Alive At Crepusculum ✓ [TPL Book One]

V

Back in the living room, Mallord's 'Yes, I do understand' to his wife nearly slipped away. His old colleague had come in search for him, putting him on a high horse, making him feel all special. But he knew he couldn't do it. His children relied on him to keep them safe. So did his wife. Didn't they, Mallord?

"It wasn't easy finding you," Albert said, smiling.

"How long has it been? Coffee?" Mallord said and Albert shook his head.

"Just get me some water." Albert crossed his eyes to look at his nose. "Coffee gives me pimples like I'm fifteen, speaking of, he's about that. Where's the boy?"

"Off."

"Right." He accepted the water with a nod and continued. "And it's been too long, Mallord. Last I saw your boy was five or six."

"Has it been almost a decade since I saw your old rabbit face?" Mallord poured himself more coffee. To him, there wasn't such a thing as too much coffee. He had come to a point where one cup of coffee didn't do it anymore. He was an addict in denial.

"So, are you still in the force or have you left, too?" Mallord asked, sitting down across from Albert. "And how did you find me? Happy to see you, but I got to be careful. Carefully crafted and don't you break it."

"Almost left. Night guard at the zoo, now," Albert said, dodging the second question. He drank some water before he spoke again. "So, I'm not here for small talk."

"I've told them." Mallord drank the coffee, made a face, and put more sugar in. "I've left." He sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

"That you did. As you say."

"I do say." Mallord hugged himself in defense.

Albert gave a rabbit-toothed grin. "Or so you do."

Mallord sucked his bottom lip in and chewed on it. "Humph. I'm a family man and a writer."

"I read the first one—"

"Flattery won't do it," Mallord cut in with sarcasm.

"—and it was an adventure all over again! Some things exaggerated, sure, but I can stand trial and say it was all true if you need me. I can even swear by the lord if you'd like. Nah, who am I kidding? You're no religious man, are you? Say, why didn't you put me with my name in it? Who's this Burt fellow? Don't mind being Albert in fiction. Though sure, you don't miss it, eh? Especially, when you write it."

"Bastard. Of course, I don't. That's why I write it. Good riddance. Out of my head."

Albert shrugged and raised his bushy eyebrows. "Sure, you don't. That's why you write it."

"So, how did you find me?" Mallord became anxious. He carefully crafted his whereabouts so that it would only show his old work office which still existed, but as a museum attraction. Mallord made certain no one that knew him could find him. He made an alias and vowed to live under it until his death.

But Albert smirked and took a letter from his pocket. It was all scrunched up and he smoothed it out. "Think you'll find this quite interesting. It's not your typical case. There's no, shall we say, mortal dangers involved. It's not from the old boys."

The "old boys" was their term for the higher-ups in the police force. They were old, literally, and also "old" had a condescending tone to it. It was to be said with a smirk and a roll of the eyes.

"Of course, not. You said you left. If they really wanted me, they would come find me."

Albert chuckled. "This case is from me to you. Happy birthday!"