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jamesyofukashi · 2 years

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A Study in cyan

A tall and lanky man walks into his new home, dressed in a dignified orange. He spots his new roommate, a slightly shorter but much more robustly built man and eagerly walks toward him. There is not even an inkling of excitement on the roommate’s pale face.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Dr. Leonhart Lawliet, but please call me Leon. You’ve been in your fair share of fights, I perceive. Is that fact perhaps connected to your being here?”, he exclaimed with a firm handshake.

“How the hell would you know?!”, responds the roommate lethargically, already agitated by the eccentric character that now would new have to live with.

Leonhart bows in a theatrical way before explaining: “It’s quite simple actually. Your cauliflower ears for one, are a dead giveaway for brawlers, but that is not all. You also seem to have quite the amount of scarring on your knuckles and your clothes have wrinkles collar region, indicating that someone grabbed you. In addition to this- “

“Shut up you know it all. No one likes nerds, not even the businessmen.”

“It is common courtesy to state your name, when someone introduces themselves to you.”, Leonhart exclaims in a calm manner.

“Fuck off. Let me give you a good piece of advice. Shut the fuck up. Keep your head down. And don’t act anything like how youre acting right now. Join a gang, if you manage to not act like an insufferable know-it-all. If you continue like this someone is definitely gonna kill you. Don’t you know that in Baker prison, newcomers die quick ?!”, his new roommate threateningly warns him. Meanwhile Dr. Lawliet looks around his new room. He looks fully uninterested in the roommate’s piece of advice. A Bunkbed, with white sheets, a toilet with marked with conspicuously red stains, a gray dirty floor. He looks his new acquaintance up and down. The pale burly man seems to have something hidden in his pant pocket, most likely a shive. He seemed to be shaking, ready to attack. It is better to tread lightly when investigating a prisoners’ pasts, noted. His new cell mate takes something out of his pant pocket and eats it.

“Now, now there’s no need to act so rash. I will try to take your, hopefully goodwilled, advice to heart. I did know that this detention facility is quite high security when entering, but it is not as though I could simply choose the place where I’d end up. For now, let us put this animosity behind us, it will not serve us well. I will make myself at home in cell 221B, and you will act courteously toward me as though you never saw my previous uncouth display of rudeness. And don’t worry about me, I’ll fit in just fine here. Now, your name?”, the thin man tries to diffuse.

“John Henderson”, he replies, no longer seeing the point in arguing with his new cell mate. His shaking and irritable attitude seems to have subsided.

A bell starts ringing throughout the halls, Henderson following Lawliet out of the cell. There was no harm in having a meal, especially since he hadn’t eaten anything since arriving this morning.

Lawliet enters the large cafeteria with John, noting a few things. For example, people were eating instant noodles along with their normal meals. While some inmates were already leaving the dining hall, others were only now getting their food. It seems that different cell blocks enter at different times.

“Look. Imma explain how things work round here. You smart so you probably already noticed, but you don’t sit at the same table with a gang you don’t know, you don’t talk to anybody from another gang. You’re not affiliated yet, but some might peg you as B.M. since I’m talking to you. The only people that are allowed to talk with different groups are the keys. You become a key holder by beating the shit out of another key. As a key it’s your job to communicate with the other cars. If the skinheads already pulled up on the blacks, and their keys don’t see the issue and shake hands, it’s all good. I’m one of the business keys. They might have a crap load of money, but they sure as hell don’t measure up in strength, and smearing the guards to do your bidding only works for so long. And on the topic of strength, I don’t recommend you fight anyone, you’re way too scrawny for that, and people play dirty if they ever lose a fight.”, Henderson explains.

“And do what do I owe the pleasure of this explanation?”, Leon questions. It wasn’t like John had any incentive to be nice after he made such a bad first impression.

“I’m the new key holder for the businessmen since a few days ago. Unlike some other gangs that mislead new inmates for shits and giggles, the businessmen want to give their new people a proper impression of how things work here. Breaking the rules means getting the shit beat out of you or worse. Even if you don’t, piss off the wrong people and they spread some nasty rumors that can put your life in danger.”, Henderson states, seemingly not believing his own words.

The Doctor is showing a very offset facial expression at the threat violence. “I noticed that there are a few inmates eating instant noodles, are they the defacto currency here?”, Leon asks to change the topic. He already knows the answer.

Henderson confirms with a smile: ” Don’t look so scared of me Leon. If you do that, you’ll definitely end up in Darnelious’ gang. Look, before I was a little off. Sorry about that. I don’t mean everything I said, and you seem like a good guy, I’ve just been a little irritated for the last few days is all. If you need anything I got you, but it’s gon’ be an eye for an eye typa thing, ‘kay?”

“Message received, man. Lessgo” Leon thanks him in an awkward manner, trying to imitate a cooler manner of speaking.

“Was that your attempt at talking like a normal dude?!”, John snorts out while barely containing his laughter. Leon simply laughs alongside him. When was the last time he could laugh at himself? It does not matter anymore; he now seemingly has a person to laugh with by his side, a familiar face in this new situation. Someone to maybe even call friend.

“Ok man, seeya later, I got my crowd to eat with. Talk to some other people during free time and you’ll be able to eat at a table in no time. Rules are rules so you have to get a little more familiar with the crowd before you can sit with them.”, Henderson explains, still occasionally chuckling at Leon.

“I understand Henderson”, he says, reverting back into his usual speech.

He looks the different tables up and down, outside of your usual tough looking prisoner crowd, there were a few quite peculiar tables. At one bald Caucasian men covered in unsavory tattoos sits, though their tough façade slowly crumbles the longer one observes them. They are acting extremely familiar, like brothers with one another. There was no hate or resentment at that table even though they clearly looked like the hateful type. The men all wore their orange uniforms in prim and proper fashion, and all they ate was their designated food portions. There was one exception, a man wearing a different black uniform, eerily reminiscent of clerical dress. A criminal pastor is quite the sight. They did not even snicker or sneer at the table next to them, which is filled with African Americans, exactly the type of person a skinhead would be hostile to. The aforementioned next table also seemed to sport quite peculiar characters. It seemed that there was a strict hierarchy at the table, with one tall and muscular man eating about 3 portions worth of food along with multiple instant noodle packages. After that a big looking fellow eating two portions, followed by 3 men eating their designated portions. The lowest ranking men at the table looked famished and cyanotic, having received no food from their table, they seem to be trying to get food from other tables. One, seemingly at the end of his endurance collapses. The guards carry him away as if nothing happened. Another tries asking the seemingly civil table of bald men next to him, but the Pastor only gives him a single piece of orange with a smile. The hateful façade seemed to be a lot more than just that. With a defeated look, he whispers something into the leader’s ear and receives a full portion of food. He must’ve struck some kind of deal. The thin man eats his meal quickly in resignation and leaves, presumably to his cell. Lawliet looks over at the last table that is highly peculiar. A table of men in orange suits, drinking wine. What the other tables received was barely able to be called food, while they were eating gourmet. It seems that they were the businessmen, a cabal of extremely wealthy looking men that somehow ended up in Baker penitentiary. But this was no prison to them, it seemed to be a mere hotel. At the head of the table sat a heavy-set man, seemingly of Italian heritage with a notable scar on the side of his face. He did not even wear an orange suit instead opting for a black and white pinstripe suit, classic mafia. But that was not the most outrageous part. The guards were SERVING him. They slowly brought course after course. Soup, Fish, Veal, even cake as desert, all seemingly cooked by a professional chef. At the end of the table was burly, pale Henderson, quietly eating his own food. Lawliet notices the pastor and his group of skinheads leave, even though some of them hadn’t finished their food. He finishes and seemingly lays down after a heavy meal. But something seemed very off. He was even more pale than before instead of less after eating, and the shaking Leon was barely able to grasp previously was now visible to him from another table.

“John, watcha doin’? John? Tony, slap John up a little, he’s had too much of the spaghetti, I think”, the heavy man exclaims in an old Chicago accent. One of the suited men quietly get up from his seat, buttoning his orange suit jacket and proceeds to violently shake Henderson’s torso to no avail as he was still not responding. “Is that son of a bitch tryin’ to die on me”, man in the black suit spits out in panic, “Is there a Docta here?! GUARDS!!! Bring this man a Docta!”

“I’m one!”, Leon souts while running over. “Emergency medicine to be exact, Dr. Lawliet, pleasure to make your acquaintance”, he stammers out at the end of his run.

“Call me Snorky, AND DON’T JUST STAND THERE DO SOMETHING!!!”, the mafia man exclaims.

“Ok, get me emergency aid equipment Snorky, it should near here, a red and a blue backpack, I need at least that to work”, Doctor Lawliet says with tension in his tone.

“GET THIS MAN what he wants!!!”, Snorky yells. Two guards come running out of a door with the equipment. “AND GET SOME MORE DOCTAS HERE”

Lawliet immediately grabs the red backpack, opens it, then opens the middle of three compartments, immediately grabs a stethoscope and auscultates Hendersons breathing from behind ,normal , then drags him onto the floor in recovery position with the help of Tony. Just as they put him into recovery position, he starts vomiting a brown liquid. Breath frequency is also normal. When he listens to the heart beat, it’s irregular, though he doesn’t know if it’s due to his seizing or an actual ailment. He grabs an AED, orders Tony to cut open his shirt and sticks on the defibrillator pads. Then he quickly takes blood pressure 90/65, very low. He notices that his skin has turned from pale to blue, so he uses an SpO2-measuring device to assess his blood oxygen: 85%, dangerous, but not life threatening. The AED shocks Henderson, so the doctor stays away for a second. He opens the blue backpack and takes out the oxygen tank, a tube and a mask, which he places on Henderson’s mouth before connecting the items with each other and turning the oxygen to 10 liters per minute. Henderson stops seizing, so Doctor Lawliet takes the chance to examine his heartbeat once again. Palpitations, and they didn’t get better from a defibrillator shock. He looks back at the SpO2: 83%. He goes to draw blood and what he sees horrifies him. The blood was not the vibrant scarlet red he had envisioned. It looks like mud, a congealed mess of dark brown blood. He saves some of the blood in a syringe then immediately starts with a saline infusion. The methemoglobinemia made the diagnosis as clear as day. Henderson had acute nitrate poisoning. Other Doctors arrive at the scene Lawliet informs them of his diagnosis and they take him away on a stretcher, for methyl blue and Vitamin C therapy among other treatments Lawliet could not perform.

“So, how’s he gonna be doc?”, Snorky asks in a concerned tone.

“Well, it’s difficult to tell. He’s definitely going to need methyl blue therapy for the better part of 3 months if he makes it out of this without any other complications. An IV will be his new best friend.”

“Ok, ok, sounds good. Look doc, if ya want I can take ya in, ok. Johnny was takin care of ya till now, so its only right that I do the same.”

“That’s a very standup thing of you to do. You’re a good man Snorky, but I think I want to go solo for now.”

“That’s fine, but just so you know, you can find me in the kitchen during free time activities. They’re gonna be from lunch until dinner, ok.”

Snorky and his businessmen walk off. Leon looks over to the Muscular mans table. He and his goons were cackling with each other about the incident. Disgusting. Leon walks back to his cell, which already feels empty after only 1 day of living in it. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, his mind starts racing with the possibilities of how Henderson might have been poisoned. Nitrates take about 1-6 hours to take show all of their effects. Someone must’ve poisoned him this morning. But who? The guards? He was a pleasant person the last time they talked, and Lawliet would like to think that that was his usual demeanor. Nitrate poisoning does cause irritability after all. But he was also a brawler. He’ll have to go investigate further to find the answer. The game is afoot.

Leon walks into the free time use kitchen and is met with the most peculiar site. 12 men, all in dress shirts and aprons, suit jackets neatly hung up near the entrance, cooking a variety of dishes. He walks up to Snorky, who’s wearing a pink apron with a cute bear on it.

“Now this is quite the sight.”

“I like staying in tough with my feminine side. Now can you help me make this Semifreddo? First, you’ll need to zest two lemons- “

“I wanted to ask about Henderson. His behavior before the incident seemed odd for me. What is he usually like?”

“I’ll tell ya when ya zest the lemon.”

Lawliet rolls up his orange overall sleeves, grabs a lemon and a grater and starts zesting the lemon, reserving it in a small bowl.

“He’s a good guy, a little crazy, but in a good way. He was always up for a fight, but when he got onna my guys, I tell ya, I got him slapped up pretty good. Told him he was welcome with me if he ever wanted to shape up enough to amount to something after getting outta here. He was with me the next day.”, Snorky nostalgically says. It was probably only a few weeks ago, which Lawliet finds quite amusing.

“That’s very interesting to hear. He was quite jittery when I made his acquaintance, but still a good man. Do tell me, why do you eat different food than the others at lunch?”

“Well, this is the cooking club, anything we make ourselves, we can eat. Look over there, Tony’s makin tha meatballs for dinner tonight and we got Nick on the right there takin’ care of the pasta. We’re taking care of desert. The family always works together to make somethin’ great, I tell ya. Come eat dinner with us today and you’ll see.”

“I don’t see why not. Do you mind if I go see what other free time activities are? It’s actually still my first day, so I don’t want to decide on what club to join immediately.”, Leon divulges.

“I don’t see why not? This family’s doors are open for you, so come back if you don’t like the others.”

Lawliet walks off to the gym, the place where he’ll most likely find the cackling bastard. While changing into a tank top and an orange pair of trousers in the locker room, he gets offered a treasure trove drugs one of the people that shared a table with Darnelious earlier. Steriods, SARMs, stimulants, endurance enhancers, aphrodisiacs and most peculiarly, an erectile dysfunction medication called a popper. Clinically they are called amyl nitrate, and they could cause nitrate poisoning. He declines the dealers offers, being caught with drugs would increase your sentence by up to 2 years, and even if Leon wanted them for research purposes, he didn’t have any instant ramen to buy them with. The dealer must have a life sentence to be doing this job so nonchalantly. Carrying on, he walks into the gym, which is filled with similarly dressed men doing different exercises. The most muscular among them, Darnelious is wearing a tank top and a cross necklace. They exchange a few words about the exercise, but when Leon tries to get more information regarding Henderson, he goes off on a tangent: “Look broski, Henderson was part of the gym squad before that fucking rich wanker poached him from me. And while we’re asking questions, why the fuck did you not help one of my guys when he fainted, but you put on the fucking grey’s anatomy stick when a white guys in trouble. You fitting in with the other two gangs, yeh? Fucking racists! You’re makin it look like I’m tryna kill a guy, and sure I hated him, but if I wanted him dead, I could’ve easily done it when he had 150kg on is neck, you don dough. Ok bruv, Now leaves me alone and stop accusing me of murder.”

“Ok, I am sorry to offend. Thank you for your time.”, Leon curtly expresses before leaving. Last but not least, he went to the woodworking and botanical club to meet the priest.

Though it was only a large room, it actually looked like a small chapel. There were wooden rows of seats that even had pristine kneelers for prayer. The barred windows as well as a speaking podium in the front were adorned with beautiful lilies and tulips. Off to the side, there was a small wooden booth with carefully grown vines clinging to it. A variety of inmates are lined up infront of the booth, the priest is nowhere to be seen. He must be doing confession. Leon was never the religious type, God had never mattered to his work. But he had to confess to get to the bottom of this. After a long time waiting, he is finally allowed to enter the booth, paly along with this farce and maybe find some new information.

“Bless me father for I have sinned. I have never been in confession, how do I proceed.”

“It is ok, lost lamb, for I will guide you. You may state any sin that you recall, and God may forgive you, but you must be honest.”

“Well, hast everyone here sinned, it is a prison.”

“Yes, even I was a lost lamb for a long time before turning to the Lord. Believing in a false idol, I burned many crosses and books of believers because I thought that they were devils spawn. Not even the law of man was enough for me to repent, but the time I have spent here with God cleansed me and so I took it upon myself to guide the other lost lambs for the rest of my life. Sometimes I even revert into a lot lamb, it is very hard to change ones ways.”

“Quite inspiring”

“I have been truthful, so you can be truthful. Tell me, what plagues your conscience.”

“I have lied, and I haven’t been equal to everybody since I came here”

“Is that so. Is there anything else? This honestly seems quite tame compared to what I hear on a regular basis, why just recently somebody confessed to planning a murder under Gods roof.” “Is that so? What was that person like?”

“Son, this is a confidential affair, if you want to know something, you’re better off asking somebody else. Now, is that all you would like to confess?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, as your penance you must come to one of my sermons and pray, son. In addition to this, stop stooping around other people’s confessions. I am saying this for your safety as much as I am for anybody else’s. God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace. And I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. I absolve you of all sins in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy spirit. Now you say Amen.” “Amen.”

“You have successfully confessed your sins and they have been absolved. Do your penance and God will forgive you.”

“Thank you, father.”, Leon says leaving the booth. He had now gathered all the information he could. But the puzzle pieces aren’t connecting. He goes back to his cell to mull it over, only to find a single bed in cell 221B. While thinking about it one of the guards came up to him and informed him of Henderson’s death. Multiple organ failure. It seems there was nothing Dr. Leonhart Lawliet could do but despair. Who did it?

#creative writing #writing #mystery #who done it

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jamesyofukashi · 2 years

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The first story I ever wrote: Autumn leaves

The autumn leaves drift by my window. The red and gold of maple leaves swirl in a beautiful dance, tempted by the music of the wind. It’s only October, but it’s most definitely starting to get cold, the days growing longer yet somehow simultaneously shorter with melancholic mundaneness. Summer feels like a butterfly dream, like a reality that has come and gone only for the dreamer to wake up. In short, I like it warm.

“You good, Baker? Your eyes look dead again.”, asks blankly Luca while thoughtlessly tending to the fireplace. He pokes the burning oak, which is gently sparking away at itself. I forgot he was even there, honestly.

“Yeah, just lost in thought a little”, I nonchalantly respond, still looking out the window. The leaves have ceased their dance.

I continue looking out the window. The fire’s still gently crackling, sending out the slight smokey and earthy sent of a warm summer’s night.

“Nothing’s up, just thinking”

“Dude, I know you, you know me. You can pick my brain about this kinda stuff.”

I continue looking out the window. He adds some wood to the fire.

“Well, are ya gonna say somethin’ nah?”, Luca says in a impatient tone.

“It’s honestly nothing though. Im just thinking about summer ending, is all. After Halloween it’s going to be all November Rain and dead looking trees, Im just not here for it.”

“That again? Y’know what I’ve had it ‘till here with you being like this every time it even a single leaf falls off of a tree! And yes, I know it’s more than just the change in seasons, you’re a terrible liar! You think Im gonna buy it when you reference a rock band while you vent! Why can’t I be in on it? Because I wasn’t here over the summer?”

“Whatever”, I say visibly irritated.

He turns towards me, I don’t. Luca turns his back on me again, throws some more wood into the fireplace, then slams the wood stove shut. I turn towards him. Can’t have this idiot breaking my fireplace. He takes his eyes off the sparkling flame, which now blooms into a cacophony of red and gold. His eyes dart around the room. First into my eyes, his familiar greenish blue irises staring straight into mine, then takes my line of sight and stares out the window for just a moment before going back to the fireplace, which now only emits a subdued crackling through the heat proofed glass barrier.

“You’ll tell me once you get over the fall thing, right? I’ll just convince you and then you’ll tell me what’s up”, he proclaims me in a huff.

“Doubt it, Alexandre”, I respond wryly grinning.

“The hell you using my middle name for?!”, he demands, turning red with embarrassment.

“Because you always react when I do. Come on, it’s funny, admit it”, I lie. I know that his middle name has always been a sore spot for him.

He storms off. I know exactly where he went but know not to follow. When he gets heated, he simply needs to cool down. I continue looking out the window, leaves lethargically reviving their dance, tumbling through the wind, until I can’t hear the fire spark anymore. It starts to rain, slowly. I turn towards the wood stove and open it again, summer smoke wafting through the room. The oak is still hotly burning. I continue watching the fire blankly. Now I notice it, the scent being more powerful than before: The room smells like her. Before I know it, I’m swept back into my butterfly dream, the current reality clashing with the realness of the summer, and I have to wonder: Was it just a summer fling? Were the sunburnt hands I used to hold not mine, were the lips, the summer kisses, that I can still feel now as well? The days, oh so long yet going by so fast I might blink and miss some, were they just part of a dream, a fantasy, a delusion that only I ever partook in? Why do I ruin everything? I look into the fireplace. The red embers look like her hair. It was just as real as the current moment. I can’t take it back now, most definitely can’t ever forget, but also can’t accept it and move on. What is an idiot like me to do? Go to cool down.

I walk into Luca’s house, letting some cold inside along with myself. I’m fully drenched, looking miserable, but I don’t care about that anymore. He stands in his atelier, a trail of paint tubes and brushes on the floor. The whole place is full of canvases, though there is also the odd statue lying around. One of the canvases catches my eye, one of his finished works displayed. I think Luca called it… what did he call it again? It depicts a luscious landscape on a mountaintop, where you would expect snow. In the center stands a beautiful woman, though she is depicted in weak hues of yellow and brown, compared to the landscape, which is filled with popping colors. In fact, the difference in his coloring choices was so great, the woman doesn’t seem to emit any color at all. While the grass was as green as could be, filled with lilies as white as snow and dandelions as yellow as the sun, the woman is depicted in a pale brown, almost grey, with barely blonde hair. I don’t like this painting very much. The coloring puts me off this otherwise beautiful painting. He still hasn’t noticed me. Whenever he takes up the brush, he locks himself into a focus so deep, not even my standing directly behind him and shouting his middle name can get his attention. Him always listening to music also helps. He mixes his colors, white, blue, silver, chrome into a swirl of different shades which he uses to color in a blank part on his newest work. On it, there are two trees, juxtaposed and intertwined, though there are all but the same. He places every stroke and line one at a time, switching brushes all of which I couldn’t name. And I just stand there. I can’t take my eyes off of this painting in the making, can’t help but be fascinated by my friend, an expert partaking in their craft. I knew he painted long before this, saw all of his works even, but this one is different. I can see what painting means, now seeing it happen right in front of my eyes. My oh so impulsive friend, enthusiastically drawing every stroke along to the melody he was most likely listening to. I never saw him like this in my life. And so, I stood there mesmerized by the sight until it the work was finished. It now depicted a silver and a golden tree, with a person resting under the golden one. The golden oak rained ember red leaves, though it also sported budding blossoms on its sparce mane of leaves. The man is leaning against the trunk of the tree, resting. He is painted in normal colors, without any striking details. The silver sycamore sports leaves that are a mix of sky blue and the yellow of the sun. You can see the original colors in some of the leaves while others are completely green. Half of it doesn’t have any leaves at all. I think I’m beginning to understand. Luca takes his headphones off and turns to start moving around the room, when he spots me.

“What the hell, Baker!”, he gasps, shocked at my being there.” How long have you been there!?”

“A bit.”

“No, you haven’t”

“Ok, ok …I don’t know how long.”

“And why are you running in my atelier soaking wet?”

“Because I didn’t think to bring an umbrella. I’m going back to the fireplace at my house. You ?

“Not going until I hear what’s up.”

“Had it then fumbled. Happy?”

“No, imma drill you on details by the fire.”

“I’m not escaping this, am I? I like this one, what do you plan on calling it?”

“’Preciate it. Don’t know yet, something with leaves maybe? Does it matter? I’m feeling cold just looking at you. You got any sycamore, Baker?”

“Yeah, but just to inform you, sycamore doesn’t smell like oak at all, not as pleasant by a longshot”

“So? The oak gave me the idea for this, I wanna test some stuff out now.”

“Why are you so obsessed with hard wood all of a sudden? Highly sus behavior, my guy”

“Fuck you”

I thought it was kinda funny. Whatever.

We walk out of the atelier.

#creative writing #writing #autumn #autumn leaves #beginner writer #first story

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