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Detective Hutchins was a little red faced and puffing for breath as he munched on his hamburger with extra tommy tucker. His steps were heavy as his clumpy feet made their way up the stairs. The creaks and pounding could be heard from all of the other D.I’s as they shuffled around to look as if they weren’t standing around gossiping. Detective Hutchins reached the final step. He licked the remnants of the hamburger filling from the corner of his mouth; took a deep breath in and opened the door to another new case. A suffocating, invisible haze lingered in the air. The toxic smell singed the hairs that lined his nose and burned his throat with a sour choking taste, not complimenting his junk food addiction. A deadly combination of hairspray, deodorant and perfume. The floor was hard and laminated – the muddy footprints of careless detectives gave him heartburn. So he stepped out and removed both of his feet from his hard leather soled brogues. The other men gazed at his feet gormlessly and most uncomfortably. They carried on with their work. Detective Hutchins secretly loved this undeclared power he possessed.
Hutchins’ eyes scoured over everything. He was the equivalent to any modern computer processing each little bit of information subconsciously. His ears concentrated on the irritating buzz – the source of which being a top of the range trio 2000 tropic aquarium. Glancing inside and focusing on a particular little fish that had caught his eye, he was disturbed by, ‘Sir’ … Detective Bryars had only recently been made his partner after his long term friend and devotee had retired to a comfortable little cottage in the country. ‘Yes Bryars’, Hutchins replied in a monotonous and most off putting tone. ‘The girl went to school at about 8:30, she had got the bus for a change and I rang her school to see whether she was in for the register’. Hutchins looked at him bluntly. ‘Well done Bryars; so am I going to have to guess the rest of this very exciting lead?’ ‘Sorry sir, uh no, no she wasn’t in form and she didn’t turn up for lessons’. Bryars looked aimlessly at the floor, swivelled around and took out his pad as if to begin questioning the parents. Hutchins was now alone in the room. The forensic team left shortly after ‘The Fascinating Mr Bryars’ had skipped off.
Hutchins continued to look at the room. The Trio 2000 was on a door that had been made into a table as it rested over two cabinets. The table covered the space of one wall. On it lay random pieces of paper and books spread frantically across the entire desk. It reminded him of his office work space and he almost began to feel the start of empathy for this missing child. The fairly flashy stereo system also owned a space on the table. It had two matching wooden speakers which he thought complimented the floor well. Sandwiched at the end of this desk was a corner desk. Perfume bottles, various precious stones and nail varnish bottles were scattered on the free space in front of the TV. The wooden fold up chair was neither in nor out of the desk and had piles of clothing and teenage lingerie sprawled over its back. All four walls had no space for anything new. Yet the room was fairly large and his eyes were immediately drawn to the double bed prominent in the centre. The double windows stretched over another whole wall and brought a tremendous amount of light into the room. The rays of sunshine shone through onto the opposite wall.
Nearer these windows an unsightly amount of homework and worksheets covered the floor and Hutchins frowned at the amount of work someone this young had! Hutchins was a forty five year old bachelor/slob. Three of the walls were a lavender lilac and the last one behind the bed was a pale apple green. The bed side table included two alarm clocks neither of which looked like they worked, and a bedside lamp. An open book of….Tom Sharpe! A very comical book indeed thought the detective. Hutchins produced a solitary rubber glove from his inside pocket and put it on his right hand. He shuffled and sifted through things here and there. He pulled peculiar faces at certain points; so focused on what he was doing.
In the mornings he would wake up at seven. Take out a shirt and put on the same trousers and tie as the day before. Go to the toilet and leave for a good old English fry up at ‘Mikes Café’ in the morning on his way to work. (Or in some extreme cases; on his way home after an entire night solving crimes). His life was monotonous, simple and easy to cope with. He didn’t care for a busy lifestyle he would say. Maybe that’s why he was a detective? His wife had left him three years after their only child had died. She was fifteen and had been out with friends. Her appendix burst and by the time the ambulance arrived she already had sepsis. Nothing could be done and she was announced dead on arrival. He blamed himself. It was worse he could not solve or tie any loose ends. He could not blame anyone. It was a spontaneous tragedy that he couldn’t have stopped. For once he had no power and it hurt him. He had lost his child so he turned to his work as an obsession covering up his feelings and how much he grieved his daughter. His wife couldn’t cope with the man he had become so he was left alone with his work.
Hutchins picked up the school portrait on the desk. She had brilliantly blue eyes, a clear face and blonde hair. She was a couple of years older than his own daughter would have been. He sat on the bed staring into the photo yet he really wasn’t looking at it. This case had got to him. He had buried his feelings for long enough and now his work was going to uncover what he had been hiding. He wiped the single tear welling up in his eye and took a deep breath in.
The frantic steps of what must have been the girl’s mother were distinctly heard from where Hutchins sat in his long black anorak and navy socks. She stood at the doorway; her pale face was tired and weathered. She looked desperate and her eyes were confusing. The feeling of hope or pure fear? Hutchins looked at her. It was like looking at a mirror image of his beloved wife three years ago. He wanted so badly to go to her and hug her tightly, stroke her hair and say, ‘I’m sorry, I am so sorry’. He gazed into the woman’s eyes and felt her pain. ‘It’s ok. Everything is going to be alright.’
Hutchins’ eyes scoured over everything. He was the equivalent to any modern computer processing each little bit of information subconsciously. His ears concentrated on the irritating buzz – the source of which being a top of the range trio 2000 tropic aquarium. Glancing inside and focusing on a particular little fish that had caught his eye, he was disturbed by, ‘Sir’ … Detective Bryars had only recently been made his partner after his long term friend and devotee had retired to a comfortable little cottage in the country. ‘Yes Bryars’, Hutchins replied in a monotonous and most off putting tone. ‘The girl went to school at about 8:30, she had got the bus for a change and I rang her school to see whether she was in for the register’. Hutchins looked at him bluntly. ‘Well done Bryars; so am I going to have to guess the rest of this very exciting lead?’ ‘Sorry sir, uh no, no she wasn’t in form and she didn’t turn up for lessons’. Bryars looked aimlessly at the floor, swivelled around and took out his pad as if to begin questioning the parents. Hutchins was now alone in the room. The forensic team left shortly after ‘The Fascinating Mr Bryars’ had skipped off.
Hutchins continued to look at the room. The Trio 2000 was on a door that had been made into a table as it rested over two cabinets. The table covered the space of one wall. On it lay random pieces of paper and books spread frantically across the entire desk. It reminded him of his office work space and he almost began to feel the start of empathy for this missing child. The fairly flashy stereo system also owned a space on the table. It had two matching wooden speakers which he thought complimented the floor well. Sandwiched at the end of this desk was a corner desk. Perfume bottles, various precious stones and nail varnish bottles were scattered on the free space in front of the TV. The wooden fold up chair was neither in nor out of the desk and had piles of clothing and teenage lingerie sprawled over its back. All four walls had no space for anything new. Yet the room was fairly large and his eyes were immediately drawn to the double bed prominent in the centre. The double windows stretched over another whole wall and brought a tremendous amount of light into the room. The rays of sunshine shone through onto the opposite wall.
Nearer these windows an unsightly amount of homework and worksheets covered the floor and Hutchins frowned at the amount of work someone this young had! Hutchins was a forty five year old bachelor/slob. Three of the walls were a lavender lilac and the last one behind the bed was a pale apple green. The bed side table included two alarm clocks neither of which looked like they worked, and a bedside lamp. An open book of….Tom Sharpe! A very comical book indeed thought the detective. Hutchins produced a solitary rubber glove from his inside pocket and put it on his right hand. He shuffled and sifted through things here and there. He pulled peculiar faces at certain points; so focused on what he was doing.
In the mornings he would wake up at seven. Take out a shirt and put on the same trousers and tie as the day before. Go to the toilet and leave for a good old English fry up at ‘Mikes Café’ in the morning on his way to work. (Or in some extreme cases; on his way home after an entire night solving crimes). His life was monotonous, simple and easy to cope with. He didn’t care for a busy lifestyle he would say. Maybe that’s why he was a detective? His wife had left him three years after their only child had died. She was fifteen and had been out with friends. Her appendix burst and by the time the ambulance arrived she already had sepsis. Nothing could be done and she was announced dead on arrival. He blamed himself. It was worse he could not solve or tie any loose ends. He could not blame anyone. It was a spontaneous tragedy that he couldn’t have stopped. For once he had no power and it hurt him. He had lost his child so he turned to his work as an obsession covering up his feelings and how much he grieved his daughter. His wife couldn’t cope with the man he had become so he was left alone with his work.
Hutchins picked up the school portrait on the desk. She had brilliantly blue eyes, a clear face and blonde hair. She was a couple of years older than his own daughter would have been. He sat on the bed staring into the photo yet he really wasn’t looking at it. This case had got to him. He had buried his feelings for long enough and now his work was going to uncover what he had been hiding. He wiped the single tear welling up in his eye and took a deep breath in.
The frantic steps of what must have been the girl’s mother were distinctly heard from where Hutchins sat in his long black anorak and navy socks. She stood at the doorway; her pale face was tired and weathered. She looked desperate and her eyes were confusing. The feeling of hope or pure fear? Hutchins looked at her. It was like looking at a mirror image of his beloved wife three years ago. He wanted so badly to go to her and hug her tightly, stroke her hair and say, ‘I’m sorry, I am so sorry’. He gazed into the woman’s eyes and felt her pain. ‘It’s ok. Everything is going to be alright.’
Detective Hutchins was a little red faced and puffing for breath as he munched on his hamburger with extra tommy tucker. His steps were heavy as his clumpy feet made their way up the stairs. The creaks and pounding could be heard from all of the other D.I’s as they shuffled around to look as if they weren’t standing around gossiping. Detective Hutchins reached the final step. He licked the remnants of the hamburger filling from the corner of his mouth; took a deep breath in and opened the door to another new case. A suffocating, invisible haze lingered in the air. The toxic smell singed the hairs that lined his nose and burned his throat with a sour choking taste, not complimenting his junk food addiction. A deadly combination of hairspray, deodorant and perfume. The floor was hard and laminated – the muddy footprints of careless detectives gave him heartburn. So he stepped out and removed both of his feet from his hard leather soled brogues. The other men gazed at his feet gormlessly and most uncomfortably. They carried on with their work. Detective Hutchins secretly loved this undeclared power he possessed.
Hutchins’ eyes scoured over everything. He was the equivalent to any modern computer processing each little bit of information subconsciously. His ears concentrated on the irritating buzz – the source of which being a top of the range trio 2000 tropic aquarium. Glancing inside and focusing on a particular little fish that had caught his eye, he was disturbed by, ‘Sir’ … Detective Bryars had only recently been made his partner after his long term friend and devotee had retired to a comfortable little cottage in the country. ‘Yes Bryars’, Hutchins replied in a monotonous and most off putting tone. ‘The girl went to school at about 8:30, she had got the bus for a change and I rang her school to see whether she was in for the register’. Hutchins looked at him bluntly. ‘Well done Bryars; so am I going to have to guess the rest of this very exciting lead?’ ‘Sorry sir, uh no, no she wasn’t in form and she didn’t turn up for lessons’. Bryars looked aimlessly at the floor, swivelled around and took out his pad as if to begin questioning the parents. Hutchins was now alone in the room. The forensic team left shortly after ‘The Fascinating Mr Bryars’ had skipped off.
Hutchins continued to look at the room. The Trio 2000 was on a door that had been made into a table as it rested over two cabinets. The table covered the space of one wall. On it lay random pieces of paper and books spread frantically across the entire desk. It reminded him of his office work space and he almost began to feel the start of empathy for this missing child. The fairly flashy stereo system also owned a space on the table. It had two matching wooden speakers which he thought complimented the floor well. Sandwiched at the end of this desk was a corner desk. Perfume bottles, various precious stones and nail varnish bottles were scattered on the free space in front of the TV. The wooden fold up chair was neither in nor out of the desk and had piles of clothing and teenage lingerie sprawled over its back. All four walls had no space for anything new. Yet the room was fairly large and his eyes were immediately drawn to the double bed prominent in the centre. The double windows stretched over another whole wall and brought a tremendous amount of light into the room. The rays of sunshine shone through onto the opposite wall.
Nearer these windows an unsightly amount of homework and worksheets covered the floor and Hutchins frowned at the amount of work someone this young had! Hutchins was a forty five year old bachelor/slob. Three of the walls were a lavender lilac and the last one behind the bed was a pale apple green. The bed side table included two alarm clocks neither of which looked like they worked, and a bedside lamp. An open book of….Tom Sharpe! A very comical book indeed thought the detective. Hutchins produced a solitary rubber glove from his inside pocket and put it on his right hand. He shuffled and sifted through things here and there. He pulled peculiar faces at certain points; so focused on what he was doing.
In the mornings he would wake up at seven. Take out a shirt and put on the same trousers and tie as the day before. Go to the toilet and leave for a good old English fry up at ‘Mikes Café’ in the morning on his way to work. (Or in some extreme cases; on his way home after an entire night solving crimes). His life was monotonous, simple and easy to cope with. He didn’t care for a busy lifestyle he would say. Maybe that’s why he was a detective? His wife had left him three years after their only child had died. She was fifteen and had been out with friends. Her appendix burst and by the time the ambulance arrived she already had sepsis. Nothing could be done and she was announced dead on arrival. He blamed himself. It was worse he could not solve or tie any loose ends. He could not blame anyone. It was a spontaneous tragedy that he couldn’t have stopped. For once he had no power and it hurt him. He had lost his child so he turned to his work as an obsession covering up his feelings and how much he grieved his daughter. His wife couldn’t cope with the man he had become so he was left alone with his work.
Hutchins picked up the school portrait on the desk. She had brilliantly blue eyes, a clear face and blonde hair. She was a couple of years older than his own daughter would have been. He sat on the bed staring into the photo yet he really wasn’t looking at it. This case had got to him. He had buried his feelings for long enough and now his work was going to uncover what he had been hiding. He wiped the single tear welling up in his eye and took a deep breath in.
The frantic steps of what must have been the girl’s mother were distinctly heard from where Hutchins sat in his long black anorak and navy socks. She stood at the doorway; her pale face was tired and weathered. She looked desperate and her eyes were confusing. The feeling of hope or pure fear? Hutchins looked at her. It was like looking at a mirror image of his beloved wife three years ago. He wanted so badly to go to her and hug her tightly, stroke her hair and say, ‘I’m sorry, I am so sorry’. He gazed into the woman’s eyes and felt her pain. ‘It’s ok. Everything is going to be alright.’
Hutchins’ eyes scoured over everything. He was the equivalent to any modern computer processing each little bit of information subconsciously. His ears concentrated on the irritating buzz – the source of which being a top of the range trio 2000 tropic aquarium. Glancing inside and focusing on a particular little fish that had caught his eye, he was disturbed by, ‘Sir’ … Detective Bryars had only recently been made his partner after his long term friend and devotee had retired to a comfortable little cottage in the country. ‘Yes Bryars’, Hutchins replied in a monotonous and most off putting tone. ‘The girl went to school at about 8:30, she had got the bus for a change and I rang her school to see whether she was in for the register’. Hutchins looked at him bluntly. ‘Well done Bryars; so am I going to have to guess the rest of this very exciting lead?’ ‘Sorry sir, uh no, no she wasn’t in form and she didn’t turn up for lessons’. Bryars looked aimlessly at the floor, swivelled around and took out his pad as if to begin questioning the parents. Hutchins was now alone in the room. The forensic team left shortly after ‘The Fascinating Mr Bryars’ had skipped off.
Hutchins continued to look at the room. The Trio 2000 was on a door that had been made into a table as it rested over two cabinets. The table covered the space of one wall. On it lay random pieces of paper and books spread frantically across the entire desk. It reminded him of his office work space and he almost began to feel the start of empathy for this missing child. The fairly flashy stereo system also owned a space on the table. It had two matching wooden speakers which he thought complimented the floor well. Sandwiched at the end of this desk was a corner desk. Perfume bottles, various precious stones and nail varnish bottles were scattered on the free space in front of the TV. The wooden fold up chair was neither in nor out of the desk and had piles of clothing and teenage lingerie sprawled over its back. All four walls had no space for anything new. Yet the room was fairly large and his eyes were immediately drawn to the double bed prominent in the centre. The double windows stretched over another whole wall and brought a tremendous amount of light into the room. The rays of sunshine shone through onto the opposite wall.
Nearer these windows an unsightly amount of homework and worksheets covered the floor and Hutchins frowned at the amount of work someone this young had! Hutchins was a forty five year old bachelor/slob. Three of the walls were a lavender lilac and the last one behind the bed was a pale apple green. The bed side table included two alarm clocks neither of which looked like they worked, and a bedside lamp. An open book of….Tom Sharpe! A very comical book indeed thought the detective. Hutchins produced a solitary rubber glove from his inside pocket and put it on his right hand. He shuffled and sifted through things here and there. He pulled peculiar faces at certain points; so focused on what he was doing.
In the mornings he would wake up at seven. Take out a shirt and put on the same trousers and tie as the day before. Go to the toilet and leave for a good old English fry up at ‘Mikes Café’ in the morning on his way to work. (Or in some extreme cases; on his way home after an entire night solving crimes). His life was monotonous, simple and easy to cope with. He didn’t care for a busy lifestyle he would say. Maybe that’s why he was a detective? His wife had left him three years after their only child had died. She was fifteen and had been out with friends. Her appendix burst and by the time the ambulance arrived she already had sepsis. Nothing could be done and she was announced dead on arrival. He blamed himself. It was worse he could not solve or tie any loose ends. He could not blame anyone. It was a spontaneous tragedy that he couldn’t have stopped. For once he had no power and it hurt him. He had lost his child so he turned to his work as an obsession covering up his feelings and how much he grieved his daughter. His wife couldn’t cope with the man he had become so he was left alone with his work.
Hutchins picked up the school portrait on the desk. She had brilliantly blue eyes, a clear face and blonde hair. She was a couple of years older than his own daughter would have been. He sat on the bed staring into the photo yet he really wasn’t looking at it. This case had got to him. He had buried his feelings for long enough and now his work was going to uncover what he had been hiding. He wiped the single tear welling up in his eye and took a deep breath in.
The frantic steps of what must have been the girl’s mother were distinctly heard from where Hutchins sat in his long black anorak and navy socks. She stood at the doorway; her pale face was tired and weathered. She looked desperate and her eyes were confusing. The feeling of hope or pure fear? Hutchins looked at her. It was like looking at a mirror image of his beloved wife three years ago. He wanted so badly to go to her and hug her tightly, stroke her hair and say, ‘I’m sorry, I am so sorry’. He gazed into the woman’s eyes and felt her pain. ‘It’s ok. Everything is going to be alright.’
Nice twist, but did the ending have to be so sad?
Yes Sam, it did. :D It's the best way.
Nicely done. {:)
Nicely done. {:)