Terror lies not in the unknown,
but in the known cruelty of our own kind.
The potential of it.
. . .
"Beggar! You wretched deviant, you dare to pilfer from me looking like that?"
Once more, the man in the black boater hat, covering a few gray bristles of hair that were barely visible beneath, drove his boot hard into the thief's stomach.
It had become little more than a game to him.
For a full quarter of an hour, the man, somewhere just beyond middle age, hurled a torrent of insults while the stranger on the ground gasped and choked.
At last, his body gave out, and he began coughing blood onto the filthy cobblestones.
The tall figure standing over him stops and stuffs a gloved hand into his brown coat pocket.
He turns his head and spits in the crevice of the stone mere inches from his drubbed face.
"Ugh! I wasn't trying to steal, sir, honestly, I just wanted to return what was lost."
"So a man who cannot read is not dumb? Do you expect me to believe you when you are a crippled beggar?"
He pulled his hand out to scratch the gray stubble on his chin.
'I am not a cripple! I cannot change how I look!'
"Hell… I think you might have fractured my ribs," He drags out his voice into a whisper, suppressing a groan of pain.
"A few ribs are the least of your worries right now, a looter like you in my time would have been given a death sentence. Society has genuinely drawn back, it's no longer as sharp."
He lifts his boot pressing down onto the man's hand, to which he hisses, using his free hand to punch the fellow in the knee.
He releases and kicks the air as the man on the ground rolls over, only missing his face by a hair.
"You—"
"I have told countless times now, I bear no intentions of—" A sharp, persistent pain seized the poor man's leg, sinking like dull teeth into his bone.
"Ah—AHHHH FUCK! BASTARD! You sta- that's my knife! Who's the thief now!?"
The older man crouched lower, and pushed the metal further into his flesh above his knee, quickly placing his other hand over the man's mouth.
Something had come rushing into the space, the sounds of many feet scraping the cobblestone briefly instilled desperation in the helpless 'thief.'
"Smells like blood, that does! Think we ought to fetch the constable, in case some poor lad's bleedin' to death?" A person with a British accent spoke sluggishly.
As the conversation continued, their voices approached the men quarreling on the ground.
"So much as twitch your lip and I will drag the knife to your heart."
The bitter honesty made the helpless stranger jolt in place.
Like a mouse caught under the hammer of a trap.
"If you've a plan, then why in God's name are we still walkin' towards the commotion? Could be cutthroats down there, if we stumble into the wrong business, and it'd take but four bullets to see us off."
The only weapon either of them had was a dull knife, and a rack of ware in the fellow's brown coat… neither of them was a gangster.
"Or it might be a gang of young scoundrels, up to no good," a young lady spoke, clicking her tongue thrice.
The man with the hat attentively peered toward the alleyway entry.
He pressed his hand harder onto the 'thief's' mouth, blocking the airway entirely with his last two fingers, before yanking the blade out.
The helpless man clenched his jaw under the glove as air filled his nostrils.
"Call this a warning, and maybe some advice too. I was set to take the knife, but leavin' you like this might help you come to your senses, for both our sakes. But don't take too long. If they catch you still alive, they'll make sure you ain't for much longer."
The old man pushed the knife into his fairly usable hand.
When the bleeding bloke could breathe once more, the man wearing a worn trench coat had managed to flee before receiving the detective's encore.
◇◆◇◆
Act I "Encore"
Detective Darwin! Sir, these rookies are swarming the body like a gaggle of gawping tourists at the Great Exhibition. You are their instructor, for heaven's sake!"
"Calm yourself, James, they are students, bear in mind that their instigation doesn't go without reason. For a year, their imaginations have wandered within the confines of theory. This is their first taste of reality beyond it; let them dirty their hands."
James's figure tensed as he drew a weary breath. He secured his glasses onto the bridge of his nose before attempting to lecture Darwin.
"The year is 1897! For—"
"For heaven's sake, we ought to refine our children, not become the ancestors who fail our future grandchildren in the next century. Having you around is punishment enough, no? I would rather not have us shoving our hands into their backs like puppeteers. They are humans, my friend, not marionettes."
"You misunderstand. We need not make them puppets, only instill in them the morals of respect and elegance," James said, pressing his fingers together until the blood gradually flushed from the tips.
"It's the same thing. Your teaching philosophy isn't an alphabet, you wish to mold them into polished aristocrats who will blindly conform to your unhinged perception of politics."
James stiffened like a statue as Darwin rose from his crouching position.
He placed the white cloth back over the corpse.
"Make way, please!"
At the command of Darwin's voice, the young students straightened instinctively and scattered from the body.
James, however, remained frozen in place, dumbfounded.
Darwin smirked and gave his shoulder a light tap.
"Shocked? I know you better than you assume one may accomplish."
Darwin had a knack for pouring salt into the open wounds of people who worked jointly with him.
It was easy for him to detect the discolored blotches staining their flesh.
Counting his former engagement with a classified criminal division, he had worked in the field of analyzing the aftermath of crimes for seventeen years, thus, fomenting deduction as merely a routine for himself.
"Enough of that, it is irrelevant, tell me what you've documented," Darwin said.
James swallowed dryly, clearing his throat before he spoke, his vacant expression tightening into a cold, affronted stare as he turned his gaze upon his superior.
"It appears the greater part, if not the entirety of his injuries were sustained prior to death. The manner of his passing was prolonged, likely stretched over some considerable time. Judging by the severity and placement of the fractures, those that would cause internal bleeding without immediate expiry, I'd say the killing was either a deliberate act, carefully arranged… or a sudden offence, carried out by one who greatly misjudged the body's ability to endure."
"Splendid. You may resume your list with the lads, I required only your opinion on the matter of intent. Forget I asked,"
James grunted, rising as he let go of the man's hand, which he'd been kneeling to examine.
"What do you think the intent was, sir? Please tell me, I am exceptionally curious."
By the time James finished that sentence, his voice had taken on the high, airy quality of a young girl.
Darwin tucked dark strands of hair behind his ears.
He studied the body more, before closing his eyes to analyze his visual findings with deeper thought.
"I don't believe the crime was orchestrated. Perhaps a chance encounter with a maniacal person before he decided to take his own life," He continued, pressing two fingers over his chin.
"Suicide?! Do you see the condition of his body?"
"Yes, I do not doubt that he would have died from either shock or internal bleeding had he not killed himself, however, I am quite persuaded that he was not entirely beaten to death."
Darwin opened his eyes, patted his pockets, and briskly peered toward James.
"Have a match?"
James's mouth gaped slightly and he squinted his eyes at Darwin as if he were somehow a fool, then reaching into the chest pocket of his trench coat and tossing a thin box of matches at him.
"Thank you generously," Darwin said, clasping the box with both palms.
"Examine the variations of discoloration on his skin, do you see the redness shrouding the back of his arms? The early stages of visible bruises are the red marks or swelling. While not every wound may be superficial, a few have already appeared."
James peered down again, furrowing his eyes with a shallow expression.
"I presume you are referring to the bruises that have already turned blue, since... deep wounds take days to change color," James says, a slight hint of skepticism hiding behind his calm voice.
Darwin waits patiently for him to avert his gaze from the corpse before continuing.
James frowned, brushing a gloved finger along the bruising. "Couldn't that have happened after death?"
"Not unless corpses have suddenly begun to heal, James." Darwin kneeled and lifted the cloth further away before unbuttoning the victim's shirt to reveal his abdomen.
He adjusted the glove on his right hand before pressing a finger on a particularly fresh-looking wound below a smaller one that appeared a bit older.
"Despite some of them appearing fresh, they were likely inflicted simultaneously. Ever hear of postmortem bruising?" Darwin glanced at James from the corner of his eye.
James remained still momentarily, suddenly shifting closer when he realized
Darwin had expected an answer.
"...Yes, I have."
"It fakes the appearance of a fresh wound despite being made long before. The superficial wounds, in addition to the blood having already settled in the lower parts of the body, give reason that these were not recently imposed."
Darwin's eye narrowed, and he withdrew his hand, curling his fingers into the palm of his glove
"If the victim had died during the beating, I do not believe there would be a prognosis of someone dead for merely an hour. No matter the kind of bruise, it will require a minimum of hours to begin healing."
"Well, we cannot say when the culprit fled the scene. How would you—"
Darwin interjected before James could finish asking his question, "I spoke to a group of lads who had heard peculiar noises coming from the passage. One of them described seeing a tall man wearing a hat. They claimed he fled the area two hours before authorities arrived."
James takes off his glasses to rub his eyes. His blonde hair, usually daintily greased back, had a few strands falling forward.
'Poor lad, his students must be a handful. It's quite obvious he is sleep-deprived,' Darwin surmised silently.
Darwin takes a match out, swiping it across the side of the box.
He cupped the small flame under his hand, drawing it near the cigar he held between his lips.
A cloud of smoke seeped into the air, emitting a faint scent around him.
He puffed some in James's direction.
"You still look troubled, James. If I had to guess, you are curious about how I came to this conclusion?"
James looked up and nodded with a humble expression.
Darwin grinned. "It is rather simple! The victim's body is out in the open, and the injuries from the beating reflect that the culprit is inexperienced in proper fist combat. The odds weigh heavier on the chance they were randomly thrown into an impetuous rage."
Darwin paused and glanced at the transparent haze flowing from the end of his cigar.
"Amateurs, more often than not, fight with brutality, but they tend to favour suffering over death. It's like hanging a man just over the edge of a cliff, letting the fear do the work. First-time killers are often seized by a dreadful paranoia. Their first concern becomes ridding themselves of any trace. Unless, of course, they're the sort who enjoy a spectacle, though such people rarely choose a quiet alley for their stage."
"So the culprit left him alive, simply walked away?" James asked.
"I won't say it makes perfect sense, but if they had known the man was dead at the time, I doubt they would have left him like that. At the very least, they'd have tossed him into a ditch, if only to soothe their own nerves about what they'd done."
'The murderer would hope that it would be found after they managed to get far away from the crime scene.' Darwin quietly considered.
Darwin glanced briefly toward the street.
A figure lingered near the alley's mouth, just beyond the reach of the fog.
"I see… and I am having a difficult time picturing a woman doing this, especially given the extensive markings on his abdomen."
Darwin nodded, turning away as he took another drag from his cigar.
'So, an eager soul couldn't resist poking about ahead of time...' He released a resigned sigh, keeping his gaze fixed ahead, even as the measured cadence of footsteps approached beside him.
"Doesn't mean she wouldn't be capable~"
A man with shoulder-length brown hair, tousled and spilling past his ears, appeared before both men.
Darwin's eyes widened as he raised a hand to his cheek, tilting his head in amusement. "You must be Herman! Here to make sure that word doesn't stay between our departments, I assume?" He grinned, but his eyes curved slyly, deliberately undermining the feigned innocence in his tone, at least from Herman's perspective.
James ambled away the instant he caught a reporter approaching.
He wished not to be interviewed when it was not required of him.
Due to his family name, James was constantly shrouded by paparazzi and reporters who spent nights preparing grueling questionnaires.
To be bombarded because he happened to be investigating a potential murder out in the open was absurd in his mind.
"How can this humble detective help you, reporter?" Darwin spoke, snickering at his colleague in the rear of his mind.
Herman suddenly laughed over his shoulder. "Darwin, your sarcasm truly knows no bounds," he quipped as his breath dispersed into the frigid air.
Frost had already begun creeping across the bark in spall-like patches, spreading like fungus.
"I'd assume the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
Darwin chuckled. "That would be the case if I were the younger one."
Herman's head tilted further with puzzlement.
Darwin merely suggested nonchalantly, "You may want to quiet down unless you'd like to be exposed. I'd take great pride in detaining you."
"Detective? Did you say something?" A nervous novice approached and shifted uneasily.
Darwin turned to the kid with a weary expression. The novice urgently clasped his hands in some odd motion.
"Nothing important."
"My apologies for interrupting, sir," the kid muttered, bowing his head with shame.
Darwin flicked his cigar near his shoe. "If you don't mind, tell James I'll be discussing matters with Herman at the public house."
He pressed the bud under his shoe, tapping it a few times. "He can finish the report instead of playing the coward," he added, grinding the soot into the stone.
Herman smirked. "The pub? Good choice, Detective."
Darwin chuckled. "Of course."
They turned, leaving the speechless rookie behind.
The popularity of public houses offered many opportunities for people in social classes that required the performance of manual labor.
There was a pub at practically every corner of the town, so it took an inconsiderable amount of time for Darwin and Herman to find their stools.
"Were you sincere in wanting a word, or was it merely a clever excuse to wet your tongue?"
"I hadn't the slightest intention of drinking," said Darwin.
Herman cleared his throat before replying, "Marvellous. I'd have been rather put out if you'd no wish to speak with me, though I daresay, I may take a glass or two myself, all the same."