Michael held onto the card for what seemed like an eternity, the sharp edges dug into his skin as he stared at the image of the clown. The more he looked at the clown, the angrier it appeared to get. The card fell from his fingers, fluttering to the ground like a dead leaf. Michael continued to stare at the card and reached in his pocket for his whiskey, his pain relief, it was only Marshall’s eyes watching his reaction that prevented him taking the flask out of his pocket. He forced his hand back to his side and met Marshall’s gaze.

“Any idea why your name would appear at a crime scene?” Marshall asked, his voice remaining calm.

“I…I don’t know, I’ve never seen this woman before,” Michael replied looking at her face, her closed eyes and pointed nose.

“Cause of death is obvious, but so far we have no clear motive, or suspect,” Marshall said picking the card back up and handing it to the crime scene tech.

Michael sat on the front steps of a nearby apartment block as everyone moved around him. The hum of the police drones created a faint, mechanical whir that was at odds with the low murmur of officers conversing. Streetlights cast long, fractured shadows against the ground, making the scene feel even more surreal, with the flashes of red and blue. Michael’s fingers twitched near his pocket. Every nerve in his body screamed for release, for the soothing burn of whiskey to quiet the storm inside. He gritted his teeth, forcing his hand away from the flask as he thought about the woman, unable to see any connection between him and her. He could sense Marshall’s gaze linger on him, as he tried to hide his trembling hands.

"I’ll have a car take you home," he said, his voice softer, a hint of concern breaking through the professional facade. Michael clenched his fists. He could feel the weight of Marshall’s unspoken words, the pity, the doubt.

"If it’s all the same," Michael forced out, his voice low but steady, "I want to stay." His eyes met Marshall's, daring him to protest.

One of the techs appeared beside Marshall holding the card he had dropped, a small drone hummed beside him like an expecting pet.

“Sir, it looks like this card was bought locally,” the tech informed him, a single, optical light over his eye glowed in the dark, allowing him to see what his helper drone was seeing.

“Where?” Marshall asked.

“Tatiana’s home of the occult,” he said turning the card over in his hand, as though expecting to have missed some other key piece of evidence. Michael went to stand up, but before he could Marshall stopped him.

“Not you,” he ordered, his voice low but firm, “while I might be willing to accept you sticking around the station, I don’t know about a case.” Michael locked eyes with him, the flicker of frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"I need to do this,” he insisted, feeling the first spark of something more than the mental disease of depression since the incident, he knew he needed to follow this, regardless of what Marshall said, or his own inner, self-destructive thoughts.

“You’re not ready,” Marshall said, shaking his head, “not only are you on sick leave, but, hell, your name is written on that card,”

“Exactly,” Michael cut in, his voice rising, tension threading through his words. “Someone’s trying to pull me into this, and I want to know why!” Marshall hesitated, and Michael seized the moment. “Look,” Michael continued, stepping forward, “I know Tatiana. She’s a slippery one, she won’t talk to just anyone. Let me go with you, I can get her to open up. You know damn well that half the time, I’m the only one who can get people to say things they'd rather keep buried.” Marshall’s brow furrowed. He crossed his arms, clearly weighing his options. The silence stretched out, filled only by the distant hum of the drones still sweeping the scene.

“I can handle it, Marshall,” Michael said more softly this time. “You brought me out here for a reason. If you wanted me to stay home, you would have just called me.” For a long moment, Marshall said nothing, his eyes searching Michael’s face for any sign of weakness, any crack in his resolve. But Michael stood firm, his jaw set, determination radiating from him. Finally, Marshall sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair.

“Fine. But I’m coming with you. And if you even think about pulling out that flask, I’m sending you back, understood?” Michael gave a tight nod, feeling a wave of relief that he masked with a neutral expression. He reached down, clenching his fist to still the last of the tremors, steeling himself for what came next.

He sat beside Marshal in the car, the passing lights shone over his eyes as he waited to arrive. He thought back to the last time he had seen Tatiana in her shop, after the incident he had sought answers, a way to try and make sense of it through the occult, but just like many things the deeper he went into it, the less he found and the more he became lost, till the only comfort he found was in the bottle. Marshall was quiet for the journey there; he was glad as he did not want to talk. He gazed down at his watch, ‘05:30’. His sister would have gone back home by now, getting his niece and nephew ready for school, all the normal things people with families do. She had tried many times over the last few months to get him to visit and spend time with them, but he shunned them away. No matter what he said, or how angry he got, his sister never gave up on him. The feelings began to flood into his chest again and he felt the need to reach into his pocket for the flask, but just having Marshall sat beside him was enough of a deterrent to stop him. He was okay not drinking this time, he deserved to feel the pain.

The car pulled into a long line of traffic that headed towards a giant, domed building with beams of light shooting into the air. By now the rain had started and Michael was listening to the relaxing impacts as the droplets splashed of the roof and windscreen. He was so lost in the rain he did not hear Marshall’s first question.

“Micheal,” he prompted.

“Yes, what?” Michael responded, bringing his focus back to the here and now.

“I said, is your sister still visiting?” Marshall asked.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Yes, every morning,” Michael responded, his mind drifted back to what she must be doing by now, getting everyone ready, and her husband Clark who works for the city council. He was not sure what he did, he has not spoken to him for the last few months.

“I’m glad,” Marshall responded as the car drove itself into the parking garage, a large complex filled with hundreds of vehicles for people visiting the giant shopping centre. The centre was so large it housed hundreds of shops offering everything from food to entertainment.

Even though it was early morning there were still many people in the shopping centre, moving between shops and businesses, getting what they needed before they went to work. It had been some time since Michael had been to the centre, and the crowd felt suffocating, each passing figure a blur of movement and noise. Michael could feel the sweat pooling under his collar, the bright lights overhead making everything seem just a little too harsh. He took a deep breath and felt the pocket of his coat, the reassuring presence of the flask, and together they walked down the main promenade, the ceiling many meters above them with several floors of shops. They headed towards Tatiana’s shop, which was a little place set out of the way, in an area less travelled and less expensive to rent. When they approached the front door Michael had a strange feeling of nerves, the last time he had spoken to her was about trying to resolve his issue, and he just never came back. Before he felt himself doing it his hand reached into his pocket for his flask, but a look from Marshall caused him to withdraw his hand. He had to keep it together, otherwise Marshall would send him home, and while part of him wished for that, for the sweet release from reality, an unknown drive from deep inside him knew he must carry on.

Together they stepped inside and were hit with a thick, smoky wall of burning incense. The air inside of the shop was thick with the pungent smell, too heavy, too sweet. It clung to Michael’s throat, making him want to cough. The shelves were cluttered with strange objects, animal bones, twisted metal figurines, jars filled with who-knew-what, that initial viewing seemed like they would be at home in an antiques shop, and a counter opposite the door where Tatiana would normally be stood. Marshall walked up to the counter and pressed the bell, to let her know there was a customer waiting.

A moment later Tatiana, a tall lady, regal with long black hair and an air of distraction about her, moved with a strange, ethereal grace, like someone out of sync with the world around her. Her voice was rich and smooth, with an accent that Michael could not quite place. There was something about the way she looked at him, like she could see past his skin, into the mess of thoughts beneath. She continued to the counter, as though not noticing them, but Michael observed a subtle shift in her demeanour, an almost defensive shift in posture.

“Excuse me, are you the proprietor of this establishment?” Marshal prompted her. She placed the box on the counter and turned to face him.

“Yes, that is me, The Lady Tatiana,” Tatiana's smile did not quite reach her eyes. ‘What can I do for you both?’ she asked, her tone polite but with an undercurrent of something else. It was as if she already knew why they were there, but she was content to play along, for now.

“Well, I thought you would be back, but not in a professional capacity,” her eyes fell on Michael, he would not meet them and allowed Marshall to take the lead.

“Madame, my name is chief detective, Alexander Marshall of the London constabulary,” he showed her a digital card, a hologram glowed above the card to reveal his identification.

“What can I do for you both,” she smiled. Michael avoided her gaze, remembering how the last time he was here, her words had slithered into his brain, planting seeds of doubt and confusion. She had a way of looking at you that made you feel like she already knew your secrets, like she was only waiting for you to confirm them.

“An item purchased from your shop has appeared at a crime scene,” Marshall informed her, the image of his ID transformed into an image of the card they had discovered at the crime scene, a flash of the face caused Michael to flinch.

“Oh, really?” Tatiana remarked, Michael glanced over to see her face, their eyes met for an uncomfortable moment. “It’s a tarot card, the fool if I am not mistaken,” she answered looking it over.

“Do you sell many cards like this?” Marshall asked.

“I sell a few packs, here and there,” she turned around fishing out a small pack and put it on the table, “they are tarot cards, we use them for divination and magic,” she began to explain, Michael could imagine the expression on Marshall’s face of stoic disbelief at this information.

“That is very interesting,” he broke her off, “you wouldn’t happen to know why such a thing would appear at a murder scene?” he asked pressing a little.

“Like I said, I can’t be held accountable for what people do with my products after they buy them,” she shrugged her shoulders, “It’s got nothing to do with me,” before Marshall could continue the interview, an incoming message.

“Please excuse me,” he said courteously to Tatiana.

Michael was left alone with her. He felt the weight of Tatiana’s eyes on him immediately, a gaze that was too sharp, too knowing. The silence between them thickened. Michael shifted uncomfortably, the urge to reach for his flask almost unbearable now. But something stopped him, the way she looked at him, as if she was waiting for him to crack.

“How have you been, Michael?” she asked. Memories of his last visit flashed before his eyes. She had taken him into the back, into a small room with a table and started to use the Tarot cards, just like the one that had been discovered at the murder scene, she used them to read his future. Before he realized what was happening, Tatiana opened a pack of Tarot cards and began placing them on the counter between them both. One by one the cards were placed down. Michael did not meet her eyes, as each card was placed on the table. She turned one card over and revealed the hangman card. The picture was of a man being hanged upside down by one foot. Michael looked at the image with confusion, his curiosity replacing his turmoil. Tatiana’s eyes glinted, and her smile widened, as if she could see the turmoil swirling inside him.

“The hanged man, a sense of feeling trapped, needing release and letting go” she said softly, her voice laced with something dangerous.

“What does that mean?” Michael asked. He thought for a moment trying to understand what she meant.

“Oh, this is not about you dear,” she smiled, “but I guess you will soon find out.”

Michael clenched his fists; the sharp smell of incense made his head swim. The memory of her voice in that dimly lit back room sent a chill down his spine. He tried to push the thoughts away, but the weight of her words lingered, like shadows that refused to leave.

Before he could respond, the bell above the shop door chimed. Marshall stepped back inside, his face grim, his phone still in hand. He barely acknowledged Tatiana before turning to Michael, his jaw set.

“There’s been another one,” Marshall said quietly, his voice low enough that Tatiana could not hear. But Michael knew. The way Marshall’s eyes tightened, the heaviness in his tone, it was bad. Worse than the first. Michael felt the pull deep in his chest, that familiar blend of dread and adrenaline. He swallowed hard, ignoring the burn in his throat, the craving for the flask. “Where?”

“West End,” Marshall replied, his voice steady but tense. “Same M.O.” Tatiana’s eyes flickered with interest as she watched them, her head tilted ever so slightly.

“Another murder?” she asked innocently, though Michael could feel the curiosity radiating from her.

“Time to go,” Marshall muttered, already halfway out the door. Michael glanced at Tatiana one last time. Her smile remained, but there was something colder about it now, like she knew something they did not.

“See you soon, Michael,” she called as they left, her voice following him out into the rainy streets.

The moment they were outside, Marshall’s calm demeanour cracked. He handed Michael a small tablet with the details of the new murder: the victim’s name, the location, the method. All the same. And, at the bottom of the screen, a note. Michael’s stomach dropped. Another card.