A Cold, Hard Light - Prelude

Prelude

It had just struck ten passed nine on the old clock that sat on the carved mantle. A thick layer of dust coating its wooden body and glass face, visible from the opposite side of the room where I sat, staring at the minutes tick by. The light shone through the window, a pale translucent beam, broken by the bars on the window, gleaming from behind, casting my shadows on the room.. The swirls of smoke and dust dancing some daring dance of gray and white despair.

I inhaled again. The taste of tobacco breaking against the whiskey that lingered behind. My two constant companions, both of whom I have sworn off time and time again, and both who seem to return each and every night. I leaned forward and tipped the bottle again, my old brown friend, enough for a last five fingers. I downed the glass and drew another deep breath from my smoke, and felt the blurry buzz return.

But my content was short lived, though try as I might, my thoughts swam against the smokey, whiskey currents that now filled my mind, and returned, to my disdain, to the events of the last few weeks.

To my recent case...

The case of the Doctor and the Scarlet Lips.