Chapter Text
AUGUST 3RD, 1985
A quiet, lonely street in the night, illuminated only by the ever so slightly flickering orange glow of the streetlamps, surrounded by dense oak forests on each side.
The quiet of the night is disturbed by the sounds of a bicycle wheeling down the road; a teenage boy with a short ginger mullet and earthy brown eyes, headphones over his ears, connected to a Walkman, as he biked through the street. All he heard was music, not a care in the world, humming along to the rapid-fire distorted guitar and drums of Metallica's The Four Horsemen.
The bicycle made a sharp turn into the woods and onto a dirt path cutting through; a detour that was a part of an ordinary routine for the boy. He had practiced the route a few dozens of times already, by now. His eyes scanned across the woods briefly, before noticing a red trail across the dirt. Blood...That's strange, he thought for a moment. He shrugged it off, telling himself it's probably just an injured animal.
A few more minutes passed, and he hit the brakes, stopping his bicycle in front of a small, white single-story house in the middle of a clearing. He dismounted from the bicycle and leant it against a wall, before stepping up towards the porch, calling out:
"Guys, I'm home!"
But he stopped, noticing that the lights inside were off. Then, he noticed...another trail of blood, leading up to the front door. He turned and followed the trail further with his eyes...it followed into the trail on the dirt path. He felt his heart starting to beat harder, unnerved, as he walked up to the stairs.
"Mom? Dad?" He yelled out. "Clarence?? Claire???" He took a few steps up onto the front porch, looking at the windows, attempting to look inside the house, but the curtains were pulled. This is really freaking me out, he thought, as he walked up to the front door. His hand hovered over the handle...hesitating mid-air, for a few moments, before he made the decision.
Creaaaakk... The door swung open slowly, and the boy stared inside. His eyes widened. His pupils dilated. Horror and shock filled him as he looked into the house; the body of a middle-aged man in a red flannel jacket was laid against a wall, his head split, blood pooled beneath him and splattered across the wall.
The boy ran over to the body and frantically tried to shake him awake. "Dad! Dad- dad, dad, no, no, no, no, please, God, please--" He looked around, frantically searching the room with his sight, before laying his eyes upon...another corpse, sat in an armchair. Same mortal wound.
"...no. No, no, no, no, no, you- you've got to be shitting me right now- Thi- this is a nightmare. This is- This isn't real. This isn't real. This can't be real." He backed up against the bloodied wall and huddled up against it, repeating the four words like a mantra to himself, before snapping out of it.
He remembered...Clarence! Claire! Where were his siblings?! He got back to his feet and ran through the house, looking for them.
"CLARENCE! CLAIRE!? WHERE- WHERE ARE YOU GUYS?!" He called out, frantically opening doors through the house, looking inside the kitchen, both bathrooms, his mother's office. He opened a door into his sister's bedroom...but she wasn't there either. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, before running up to his younger brother's bedroom, hand grabbing the doorknob as he turned it...
And there was Clarence; his younger brown-haired brother, curled up into a ball against his bed, eyes teary, a blank, traumatized expression on his face, blood on his green overalls. The older brother kneeled down besides the younger sibling, patting him on the shoulder and grabbing him frantically:
"Clarence, thank God you're okay, Clarence- w-what the hell happened?"
No response.
"C-Clarence? Clarence?? Hey, man, please, talk to me. Talk to me, Clarence."
Again, no reply. He shook the younger brother, panicking.
"Clarence?? Clarence?! CLARENCE?!"
SEPTEMBER 21ST, 1987
DOWNTOWN STERLING, CONNECTICUT
BEEEEEP. BEEEEEP. BEEEEP. BEEEP. BEEE-
Click. The alarm stopped blaring at the press of a button. John shifted around on the couch, slowly sitting up. His hands rubbed his eyes, as he looked around the living room of the apartment. Silent. As usual. He looked over towards the alarm clock. The display read 9:30 AM in red digital letters over a black background. With a sigh, he slowly got up from the couch, running a hand through his hair, before walking into the kitchen.
He opens the fridge, looking inside, and takes a carton of eggs, butter and milk, before starting to cook up an omelette, occasionally looking out the window.
A few minutes later, he finishes cooking the omelette and neatly places pieces of it on two plates on the dining table. He sets some silverware down, alongside a cup of coffee and one of milk, looking towards the door to the bedroom. He walks up to the door, a bit slowly, as he raises his hand and knocks lightly two times.
"Breakfast's ready." He calls out a bit louder. "You can come whenever you're ready."
Turning away, John walks back to the kitchen and takes a seat. He takes a newspaper off the table and unravels it. His eyes scan across the newspaper, a door opening in the meantime, as footsteps approach the kitchen. John puts his newspaper down and gazes up at the other person sat across from him; a hazel-eyed teenage girl of somewhat tall stature, with long, dark brown messy hair, wearing violet flannel pajamas, a pair of headphones around her neck.
"Morning, Amy." John greets, drinking from his cup of coffee. "How are you feeling?"
She simply shrugs and takes the cup of milk in her hands, taking a sip. "Fine." A quiet one-word response.
He nods, looking out the window again, observing the downtown street outside. Early morning, not many people around. The sky was gray, and the streets were wet with rainwater. It was early morning, after all. It wasn't all that surprising that the street was empty. He turns back to Amy, noticing the headphones she wore. He found it a bit hard to believe that this was the same person as the one that he saw a year ago. Although, in a way, he was glad that she had improved since then.
"Do you, uh, like the cassettes I got you?" He asked, curious to know her opinion.
Amy simply nodded in response. "They're nice."
"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of a soft smile on his face. "That's great." Another sip of coffee. He felt glad that she liked the music.
He looked out the window again, admiring the aftermath of a rain during the night, before turning back to face the girl. "Nice weather outside, right?" He snickered at his own joke. A faint hint of a smile showed up on Amy's face too.
"I don't know in which universe this is nice weather, but certainly not this one." He followed up afterwards, drinking from his coffee.
"...the rain's nice, sometimes." She said, eyes locked onto the window, sort of melancholically. A car passed down the street. The first sign of life that morning.
"You think so?" John inquired, looking at her a bit surprised.
"Mmhm." Nod. "It's sort of...calming, somehow, just watching the raindrops fall on the window. It's like...the world wants to let you know that you're not alone in your sadness."
John nods slowly, looking down at the floor, lost in thought for a moment. It was true; the rain does feel soothing during moments of sorrow.
"Atleast, that's how I see it." Amy shrugs and takes another sip of milk, before finishing up her food, lightly pushing the plate aside.
"Right." John takes both plates and puts them somewhere aside. He places a hand on his chin, looking off to the side, thinking. Silence befalls the room for a moment.
Then, he remembers something, getting up from the dining table. "Right, I almost forgot."
"Hmm?" Amy turned to look up at John as he walked across the table.
"I'm going to, uh, meet up with a friend. See if he knows anything about...you know." John walks into a room and locks the door, getting dressed, before walking out, putting a black fedora and a gray trenchcoat on. "I'll try to be back as quickly as possible."
He looks over to Amy. "And remember; keep the door locked, don't open up to strangers; if you see or hear anything strange, call the police and hide. Okay?"
Amy nods in acknowledgement. "Okay."
"You can watch some TV or... do anything else. Also, if anyone calls and you don't know who it is, just hang up. 'kay?"
Another nod. John smiles lightly and pats the teenager on the head, ruffling her hair in a light-hearted way, before turning to the door, opening it and walking out. "Be back later, okay? Stay safe."
Amy nodded and waved, as John closed the door, turning towards the staircase outside the apartment, stepping down the stairs. He stopped, halfway down, and turned his head slightly back to look at the apartment, before continuing downwards.
He and Amy had come a pretty long way since that night; arguably, the worst moment of their lives. Things had gotten somewhat better for them, although, with all of the recent rumours and events, John feared that, sooner or later, it'd start affecting them too.
He had to find out more about these rumours. He just feels like he has to. He thought that, if he found out more, he could hopefully prevent another Martin family incident.
Hopefully.
Sterling Police Department. The police station was located somewhere in the middle of the town, across the street from the town hall. Just a few blocks down, there was the Sterling High School. This area was especially busy in the late morning and afternoon, during the week. Children and teenagers walking to school with their parents or alone, cars lined up on the streets, the sound of morning traffic and commotion filling John's ears, as he climbed out of his car, parked in front of the police station. Looking around, he noticed a few flyers plastered on walls and fences. Missing person posters for a 15 year-old girl named Claire Leyland, last seen on August 3rd, 1985.
Two years? Jesus, that's a long time. John thought to himself. He sincerely hoped it had nothing to do with any of the more recent events.
He slowly made his way into the station, walking up the stairs and pushing the doors open, walking into the reception. The blonde haired receptionist behind the desk stared up, fingers pushing her glasses up to sit more properly on her nose.
"Good morning. May I help you with anything?" The receptionist inquired, scrutinizing John, her eyes narrowed.
"Yes, uhh, may I speak to Detective Eli Baker?" John asks, taking a look into the station, scanning the area.
"Who's asking?" The woman stared intently, her brows slightly furrowed.
"...John. John Ward. Tell him John Ward wants to speak with him."
At the mention of the name, the receptionist made an audible oh of realization.
"Oooohh. The looney priest. Right..." She sighs, before picking up the receiver off a landline phone, putting it to her ear as she pressed a few buttons on the keypad.
"Eli, your... holy friend's here. He wants to talk to you."
The receptionist nodded a few times as she listened, before muttering an 'okay, bye', setting the receiver down. She turned back to John, with a look that had I really don't want you here, but I don't have a choice written all over it.
"First office down that hallway, to the right." She points out a hallway somewhere in the back of the station, before fishing out a visitor lanyard from the desk and handing it over.
John takes it and puts it on, muttering a half-hearted 'thank you', before heading off towards the office. He stopped in front of the first door on the right side of the hallway. A sign on it read: 'ELIOTT BAKER'.
John raised his hand and knocked on the door a few times, waiting for the door to open. Footsteps from inside echoed and the door opened; behind it, a man around the same age as John, with short dirty blonde hair and a chevron mustache, wearing a yellow button-up shirt with a messy collar, a black jacket ontop and a pair of black trousers with a belt, onto which a Sterling Police Department badge is attached. The man has a cigar between his lips, as he takes it between his fingers, greeting John:
"John! Hey, bud, come right in. C'mon, man." He guides the former priest inside and closes the door behind him. The office is...well, it's an office. There's a mug of coffee on the desk, a stack of paperwork and documents, and some case file drawers to the right side of the desk.
"Take a seat, John." John accepts the invitation, seating himself in front of the desk. Eli looks up at him, inspecting his old friend for a few moments. "So, how are you doing? How you been holdin' up? And, uh... how's the kid? Amy, right?"
"She's fine. I think..." John sighs, staring off into space for a moment, before turning back. "I'm doing...well, I guess the same as always."
Eli and John had known each other since high school, but they hadn't seen each other in a while. At least, they hadn't seen each other within normal circumstances in a while; they met again exactly a year ago, on the date of the Martin residence murders.
"Aren't we all..." Eli took another drag from the cigar, turned towards the open window behind him, puffing out a cloud of smoke that floated along the wind outside. "You sure you guys are doing okay? 'Cause, uh, I've been hearing of this thing called the...uh, what's it again..." Snap. Snap. Snap. Eli snaps his fingers a few times in an attempt to remember, before suddenly gasping, as if a lightbulb of remembrance flickered on inside his mind. "Right! The Anniversary effect, I think."
"Anniversary effect?" John asked, a bit confused.
"Yeah, it's this...phenomenon that happens to people with, errr, post-traumatic stress, I think. It's kind of self-explanatory, you know? The episodes get worse as they come up onto the date that the event took place, and, uhhh, today is...September 21st, right?"
"... right." John looked to the side. "No, nothing like that. At least, from what I've seen. She's been doing all right."
Eli leaned a bit forward, his expression becoming slightly more serious. "Are you sure, John?" Worry in his voice. "You gotta keep an eye on that kid, you know." He leaned back into his chair. "I mean, with what happened a year ago..."
"No, it's really okay, Eli." John insists. "That... that was handled then, okay? She... she's been recovering. Slowly, sure, but she's a lot better than she was a year ago. And trust me, Eli, I do keep a close eye on her. I don't want — or need — anything bad happening to her."
Eliott nodded. "All right, all right, I'm just saying." He took another drag of the cigar, spinning idly in his office chair. "Let's just switch topics. Uh, actually, what did you want to talk about?"
John rose slightly, sitting more upright in the chair. "Ah- right. Uh, about...the rumours. If...if you know them?"
"Of course I know about 'em, John. I'm a detective. It's practically my job to investigate rumours." Eli firmly presses the cigar into an ashtray, putting it out, before dropping it into a trash can. "To be fair, it's been getting pretty shitty in this town as of late, so..." Shrug. "I wouldn't be surprised if they were true. I mean, we got our hands pretty full already with some murders."
"Really?" John asked, eyebrows slightly raised. He...had been living under a rock for a bit.
"Yeah. It's a real ugly thing." Eliott reaches down to the drawers, pulling one open and sliding out a case file. He slides it over to John. John opens and looks through it, wincing a bit at some of the images. "September 13th, a traveling couple were found dead in a ditch, their car was totaled into a tree. Their bodies were completely mangled and mutilated beyond recognition. It looked something like a bear attack, but, the weird thing is..." Eli stopped for a moment. Dramatic effect; Eli was a bit of a theatre kid in high school, as John remembered. "We did find some, uhh, DNA on them and...well, for some reason we couldn't track it to anybody in particular, buuuuut, we do know it was human."
A short pause.
"Which is...really damn weird, if you ask me. I think it sort of ties in with this one urban legend that's been spread around lately. You heard of it?"
"Which one?"
"Okay, so, long story short, some guys said they saw a real, genuine, bonafide chupacabra lurking in the woods. Pale thing, somewhat humanoid, but barely. After we found the dead couple, people started to think that...hey, maybe the chupacabra did it."
This peaked John's interest, and also worried him severely. He just had a fear; slight, albeit still there, that this might have not been a chupacabra, or just a simple animal attack.
He didn't really want to know which it was.
"Did you...look into it any further?" John asked, a bit warily.
"No, not really. Chief wouldn't let me, anyway. He says all the rumours are bullshit. Just 'phony hippie crap', according to him."
"And...do you believe that they're bullshit?"
Eli stared into space for a moment, forced to think about it.
"Weeeell..." He looked back up at John. "Honestly, John, if I believed they were bullshit, you and that kid would still be in the psych ward."
John snickered a bit, without really wanting to. It wasn't supposed to be funny, but he couldn't help but slightly chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. After all, demons and possessions and exorcisms were supposed to be...a thing of fiction, right? Just something from a horror movie to watch with your friends late at night.
Theoretically, yes. But, as the saying goes, reality tends to be even stranger than fiction.
"...right."
John tapped his fingers idly on the desk. The two sat in silence for a few good minutes.
"...Er, also..." He stopped for a bit. "I saw these...flyers outside."
"The missing person posters? Claire Leyland?" Eli asked, his question exactly on point.
"Yeah, those."
"Riight..." Eli reached down again and pulled out another case file, taking the other one and sliding it back inside. He passes the case file towards John, the latter taking a look through it.
"The Leyland Family...they lived in the woods, similarly to the Martins. Actually, if you think about it, their case is really similar to the Martins' case, just that, uh, this one's older than the Martin family incident."
"...go on." John encouraged Eli to continue.
"August 3rd, 1985. Uhhh, then 15 year-old Theodore Leyland biked back home, late at night, and found a trail of blood on the dirt path, leading up to the front door of his house. When he walked inside, he found both his parents, Roger and Cathy, dead. Their heads were split in two, probably with an axe or a similar chopping tool. No murder weapon was found, though, and no fingerprints or anything important either. Claire, Theo's younger sister, was also mysteriously missing. We...still haven't found her."
"...Dear God."
"Yeah. The only person alive Theo found at the scene was his younger brother, Clarence. He was 11 then."
"... where do the boys live now?" John inquired with a mix of worry and a sense of curiosity.
"Uhhh, atttttttt...New Haven Apartment Complex, I believe." Eli shrugs. "Last I checked."
New Haven Apartments? That's where Lisa lives, right?
"Ah. Okay." John nods, looking to the ground.
"...why do you ask?" Eli raises an eyebrow. "What, you planning to adopt them too?"
Real clever joke, Eli.
"What- No! No, I'm fine with just one. I was just, you know, a bit surprised, since, uh...Lisa lives there, too."
"Lisa? Who's..." Realization. "Ohhhh, shit, you mean, that Lisa? Lisa Pearson??"
A nod.
"Ohhhh, right! Speaking of Lisa, have you talked to her recently?"
Head shake.
"Awh. What about, uhm... your wife? Molly?"
"..." John stays silent. For a moment. "We, uh...broke up."
"Oh...damn. How'd that happen?" Eli takes a look to the side. "If that's all right of me to ask."
"...well, she didn't... really agree with, uh, my decision to...well, become Amy's caretaker." John's expression dropped into a slight melancholic frown.
"...shit." Eli reached his hand out to pat John on the shoulder. "I get how that feels. To be fair, I can't really blame her. I can't blame either of you, anyway."
Silence.
"...but, man, John, you sure have got the patience and perseverance of a frickin' bonafide saint. I mean, having to go through...well, all of that and still choosing to take care of the kid who tried to murder you? I personally would've just given up, or moved out of town after that." Eli chuckled at his own self-deprecation. "Gotta say, kudos to you."
"... it's nothing, really, Eli. I'm just...I dunno. I guess I just thought it'd be the right thing. Besides...where else was she supposed to go after that?"
"Fair." Eli pulled his right sleeve up slightly, looking at the watch on his wrist. 1:15 PM.
"...hey, John? It's getting kinda late, aaaand I gotta go somewhere in...30 to 45 minutes or so." Eli gets up from the chair, pulling his jacket back on.
John stands up as well, pushing his chair back into its usual spot. "Oh, right. Sorry for holding you up, then..." He stopped, and turned. "What's the occasion, by the way?"
"It's a date, Johnny boy." Eli laughed to himself. "With this, uh, girl I met last Sunday? Tiffany's her name. And, man, she is a hot one."
"Ohhhhh..." John nodded. "I see. Well then, I'm not gonna hold you up any longer. So, uh...good luck on that date, then?"
"Thanks, man. Good luck on your...whatever, taking care of Amy and what-not." The two walked over to the door, exiting the office as they walked on to the entrance of the station.
Waving at the receptionist, Eli: "I'm clocking out, bye, Gertrude!"
Gertrude, the receptionist, nods and waves Eli off. "Bye, Eli." She turns to John as well and nods. "See you never, crazy preacher."
John and Eli exit the station, and Eli takes another cigarette from a pack, lighting it as he puts it between his lips. He puffs out a few clouds of smoke, before taking it out and turning to John.
"You stay safe now, all right?" He placed a hand on John's shoulder, who nodded, acknowledging. "All right. And say hi to the kid for me, okay?"
"I don't think she knows you that well, Eli." A faint smile tugged at John's lips.
"Oh, whatever. Just say the blonde detective dude says hi." Eli looks out over the town, before going down the stairs and waving off at John. "See ya, John!" A last goodbye.
John waves in kind, as Eli runs off, disappearing into his car; a dark blue 1983 Plymouth Gran Fury. The car pulls out of its parking spot and rolls down the street, disappearing behind a corner...
The preacher walks down the stairs as well and towards his gray car, stopping to turn behind him and look around the town. The sky was still largely a cloudy gray, but it seemed somewhat sunnier, somehow.
He looked back at the station walls, eyeing the missing person flyer. Something was compelling him to go back and take it...
So he did. He walked back up to the wall and took the flyer off it, walking back to the car, opening the door and climbing in. The car started up and drove down the street, back to the downtown apartment block.
One way or another, he'd get to the bottom of what was going down in town. He swore to himself and to the others he couldn't save that he would. He had to.
Somewhere, in another part of town...
The neighborhood is quiet and lonely. Houses lined up on each side of the street, bicycles and cars parked on the sidewalk and in garages...but little to no sign of life. Only the small occasional murder of crows perked on the power lines, cawing amongst eachother as if having a conversation.
A red-haired teenager with a gray denim jacket and a dark orange sweater pins a flyer onto a utility pole. The stapler makes a CLICK as the poster is pinned to the pole, slightly fluttering in the wind, as the teenager moves along, pulling out another poster, preparing to staple it to a fence. He pushes it against the fence and brings the stapler over, pinning the poster onto the wood. He stops briefly, gazing at the flyer. His eyes locked onto the person in the middle of the poster; a monochrome photo of a teenage girl with light, shoulder-length curly hair.
An exasperated sigh. He turns away to walk along--
Halt! He almost bumps into a man. "Oh, e-excuse me-", he says, before stopping abruptly, mid sentence. "Wait...Mr. Miller?"
The figure, a middle-aged bald man with a light black stubble and sunglasses, wearing a short-sleeved yellow button-up shirt and a digital wrist watch, turns towards the teenager. His eyebrows raise as if he met an old friend, before he raises his sunglasses up. "Oh, Theodore! Why, hello there, friend!"
The two shake hands a bit vigorously, exchanging a few words of greeting. Mr. Miller turns towards the posters, examining them for a moment.
"Still looking, huh?" His voice dropped to a more somber tone, befitting the topic. His expression turned a bit softer.
Theodore lets out a long, heavy sigh. "Yeah. No luck...none at all. The police hasn't had any either..." He puts a hand up to his face. It's clear that he's been looking for so long, without ever finding anything of substance. It's taking a toll on him.
"Well, I'm not that surprised, personally." Miller said, pulling out a cigarette from a pack in his pants' pockets and lighting it with a Zippo. Flick, flick, and the cigarette's end is alight. A cloud of smoke puffs out. "They're surprisingly - or unsurprisingly - incompetent." Another puff of smoke.
"...I just wish something would pop up." Theo added, his melancholic gaze turned straight down.
Mr. Miller nodded, taking another drag from the cigarette before unceremoniously putting it out into the telephone pole and flicking it away. "Yeah, well, I wish I could help you with that, kiddo. I really wish I could." He reassuringly placed a hand on Theo's shoulder. "If it's any consolation, there's gonna be a Halloween party next month. October 31st, apartment 9B. The Williams are gonna be hosting it. It'll be fun. You don't have to bring a crazy costume or anything. What do you think?"
Theo thought for a moment. A Halloween party sounded nice, although...he didn't really know much of anyone else in the apartment complex. Anyone besides the lady in 5A, anyway.
"I'll...think about it, I guess."
"Great." Mr. Miller pulled away, turning towards the street. "Well, I've got to take my leave now. Got some work to do at the clinic. You know how it is."
Theo nodded. He didn't, in fact, know how "it" is.
"Oh, and, before I forget," Mr. Miller turned back as he began to walk away. "Rent and utilities are due Friday, okay?"
Theo nodded, again.
" 'Kay. See you later, Theodore." The man walked across the street and off onto the parallel sidewalk, rounding a corner and...he's gone.
Theo watches the man walk off and promptly turns back to the fence. His hand reaches into his satchel to pull out another poster, pushing it to the fence and pinning it into the hard wood with a staple...
Sometime later, Theo slowly walks up the stairs of an apartment complex. The elevator was off limits, for whatever reason, and it always sort of creeped him out. Better to take the stairs instead, he said to himself.
He stepped up the last stair to the 8th floor. The hallway ahead was long and dim, the floor carpeted with a fuzzy dark-red material. A number of doors were lined up on each side of the hallway. 8A, 8B, 8C, 8D and so on...
Theo stopped in front of 8C, staring at the dark oak door, in front of it a brown Welcome Home mat. He stepped onto the doormat, cleaning his shoes on it, before pulling out a keyring. A bit of shuffling through the keys later and he finds the apartment key, fitting it into the keyhole.
One turn to the right.
One to the left.
Right.
Right.
Left.
Right.
The door swung open slowly and Theo made his way inside, grabbing the handle and slowly pushing the door closed behind him. He locks it, turning the key in reverse order (which technically is the same order, actually), before placing the keyring in a drawer of a cabinet in the entrance hallway.
"Clarence, I'm home!" He called out into the living room.
Someone shifted in the couch. A boy with tousled chestnut-brown hair, around 13 years old, turned around and stared up at his brother. A silent head-nod, before Clarence turned back to the television set in front of the couch.
Theo shrugged his jacket off and set it on a coathanger, turning and tiredly shambling over to the couch. He sort of just flopped onto it, his face buried into a pillow, sitting aside from Clarence.
After a while of, well, nothing, Theo raises his head and turns to Clarence. Then to the TV. Columbo reruns. Cool.
Turning his head back to Clarence, "You want some popcorn?" A nod. "Okay, be right back then."
Theo walked on to the kitchen to fetch some popcorn. The sounds of a microwave's beeping echoed from there. Clarence kind of just stared at the TV, observing the lovable cigar-smoking detective's shenanigans. Peter Falk always seemed to nail it with this role. And the delivery of his iconic Oh, and one more thing catchphrase?
It was always just great. The piece of resistance. The cherry on the cake.
Footsteps from behind Clarence got closer, as he turned around...and there was Theo, holding a big bucket of popcorn. He set it on a table in front of the couch, before sitting down again.
"What's old Columbo up to now?" Theo inquired, glancing over to Clarence as he took a handful of popcorn.
Clarence shrugged, as if to say Just the usual.
"Right...figures."
Clarence picked up and ate a handful of popcorn as well. The two brothers pretty much took turns from the bucket as they watched the show. And so, the hours passed by, til late evening came...
Theo retreated into his room. Staring off to the digital clock on the nightstand besides his bed; 10:30 PM. It sure was late. He sighed, turning to his wardrobe, pulling the doors open. His eyes scanned across the clothes neatly folded and stored in the shelves, before reaching over towards a set of pajamas. He sat down onto the bed and slowly threw off his daywear, changing into his nightwear; just a white tank top, a pair of dark orange pajama pants and some black socks. He laid against the headboard, staring up at the wall in front of him, on which there was a billboard. A billboard plastered with photographs, pins, red lines and connections, not unlike something you'd see in a conspiracy theorist's room. Admittedly, he did feel a bit like one.
The photographs were of different things that seemed somewhat unconnected; photographs of his old family home in the woods, photos of the Leyland family, dated 1979-1985, photos of Claire Leyland, et cetera. Post-it notes were also pinned onto the board, with various observations.
But he hadn't really managed to come to any concrete evidence of anything at all. He wasn't close to solving the mystery of the murders. Not at all. Not even close.
He let out a long, deep sigh, before laying down and tucking himself into the blanket, head against the pillow. He relaxed slowly and surely, closing his eyes shut, trying to fall asleep. He's been trying for so long to find anything, but nothing turned up.
Nothing at all.
But... maybe, just maybe, he could try again tomorrow.
He took one last look at the billboard, before closing his eyes again and letting the Sandman take him to...wherever his dreams would take him.
Tomorrow is another day, as they say.