Rematch by I_did_not_mean_to

Goth-Fog

This is the first chapter, the prompts used are "London Fog" and "The Sleuth".

Be advised, there will be reference to death and prior sexual encounters in this chapter.

“What a soup,” Haleth muttered as she pushed open the heavy door leading out of the dark precinct—she and her superior had been wasting too much time sitting around and avoiding bringing up the half-confessions they had made over the burned body of an unfortunate boy. “Care for a drink before heading home?”

Aredhel suppressed a shiver; she would not have made it this far in the police force if she had not learned to hide every reaction that might have been interpreted as “girly” or “hysterical” and she was not about to let that carefully crafted mask slip only because she was unexpectedly reminded of one of the most grievous mistakes she had ever committed. One that she would have repeated, if given but half a chance, whole-heartedly.

Shrugging, she expressed dispassionate acquiescence in a way that hopefully obscured how much she loathed the idea of returning to her empty flat and her overflowing thoughts just yet.

They walked slowly down the street through a fog so impenetrable and wet that it felt like a thousand lifeless hands brushing against every inch of bare skin.

“’s a night for murder,” Haleth commented tonelessly, doing her best to give the impression that she was not shaken to the core by the sight of a kid—burned to a crisp—whom she had known much less than she might have wanted to.

Aredhel merely nodded; she, who thoroughly relished the unleashed violence of a good thunderstorm, felt almost claustrophobic in this dense, dead, disgusting prison of mist.

Neither one commented on the fact that they all but threw themselves into the public house as if escaping invisible, intangible murder and mayhem in the cold, dark, deserted streets outside of this oasis of greasy, orange light; they simply took a seat and ordered a drink, pretending that this was just another night on the job.

“So,” Aredhel finally said, looking at her subordinate above the not perfectly clean rim of a thick-walled glass, “what, or rather who, was your poison?”

Bringing her gaze from the ominously billowing banks of grey fog rolling by the window back to her companion, Haleth gave her a crooked grin. “Caranthir,” she then said, pulling up her shoulders as if to defend herself against potential judgement or mockery.

Aredhel pressed her lips together to keep from scoffing—Haleth was reliable, brave, and wickedly smart and yet, it was hardly surprising to hear that she had not escaped the fate of falling into that roiling, enchanting maelstrom of bad temper and sweet insecurity. “Fair,” the detective finally admitted, “he’s a good-looking man.”

Unlike her boss, Haleth did not find it necessary to keep her intuitive reactions in check, so she chuckled in open self-deprecation. “He’s as pretty as a man can be, of course, but…he’s also a good sort, I think.” She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth as if to erase that burst of honest sentimentality as soon as it had crossed her lips.

“You think?” Aredhel grinned, but there was more empathy than humour in her eyes. “Why did it not work out?”

“He’s not forthcoming with information about…well, everything really,” Haleth replied to both questions calmly. “It’s a damn shame, I can tell you that. What about you? You said that you did…”

“That could become a problem,” Aredhel mused, thinking of the investigation they would have to struggle through—if Haleth had parted on better terms with her former almost-lover than she had with her own trespass in human form, they might have gotten a leg up.

Patiently, Haleth lifted two fingers to order another round and waved her hand at her boss—she had put her cards on the table and expected reciprocation.

“Celegorm,” Aredhel finally confessed. The barking laughter exploding from her cold lips sounded strained and her mouth snapped shut with an audible clack.

“Not bad,” Haleth grinned appreciatively. “Why was there never a second date? Don’t tell me he’s a louse in the sack?”

This time, Aredhel’s chuckle was fast and entirely too loud to be dishonest. “Oh no,” she laughed, “he was…No, it was not that. There is too much anger in that man and too little willingness to mellow and grow.” She sighed. “I have terrible taste—a well-documented and deeply regrettable fact, isn’t it?”

Averting her gaze, Haleth licked her lower lip nervously. Aredhel’s short-lived marriage and the circumstances of her son’s birth were touchy subjects that they wouldn’t unpack in a crowded bar while outside a thick, blinding blanket of fog did its best to asphyxiate the city.

“That,” Haleth then said without looking at the other woman, “could become a problem too. Do we owe them the courtesy to warn them, or would that corrupt the investigation?”

They pondered the question for a moment—the night was darker than dark; it was positively opaque and their hearts were weary. Old ghosts and lost loves rose up from the long-dead soil of their souls and wafted through their minds alluringly.

“I could give him a call,” Aredhel said with another fitful shrug. “I suppose they’ve been told but we’ve got to fix appointments to interview all of them anyway and—as they’ve all left the county to live who knows where—we might get the time zones and scheduling issues out of the way already.”

Haleth nodded eagerly—it made no sense to hanker after what could not be. The objects of their thinly veiled longings were thousands of miles away and would most probably not have much relevant information or wisdom to impart but they couldn’t leave any stone unturned and so, they would have to get statements even from people who might not have seen their youngest brother in years.

Holding her phone so tightly that her knuckles were white with tension, Aredhel waited for the booming ringing to be replaced by the tinny sound of an answering machine.

“Rissë, hey, long time no see,” Celegorm’s own warm voice resounded instead. “How have you been?”

“Celegorm,” she gasped, unduly surprised that he would pick up his phone. “Do you still have my number saved?”

“Well yes,” he replied in that arrogant self-evident tone that had made her heart skip a beat once upon a time, “but aren’t you the one calling me? Doesn’t that mean that you still have mine as well?”

She bit her lip—as a matter of fact, she did not have his number saved. She knew it by heart.

“Is this about Amrod? I’ve heard you made detective—I wanted to send a basket, but I didn’t know if you’d find that appropriate. I guess you’ll want to talk to us—why don’t you come up to the house? Bring Haleth, Moryo would certainly be happy…somewhere in his dark, dark heart.”

“House?” Aredhel squeaked, hating the way the conversation was slipping out of her fingers.

“Well, yes, I cannot promise you’ll get a very warm welcome though.”

Exchanging a warning glance with Haleth, Aredhel drew herself up—slouching in her chair like a cowering child would not bring her any closer to the solution to this mystery. With trembling fingers, she set down her phone and turned on the speaker function so her second-in-command could listen in.

“Where are your brothers, Tyelko?” she then asked, slipping back into a long-lost routine much too easily for comfort.

“Why, we’re all back home…”

The glass she was holding slipped from Haleth’s grasp and burst into an explosion of sloshing beer and flying shards of glass.