“The police would probably convict me. My family would persecute me.” He thought while staring into Mary’s icy blue eyes when a name came to his head, like a lifeline pulling him out of perilous water. “Martin.”
He walked out of the Mansion’s front door, holding Mary close to his chest at all times. He turned down a dark street and through winding alley-ways. The stars seemed to be mocking him as they fluttered in and out of existence. His pace quickened as his situation slowly dawned on him. His mind wheeled with thoughts of what would happen if he got caught.
Then he realised where he was. “Rosen Street.” Before he knew it he was at Martin’s door, pleading to be allowed entry. “Who is it?” A hoarse voice called.
“Martin, it’s me. Let me in, it’s urgent.” The man’s reply was followed by the sounds of chains clinking and locks unlocking.
The door eventually opened to a quite short, middle-aged man with blonde curly hair. “Yes?” Martin looked at the man stood at his door from head to toe before his gaze fell upon Mary, cradled in the shadow’s arms. “Oh? What’s this then?” His voice squeaked as he realised the woman wasn’t breathing.
“She’s been murdered.” The shadow’s voice was deep with sorrow, a tear springing to his eye as he spoke the words he refused to believe.
“Well come in, come in then!” Martin closed the door behind him, “would you like a drink?” The man simply shook his head, laying Mary’s body in a wooden chair before sitting in one himself.
Martin’s house was a dark place, the furniture was dull and worn and the thick air was lined with the bitter smell of opium. A few cigarettes were left upon the table, presumably for later. The shadow picked up one of the cigarettes and cast an accusing glance as Martin who was pouring a glass of whiskey. Martin looked at him, then straight back at his drink, trying to avoid his gaze. He then shuffled across the room and took a seat next to his friend.
The brown liquid swirled around in his murky glass as he took a sip. A candle flickered on the table, lighting part of Mary’s face, even in death she radiated beauty. But the candle hit her eyes in a certain way, draining all the beauty from her, leaving only the look of death on her pallid face. But Martin could not take his eyes from the ethereal beauty.
“So, I have to ask this, but did you do it?” Martin studied Mary’s face, not once blinking.
“I did no such thing!” The man growled, clenching his fist in anger, the haunting image of Mary sat next to him staining his memories.
“Okay. So why have you brought her here?” Martin looked into the bottom of his glass, swirling around the dark liquor, ignoring the flame burning in Shadow’s eyes.
“Well, there’s something wrong with her murder.”
“Oh yes, then why didn’t you contact the police?”
“You know what they’d do to me! Plus, look at this.” The man walked up to Mary, pulling her hair back, revealing the marks on her neck. “What do you think that is?”
Martin leaned in, studying the woman’s neck. “Well, I can’t be sure. But I know someone who might know...”