My first original work for Writer’s Month! This is sort of a character origin for Red, a future detective in the fictional world of Legestrana where fairy tales are real. It’s a bit angsty, but all of the best detective origins are.
Shout out to @themaevethcometh for helping develop this character.
Written for Writer’s Month 2019 Day 8: Colors.
Please do not steal my work.
They named her Red. It was a tradition going back centuries beyond memory. Every firstborn daughter through the female line was named after a color. They weren’t sure why the custom had started, but there were countless unexplained traditions and rituals in Legestrana, and history had proven it was better to maintain them than let them lapse.
Red didn’t like her name. After so many generations, she’d expected her parents to be more creative. Her mother was Violet, her grandmother was Saffron, her great-grandmother was Heather, and her great-great-grandmother was Sky. Each named recalled a particular shade of a specific color, and they managed to be somewhat normal names, too.
“Red” wasn’t a normal name. It was just a noun describing a range of visible light. It had no connection to her as a complex being. She could’ve been Rose, or Scarlet, or Cherry. Even her father’s name--Robin--would have been a better option. “Red” was just boring.
Her father’s side of the family had a long tradition of professions in criminal justice and law enforcement. He was a detective with the Legestrana Police Department, which had branches in every major territory. He met her mother when he transferred to the Winding Woods branch. Violet had recently joined the force. Their chemistry had been palpable from the first day, and no one had been surprised when they’d gotten together.
Red had heard all about how her parents had put away numerous criminals--Dame Gothel who had stolen and abused Rapunzel, Rumplestiltskin the child snatcher, and Bonnie DeKay, a cannibal witch who had lured children to her lair in the woods with candy. Everyone had nothing but praise for them. Except Red. Her parents were doing so much good work in the name of justice, they often weren’t home. They did their best to make it up to her when they had time. Family excursions, cooking experiments, and game nights helped ease the disappointment, but she couldn’t help resenting them a little.
When her parents weren’t home, she’d spend time with her grandmother. In her younger years, Saffron had been a champion baker, so babysitting time was often spent covered in flour and icing while kneading dough or throwing sprinkles at each other. It was a golden time, and her grandmother had a way of asking questions and listening that made Red feel valued.
“I just wish they’d be around more,” she sighed one day while mixing batter for coffee cake. “I don’t think they’ve come to any of my class presentations. It’s embarrassing.”
“Embarrassment passes,” Saffron said. “Your parents are doing important work.”
“More important than being there for their daughter?”
“I know dear.” Saffron pulled her into a warm hug. “Be patient. I know they’re trying their best.”
“Well I wish they’d try harder. It’d be nice to have parents before I grow up.”
They were enjoying some tea while waiting for the cake to bake when the phone rang. A second after she answered, Saffron’s expression and manner turned grave. Red wondered what that meant. When she hung up, she took a moment to steady her breath, her back to her granddaughter, before returning to the kitchen.
“My dear, I’m afraid we have to go to the hospital.”
Red’s blood ran cold.
“Something went wrong with the case. Your parents have been shot.”
The emotional part of her brain stopped working then, like the meaning behind the words was too much to process so it just shut down. She couldn’t connect this truth to reality, like it was a distant thing. Instead she retreated into the trivial.
“What about the cake? It still has five minutes in the oven.”
Her grandmother smiled sadly as if she understood.
“We’ll just turn off the oven and let it finish baking while the oven cools. The officer said we should get there as soon as possible.”
“Okay.” Red moved as though on auto-pilot. She dumped her tea, rinsed the mug, and put on her shoes. She was on her way out the door when her grandmother threw something over her shoulders.
“It’s chilly, dear. You’d better take this.”
She pulled familiar red fabric over her shoulders. This hooded cape had been a gift for her birthday two years ago. Her father’s family was partial to these garments, and while she hated that it was the color of her name and not a more subtle green or gray, it was soft and warm and had grown comforting the more she wore it. She might need that comfort now.
They drove in silence to the hospital. Chapeau, one of the forensics agents and her parents’ friend, was waiting for them at the entrance. He showed them up to the waiting room, answering Saffron’s questions and explaining what little he knew. Her parents had been following a lead when someone--possibly their suspect--jumped them. They were cornered, and backup didn’t arrive before both had been shot multiple times. They were in surgery, and likely would be for hours.
They waited in tense silence. Saffron attempted to engage her granddaughter, hoping to make sure she was as okay as she could be. Red only responded in grunts and headshakes. She preferred to retreat from the reality around her. She ran through recipes in her mind to distract herself--ingredients, procedures, bake time, and presentation. All of her favorite cakes and breads flowed through her mind.
She was trying to remember the particular quantities for Saffron’s peasant bread when the doctor finally approached. Her grandmother immediately went to him. Chapeau hovered next to her. Red was too far away to hear what they were saying, but from the heart-wrenching gasp from her grandmother and the forensic officer’s somewhat scared glance in her direction, she suspected enough. She pulled her hood over her eyes to try and shut it out, but she only managed to hide her tears.
More and more kids are being kidnapped, and Red and Tink feel stuck trying to solve this case. But what if their main suspect turns out to be someone’s best friend?
Written in the same universe as Red.
Written for Writer’s Month 2019 Day 14: Fairy Tale.
Please do not steal my work.
“What are we missing?” Red hissed. She was in full focus mode, pacing in front of their case board and flitting between piles of pictures and papers scattered around the floor and nearby desks. Tink was leaning on one of these desks trying to look at the big picture while her partner dug through the details. There had to be something that would lead them to the kidnapper.
It wasn’t blackmail. There had been no contact made to the parents and guardians for ransom. The families were for the most part unconnected, scattered across several regions. They weren’t all the best home situations, but many were happier than Tink’s and Red’s had been. They were no closer to figuring out the motive, and the kidnappings had escalated. There was a sense that time was running out.
This case was a hair shy of hitting too close to home. Tink knew what it was like to be ripped from her home, to be kidnapped by a strange person and forced into a different life. She knew the trauma of finding herself an orphan with trust issues and having to relearn how to interact with society. Someone was putting these kids through that, and it made her stomach twist with bitter memories. If she hadn’t had Peter, she didn’t know how she would have survived.
She heard little bells jingle merrily in her mind, and her thoughts abruptly stopped. It was the fairy part of her that produced that sound, the same one that she made when she shook fairy dust from her wings. Rarely did it guide her to clues, but the fae ancestors must be just as eager to solve this case as she was. They were telling her to look again.
“Red, hand me the pictures from the bedrooms.”
Her partner paused in her pacing to give her a curious look, but they’d worked together long enough to understand when one of them was onto something. She collected the piles of photos and handed them over, leaning beside Tink to get a look at them, too.
There was the Mayhew boy’s room on the second floor with the window opened. The kidnapper always moved at night and always used a window, though they’d never found signs of a forced entry or ladders and ropes.
Annie Belmont’s room was also on the second floor with a window. Cubby Wilkins’s abduction must have been trickier because he was in an attic room with no windows, but the bathroom a floor below had offered a way in.
“What are you looking for?” Red asked as their eyes scoured every picture of every room, ones they had looked at countless times already. But Tink didn’t want to say it out loud in case it became real, even though she was seeing it anyways. A lamp here. A candle there. A box of matches for little Cubby. A flashlight smuggled under the covers for reading. Every room had a light source, even if it was simply the moonbeams stretching through the curtains.
“Shadows,” she whispered.
“What do you mean?”
“I have to make a phone call,” Tink announced, handing Red the photos. “Look at the shadows. It’s hide and seek. He thinks it’s all a game.”
“Huh?”
Tink didn’t wait to explain, trusting that her partner was smart enough to figure it out. She needed space. Her head was spinning, and if she really was right about this, she was probably going to be sick.
Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. This could be a huge misunderstanding, an ill-timed joke. It didn’t have to mean betrayal.
She took a few measured breaths to steady herself, then leaned against the hallway wall. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts to find the one she needed. They hadn’t spoken in several weeks. If her hunch was correct, they’d both be mourning by the end of the week.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Wendy?” she greeted when the line connected. “It’s Tink.”
“Hey, what’s up? It’s been a while.”
She could read the wariness of the subtext in her voice. Tink usually didn’t call. They were friendly, but not necessarily friends. Wendy’s motherly instincts and relationship with Peter made Tink uncomfortable, and it had caused tension between them in the past.
“Sorry to bother you. I know it’s late. I was just wondering if you’d talked to Peter lately.”
“Peter? Sure, I just talked to him.” She sounded amused.
“Did he have his shadow with him?”
“Umm, I don’t know. We were on the phone.”
“Oh.” Tink paused, trying not to read too much into this fact. “How did he seem?”
“The usual. Happy, playful, you know how he is. He’s like a giant kid.”
“Anything off or strange?”
“No,” Wendy said carefully. “He was in a really good mood, but it wasn’t strange. Why, did you two have a fight or something?”
She remained silent, willing herself to ask the next questions but afraid to do so.
“Tink, are you still there? If you two fought, I can talk to him about it. I know he kind of throws a tantrum when he’s upset. Was it bad?”
“Wendy, this is really important. I need you to tell me whether you saw or talked with Peter on the twelfth, the eighteenth, the twenty-second, the twenty-fourth, or yesterday, and what time you spoke.”
“Tink,” she said. She was trying to keep her tone light, but the worry was seeping through. “What is this?”
“Please,” she asked, her throat tight. “I need to know.”
When she hung up, Tink leaned over a trash can and took huge, gasping breaths, willing herself not to dry heave or collapse on her shaky legs. She’d made Wendy promise not to contact Peter, had tried reassuring her it was probably nothing but there could be a connection to a case. She had promised to help Peter any way she could and that she’d update Wendy as soon as possible.
This call hadn’t done anything more than confirm he likely didn’t have an alibi. Peter rarely left the Cove and his Lost Boys and Girls. But his shadow liked to go roaming. She’d seen it in the crime scene pictures peeking out from behind dressers or making shadow puppets under the bed, little glimpses that might easily be overlooked. It was childish and inappropriate, but Peter had never been a fan of growing up.
Tink didn’t realize she was crying until she heard the light patter of her tears hitting the plastic liner of the bin. She scrubbed at her eyes furiously to try and make them stop. Nothing had been proven yet. There was no reason to cry! Even as her mind reworked the facts of the case to paint him as the suspect, she knew they could just as easily be rearranged again if she was wrong. It was unfair to accuse Peter when he had never given her cause to doubt him before. Theirs was a friendship built on faith, trust, and pixie dust, and that’s what she’d give him until proven otherwise.
“Hey.”
Red was suddenly beside her, rubbing circles on her lower back soothingly.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she sighed, straightening. “Okay enough, anyway.”
“The team’s suiting up to take him in. Do you want to sit this one out?”
“No.” Her voice was firm. She was sure of this. “I need to know, and I need to know why. Plus I want to minimize any involvement of the kids if possible. Someone needs to be there for them.”
Red studied her, taking into account the fact that she’d just found her partner leaning over a trash can crying. This had veered deep into too-close-to-home territory. According to protocol, Tink should be taken off the case. But Red knew what it was like to burn with the need for closure. She nodded.
“We’ll have your back.”
“Thank you.” Tink squeezed her partners shoulder before heading to grab her gear. She hoped Red knew that the only way she’d get through tonight, especially if her suspicions were correct, was because she had coworkers she trusted and could depend on. Tonight she might lose the one living person she loved the most, but with Red and the others, she knew she could get through it.
