Where We Start In Life - 985 Words

Llewellyn pick up a book off a sizeable stack that he’d brought with him that afternoon before he turned to face Felix. They were both sitting on the steps outside the Boy’s Home, other kids coming and going around them while he held out the first book. “I enjoyed this book tremendously, I think you will to.”

Taking the book, Felix opened it curiously to leaf through the first few pages. Really, the kid reminded him so much of himself at that age. The chance to read something new, to either learn or simply get lost in an adventure and escape the world around you... It really had been just as strong back then as it was now. After a moment, Llewellyn turned back to the pile and sorted through it for another book by the same author. I know it’s here somewhere...

“Annnd...” Ah— there it is! He pulled it from the pile quickly, “This— it’s also by Jules Verne, but it’s not yet been translated into English.” Glancing at Felix, he gestured lightly at the cover. “Do you know any French?”

Nodding, Felix responded with a little less certainty. “A little bit...”

Turning the cover over in his hands, Llewellyn considered it for a moment. He didn’t think Felix would have a problem with it, it’s not a difficult read after all... But then again, languages always come easily to him... He’d realized over the years that it wasn’t the case for everyone.

Still, was a good chance to practice and get better. Felix is a smart kid, for all that he lacks the confidence. Llewellyn wanted to help boost it if he could, knowing how hard it was and how easily the world would try to beat him down and make him think less of himself for simply being who he was. Now that his best friend was gone...? Who would keep an eye out for trouble, who would make sure Felix had what he needed beyond the minimal care that the home offered...?

Llewellyn absently thought to himself, he would... Or he wanted to try. “Well! See how you get on with it. The illustrations are exceptional.” Handing it over the detective quickly moved on, turning back to the pile animatedly and picking the rest of it up. “And I’ll bring you more books...” He plopped the rest of the pile on top of the other books the kid was holding, “When you’re done with these.”

Felix poked through them eagerly for a moment, before he glanced up at Llewellyn from under his hat with an all too familiar expression. One the detective himself had worn (still sometimes wore) when he couldn’t quite figure out what someone was playing at. So often people expected something in return for kindness... “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Yup... There it was. Shaking his head a bit, feeling a frown creeping onto his face as he paused and considered how to explain. It’s difficult really, talking about his own life... Because to talk about it means having to think about it (he really didn’t want to think about a lot of it). But this was important, there are no strings attached to these gifts. It’s just one person remembering what it was like to be that age, without anyone to turn to. Felix needed to know that. “Well... I was an orphan to.”

The only difference is that he’d avoided being thrown into the Boy’s Home. He’d built a family around him, regardless of the trouble and trauma that had made up a large portion of his youth because of it.

Felix had no one now, and even if Murdoch had seen to it that Brother Duvalier was fired? It didn’t mean the next person that was put in charge of the home would be any kinder... That the abuse wouldn’t start all over again. The kid needed to know there was someone he could trust if things got bad again. Llewellyn wanted to know if the cycle started over, to avoid anything bad like what happened to Westley Seaver from happening again.

Felix cuts off his thoughts, sounding rather confused and a little shocked. “And... And now you’re a detective??”

It shouldn’t be so surprising, but considering where people like himself and Felix were expected to end up in life...? The low expectations, the assumptions by the well off and society in general that you’d end up working your life in quarries, in factories, or just whatever low expectation job on the streets of the city that you could imagine...

Llewellyn can tell it’s already been drilled into the kids head, that he can’t expect more than that. He’d fix that thinking, or at least he’d try to. “I am! As you could be— one day... Or! Anything you want to be.”

Felix shook his head, just cementing his suspicions. This damned world and the events of the last few days certainly hadn’t helped that... “No...”

The damage that society had already done was clear... Llewellyn had worked hard over the years to prove that the world wrong about him. To learn and present himself as more than society thought he should be. There was no reason why Felix shouldn’t be able to too. “You certainly can, where we start out in this world needn’t define where we end up.”

And he’d remind him, every time he checked in to make sure things were okay here. To drop off more books, and offer encouragement. A small part of Llewellyn wished that he could just get the kid out of there, to adopt and give him a stable home like he and the rest of the children here deserved... But Llewellyn knew it was impossible, and to even try would be cruel. To get up hopes only to see them crushed would be unfair, but he would still do what he could...

Jackson's Last Case - 984 Words

Llewellyn’s wrists were cuffed to the side of an old kitchen chair, in a dim room. It’s obviously below street level, the only light filtering in from a small grate in the side of the building. The man who just finished locking the cuffs is standing before him, and clearly not interested in anything the detective had to say. He spoke anyway though, Llewellyn has always been good at that, rambling on a train of thought whether others want to hear it or not.

Anything to give himself a moment to see if he could find a way out of this mess, and a small naive bit of desperate hope that his words might get through to the man. “Detectives shouldn’t live or die by their conviction rate— every one of us has had a few criminals slip through our fingers.”

The man smiled at him, it’s an unsettling thing as he responded in almost a bragging tone. “Not me. Not ever.” Huffing in some amusement, Detective Strong turned away to walk across the small room. Llewellyn’s eyes darted quickly away from him to do a silent search of the room, hoping something might stick out. Something he could use to his advantage... Provided that he could even get out of the cuffs.

“I’ll admit that this has gotten a little out of hand. First Mr. Burnham, then his wife.” He turned around, raising his head to look down his nose at Llewellyn. It was a look that he’d seen several times before in his life already, it was a look that meant: ‘you’re a problem that needs a solution.’

The feeling was only confirmed when Strong spoke up quietly, “Now you.”

“You’re going to murder a fellow officer of the law?” Llewellyn’s tone is incredulous, betraying a growing fear. It wasn’t that unbelievable really, he’d seen it happen before after all. Very recently... Strong only stooped forward towards him, responding in a low tone. “I was trying to do the right thing. Why couldn’t you have just... left this sorry business alone?

His eyes cast down away from the man, because Llewellyn knew very well why. Strong was delusional if he thought hew as doing the ‘right thing.’ He was trying to frame an innocent woman for murder, all for the sake of covering his mistakes and his precious case resolution rate. Detective Strong would have gotten away with it already if his friend and colleague Jackson hadn’t put the pieces together before hand. Well... Jackson was dead and gone. And here was Llewellyn, locked to a chair. So it stood to reason that he would indeed get away with this.

Still, he had to try. Had to keep talking, to keep him distracted from the end game. “You framed Gloria Burnham for the murder of her husband... You needed someone to take the fall.”

Strong barely blinked, staring down Llewellyn lightly. It wasn’t like it was hard to frame Mrs. Burnham. “Her finger marks were on the weapon.” That confident, bragging tone was back. It was as infuriating as it was frightening.

“But she didn’t do it— You did!” He blurted out, only to be cut off.

“Perhaps I did, but I had no choice. I wont pay a blackmailer.”

The pieces kept falling together, lining up neatly as Llewellyn kept talking. Kept prolonging the inevitable, still desperate for some sort of opening to get out of this and put an end to it. To make sure another innocent person didn’t die... “Leslie Burnham knew that it was you who framed Mr. Stollard—! And he knew that because he was the one who committed the murder.” The words are just tumbling out of his mouth now, almost as if on a pre-recorded feed.

Strong’s smile turns mocking, like he’s amused by the other man. “Aren’t you a clever detective?”

Llewellyn looked away, because he can’t stand the sight of the man in front of him. A tremor rattled through his voice as he continued. “You let an innocent man hang, you murdered a guilty one and now you’re out to frame Mrs. Burnham?” Glaring openly through the fear, he pursed his lips in disgust. “Where does it end?!”

Detective Strong’s expression turned dark, drawing a gun and pointing it at Llewellyn’s head, causing him to lean back as though he could somehow put enough distance between himself and a bullet. “Right here.” It was the same gun as Burnham’s... Strong would add his murder onto the pile, just to strengthen the case against Mrs. Burnham. That poor woman would hang for two murders she didn’t commit.

Strong pulled back the hammer and...

Paused...?

The man just stared Llewellyn down, as though he were drawing it out. It didn’t make sense, this had come to the end, he was out of ideas to get out of it and there was nothing left that he could say! Strong didn’t even appear to be hesitating, was he waiting? And yet... Somehow this was worse than a quick end. Dragging it all out like this, it felt like he was toying with him. It was almost torture, and Llewellyn had more than enough of that over the course of his life already.

Taking an unsteady breath, Llewellyn couldn’t help but anxiously blurt out, “We both know you have to kill me! What are you waiting for!?”

And then... Strong pulled out his pocket watch, casually checked the time, and clicked his tongue as he tucked the watch back in his pocket. A train could be heard pulling up the tracks, horn sounding off it’s warning.

Oh... That. The perfect way to cover the sound of gunfire.

“Right on time.”

Taking a breath, Llewellyn could see the man’s finger tightening on the trigger and desperately pulled himself to the side, throwing all his weight into trying to topple the chair as the sound of gunfire went off.