In the oak-ornamented sided mirror stood a middle-aged man, somewhat pale skinned and a giant moustache adorning his shriveled ash-gray face. His skin cratered with dents and wrinkles and below his crusted old lips a small slit, revealing half-rotten black teeth.
How could she have left this marvel of a man? Viktor’s mind taunted him sarcastically. He sighed and put a big pipe in his mouth, filled it with tobacco and turned the mirror to the other side. As he walked through his dark room, letting out big piles of smoke from his mouth, he pulled back the curtains and eyed the busy people of Seewill. On the opposite side of the street he could see Big Burt’s pawn shop packed and filled as usual. Walking past came Petard tending his flock over the muddy cobble stones, seeing Viktor stand in front of the window he waved at him with a grin. Viktor gave an unmotivated nod back. He closed the curtains again and took a seat in his semi-collapsed puffy chair.
Sleep came over him and finally since a very long while he could dwell in his dreams again.
Viktor’s life was depressing; at birth he had one dad, but two mothers. Mary drank and abused him along with his father. However she had brought him to be. Jona was the caretaker of the mansion he lived in and his father had taken her as his second lover. She was kind however and taught Viktor how to read and write, and to converse. But most of all she had taught him to see further than the length of his nose. She would hide stuff for Viktor to find and play hide and seek in the big mansion. They would dress up and make the other servants play along, questioning them about where the cook had left the murder weapon, or if the gardener had seen how the victim had been pushed out from the window in the kitchen on the third floor.
He grew up with his caretakers, and he was glad he had Jona, for he wasn’t allowed to go to a public school. Father wouldn’t want to anyone asking questions about the bruises on his face or the blood crusts in the back of his neck.
After Viktor had just turned fourteen Jona died suddenly. He was alone now and had to cope with Mary and his dad’s beating. The only thing keeping him on his feet were his fantasies and clue-seeking games. One day as they were having supper in the big menacing hall on the long dark brown table Viktor asked what happened to Jona. In his drunken mood father confessed he had gotten rid of her. At the question of why, he shrugged and replied: because I owned her, and I felt like it. That was the drop for Viktor, filled with rage he leapt on the table and ran screaming at his dad with a fork, plunging it into his skull. Blood came pouring out wildly as he twitched and flapped around. After a long while finally giving in to death he sighed his last breath with Viktor on top of him in awe. Mary came screaming in and found a bloody mess, the tiny murderer on her love’s lap. “What have you done!?” she came screeching at Viktor. He made his escape through an opened window and left the mansion behind him forever.
“Your tea is ready sir.” Viktor woke up with a startle. Now in a bowed pose and with a softer voice Viktor’s servant repeated, “Your tea sir, it’s ready.” Viktor stood up from his puffy chair and took from the servant’s platter some cake and a cup of tea.