Hood III - Stories

Detective Investigator Hood had been blessed with an inordinately brilliant memory.

“Did you pick up the paper?”

“....I’ll be right back.”

Most of the time.

It was this that had set him apart from the other Detectives and Investigators in his younger days. And which brought CDIO (Chief Detective Investigating Officer back to his door on those trickier cases.

“You like me as a friend too, right?”

Bard gave no reply but accepted the paper. The clothes of the missing person pictured on the front matched those crumpled on the ground.

“Bad news?”

“It’s Rayelle.”

“Not,” Hood pulled a stray thread from his coat, “Anymore.”

“Hood,” Bard sighed.

“Peter Paterson went crazy from getting over-involved in this stuff.”

“That was a little different. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Suicide,” Hood continued watching the other detectives attempting to keep the onlookers at bay.

“You’re certain?”

“Moonlight Potion, leaves nary a trace when done right.”

“Sure?”

“Nick, there are few things I know well-”

“But detecting is one of them. I’ve heard.” Bard refolded the paper, “I’ll let her parents know.”

Hood waited.

“I don’t have the money on me, Hood.”

Hood made to leave, and then stopped, “Only Madame Crane sells Moonlight. It’ll be long gone by now.”

“What drives them to it....”

“Nick, don’t,” He eased the paper out of his friend’s hand, “Don’t go there.”

“Hood....”

“Despair,” he shrugged, “Hopelessness. You lose hope, you- It’s no place to be.”

Bard nodded and bent to collect the clothes.

Then he glanced up at Hood, “Lucky for you Madame Crane wasn’t selling that year.”

Hood smiled, “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

He saw Bethany Prentice, the journalist, hovering on the edge of the scene, and headed in the opposite direction. This took him past the sweet shop, which stocked him up with chocolate biscuits and some popcorn kernels. He would have bought a cake too but the contents of his pocket decided otherwise.



Hood munched the biscuits as one might munch through a packet of crisps while he strolled up the river, watching bits of something or other wobble and splash past him.

Eelsvale was a small town on the northern part of the not-much-larger isle of Wake. It had a single Headquarters, which ran and monitored most of the important stuff, including the D.I.s. Though still very much a Detective Investigator, Hood, through a series of events he couldn’t quite fully recall, was now self-employed.

He remained, however, unused to all this free time he’d gained since leaving HQ, where every day had been stuffed with cases from murders to runaway pet mice (a greatly underrated problem).

This freelance thing made everything a little less predictable.

Which, of course, was what he liked about it.

It was near evening when he returned to his office and found a young girl waiting outside.

“Hi,” said he.

“Are you Detective Hood?”

“Detective Investigator,” was Hood’s automatic correction as he opened the door and ushered her inside.

A long corridor squeezed between the empty shops on either side of Hood’s building, reaching into the office at the end. He motioned his guest into a chair and planted himself behind the desk.

“Now, what is it that I can do for you?”

“I think I’m dying.”

Hood began to wish he had bought cake.

“You look well enough, lass. Not too skinny but defiantly with more restraint than I. You’re not pale, your eyes are bright and your hair has that lovely healthy shine to it. Are you a natural blonde?”

“I, um.”

Hood just looked at her.

“Yes.”

“So you’re not sick.”

“No.”

“Please,” Hood smiled and waved a hand, “Continue.”

“Well, you know how when you’re about to die they say your life flashes before your eyes?”

“I’ve experienced this. Twice I think.”

“You- have?”

“Only I didn’t die. I was rescued. Just in time. It was, well, continue, please.”

His hand waved again.

The girl hesitated.

“Nothing you say could possibly sound ridiculous to me.”

“My life keeps flashing before my eyes. And it’s growing more frequent.”

“See. Not at all ridiculous.”

“I’m not dying?”

“I- We- There may need to be some further....”

“Yes?”

“I’m not exactly familiar with the particulars of this situation.”

“You don’t know?”

“Not....exactly, no. But I am almost certain we can find out.”

“You think it’s serious?”

“I- You with the questions already!”

The girl stared at him a moment, then, “Sorry.”

Hood did not seem to hear.

“Where is it you live?”

“Northcliff.”

“Hm. You should probably stick around a bit.”

They each glanced around Hood’s office. It was not chaotic, as such, or even messy, just dirty. Hood had moved in a year ago, more or less, after the place had been long abandoned, and he was not the sort to engage in cleaning.

“I have a friend,” Hood concluded, “Just down the road.” He waved a finger to his left and then steered it around to the right. “Female friend. Only, try to avoid her baking,” he added.

“Sure.”

“We should go now, it’s growing late. I gotta sleep, and stuff.”

“Uh, sure.”

She followed him out through the back door, more confused than she’d ever been in her life, yet relived that he seemed to be taking her at least a little seriously. He hadn’t laughed at her.

“Had any near-death experiences lately?”

“No.”

“Unusual dreams? And I’m not talking about your usual unusual ones.”

“Not really, no.”

“Eat anything strange?”

“Same old.”

“Anything else, anything at all out of the ordinary? People? Jewellery?”

“Jewellery?”

“Never underestimate small shiny things.”

“Still no.”

“No tall men in black cloaks?”

“I’d have mentioned that in the out-of-the-ordinary people category.”

“Of course. Here we are.”

Hood did not knock but entered straight through the back door, calling out, “Sally? You in here?”

There was no reply but this did not dissuade him. He approached another door and this time did knock. The girl, still following, smiled as she caught sight of the large sign nailed to it, which read,

Hood -

Enter

At Your Own

RISK

-

[Or I’ll Tell

Bard All About

YOU KNOW WHAT]

The door swung open.

“Hood,” said the pretty girl within, “What a surprise.”

Her tone did not convey that which her words adverted to.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Oh this, she’s, she might be dying. But I’m going to fix that. Try to. Most very likely fix it.”

“And her name?”

A moment’s silence.

“Names are overrated.”

Sally rolled her eyes, then brushed past Hood and shook the girl’s hand, “I’m Sally.”

“Elena.”

“It’s good to meet you. Sorry about him, his social skills are, well, I’m yet to see any.”

“Can she stay the night? Might need a couple, or two,” Hood asked.

“I insist.”

“Then I will see you in the morning.”

“The part of the day before the sun passes noon?”

“Yes.”

“We won’t wait for lunch.”

Hood narrowed his eyes and seemed about to speak, but merely turned and swept out the door.

Sally grinned.

“Can I get you a drink Elena?”

“Thank you. Um, how do you know Hood?”

“It’s a sort of working relationship.”

“You work with him?”

“It gets easier when you get to know him. He doesn’t get easier, but you learn to work around his peculiarities.”

“Are you paid?”

“I’m a writer. Hood and his escapades are a fantastic source of inspiration.”

“You’re Sally Carter? Of the Chronicle’s Creative Column?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I love your stuff!”

“Thank you. I love writing it. Most of the time.”

“And some of it’s based on Hood?”

“The one with the skarrak, almost entirely.”

“Yeah,” she laughed, “That sounds about right.”

“We should probably have us some sleep. Long day tomorrow.”

“I thought Hood wouldn’t be here till late? Not that I’m objecting to the sleeping part.”

“Yes, but equally likely he could turn up at the crack of dawn with some new idea on which we must act at once.”

“I see. Thank you for having me here.”

“Not a problem. I dread to think what he’d have tried to do otherwise.”

“Me too.”

The girls giggled and went their ways.

Hood, who had been listening at the door, not for himself but because some secrets were best revealed between members of the same gender, shook his head and walked away. Maybe he should have taken her to Bethany’s. The journalist would have dragged every bit of her past as well as her present from her before the night was over. Of course, he’d have had to have given her something in exchange, something such as information on the Rayelle suicide.

He wandered toward the library and climbed in a back window that he had....adjusted....for such a purpose. Conjuring a little light, he found himself in the cookery section, and carried on until he reached dreams. As far as he was aware there was as yet no section on one’s life flashing before one’s eyes and, in his thinking, dreams provided a close enough reference.

He read until he could keep his eyes open no longer and then he fell asleep. Vee, the librarian, awoke him non-too kindly, reminded him that he was still banned from her facility, and had him escorted to the door by Bana. All 6 ½ foot, 44 inches (around the middle) of him. Hood did not struggle or even argue. Most of him, thankfully, was still part-asleep.

He had discovered very little. Possibly nothing, but he was determined some small something from his reading would come in somewhere.

So much for the brilliant memory.



“But it is brilliant,” Sally argued – insisted, complemented – when he informed her of his newest problem. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“I ate at Bettie’s.”

“The answer must be in there somewhere. How do you usually think?”

“I don’t, I just know.”

Elena looked up, “Every time?”

“More or less.”

“What about the less times then?” Sally continued.

“What about some peace!”

Hood stalked off into the kitchen. Sally gave Elena a reassuring smile, “He’s just frustrated with himself. And he’s not really a morning person.”

A plate smashed on the floor. Sally went to the kitchen door.

“Sorry,” said Hood, “That was a accident. I’ll buy you a new one.”

She passed him the broom. He had swept and collected the broken pottery when there came a cry from the living room. Hood dropped it again, shattering the fragments further, and rushed after Sally to check on Elena.

She didn’t appear to have moved, except perhaps a slight slumping of the body.

“What happened?” Sally enquired and Hood demanded at the same time.

“I had another one, another flash....thing.”

“What was it?”

“Bits of my childhood, simple things, playing in the garden, watching the rain, eating lunch.”

“Death,” said Hood

The two girls tuned to him in horror.

“When I was dying, once, I saw Death. I chatted to him. Nice chap, occupation aside.”

The horror-stricken looks did not abate.

“We can go and talk to him, he’ll know whether or not you’re dying.”

“Well, where is he?” Sally ventured.

“It’s obvious.”

“The graveyard? The hospital?”

“Not that obvious. Come along.”

Hood led them through the town, between houses leaning so far their tall tops met over the cobbled street. Magic, more than anything else, kept the whole thing from collapsing. Not the controlled magic of wands and spells and potions, though a few of the last existed, but the magic contained within each resident of Wake Isle (excepting Sally and a few other non-natives) enabling them to control a little the magical particles making up every animal, every object, even the air. Each had their own strengths and weaknesses; Hood had once known every one and to which individual they belonged, but people change, they die, more are born, one loses track.

Near to the wasteland of Baker’s Ridge was a field where an eclectic mix of animals grazed, drank, or slept. In the middle a tall, thin man in a dark black cloak lay in the grass, tracing pictures on the overhead clouds.

“D,” said Hood.

“Hood,” said Death. “You’re early.”

“Death is cloud-gazing,” Elena murmured to Sally, “How can that possibly be obvious?”

“Best you don’t try to figure it out.”

“I’ve got a....girl. She thinks she might be dying. Could you take a look?”

Death glanced up at Elena and then lay back down.

“Nope. Fit as a fiddleback.”

Hood turned to leave, when Death called him back.

“Wait, she can see me.”

“Elena?” Hood asked.

“He’s hard to miss.”

“Sally?”

Sally shook her head, “I see nothing.”

“But he’s right there,” Elena insisted.

“Interesting....” murmured Death.

“I can hear him,” Sally said, “Sort of murmury, whisper-like.”

Death sighed, “Of course you can hear me, how else am I supposed to communicate? Now, Detective Investigator S-”

“No.” Hood interrupted, “We discussed that, remember.”

“Apologies. Hood. I wish to join your investigation.”

Hood shrugged, “Sure.”

“Sally Carter,” Death nodded while Sally smiled into the air about a foot to his right. “Elena Hall,” he reached out to shake her hand but Elena shrunk back.

“You are quite safe,” he assured her, “I don’t know why it is that you can see me, but you are certainly not on my list.”

Elena tentatively shook his hand. It was ice-cold and dry.

“How’s Rayelle?” Hood asked as they set off.

“It was quick.”

“Quick!”

The shout hurried Hood around the street corner where he all but collided with Sally. Beyond her, a tall, handsome stranger held Elena in a graceful swoon.

“What’d I miss?”

“She fell,” Sally pointed at Elena, “He caught her.”

“She trip or summat? And who is he?”

“I’m Chad. ”

Chad reached out a hand for Hood to shake. Hood ignored it and prodded Elena instead. She came to.

“You alright?”

“I had another of those flash-”

Her gaze drifted from Hood to Chad and there lingered long. Hood turned to Sally who was similarly transfixed. Death watched from beside the D.I.

“Thank you,” said Hood, extracting Elena from Chad’s arms, “For your assistance. I’ll take it from here.”

“Ought not you to take her to the Infirmary?”

“The Infirmary can’t help her.”

“But-”

“Really, I’ve got it. Ought not you to-” he paused, trying to regain control of his sentence, “-have some place to go to.”

“Was that an attempt to mock the young man?” Death murmured in Hood’s ear. He was ignored.

Chad glanced Hood over, “I think I’ll stay.”

“I’m a D.I. Sally, tell him.”

Sally was glaring at him.

“What?”

She nodded her head at Elena.

“Ah yes. You had another flash?”

“Same stuff as before, and more.”

“What’s going on?” Chad asked, a small frown wrinkling his smooth brow. Hood scowled at him. Then Sally stepped forward.

“Hood is a freelance Detective Investigator, he goes where the law enforcement does not or cannot. Elena is experiencing unusual symptoms, usually associated with one who is dying, only Death here confirms that she is not.”

“Death, here?”

Death patted Chad’s shoulder and the man flinched at the sudden cold that chilled his arm. Death caught Hood’s eye and returned the smile.

“I see. Well that is I feel. You know, you have lovely eyes.” Chad pushed the hair from Sally’s face, “I cannot figure if they are quite green or blue.”

Sally blushed.

Hood muttered something, which only Death heard, as he steadied Elena on her feet.

“And your hair is incredibly smooth.”

“Thanks, uh, thank you.”

Hood made a gagging motion. Elena rolled her eyes and then slumped again in Hood’s arms.

“I believe time is of the essence here,” Death commented.

“Sally, Sally.”

Sally turned.

“We must return to your house. I need Elena to write down all her memories, there may be some kind of pattern or link.”



Elena sat in the lounging room, closely watched by both Chad and Death. Hood stared out the kitchen window. Sally waited in the doorway, torn between her new friend (and Chad), and her old acquaintance. She looked at Elena’s slender form, leant over one of Sally’s fuller notepads, her neat handwriting curling in straight lines across the unruled paper. Chad, tall, clean, tidy, (handsome,) half-seated on the edge of the sofa, ready to come to Elena’s assistance if necessary. Then Hood, his battered brown coat with its ever-widening tear between his hunched shoulders, and what looked like a twig in his scruffy hair.

“You’re stuck, huh?”

Hood glanced around.

“Just temporarily....” he ran a hand through his hair, found a twig and attempted to tear it out, “Yeah, stuck.”

Sally motioned his head down and extracted the segment of vegetation.

“Anything I can do?”

Hood managed a small smile, “You’re already doing.”

“Tea?”

“Really, you just,” Hood waved a hand toward the lounging room, “You know. People things.”

Sally frowned, shrugged, sighed, smiled. “I’ll see if Elena has finished her list.”

“I’ll be in my office.”

Hood went home. Sally followed shortly after with Elena’s notes, left them without a word exchanged and Hood pondered them long into the night. All he found was a chronological progression and an increase in length and frequency. This he told Death, who had drifted into his office at some point. Death glanced up from his chair, said “Hm,” and then remembered he had to pop over the street to attend to a new departure.

They all went for breakfast at Bettie’s the following morning. Sally, Elena and Chad appeared to have slept well, Death did not sleep, while Hood looked even worse than usual.

“Who is that?”

A red-haired woman lingered on the edge of the scene.

“Excuse me,” said Hood, annoyed he had not noticed the journalist before Chad had.

“He’s nice-looking,” she commented.

“He’s a fink.”

“You’re jealous.”

“And you’re over-imaginative.”

“Going to tell me what you’re up to?”

“No. You?”

“No.”

Elena screamed.

“You should-”

“I should go.”

“See you around.”

“Huh,” said Hood, returning to his group.

“Now what?”

Death had the only explanation, “She is seeing ghosts.”

“Which ghosts?”

“Terla is just over there with Sid. And Greyon.”

“No wonder she screamed,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Hey!” said Sally, “What does this mean?”

Hood and Death exchanged a glance, which looked to all but Elena (who wasn’t really looking anyway) like the former was gazing at a tree.

“It-” Hood faltered. He took Sally aside, “Seeing ghosts occasionally happens when folks are,” he paused, “Close to death.”

“But she is not!” Sally whirled around to shout toward the tree, “Elena is not dying! She is young and healthy-“

From the edge of her vision she saw Hood point a little left of the tree. She turned and continued, “-This isn’t fair to her or to her family or friends. You can stop this, you must, or at the very least tell Hood how he can stop it!”

“I am growing too soft for this,” Death sighed, “Hood, might you remind her that none of this is my doing.”

“Tell her yourself,” Hood muttered.

Death approached Sally, took hold of her arm and appeared before her, a shadowy, ghost-like form.

“This is not my doing, Sally Carter, I am no more in control of this than you are, and this situation is as much unknown to me as to any of you. I am sorry. Perhaps a solution will yet be found. I know of none to match Hood.”

Sally nodded and began to mop up her tears. Chad passed her a clean, pressed handkerchief and hugged her. Hood ignored them, he was staring at Elena.

“I am not done yet,” he announced. He took Elena’s hand, “I have many acquaintances and much knowledge we have not yet explored. We will not give up. I will not give up.”

Death smiled – not an attractive sight – as Hood led the group down the street. They visited people and places both expectedly strange and oddly normal; places Chad, who had lived in Eelsvale his whole life, had never seen nor heard of; places Sally’s previous adventurers with Hood and explorations of her own had never taken her; places even Death had yet to visit. Elena’s story was told and sad heads were shaken at this unsolvable problem, and so kindness was extended in the form of food, drink, gifts, magical tricks and more. Madame Crane, for instance, decided that no person should die without having flown and promptly turned them all (save Death) into pterodactyls for half an hour. The Count took them dreamwalking through each other’s dreams, a bizarre and somewhat intrusive experience but no less fascinating. Bethany Prentice promised to tell Elena’s story in return for nothing at all, something Hood attributed less to her sudden softening of heart and more to the fact that he’d allowed Chad to make the request.

Still, no solution or even an identifiable problem was found.

By evening, they had settled once again in Sally’s house and the atmosphere had grown much friendlier. Elena was asleep first and the others soon after fell quiet. Bed-going was agreed upon and Sally shook Elena to awake her.

The girl did not stir.

“Hood....”

Hood rushed to Elena’s side.

“Still nothing,” Death answered the unasked question.

“She is unconscious,” Hood concluded.

Tears began running down Sally’s face, dripping off her chin. Chad moved to her side, concern all over his pretty face.

“Poor kid,” said Hood.

Chad snapped, leaping to his feet, “Do you have no heart? The girl is dying, another, your friend, is overwrought, and yet you treat this situation as though it were no more than a.... a..... sad play!”

Hood’s face reddened. Sally saw but was too distraught to intervene. His fingers curled into fists as images of bruised eyes and a bloody nose on Chad’s face filled his mind. Death stepped between them.

“He is not on my list either,” he whispered.

The moment held, then a growl, “You do not know me.”

Elena’s body began writhing.

“She is in pain,” Death said.

Sally started sobbing.

Death crouched down and again took her arm, “There is nothing I can do....save take her and end this pain.”

“No.”

“I suggest this as a last resort only. Once she is within my guard I have a little control. I can allow her to awaken for a short while before she passes.”

“No,” Sally said, but with less conviction than before, “No.”

“Sally....” said Chad, o-so gently.

“No,” said Sally, only now she was nodding.

Death looked to Hood who shrugged, and then gave the smallest of nods.

Elena grew still and awoke.

“Hey,” she said, smiling.

“Elena-”

“I know, Sally.”

“But-”

“It’s okay. I mean, I shall miss you all, and my parents, or I hope I shall, wherever I end up. Yet these few days have been the most fun I’ve had in my life, today especially. So thank you, all, for my best last days. Thank you, Hood, for trying so hard to help me, I am sorry that you could not find a solution in time. And thank you Sally for being so welcoming and friendly and kind.”

She clasped Sally’s hands.

“It’s okay.”

Death reached out and touched a finger to her forehead. Elena went limp.

“I should like to return to body to her parents and explain the circumstances of her passing.”

Hood looked at Chad, but the anger had passed.

“Tell them no charge.”

He left.

Chad was about to go after him when Sally held him back.

“That’s just Hood,” she explained, “A complement, almost.”

Chad scowled, then he lifted the body, wrapped it in a sheet, and followed Sally to the house of the late Elena’s parents.

When Sally returned, she found Hood asleep on her sofa. He awoke when she tripped over a pile of books.

“I-”

“It’s fine. One question, though.”

“Yes?”

“How come you can see Death?”

“I’m different.”

Sally sighed but did not press him. She fetched a blanket and then retired to her own bed. Later that night, or perhaps some time very early the next morning, Sally awoke with the realisation that she had not visited the bathroom all day. As she passed back by the lounge she paused at a sound and peeked within: Hood was sat on the sofa with his head in his hands, crying.

Sally gasped, frozen. Did she enter to comfort him? Or would he prefer to be alone? She wanted desperately to do the first and so, after much hesitation, chose the latter.

When Hood awoke, Sally had already left. A bacon buttie, one from Bettie’s by the smell of it, sat on the table. Next to it lay his coat; the tear in the back mended.

Elena smiled a knowing smile, a ghosty shimmer in the half-light, and rejoined her new friend outside. She and Rayelle had one last task, to seek out Death and through him tell Hood of Rayelle’s story.