EPISODE THREE

'the trigger, the will, and the body'

AFTER FORMULATING AN excuse with Quinn Fong, who, unlike me who just agreed quickly at being awoken before I could get my bearings together, was swearing into a void when I woke her up.

"Christ, bloody whatever, mate. I'm pretty sure your dad thinks we're hooking up now by all the ludicrous escapades we're supposedly going on on, and that conversation you want to have with him that you've been scrapping your toes on about is a coming out story rather than a confession about being fascinated to murder and going for a more professional front for it."

She yawned. "I do hope you tell him soon enough. The more you scrape your foot, the more time you give yourself to worry. And worrying over the shit that's giving you anxiety is just going to make it ten times worse."

I sighed, already halfway dressed. More troubled in picking an outfit appropriate for going to a morgue in London to make sure a dead body is actually... dead. "Where's all this stop scraping your foot and just go on and spill your bloody guts out coming from?"

"Why? Did Leon give you the same speech?"

"Precisely. Could be word for word."

Quinn snorted. "Well you can't blame the guy. You've already agreed to be partners in crime or whatever, the only reason it's not official is because you haven't gotten your dad's blessings yet. Good lord, it sounds like a marriage."

"Don't start with that. It's six in the morning!"

"Whatever. Still can't believe Dominic Prince is dead. Or that he's friends with Leon. Or that he's faked his death multiple times that you have to go to a morgue to ensure it's actually his bloody body. Your boyfriend is really in another type of social circle. Do wear your best though. Don't want to look too much like town girl the way you already do."

I paused, my hand on a jacket. "What's that got to mean?"

"Oh you know how posh people are. It's obvious Leon's posh, and Dominic bloody Prince - bless his might be dead soul - is up there with the elites of uppity celebs, so it's best you look sort of good just in case you meet anymore of Leon's so called friends. If they do give you the upturned nose, do make sure to come up with something scathingly witty. Don't embarrass us town girls!"

"Jesus, Quinn, I'm going up there for a body, not a bloody ball."

"With Leon Song, darling, you never know. Best be prepared for both. At all times too!" Quinn sighed. "It's scary, his little world. If you want to be part of that... I guess this is a good time to figure out if you really do want to be part of that. To deny the part of him pre-you is to deny everything about him. Don't be blind, Wendy. Be smart."

I was quiet for a second. Quinn started laughing raucously.

"Good lord, I'm so smart in the morning! This is why god said this girl should sleep. When she's awake, the world hasn't got a chance!"

———

"Are you mad at me?" I blurted out after a silence that felt like choking settle in the air between us. I've always felt stuffy in his fancy car, of course in the few times I found myself in it which isn't that often, and today is no different.

Little Hodge was still waking up all around us. The dawn arrived through brisk clouds that promised a rain so early in the morning. Most of the well known morning people of my town have already been jogging in the road that led outside of Little Hodge, and those who aren't familiar with Leon's cream Porsche stared as it sped away, leaving nothing but a purr and dust.

I turned to Leon, his expression unmoving. I touched his arm. He nearly leaped out of his skin, eyes going wild. "Christ, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Leon exhaled shakily, his grip tight on the steering wheel, before cursing something foreign under his breath and pulling the car on the side of the road. We've just passed the GOODBYE AND COME AGAIN, DEAR VISITOR! sign when Leon pulled the car to a stop, took of his seatbelt, and got out of the car, breathing heavily.

I took off too, unsure of what to do but just rub his back. Ten minutes on his hands to his knees, having a panic attack, he turned, something in his expression dark and familiar, something I wanted to run away from, reminding me of finding a dark corner and hiding, before he mumbled an apology, and wound his arms around my neck.

My free hands craned over his body, until his panicky breath over my collarbone urged me to wound my arms back around him too. His response was to tighten his hold.

We stood like this for a good ten minutes until his ragged breathing slowed to a calm, steady stream of inhales and exhales. The clouds moved in a way that brought harsh winds. I felt my neck wet with warmth, until Leon pulled away and I saw the tears that escaped him. He still looked the same; the Leon with the fancy clothes, the now longish hair dyed back into a natural black swept and tucked behind his ear, his eyes always something else. A layer of stories and vaults and projection of charm.

But this was Leon in tatters, desperately hanging over a thread to keep him from falling into the deep end. Bags under his eyes, a desperate emptiness in his irises.

This is pain personified and it cracked my heart to see it.

Carefully as possible, I rested my hands over his face, cupping the edges until he looked at me. Really looked at me and not as if he was staring into a void.

"No matter what happens, no matter what we see and come across to in London, I will be by your side. Through whatever emotion, whatever occurrence, I won't stray. You'll only have to look close to see me and remind yourself that you're not alone. That whatever happens, I'm on your side."

I smoothened back his hair, voice as soft as a flower's movement in a breeze.

"I believed in you once upon a time. So believe in me now."

His expression morphed. Something I didn't recognise. An intensity that I wasn't sure I wanted to cower or face head on.

He closed his eyes, dried his tears, and exhaled shakily. "Thank you, Wendy darling," he said, voice rough and low. "Though I will lean on you this time, but I do ask that you don't repeat that again."

He stepped back, composure back but his jaw was set.

"What? What do you-"

I stopped dead, because he had come close again- closer, and I didn't see the movement but the ending where his height was towering and his face was so close, mere half inches. Lips to ears, cheeks over his own.

"Don't say things like that to another man," he whispered. My arms rose, the feeling tickling. "Lest you want them to grovel at your feet and attach themselves to your pinky." He leaned back, but only slightly, now his lips was breathing over my forehead. I closed my eyes, tight... but nothing came.

When I opened my eyes, he was smiling softly, before he swept over his coat and bowed dramatically. A mischief danced in his eyes when they met mine from that lowered position, the weather at its worst and yet he still looked particularly ethereal.

"Shall we?"

———

All throughout the car ride, my mind remained a steady blank. When we arrived at a hospital with towering glass walls, diving straight through the underground parking, one sentiment flashed before I got a hold of myself. Just as Leon cut the engine and a familiar silhouette was waiting for us.

But that wasn't why I was so frozen.

Took me a couple more minutes, but under my breath, alone for a second as Leon got out to open the door for me, I murmured with intense pronouncement, "What... the fuck."

———

Inspector James Brackham grinned at our arrival, but the twist in his forehead and bags under his eyes said much of the same feelings Leon was having. An emotional turmoil that whirled and reared its ugly head at their hearts, not striking but accumulating the pain until it became to heavy.

He waved a cream coloured letter as we approached.

"Well if it isn't Murdered Lady Librarian And Miss Wendy Cain of 47 Glendale Street, Little Hodge, England. Piss weather we're having."

"Jimmy." Leon nodded. "Why am I not surprised to see you?"

"It's Dominic bloody tosspot bloody arse Prince. Also - " he waved the letter again, his face skewering. "Got a USB with a film of him saying, and this I quote, 'I expect you and Leon, our dear charming sleuth, to work on this. No more, no less or I will never forgive you from over the grave,' unquote. So I've expected your Porsche rolling in. But you." He turned to me, a distinctive eyebrow arched. Blond Prince Charming, echoed in my head. "It was a gamble to see if you were going to come or not."

"Well..." I honestly didn't know what to say to that. "I'm here. It's nice to see you again, James."

"Likewise, Wendy."

Leon pulled a duplicate cream coloured letter that matched what the inspector was holding. "The last words at the corner of the page... I'm assuming you're 'the father'?"

James blinked and opened his letter. "The hell do you know that?" Leon plucked out the letter from James' hands and compared his own.

The note was the same duplicate, only changing the name from Leon to James.

Leon pointed at something at the far right corner of both letters. Instead of a computerised typed letter like what was on the letter's body, it was a typewritten one.

THE FATHER was written on James'. THE SON was on Leon's.

I licked my forefinger and rubbed the words. "It's real. These have been typed separately on a typewriter. The ink bleeds out."

"What did you get, besides the USB that was most likely five seconds?" Leon asked.

"Stop creeping me out, how'd you know it was five seconds?"

"Because I got his will and testament. Moriarty works here, and his body is here, so it means he also got a letter. He's 'The Holy Spirit' if we're going by what's left. He's the other end. I'm the middle and I got his last will. Which means yours is important, almost as much as what Faris has."

Dr. Hamel... well that's a name I haven't heard in a while. Inspector James Brackham, Dr. Hamel, and Leon Song... something about this felt like a little boy's club having a reunion.

"Well that's true." From James' long, tan coat, he produced a bagged up item. "I got the murder weapon. Typical of that fucking prick to add biblical tones to this shit. Dramatic little arse. So the father, me, has the murder weapon, a gun. Clean of prints, clean of anything really, even the residue from a fired gun. You, the son, has his last will and testament. And Mor, the Holy Spirit - the shit does he have?"

Leon's jaw clenched. "We're at a hospital, Jimmy. Dr. Hamel has the body."

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NEXT

EPISODE 04

A BODY IN THE MORGUE

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