Mr. Waithe went to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of red wine , which was a souvenir from the gorgeous hacienda he visited just after thanksgiving. The bottle and the glass were resting on the table. Little drops of condensation formed on the neck of the bottle were trickling down from the bottle's body to the table and formed little rivulets ; that merged together to form abstract patterns.
He stared at the "Ranger battalion" figurine kept at a safe spot on the mantlepiece. It always worked as his totem (or talisman ) ,guiding him throughout his career with its "M1903 Springfield" always pointing towards the loophole of every labyrinth.
The envelope was still resting in his front coat pocket. The seal somehow flashing out towards the lapel as if teasing. He looked at the water droplets( that arranged themselves in a pattern somewhat similar to the Morse ) ,they were now flowing in rhythm with the little beads of sweat that were flowing from the nape of his neck and producing a chilling sensation all the way to his spine.
The doorbell rang. He got up and walked briskly towards the door as if he knew what waited for him on the other side of the door.
His instincts were fighting an odd battle with his Adventurous pursues in his brain. He remembered an excerpt "The edge... There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. " The adrenaline raging through his veins knew no bounds and he placed the box on the table. Inspecting it as if his eyes were not normal human eyes but high frequency X-ray screeners. He again looked at the ranger, this time its springfield was pointimg in the oppposite direction than the usual
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Mens rea
रहस्य / थ्रिलरA murder mystery where every character believes themselves responsible for the death , and tries to cover it up.⏳
