Chapter 1

Chapter 1 of 'One More Time', my WIP novella exploring modern policing methods versus the 'old school' ways of an ageing detective.

Chapter 1

 

Click click, click click click

 

The sound of finger on mouse, clicking inexorably away, was the only noise which was able to cut through the oppressive silence and dark gloom surrounding me. The noise, irritating to some, soothed and controlled me; kept me in check like nothing else could.

 

Tap tap tap tap... tap tap, tap tap tap.

 

The tip-tapping of finger on keyboard, the scurrying of ten eagerly working fingers which strived to bring me closer to my goal, joined in with the strange symphony. Again, the sound helped to calm me, fooled me, I suppose, into thinking that things were getting done, moving forward, plans being finally put into fruition. I was getting frustrated now though �" things weren't moving quick enough. You had to think and act like lightning to do what I did, had to be able to react to split-second changes and combat them with equally fast solutions. Plans were imperative. Yet, if these plans didn't work out... well, things could, and often did, get ugly...

 

“No... no that's not right, not right at all...!”

 

My voice, a low growl set against the soft, high-pitched whirring of the computer in front of me. The only comfort, sometimes, in a life of solitude... a life of sin. At this moment, however, it was going to take more than the sound of my own voice to make me feel better. Things were not going to plan. 

 

I slammed the mouse down, fighting the urge to throw the whole machine out of the window of the grotty one-bedroomed flat in which I spent a lot of my time. I sighed angrily, slouching back on my chair and gazing around at the grim exterior of my bedroom. Looking at it through a stranger's eye, it was easy to see why people would struggle to get along with 'the real me'. Clichéd as it might sound, I'd been putting up a front for many, many years now, and shied away from opening up to even my most trusted of acquaintances. Afraid of the cruel jibes and constant tormenting that often goes along with being even ever-so-slightly 'different'? Nah, it wasn't quite that. If I'm honest, I was more worried for their well-being than I ever could be for my own... 

 

I turned back to the PC which sat in front of me, still the only light that I allowed to permeate the darkness in which I loved to reside. My little break had done nothing to calm my nerves �" if anything, looking back and reminding myself of everything that I was faced with, everything that was wrong with what I needed to do, made me feel worse than ever. I needed a distraction, something to tear me away from my little 'project'...

 

Facebook (1)

 

On cue, that magic little number one surrounded in brackets appeared at the bottom of the monitor, causing me to instantly flick tabs across to Facebook. I scowled, a customary reaction to all of the whiny, extroverted attention-w****s who filled my News Feed with their unnecessary crap. I loathed them, and everything that they stood for. Sometimes, I felt that their posts, polls and comments represented so much of what was wrong with the world today. I couldn't deny, however, that these social networking sites certainly had their uses... uses which I would be happy to utilise, if required...

 

I scrolled up to view my notification, which served only to infuriate me further, as it was one I was beginning to get rather sick of seeing lately...

 

 

Varon Fung poked you.

 

 

“Right. I've had enough.”

 

It was time to end this. Time to kill the hopes of another rude and prying individual who just couldn't take no for an answer. 

 

He didn't know it yet, but Varon Fung had poked me for the last time...