Objects of Virtue

Chapter 01

*I have taken full creative license with this, whenever possible I have tried to stay true to facts, but when I could not find anything solid, I let my imagination run wild. So, if I have gotten any facts about the places, people, etc. wrong - I apologize in prior. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy the first chapter*

28th of May, 2021 – Hampstead, England.

Harry woke up to the shrill ringing of his alarm clock reminding him that it was 7.00 am. Golden rays of early morning sun sneaked in through the blinds. Madam lay asleep, a big buzzing ball of black fur. Harry rubbed at his eyes urging them to open and sat up lazily in his bed. Stretching his lank body out, shaking away the last remnants of stubborn sleep that still clung to his long limbs, he finally stands up.

As Harry brushed his teeth, listening to the muffled sounds of early morning traffic, people up and about getting on with their business, Harry remembered a game he used to play with Gem. Seated together at the large French windows in their living room amongst a sea of feathery soft pillows, the smell of freshly brewed tea seeping into his lungs every morning, guessing what and where each person that passed by their house could possibly be doing or going. Was it a doctor on his way to the hospital? Or a fairy dressed up as a school girl skipping merrily by? They'd spent hours lost in the castles of their imaginations, weaving stories out of simple nothingness. Simple pleasures that only childhood innocence allowed. He missed those days. He missed the freeness of it all. To create a world of make believe. Of fairies and butterflies, knights on white horses, beautiful princesses in billowing dresses, dragons and witches. Innocence. Where good always triumphed evil. The shoe always fit the right girl. True love's kiss worked miracles. He missed happy endings.

He knew there were no happy endings. God did he not know it. His heart sank a little - as it did each morning, whilst he watched the water swirl in the wash basin carrying away the frothy remnants of his toothpaste. But today, was going to be a good day. He looked himself straight in the eye. "TODAY IS GOING TO BE A GOOD DAY, HARRY." His green eyes flashed back at him through the mirror. Challenging him. "Yes. It's going to be a good day," he said to his own reflection staring back at him.

Harry liked being on time for things -which to be fair greatly contradicted with his love for sleeping in – but as his mother always says, "You can't keep the cake and eat it too, Harold." So Harry stuck to a well-tuned and carefully tweaked schedule – up at 7.00 am, breakfast by 7.15 am and out the door by 7.30 am – just in time to beat the school traffic on his way to his job – the one true love of his life – the Police Station. And today. Everything was the same. But also, different? Harry had just made Detective – and today – TODAY was his first day on the job. So, whilst the little details, the well worn in schedules stayed the same, something about today felt special. Harry had always longed to join the force. Helping people. Fixing things that were broken in society, making the world a safer place. Harry had always wanted to be a policeman. And as he locked up behind him, he couldn't help but smile to himself – just a little bit proud of all that he had achieved.

The drive to the police station was uneventful and quiet. A phone call from mum and then from Gem, Harry expected no less. They had always been incredibly supportive. Ever since Dad had passed away (bless his soul) – mum had taken on the role of both parents; she'd done an outstanding job to say the least! Harry knew that it hadn't been as easy as she led them to believe. There were nights when Harry couldn't sleep – he was barely six; when he'd sneak out of bed and make his way silently down the dark corridor and sit outside mum's bedroom door, listening through the tiny crack as she cried silently, little shrieks of pain escaping her from time to time. In those moments, listening to his mummy break down in the quiet lonely hours of the night – that Harry decided that he wanted to mend everything that was wrong with the world. Fix it. Stop the pain in mummy's heart. He'd creep in silently, and lay down beside her – her pillows soaking wet with the tears that spilled like rivers from her beautiful eye, wrapping his chubby little arms around her neck and hold her against his little chest, his heart beating faster than a drum at marching parade. He'd let the tears seep into his pajama top and wet his chest. And he'd fall asleep wrapped around her, a blanket of pureness – this was the only solace he could offer her broken heart. They'd never talk about it the next day. He was always sensitive like that, even as a 6-year-old – he knew better than to bring it up. It was their little secret. His and mummy's. And as the years flew by and the pain numbed, it still remained their secret. A secret that he cherished – because like he was mummy's comfort; this little secret was his.