A crystal-like chime rang throughout the cluttered, open Living Room; decorated with newspapers, vinyl records, and a smashed television screen. Banging on the nearby door was followed by a loud crash of the breaking bottle which had been gently tapping against the exposed floor causing the earlier chime.
“Ezekiel you better not be dead yet, you’ve got shit to do!” called a masculine, yet feminine voice. It was clearly a woman who was smashing her fist into the white wooden door.
Rustling of a jagged, scrawny, long-haired man ensued as he attempted to part himself from the couch; clearly experiencing a severe hangover. “I’m coming, Lucy, calm down...” He mumbled, placing his hand against the glass covered floor, letting a slight wince or hiss of pain escape through his teeth.
Lucy tapped her foot, just barely missing the door frame which was peeling away from itself. “He really needs to get this place renovated...” She whispered to herself just before the door cracked open to face Ezekiel, who seemed to barely be on his feet. “God, you look terrible. You need to start taking care of yourself.” She sighed, crossing her arms, and pushing her way into the apartment. “I can really tell why you’ve never invited me over, this place is a mess, and you’ve got four of the same record.” Lucy blinked with pure confusion and slight concern.
“Four is my favourite number.” Ezekiel stated, blunter than the razor he uses to shave his face. His words were out of place for the conversation and quite abrupt, but that was simply his way of speech. Ezekiel was never one to follow social cues, he merely gave honesty.
Ezekiel stumbled toward the kitchen; the hinges on the frame lacking a door, it seemed to have been broken off and replaced with beads, ribbon, and tinsel.
“How’s your wife.” Ezekiel questioned, not a bit of intonation shown as he started the partially taped together coffee machine, leaning forward on the surprisingly nice hardwood counter. The apartment itself belonged to a well-kept apartment complex; it was merely Ezekiel who couldn’t keep his together.
“She’s- doing well.” Lucy coughed slightly, finding it almost difficult to breathe in the smoke-filled, alcohol-stained apartment. “But you know she’d be better if you could show up to work on time.” She huffed, still standing, scared to sit down on the couch in fear she’d be poisoned by it.
“I know. I''ve got the paperwork in my room; I''ll get it in a second...” Ezekiel mumbled, placing his head against the cold counter while the coffee machine whirred and sputtered espresso.
“Ezekiel, you’re a good man and all, but you won''t be able to help people if you end up six feet under.” The statement seemed out of place, something Lucy wouldn’t traditionally say, but she wanted to express her concern whether it fit the conversation’s guidelines or not.
It''s true, Ezekiel was fairly skilled at his job, he was eccentric and thought through every move a person could make, but he certainly struggled with maintaining his own health.
“The keys are in the table. You can get the paper yourself, I''ll just- stand here for a moment.” Ezekiel muttered almost under his breath, just barely loud enough for Lucy to hear. It seemed he was ignoring her statement all together.
“Who locks their bedroom...” She groaned, clearly annoyed with his ignorance, but nonetheless she needed that paperwork, it was a crucial part of the ongoing case and Ezekiel was the only one with a copy; mainly because he refused to share it with anybody, for unknown reasons.
Lucy began rummaging through the drawers of Ezekiel’s coffee table, one of which seemed to be used solely as an ashtray, to be honest Lucy found it both innovative and disgusting all at once.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.The keys were eventually uncovered, the farthest drawer to the right; it was organised neatly with sticky notes above each key stating where they led to, it was so out of character for Ezekiel she was sure somebody else had to have done it, but then again nobody else messed up their ‘G’s’ and ‘D’s’ like Ezekiel does, which meant the writing had to be his.
Avoiding shards of glass and random tuffs of pillow stuffing; Lucy made it toward Ezekiel’s bedroom door, inserting the key into the lock and cautiously opening it. God knows what he keeps in there, she had her rights to be suspicious.
light flooded into the room, illuminating cork boards covered in red string and paper barely hanging on to thumb tacks pressed into the walls, his bed and the floor were covered in papers that seemed to be organised by the colour of the document seal, orange in the top left corner, purple in the right, his bed covered in hand written notes that didn’t belong to any station. Lucy seemed scared to step on the paper, but obviously she had to, how else was she meant to retrieve the notes she came for.
Atop the mound of papers resting on Ezekiel’s sheetless bed was exactly the piece of paper Lucy had been looking for; The top of the first page marked with a green sticky note which was perfectly aligned with the three staples running down the side of the sheets. It stated the person’s record and case name as well as the victim''s assumed time of death ‘Valery North, case 17, 13:59’. Exactly what Lucy was looking for.
“Ezekiel, is this all?” She questioned, unable to tell if there were more papers Ezekiel was simply hiding.
After standing around in the room flooded with the pure lack of sound, she grew tired of being able to taste every brand of cigarette Ezekiel had laid his hands on and began to leave. The papers crunched and crackled beneath her feet while she made her way to the kitchen, debating if she were to let Ezekiel show up even later or if she were to drag him to work.
To her surprise, when she left the bedroom, she was met with the ever so perplexing sight of Ezekiel with his hair pushed back, picking up loose bottles around the room.
He looked up for a moment, more hunched over than usual in an attempt to reach the scattered piles of bottles in several different colours, most of which were brown. “Mind drivin’ me to the recycling plant before we go to the station?” He rubbed his eyes in the midst of his inquiry.
“So, you aren’t cleaning, you’re gonna’ sell them, aren’t you? You better not buy more booze with that money.” Lucy grumbled, crossing her arms once more, shifting her weight to the left side of her hip, preparing herself to scold the mess of a man that stood in front of her.
“I was gonna get you a wedding gift...” He blinked, he wasn’t able to make it to the wedding between Lucy and her wife which took place about a week previous to the current day, he’d been struggling to think of what to get her, anything he’d been drinking was left over alcohol from the back of his cabinet he didn’t quite like the taste of, but was too lazy to throw out. He had been trying to save every bit of leftover cash he had.
“Really...? Ezekiel, you don’t need to do that.” Lucy couldn’t help but smile a bit, she felt bad for always yelling at him, but it was simply because she cared about him. “Really, let''s just head to work and maybe we can get a drink together, Miriam shouldn’t be mad at me for going out with somebody I''ve known for so long.”
Ezekiel stood up right, or at least as upright as he could with his fractured spine. He''s still pissed off at himself for not going back to the hospital to get it fixed, but that was twenty years ago, he was stupid and naive, and most importantly, he was afraid of hospitals.
“You shouldn’t drive, I''ll take you to work with me.” Lucy ever so slightly laughed, giving Ezekiel a quick thumbs up, it seemed like some sort of inside joke or a strange supportive gesture, either way Ezekiel couldn''t help but roll his eyes in response to hide the split second of joy he’d experienced from Lucy’s support.