I slipped the can into my pocket and eyed Henry closely. He didn’t seem to be lying, but the pieces just didn’t seem to fit. There was no way anyone else but him could’ve snuck up on Mrs. Watson without her calling for help. Suppose he simply held a grudge against Mrs. Watson, after all both crimes had involved her. Unless… Unless… It couldn’t be could it? Would Mr. Watson really murder his own wife?

There were too many possibilities, too many outcomes to ponder at the moment. I needed to think, to be somewhere quiet. At this stage in my investigation, the killer could just as easily be an outside party as well. Henry seemed too calm and so ready to answer my questions without fumbling that made me think he might be behind. Mr. Watson and even Henry himself had both said that it was likely it was him. Of course though, Mr. Watson was hysterical and I doubt I could get much out of him at this point. But then again, Mr. Watson may have snapped after killing his wife. I needed more clues, more evidence before I pushed any one lead.

Heading back into the hallway, I pushed deeper into the house and found a side door. This would most likely be the servants entrance and where the garbage was taken out. Someone could have easily slipped in and out through here without being noticed. As I begin to open the door I hear a heavy breathing behind me. I turn to see Henry standing over me with a pan. There is a feral look in his eyes and he’s panting heavily as if the mere thought of waiting was agony.

Holding up my hand, I slowly push the pan away from my head. The steel is cool to the touch and I had a sinking feeling that soon it would be warm with my blood. My spare hand is groping around for anything I could fight back with. Anything, even a book would do, just something I could hit him with.

My hand closes over a handle, and I swing it hitting him cleanly on the side of his head. He crumples to his knees and I waste no time scrambling to my feet. The blood is rushing in my head and I can hear the loud thumping of my heart in my chest. I’m lost now, I can’t see the kitchen, I’m lost in the maze of death. I can hear Henry stamping around behind me, crashing through the rooms. He’s coming, the bringer of death, he’s coming with a pan and I can’t stop him.

I hear a loud crash behind me and Henry comes in bleeding from his temple and with a furious look on his face. I’m almost out of the room when I hear a sharp crack and I’m on the floor now. My leg has been bashed by the pan and it’s bent at a strange angle. Oddly enough, I can’t feel the pain, it must be the adrenaline pumping through me. I pull myself up to my feet and stumble awkwardly through the hallway, past the kitchen, past the stairs and out the door.

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I fall onto the street and call out for help, but no one will mind me. But something different, it’s not a street anymore, it’s warped and red. Everyone is here and no one is here, the streets are loud and bustling, quiet and empty. I turn and see Henry coming, barreling towards, except it’s not Henry, it’s a demon. And it’s not a pan, it’s a scythe and he’s coming to reap.

I’m running now, ignoring the way my leg seems to twist and contort. I burst out into the busy square and I grip at the closest person to me. But they pay me no mind, as if I was a ghost. Stumbling around like a drunkard, I bump into stalls and people, but no one seems to notice me. I keep running, the pain is coming now, but I’m not letting it stop me.

My office is coming into view, if I can just get in there, my daughter can help me. She won’t think I’m a drunk stumbling around in broad daylight. She’ll get help, she’ll help me take out Henry. I’m nearly there, almost at the door, so close I could almost touch the doorknob.

But nearly there isn’t there and just as I’m about to grab the handle, I get pulled back by a hand. It’s not Henry this time, it’s something much worse, much more malicious. It looks at me with disinterest in its black eyes. Its voice sounds so familiar, something I recognize, but I can’t quite get it from my mind.

“You’re going to have to go back James. You had your fun playing detective, now it’s my turn to play. Don’t worry, I’ll let you out when I’m done, don’t you worry about a thing.”

It grabs me now and squeezes with its claws. The pain is excruciating and I’m falling into a dark abyss. I can’t get out, I’m trapped, I’m in a cage. I must be blacking out now, Henry must have finally caught up to me. The pan is probably dripping red with my blood, as it falls on my head, over and over and over. That is the last thought running through my mind before I black out.

It feels like eternity I’ve been floating around in this darkness. Is this what hell is like, it must be for that could be the only possible solution. There’s a light though, at the end of the darkness. A small tiny prick of light shining through the dark black veils. I walk towards it now and the light is blinding me, burning my eyes, but still I delve forward. I stop now and look into the light, it shows me the demon that trapped me. He’s sitting and watching something that I cannot see.

It turns now and looks back at me with a grin on its face. Is it pleased that it’s locked me here in its prison? I’m not exactly sure, but something tells me that if I ask, it’ll let me out. And so I ask the demon and it looks at me for a long time. Whatever is going on behind those empty black eyes, I cannot tell, for all the experience I have as a detective. Finally, it seems to come to a conclusion and leaves its chair. It gives me a little mocking bow and gestures to the chair for me to sit. As I sit down and break free from the prison, I can hear it calling to me in the distance.