, she hadn't been exaggerating when she said the dress suited her. It was a silky, flowy green the colour of a Granny Smith apple and got lighter and lighter to the end. The dress draped to her ankles and had a slit up to the mid-thigh. It hugged her curves up to the sleeveless top, where a mother-of-pearl necklace glinted against her freckled collarbones. Gold hoops swung from her ears, and her strawberry blonde ringlets had been tamed into a tall ponytail. Purple eyeliner and dark mascara made her big eyes stand out, and her lips were painted a delicious strawberry.
"Do you like it?" She asked shyly, closing the door.
He didn't respond. Instead, he spun her against the door and kissed her, hands on her full hips. "Of course I love it. You look drop-dead gorgeous, Clary."
She smiled against him. "Thank you."
"God. I wish we weren't going to this bloody ball." He mumbled into her neck. "We could have so much fun."
Her cheeks flushed prettily and she ducked her head, hiding a smile. William tilted her chin up with a knuckle so he could see her better. "You know who you look like?"
"Who?"
"Tinkerbell."
Her mouth dropped open, a surprised laugh falling out. "I do not."
"Yes, you do. You've got her hair and her dress and," he stroked her cheek, "your face gets all red like hers does."
"Shut up."
He grinned wolfishly. "Make me."
"No."
"Please, Clary-bell?"
"Will, we've got a…thingy to get to." Her blush darkened at the nickname, which he took note of.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten about the thingy."
She crossed her arms.
"You're very distracting," he explained.
"Well, I'm excited, even if you're not. I've never been to a fancy get-together before. I wonder who we'll meet?"
"Lot of rich assholes, probably. The man who's hosting it? His name is Phillip Kingsley Tokelove III. Not even joking."
Clara raised her eyebrows. "Maybe this'll be livelier than we thought." She mimed taking a drag and puffing it out fast.
They grabbed their coats and headed to their silver Jaguar they'd borrowed from one of Clara's old friends, since they figured they should show up in a nicer ride than a beat-up purple sedan. While driving, Clara read off the guest list and they made fun of the 'fancy' last names some people had, and pointed out famous ones too.
"Leonard J. Spears?" Clara asked incredulously, pointing at a name.
"Different Spears. Though it would be funny if he sang like her." William turned down a surprisingly bustling street for ten at night—though he supposed if there was going to be a place with lots of nightlife, California made sense. "He's ninety, and invented zero-calorie zero-sugar zero-sweetener mint candies for elderly people. He didn't even call them Spears-mints."
"Yuck. Sounds like zero-fun to me." She read over some more names. "Oh, double yuck. It's that Wandala Spatchet lady who invented microwave popsicles. Remember she was all over the news when she got arrested for hate speech last year?"
"Terrible." William frowned. Disgusting. Who names their kid Wandala Spatchet?
"Oh my gosh. Will, look." She pointed ahead. "Red carpet. With people taking photos." She grabbed his arm, shaking it. "This is seriously crazy. Are we gonna be on the news?"
"We're going to be on the news for Crashing A Car Into A Pharmacy And Dying if you don't stop shaking my arm."
"Sorry. This is just so exciting! Do I look okay?" She wiped at her makeup in the rearview mirror.
"I think I've already expressed my opinion on your attire this evening, darling, but I wouldn't simplify it to 'okay'."
"I mean would I look okay to other people who aren't my husband."
"You might. I wouldn't know, being your husband and all."
She sighed dreamily, playing with her bracelets. "I can't believe we're going on a real red carpet. With real paparazzi."
"Really? I thought we'd be going on a fake red carpet, with fake paparazzi."
"You're so sarcastic. Try and have some fun. We could be famous! On TV! Loosen up!" She wiggled her shoulders.
"Only thing loosening up when you squirm around like that is your zipper, and I'd prefer we get on TV a different way." He dodged her punch. "Or we could. I suppose that's one way to be famous."
"Dummy." She pulled her dress back up. Bittersweet. "Okay, pull in here. Beside the...the Creamfolkes."
"And they say British people have strange names." He parked the car and went around to open the door for Clara. "So, Miss Red Carpet Expert, where do we go now?"
"Umm…" She scanned the area. "Follow the Cream Eggs, I guess?"
They hurried down the sidewalk, following the elderly couple. They studied the pair walking down the carpet bordered by red-and-gold rope barriers, watching their smiles and waves to the cameras. When they entered, Clara shoved him forward. "Go go go!"
William really wished he'd brought sunglasses. The camera flashes assaulted his eyes and made them burn, but he tried to maintain an attractive expression. Clara held onto his arm and waved at the cameras with a pearly smile that stretched ear to ear. She strutted like a runway model with her hips swaying and curls swishing. Guess reading all those celebrity magazines really paid off.
"Hello, mademoiselle. May I take your coat?" A short gray-haired man with a light French accent gestured to Clara once they were at the door. "And monsieur, please sign your names on the guest list."
"Oh, thank you." She pulled off her brown fur coat and passed it to him. William quickly found them in the A's and signed his name beside his photo, feigning Clara's with ease.
The host, meanwhile, felt the jacket and raised one eyebrow. "Is this real mink?"
"Er…yes it is! Bought it on a shopping spree, you know." She waved a hand to make her fake gold bangles clink.
"Really? Because it feels like polyester." The man grinned like he'd just found out some dirty secret. William hated when Clara got caught up in the moment, because she'd start playing pretend like a five-year-old and end up looking like an idiot.
He thought quickly. "She doesn't buy mink, she's a vegetarian. Cruel hunting and all. She just doesn't tell others because she's afraid they'd judge. It's not polyester, of course," he laughed like it was something universally absurd like saying the sky was green, "but she'd never want to put an animal in danger. Isn't it adorable?"
"Oh, of course. I've got a wife myself, and she's just the same." He hung up the coat among many other, probably real, fur coats, and bowed. "Enjoy your time."
"What the hell was that?" he hissed once they were out of earshot. "You can't just go around pretending you're some old-money socialite and making a fool of yourself."
"Sorry." Her face was flushed. "I just thought it'd be fun, that's all."
"Well, don't do it again." Now that they were out of the main corridor, he finally got a good look at the place.
Looking past the archway entry, he could see that the lavish ballroom was massive, the floor made of glossy hardwood and the walls marble. It looked straight out of an old fairy tale. The vaulted ceilings were scalloped at the edges, falling down to massive French windows overlooking the city and framed with thick velvet curtains. The tall walls were embellished with Italian oil paintings and gold leaf accents, red carpeted staircases leading to impossibly high balconies further above. Guests swirled around or sat at round white tablecloth dining tables, the men dressed in tuxedos with slicked hair and the women with beautiful updos and expensive jewellery and elegant gowns, sipping golden bubbles from champagne flutes. They nibbled toothpick appetizers passed out by smartly dressed waiters who gave them food or swapped empty glasses for fresh ones. Sleek baby grand pianos sat at either side with a man playing classical music on one. A crowd had gathered around him, clapping at regular intervals.
"This place is…extravagant." William muttered, shaking his head at a waitress who offered him a platter of something gray and slimy. "Looks like something out of a Disney movie."
"We're like royalty!" Clara gasped as he passed her a flute of champagne from a table. "Should I speak with a fancy accent?"
"I think you're going to need a few more glasses before that's believable." He took a careful sip, the alcohol fizzing delightfully on his tongue. He tried to refrain from drinking most of the time. The loss of control disoriented him and took him away from his senses, though he had to admit sometimes it was an exhilarating feeling. "Do you want to sit at a table? Or, I don't know, mingle." He muttered the last part hoping she wouldn't hear, but she was already grabbing his arm and dragging him towards a group of posh-looking men and women.
"C'mon, I wanna make some friends. Hello!" She waved, and it was all he could do not to wrestle her arm down.
"Hi?" A woman with a black bob and a slinky black-and-gold dress gave her a once-over, nose wrinkled. "Do we know you?"
"No, but—"
"Right. Then why exactly are you talking to us?" asked a man with fuzzy brown hair.
A blonde woman laughed cattily. "Yeah, who even are you?"
She faltered. "I just…I mean, I wanted to talk—"
William intervened. "Pleased to meet you all. I'm William Afton, and this is my wife Clara."
Recognition sparked in their eyes. The black-haired woman shook his hand eagerly. "Mr. Afton, I've heard a lot about you! I'm Judy Cheung, owner of Green Pinkies."
Clara found an opening. "Oh, I love your business! I swear by your zucchini seeds, they always come out so nice and juicy."
"Of course," said Judy, looking pleased.
The other two introduced themselves as Felicia and Gabe Itch, the latter president of Itch-B-Gone, a mosquito-bite-soothing cream that he'd tried and actually made itch a lot worse, though he kept that to himself.
"Look!" Felicia suddenly said, hushed. "It's Phillip!"
The multi-billionaire man who'd organized the whole event began making his way down the stairs, greeting guests graciously as they passed him. He wore an elegant tuxedo with his silver hair styled into faint waves. The wrinkles on his face had been surgically erased, yet something about his dark eyes and the way he carried himself spoke of years of experience.
Clara gasped. "Is he coming over here? Oh my goodness, what do I say?"
"I can pass him a note asking if he likes you back," William said drily, but inside his heart was pounding. This man could make or break a business. His pizzeria could be legendary or a mockery depending on how he acted right then and there.
And then he was standing in front of them, and though William completely towered over him, he felt as small as a child in his presence.
"Hello Judy, so glad to see you returning for another year. Gabe, Felicia, always a pleasure." Phillip shook each of their hands in turn, then he reached William. "I don't believe we've met. A newcomer, yes?"
"My name is William Afton." He extended his hand for a firm shake.
Recognition dawned on his smooth face. "Ah, Mr. Afton, I've heard quite a bit about you. The pizzeria owner, yes? The robot designs are absolutely charming. They look right out of a Disney film."
"My business partner designed them, but he had to stay home with his daughter tonight." How jealous he'd be now!
"A shame. Well, I hope you find our event thrilling." His eyes landed on Clara. "And who's this lovely specimen!"
Specimen? A fire flickered in his chest. "She's my wife. Clara."
The fire erupted into an inferno when Phillip took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, long, too long. His shadowy eyes bored into his wife's green ones. "And what a gorgeous wife she is."
She giggled and took her hand back, playing with her bracelets. "Thank you."
William hated how nice she was to everyone. Never mind if they're dirty on the streets, never mind if they're in a straightjacket and smelling of vomit, never mind if they're a gross old man with a toupee and fake skin. He thought it made her more susceptible to getting assaulted.
"Well, I'm going to go mingle. But please, you and your wife simply must join me upstairs in ten minutes. I have an offer you'll find hard to resist."
"Ten minutes? But isn't that when the dance happens?" Clara asked. There was supposed to be some frilly ballroom dance reminiscent of the Victorian era William was hoping to skip. His wish came true, of course, but he hadn't been planning on spending it with an ancient creep who was eyeing his wife like a starving man eyeing a double cheeseburger.
"It's alright, love. We can waltz around in puffy clothes some other day."
She gasped. "Can we really?"
"Mm, don't hold me to it."
Phillip's eyes danced with amusement. "I'll be upstairs in my office in ten minutes' time. Sixth door to the right."
"Well, he seemed nice." Clara said after he'd left.
He stared at her. "He kissed your hand."
She groaned, rolling her eyes. "Oh, come on now."
"And you let him."
"What did you want me to do? Chew my hand off?"
"I don't like the way he was treating you. He called you a specimen." He spat the last word out like a drop of poison.
"You can't seriously be jealous. Don't you trust me?"
"It's not you I don't trust." He exhaled. "Just—when we get to his office, I want you to stay away from him. Far away."
"But—"
"No, I'm not just saying this. I mean it, Clar."
"Fine! But just so you know, I think you're being a controlling, infantilizing moron who thinks I can't take care of myself." She whipped around, one of her curls stinging him in the face, and went to go talk to the other three CEOs. He watched her for the next nine minutes from inside a crowd of people. She had too many refills of champagne. Every bone in his body screamed at him to tell her to slow down, but then she wouldn't learn anything and she'd just repeat herself.
"Times up," he said as he came over, tapping his watch.
"Oh, there you are!" She flung her arms around him and held on tight. "Will, I'm sorry I got mad, I know you were just being protective."
"Is that you or the drinks apologizing?"
She poked him in the chest. "Aww. Let's get going. We don't wanna be late."
"That wasn't really an answer," he muttered, but let her drag him along.
They ascended the stairs and walked down the hallway. People were beginning to clear out to the main floor for the dance, and it was eerie seeing such a massive building be so empty.
Clara knocked repeatedly on the door and leaned her head against it. "Hello? Mister Tokelove? Hellooooo?"
"Give it a rest, Clar." William hissed, pulling her off the door by the arm. "The last thing I need is you pissing off the one man who can make us rich and famous."
"I thought we were already rich and famous," she pouted. "All the cameras and red carpets outside taking our pictures." She always pronounced it like pitchers. It had never bothered him till right then.
He was going to say something, but Phillip had already opened the door. "Ah, the Aftons. Come right in."
They took a seat at the front of the long white table. Phillip sat near the end in front of the window displaying the night sky lit up by hundreds of city lights.
"So, what was it you wanted to discuss?" William asked.
Phillip clasped his hands together. "I presume you know I've directed many Oscar-winning films and a surplus of beloved television shows."
"Ye-e-es?"
"Well, I have the privilege of…boosting up, shall I say, certain businesses with short television shows. They're around three episodes and act as commercials as well, and they'd be broadcast all over the West."
"Wowww, that sounds great!" Clara gasped, resting her chin on her arms.
"I agree. What would it look like?*
"Considering your branding, I'd say a cartoon would be perfect, yes? Perhaps we'd get some child actors to voice kids, and I have several friends who've worked on Disney."
"Our kids could voice them, Will!"
Phillip smiled, sharklike. "You have children?"
"They're back at home," William said evasively.
"I'd be happy to allow them to voice any character they wish." He flipped open a black laptop and typed something in, then slid him a sheet of notebook paper and a pen. "Write down your contact information here and I'll send you an email once you're back in Utah."
He scrawled his e-mail and phone numbers down and stood up. "Brilliant. Well, feel free to call me anytime, and thank you for this opportunity."
"I wanna voice-act," Clara giggled. "I wanna be Springbonnie."
Phillip raised his bushy eyebrows. "Is she drunk?"
"No, she's always like this. She hasn't drank much, have you Clar?"
"I had a buncha dri—mmf!" He slapped his hand against her mouth.
"She's being funny." He smiled, strained as she gnawed at his skin. "She's not very good at it."
Clara bit sharp enough for him to tug his hand away and she glared at him. "My head hurts."
"I wonder why." He wiped his hand on his blazer sleeve.
"I've got some medicine for that in my other office. It's just down the hall, I can take her." Phillip volunteered.
"Please, Will? My head really really hurts." Clara pouted.
He was going to say no. The creepy man making passes on her being alone in a room with her? Absolutely not. But then, an idea dawned on him. "Fine with me. Feel free to take your time."
"I'll just call your name if it gets weird," she mumbled.
"Good plan." He watched, amused, as they left before quickly dashing over to the laptop and—yes!—it was still open. To his email, no less. Quickly scrolling through a few sent letters to find out how he talked, he typed one up recommending his pizzeria for a new cartoon advertisement. Just as he was finishing, he could hear something fall in the other room, followed by Clara making an odd noise of distress.
"She'd better actually be in trouble," he muttered, standing back with a screech of the chair. He hoped she wasn't just being dramatic. That happened a lot.
But she was absolutely not being dramatic. Because when he opened the door, he could see Phillip grabbing her wrist with one meaty hand and the other was just above her chest, pinning her to the wall.
Clara squirmed around frantically when she saw him. "Will! Will, help, he's being scary!"
Phillip instantly let go of her when he saw him. "Ah, William, there you are. Your beautiful wife was choking and I was simply helping her dislodge whatever she was choking on."
"Rubbish. What was she choking on, huh? Air?"
"He wasn't helping me!" Clara cried, running to his side. Her long, curly hair had fallen out of its ponytail and cascaded down to the tops of her thighs, and her mascara was smudged underneath her eyes. "He kept talking about my figure. Then he tried to kiss me!"
"That's what I thought." The wildfire was back and blazing throughout his wanted so badly to rip him in two. To beat him to a pulp using nothing but brute strength. But, looking at where that got him back in the UK, he instead savoured the thought like a piece of gourmet chocolate. "Outside. Now. Clara, you stay here." He didn't want her to hear this.
He left the door open and Phillip followed him out to the balcony overlooking the gala. The glass railing made it seem like an infinitely farther drop than it looked from downstairs. The long staircase was straight, with narrow slabs as steps.
He refrained from using physical contact. It would just give Phillip a chance to be the victim if he told this story to someone else. Instead, he stood tall and intimidating, shadowing the older man. "Now, tell me what the hell you were doing putting your hands on my wife."
He folded his arms. "You cannot be angry about that."
"I am, funny enough."
"I simply placed my hand on her arm, yes?"
"No, you touched her chest area and slammed her against a wall and tried to kiss her. And she didn't give you consent. Technically, what you did can be classified as sexual harassment."
"Oh, please. I hardly did anything of the sort. Your wife was being dramatic."
"I think I believe my wife more than a creepy assaulter, thanks."
He glared at him venomously. "Women are just that. They flirt with the rich men shamelessly, twirling their hair and batting their eyelashes. Then, once they've got what they were asking for, they run weeping to their husbands and reap the reward money. It happened to my friends. It happened to me."
Bile rose in his throat. "I've never been more disgusted by someone in my entire life. I hope you aren't implying something awful." William didn't even realize he'd been advancing on the other man until he was backed up in front of the staircase. Phillip's voice was croaky and starting to grate on his nerves.
"You don't even have any proof," the old man said with a smug smile. "Who would believe a woman like that? I know I wouldn't. Just another drunk slut."
And then William shoved him down the flight of stairs.
It was almost funny, the way he rolled down, toppling onto his head like a twisted gymnastics routine. It was almost funny, but then when he landed there was a sharp snap and his neck was twisted to the side and he didn't get up.
There was a sharp inhale from behind him, and he turned to see Clara, eyes wide as saucers, staring down with a hand over her mouth. She looked up at him, frightened and trembling. "William—what the hell did you do?"
He stared at her. "I told you to stay inside."
"Answer my question."
"I pushed him down the stairs."
She looked startled at his directness, even though she'd watched it happen. "Is he…still alive?"
"How should I know? I'm not wearing my damn glasses."
"Okay." She took a breath. "Let's go see." Shakily, she went down the stairs. He saw how tightly she gripped the railing.
When they reached the bottom, he bent down to get a look. Phillip's neck was at the wrong place. His eyes stared vacantly into the chandelier above. Under direct lighting, he could see that they were a midnight blue. He checked the pulse with his hand in his sleeve. Nothing. "He's dead."
Clara moaned. "Oh my God, oh my God."
"Okay, stay calm."
"Stay calm? You—he's dead!" She shook her head. "I'm gonna pass out."
William thought fast and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her from behind. "He was a useless bastard and the world was better off without him. I will still make the advertisement because I sent an email from his laptop." He stroked her hair, talking honey right into her ear. "There's no cameras upstairs for privacy reasons, I checked. We're fine."
He couldn't see her face, but her voice was thin. "What do we do?"
William smiled. "Well, you wanted to dance, right? It'll be less suspicious if we mingle."
"I don't wanna do this," she sobbed. "It's all my fault."
"Shh. Talk later. Right now, I need you to clean yourself up and come dance. Can you do that, darling?"
She turned around so she was pressed up against him and sniffled into his chest. "O-okay."
He took her hand and carefully led her to the main room, disappearing into a crowd of dancers waiting for their turn.
One of the women—Judy Cheung, was it—smiled when she saw them. "Oh, there you are! I was looking for you, girl. I wanted to see you dance. Where'd you go?"
Clara froze up. William stepped in. "We've been waiting the whole time. People keep cutting in front of us."
"Erg, so annoying. Did you at least tell them off?"
Clara managed a small "yes," before it was their turn to dance.
The music was slow and swelling and reminded him of the ballets he used to sleep through with his mother. Luckily, he still remembered the ballroom dancing lessons required in school. He swept Clara around, holding her waist and joining their hands. Sometimes, if it was late at night and the kids were asleep, she would put on soft music and take his arm and sway around their room. Whenever she danced, it was like she was in a dream, her mind and body separated, and she'd have this far-off look in her eyes as she moved, graceful as a swan.
But that night, she was clumsy as a duckling, stepping on his feet and moving with stiff, jerky movements, her light brows knitted. Her green eyes were glassy and she wouldn't meet his gaze.
"What's wrong, Clary-bell?"
The nickname had its desired effect as he saw the flicker of a smile ghost her lips, but it was gone quickly as it came and replaced with accusation. "You know what's wrong! William, you just murdered someone!"
"Not so loud," He hissed. "I said we'd talk at the hotel."
"You're acting like I'm scolding you because you forgot to do the dishes, not for ending someone's life!"
"Someone's sobered up," he muttered.
Clara opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a long, high-pitched scream, followed by a man shouting, "Someone call 9-1-1!"
"Wonder what they could've found," he said jovially as murmuring dancers began heading towards the source. He took her wrist and held it right enough to bruise, ignoring her whimper of protest. "Why don't we take a looksee?"
"I'm gonna throw up," Clara said for the second time when they saw his body being loaded onto a stretcher, covered by a white sheet. Police were milling about the place, interviewing people and writing things down on yellow notepads.
A policeman with a ruddy red nose and a round stomach came up to them. "Officer Orman. Can you tell me yer names an' where you were half an hour ago?"
William introduced him and Clara and told him they were in line for the ballroom dance, throwing in a gripe about line-cutters and wait time for good measure.
"Right." He scratched something down on the notepad. "And what about you, miss?"
Clara gulped. "I was—well, I was with William, of course, and, um…"
He tightened his grip. She'd better not mess this up.
"Well, to be completely honest, I was a little drunk at the time," she mumbled bashfully. "I just know I wanted to dance."
The police officer burst out laughing, and William loosened his hand. Good girl. "Happens to the best of us. Thanks fer bein' honest."
William turned on his concerned face. "I don't mean to pry, but is Phillip…has he passed on?"
"'Fraid so. Man in his seventies really shouldn't be goin' down such a damn tiny staircase. We think he slipped at the top and broke his neck. Died pretty fast, if that's a comfort to ya."
"It is. Well, thank you, officer, and sorry for the trouble."
"Ain't nothin' to be sorry for. Have a good night."
He waved goodbye. "You too."
Soon enough, one of the hosts told them they were free to go home. William led Clara outside and to their car, and they drove off into the night, tension thick as molasses as they awaited the inevitable conversation that would follow.
A/N
William's first murder…how will this turn out?
I'm kind of considering making a Discord server so that I can talk with you guys easier! Please let me know if that's something you'd be interested in and I can start working on one. It'll be pretty small if it does happen LOL but I'll try and make it fun.
Question/Challenge: send me a PM! As a test so that I know it's running. It can be as dumb as you want since it's a test.
Have an amazing day/night!
~ghost