The Silent's End [EDITING]

CHAPTER 1

NOT EDITED YET. HOPE YOU ENJOY AS MUCH AS I ENJOYED WORKING ON IT.

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THREE YEARS EARLIER

MARCH 1824, EVENING

The Dubois's residence. On the west side of the city of Lenestadt, one of the twelve quarters of a two-story residential building. An hour passed after the sun had set. No stars appeared but only the sheet of night's dark horizon encompassed the sky. Harsh winds blew, leaving a chilly breeze at the foggy streets. The night was deep but spectators gathered around at the scene. Constables tried to halt their pressing. LIke wildfire, the story spread throughout the whole city that eavesdroppers at an instant flooded the streets. Murder – One word that ignited the wildfire-like story.

Fogged breaths. Numbed and trembling bodies.

The temperature of the night was not brisk although, the thought of the murder made every person felt cold. The shivery winds and misty streets added a sinister, bone-chilling aura enveloping the premise of the crime. Everybody turned, as a carriage stopped in front of the building. An austere looking man rode out of the carriage.

Senior Inspector Ulrich Donner. Surrounded by several uniformed constables in dark blue, could be distinguished with ease, with a dark grey coat and black hat. He is in early thirties, with a cubical face and broad built; dark brown hair and darting brown stare. His soft angled, high-arched brows gave him his known acerbity.

His hands stayed crossed behind his back. Around him, critical eyes, leering, as he stepped inside the old building. The officers in the vicinity could not keep themselves from staring at the stranger, the newly transferred inspector from the capital. He scanned each corners of the old, two-story residential building before he continued to go up the next story.

The murder took place at the victim's chamber at the second floor. The stairs creaked, feet landing in each steps. Constables clearing the path, telling the tenement of the other rooms to keep still inside their own quarters. Surprise and fear was upon their faces. No one had not known that a crime had happened, no, not until the victim's wife screamed as she saw her husband dead. Donner turned right and walked his way until he stopped in front of the very last door.

Thomas Dubois. A perfumer, the victim. The husband of a baker, Missus Liza Dubois. Mister and Missus Dubois were living at their quarter for five years. At the span of their stay, they had already bought the rented chamber. Donner opened the Dubois's chamber's door and what invited him in was not the aromatic fragrance of the Frenchman's product nor the smell of his german wife's famous breads. The scent was the opposite; a familiar scent to the Inspector's nose. The young constable with him moved away from the stench caught on the air through the open door. Donner though stood still at the entrance and inhaled the scent as his eyes closed; taking in the mixed smell of wood, heated metal and boiled water, jasmine and lavender, old leather books, the distinct metallic smell of blood and the rotten smell of the body's early decomposition. He opened his eyes, exhaling, and began to scan the small space of the quarter.

"Living room. Kitchen. Bed."

He uttered, moving his head on each of its direction. The bed was just beside him, by the door. The kitchen and the living area was in front of him. A dining table, two chairs, cooking area, a small bookcase, and an armchair facing the east wall of the room. It was beside the only window of the room, placed at the very north east in a diagonal position.

He moved closer beside the armchair, where Dubois's corpse was. Below Thomas Dubois, a pool of his own blood. Mister Dubois's back leaned straight on the back rest. The head looking up, rested on the backboard. The hands, one gripped tight at the right armrest while the other lay suspended and soaked with blood. Donner followed down the hanging hand and on the bloody floor lay Dubois's eyeglasses.