Case #57- Entry 4
The hour is late, and the moon high, a bright white eye gazing down on us, like I might look down on an anthill. The subject of interest, one Mr. Isaiah Raile, has fled the estate of my client. Cause: embarrassment after further rejection of his repeated romantic advances from my client’s daughter, one Miss Katya Vasileva. Leaves glide on the wind with each breeze aimlessly. Hours will pass before the cock will crow and the fields of sunflowers will turn to face the setting sun of the west. Still, my client ambles about, passing through the cobblestone streets. The client is intoxicated, likely to a significant degree, so it would be important to leave him alone till he reaches his home. Still, we are two miles from his small third floor apartment, and he is waltzing in the wrong direction. A twig snaps, and my subject looks behind. He cannot see me, and he does not know I followed him to the Vasileva estate. He looks concerned, but only for a second. The subject of interest proceeds to mumble in a drunken manner, before urinating into a dark thorny bush.
We are alone on these streets, save only for the company of cats, mice, and crickets calling. The people of Dreamhaven are locked away in their homes, due to fear or fatigue. Stories are told, foolish but terrible things. Stories are told of a Huntsman, a demon walking the nights on the back of a destrier black as shadow. The tale was told first by children sitting under maple trees of orange and red in the playgrounds. Two weeks prior, one Mr. Jeremy Green disappeared from time. A known gambler, and an unfortunate one, the reason for his disappearance seems apparent. No one was suspicious, until three days later, Mr. Green was found by the Irons’ barn, save for his head, cut clean off at the center of the neck. A horrible crime, one the marshals are looking into, but a simple one. The man had many enemies, some of whom might be driven to drastic actions. Four days after this, one Mr. Jonathan Danse was deemed missing by his wife. Three days later, he was found, save for his head. The man was unpleasant at best, and I knew him to be an adulterer. Any of the husbands of women had intimate relations with seem to be likely suspects. The killer likely replicated the method associated with Mr. Green, that or an animal ate from the corpse. There are pumas and bears in the woods, and occasionally wolves. Still, the people are driven by the manifestations of the mind. It appears now, that most the town is drunken on a delusional fervor, looking over their shoulders during the day, and heading to their homes early to avoid the Huntsman. Anyone who suspects otherwise is too afraid to speak their mind. They yearn for a fantastical truth to escape from the grim reality. But not me. That is not the case I am working on. I work only in law and logic, not in magic or folktales.
The subject of interest has finished in his urination. He now appears to be walking back towards his home. The clouds are shifting, like shears closing down, to block the moon. It is hard to see now, though I can still track the subject from afar. His drunken mumbling is irritating, proclaiming his love for the client’s daughter one minute and cursing her the other, yet it helps me track him through the darkness. An owl calls, somewhere to the east. The subject of interest passes over the bleak bridge, not far from where Mr. Green’s corpse was found. Mr. Raile appears to be looking into the water below, and I can hear him scrambling up the bridge, his shoes scraping on the wooden supports. Likely cause: the subject of interest is contemplating suicide. It is impossible at this height, the water only being five feet below the bridge. If he does fall however, I will be forced to pull him out of the stream. After complaining about his teacher’s salary, the subject of interest has stepped down from the edge and continued on his way.
Mr. Raile slipped on the final wooden stair, hitting the ground ungracefully. From just beyond the other side of the bridge, I am watching, enshrouded by the forest of the ground and darkness in the air. He spits dirt out his mouth, and then his legs kick out, pushing against the earth. He screams. “I see you!” He yells again. At once, he begins running, kicking up rocks on the water’s edge. He disappears into the woods, and I can see him no longer. I go to explain my reasoning, and run across the bridge. Tracing the sounds of his footsteps and screaming, I travel into the woods. “I see you,” he yells, “leave me be!” The trees have become a labyrinth, closing in on me. I call to him, saying I mean no harm. My boots crash down, crushing the leaves below.“Go away,” he yells, “go away from here!” His frantic footsteps grow louder, like metal banging rhythmically. My foot catches on a root, and I come crashing to the leaf littered dirt. The forest grows quiet as my eyes begin to close.