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-PART TWO-

What happens when a mystery detective in Town suddenly involves more crime and intrigue than even he can imagine?

The adrenaline floods to his system like it's on an intravenous drip, right into his blood at full pelt. Thinking that his heart will explode and eyes are wide, letting in every ounce of the fading light. His body wants to either run fast to the sidewalks or shop to find weaponry, he wants to do something that can change everything, he wants to quell the hammering in his chest, but there's no way that will happen now. They need to be patient and think intelligently this time, they can't do anything to change one's minds,

there's no turning back.

doesn't regret it though.

coming on senses, it was his mission after all.

It was what he wants.

"How come all those detectives in the movies weren't ever scared?"

Maybe they were.

Maybe they were scared all the time, perhaps that's what bravery really is. His adrenaline surges so fast that he almost vomits, can taste the saliva thickening his mouth to a rancid paste. At some point he'll have to decide we're to follow his brother's request or his fears. Just like in the shows that every individual have been watched there is an earpiece that says, "Go" or at least some tactical information, the room seems empty but it's not. Sitting in the corner, he could be a beefier reflection of his legal brother but he's not. He stares at the mirror through his own reflection, eyes to eyes. Telling himself to be brave, reminding that his decision is right and what is needed. His lips almost move then his eyes dart back to the frayed laces of his runners. He wants to know what his best friend was going to say but it's just not a good idea to ask in the middle of a crisis. He we're never alone,

not really.

From behind, comes that scent of death that he always wears. Clenching his fist, talking like an idiot to himself facing the mirrors. Reminding over and over to have the skills of the great detectives like his greatness. To have the mind and eye for clues equal to those of the famous entanglers of mysteries. Not to parade any knowledge, returning lost diamonds and catching dastardly killers. Not to share with the masses the secrets behind the downfall of kings and the rise of emperors. Not to unravel the elaborately spun lies of conmen. No, deduction of Holmes and Poirot, would quietly solve the commonplace.

Wishing he was great as him.

Wishing he was great as Pendelton.

On the other side, a rumbling footsteps reiterating the whole hallway "Are you done fixing yourself Hermano?" a woman's voice echoed seems excited on such thing.

"ah… just a minute brat!" he heard the woman chuckles and giggles

"I'll wait you at the study!" she shouted

"Don't go too far! It's too dangerous" he shouts back

"Nah! I've got weapons… Toddles!!!"

That brat

Back on any thoughts, it could be said that they started the so-called rebellion accidentally. They're over the hill, saggy round the middle and they're best days are behind them,

Right.

For the most part they'd be right,

but seems not this time.

They want it to be known that each one of them meant to do what they're setting out to accomplish. Planning a bloodless rebellion that will be less sort of "revolutionary" than "evolutionary" seems very impossible though, they planned out the changes without ever attending or making a single speech or being a public figure other than a fiction writer under a fictitious name.

Seems very impossible.

Since the antagonist starts to play dirty through which an figurative individual suffered and become a bloody offering.

Seems the bloody war starts ever since.

No one ever notice that thing.

On the other hand, Knight-lock dressed and fix himself up having any thoughts on how and why. Having a thin face, yet was handsome nonetheless, bone structure was symmetrical, cheek bones high and prominent. Despite his paler skin his nose was all British to match his gray eyes and Achilles-gold hair.

Every style can fit his identity.

Making the basic button look sexy, unbuttoning the top buttons and rolling up the sleeves to reveal forearms.

The knight-lock style

…

Heading towards the study room where the brat was suiting herself, I've been fixing my polo top make it more presentable and casual together with my black slightly trouser slacks. Folding its sleeves revealing my forearms and pressing sort of tapping every inch of my polo making sure that it doesn't have any fluffy. As I open the brass mahogany door, a sort-of vintage wonderland for comic driven recluses. The walls were deep red, a little step to be maroon that pulsed in the light, sprinkled with a vintage vector imprints that makes the room on top.

Pendelton types

ideal study room would be airy, spacious and uncluttered as Pendelton always want. It would be a dedicated room, rather than a shared space that ends up collecting all the overflow from every other room. Having a huge table, with neat piles of documents and space to spread out reference materials if needed. A window with an enough size that everyone could properly see out of, rather than small one, natural light that can set into three categories such as dim one, medium one and heavily lighten-up one used for many sort-cases. All stationeries are matched, and have a printer that never jammed or ran out of ink. A computer that suits the style, typewriter that makes the room much cozy and luxurious one.

Pendelton loves typewriters.

A neat wooden filing cabinet would contain all paperwork filed away in an orderly fashion. In one corner have a cozy Chesterfield sofa that carries a certain air of distinction and even royalty. Rising to popularity in 18th century, historical websites note that this iconic sofa has a slightly murky history. It is thought that the fourth Earl of Chesterfield commissioned it wanted a comfortable seat that allowed him to sit upright, however, there is no historical confirmation of this. When Pendelton needed inspiration he'd be able to sit in it, gazing out of the view and thinking wise thoughts. He'd also like an endlessly refilling pot of hot fresh coffee, though expected that caffeine would be very bad.

My attention caught by a particular figure, a brat wearing a casual pale yellow floral dress that suits her identity, sitting on one of the chesterfield, holding a piece of tabloid.

More like reading it.

"A month ago, Knight-drain Pendelton Chase, a teen detective and a columnist writer for the Realm District Post, was killed, dismembered and incinerated by a so-called team of assassins lead by the former Sheriff of the town, Castillo Myers at the doomed forest of Real Town. He had gone there in hopes of picking up the papers he needed in to finally resolve his long lost brother's murder. While a report concluded that someone is personally ordered Pendelton's murder, Castillo has denied the allegations, and many questions in the case remain unanswered."

I clenched my fist as I heard the Spanish brat read a paragraph part of an article that talks about our great Pendelton.

"The town still making noise about Drain" – Lycko

Walking towards her and immediately grab the paper out of her hands, crumpled it and throw it on a trash bin.

"How dare that idiotic writer publish that stupid things" I stated while pouring rum on a glass.

I hear her deep sigh.

Swirling the rum in my glass, ice clinks against the glass and sizzles in contact with the warm air, hearing it's echoing vibrant sound all over the room.

"How can we do it?" I broke a stare from my rum and look at her

I smell fear

He'll hate it.

He'll surely does.

"we'll go there and investigate, simple" I utter calmly as I savor the flavor taste of the alcohol

"that's it?... no any plans? Ugh… we might get caught!" she angrily hissed

"So you mean we need to manipulate everything?" I ask her

"ugh. Yeas obviously?" she was irritated

"if you want to join then…"

"you two should be apart" I saw her eyes widened for a moment.

Suspensive entrance, as always.

"what do you want us to do?" I stated while Lycko still in shock

"Being something beyond" he sat on his precious chesterfield solo sofa at the middle of the fireplace and flashes an evil smile.

He's different, I can sense it.

"So you mean… we should go beyond our enemy's plans?"

"he was a magician, not the kind of man that can tell what was its cards, or make appear roses from sleeves. No, his magic was truly precisely special, and so malevolent…"

He's wearing his unique smile again.

Observing the tension

Gave us intense feeling

"Think about it before wanting to cry on simple things. Like a thousand times you've did in that time. His power wasn't unique, but a really good one to have, could bend and sculpture with his words until everyone almost believing that the man was breathing just because he allowed it to do, he could make up every reality into a favorable situation for him."

A favorable situation?

"Making everybody guilty for every sin, even his own mistakes." He looked at us intensively, giving me goosebumps

"The problem was, it didn't use its powers for good things, guess that it was good for him. But not for the rest specially for us, these tricks only made us be the villain in his perfect planned story where he was the misunderstood so-called hero waiting for a chance to prove his evilness. But we weren't the bad guys, no. He wasn't either."

Or maybe yes.

Giving a mercy to a bastard

"I don't know anymore. He manipulated us into believing so many things that now I don't know what's reality anymore. There were so many lies that I won't able to distinguish the truth even if it hits me like a lightning. Those tricks, those lies."

He continuously uttered those lines while staring at a precious fire on a fireplace, clenching his fist as if he can beat the raging fire out of a punch. Wearing his familiar smirk seems there is a gloomy idea coming in his intelligent mind.

"So you mean… uh… we should learn how to manipulate?... just like on your sort of situational parable?" I curiously murmur out of the blue

"yes… if our opponents know how to manipulate and can beat us by manipulating everyone, then we can beat them from where they start"

"But how?" Lycko suddenly barge in the conversation. Seems she got recovered from the sudden shock on what she saw a while ago.

But there's different

I can't figure it out.

"let's just say… that… we're partners… to call a partner means 'manipulative' is a relationship like a sort-of nuclear bomb. Once someone calls it, trust is gone and trust is foundational to relationships. Everything there, between is ashes." He stood up and get himself a wine and walk toward the vault and turn to his seat with an envelope on his hands

What is it?

"added to that, it���s all about traps… it's a trap. Any good deeds done by the so-called 'manipulator' are because they 'want something'. any neutral behaviors become 'stand-offish manipulations'."

"Jesus Christ" I utter out of disbelieve

"Heaven forbid… they actually lose their cool and become angry they are then being called as 'aggressive manipulators'. Any which way and the relationship is doomed, the accuser is lost in paranoia and then the accused is so-called 'guilty' no matter what they do, as the manipulator said so their doomed."

"Trust one another" repeating the line makes the tension rises

Something is different

"So you want us to be a manipulator itself to the one who's manipulating us?" I stated carefully not missing any point.

Instead of answering my question back, a dark smile flashes on his lips, handed me a two images of man.

I recognized them

I know them

Drinking his precious rum makes us feel uncomfortable. Lycko and I are staring at the photos which gives us a hint that this might help us crack any of the questions given to us.

"they can be a piece here…"

"or they we're just a part of a trick" I stated while staring straight at him. His fresh grassy sort of Atlantic blue ocean touch of gray eyes remains cold as ice. I can see his pain and gentleness at the same time, I see how every emotion comes together to form an art or soul. His eyes were giving a glare that freezes our bone out of awkwardness and seriousness like being nude in the middle of a damn hailstorm, where every chunk of ice was as sharp as a frosted dagger cutting into our skin. Squinted at me through hardened eyes that once had been my salvation.

What have they done to you?

Tell me what's wrong.

Please

"How about these… uh… these pictures?" Lycko utter while raising the images he handed me.

"that may be a pieces of the puzzle we're solving" he stated.

What did they do to you?

Don't be like this

She's your girl

Sadness as if it was a hollow. The sadness flowed through my veins and deadened my mind. It was a poison to my spirit, dulling to killing off my other emotions until it was the only one that remained. It was as if a black mist had settled upon and refused to shift, and no matter how bright the day would feel no sun and hear no bird song. For the world was lost to and I knew of nothing that would bring it back into focus.

I can't tell you what's worse.

this hollowness is a shell, holding in a thousand oceans of tears though, it holds a thousand pieces of glass that are wedged in between my soul and body.

That's the pain.

Sometimes though, it is like when someone important died and I didn't cry. I just stood there. Or when everybody laughed and I couldn't bring myself to do it.

That's the scariest thing.

I don't feel any emotions

Sometimes I am somebody, somebody in pain and sadness. But sometimes I'm nobody, and I don't seem to feel.

I don't seem to exist at all.

I am not existing since the day he died.