Episode 2

As the fog in my mind began to clear, I found out that, in fact, my day could get worse. Much worse. Okay, technically it wasn’t the same day but I hadn’t gone to bed yet…so…

I did a body check. I hurt but what hurt was the question. My legs and arms seemed to work and my body, though undoubtable bruised, was okay; but my head was experiencing perhaps the most savage pain I have felt as an adult. As I sat up, my vision spun and my stomach threatened to reveal the contents of my lunch.

I rolled over onto my knees and hands and crawled to my couch. I’m not quite sure how I got up on it or how long I was there before I came back to the real world, but it was well past morning when I woke.

I still hurt but my head was less cloudy and painful. I sat up and the world stayed steady, so I figured that things were okay.

My front door was still wide open. I was fortunate that my stuff was still here. Obviously no one had seen it open. As I walked over to shut it, I realised that I must have slipped on the several envelopes that were now spread about the entry.

I reached down and collected them. Most were the general bills and junk mail that seems to be shoved through my door more regularly than I would like. The last was a large manila envelope, sealed and with a careful block lettering: Jack Hill, private investigator.

I dropped the letters on my kitchen table, grabbed a snack and headed to the shower. The bathroom mirror revealed that I had cracked my head hard enough to draw blood.

After I was clean and changed, I went back down to the kitchen, made a cup of strong coffee and sat down with the manila envelope. I turned it over and had a better look at it. My name was in purple ink. There was no post mark and no return address. I hesitated before opening it. I love mysteries so leaving the contents unopened for a while played on my interests. The heel of my boot had squarely on the corner of the envelope and there were a few drops of blood on the envelope back.

As I slipped my finger under the lip of the paper and pulled, it came as no surprise that I cut myself. I really should have just used the letter opener on my desk but that would have required a walk to my den. So, the paper cut was my reward for being lazy.

Inside the contents included several photos, clippings from newspapers, what looked like a contract and a CD. I stood and wondered into my den, flipped on the computer and shuffled through the photos and clippings while I waited for it to boot.

There were three photos. One was of a wealthy looking man, nicely presented but otherwise unremarkable. The other two were photos of this man with two others. The two others were far more interesting. One was dressed in long flowing black clothing that recalled the old west of yore. He was a man of maybe 50, with dark hair and a long waxed moustache and waxed eyebrows. I instantly thought of the villain in the old vaudeville stories. The other was a much younger man. Maybe 30, he was weedy and clean shaven. His red hair formed ringlets to his shoulders and they brushed his red and purple morning suit. His gloved hands held a grey top hat with a brilliantly bejewelled hatband.

Then I turned my attention to the news article.