Warm sunshine, gladly welcomed by the freezing detective, trickled into the room weakly, barely heating his toes. Even though the room was well insulated with a blazing fireplace roaring cheerfully, Sigerson sneezed then sniffed, annoyed at his own low resistance to the cold.
Rose, who was knitting peacefully by the fireplace, jumped after a particularly violent sneeze erupted from Sigerson's side.
"Are you alright?"
"Me? Oh no, I'm fine. I've always been feeling kind of weak during the cold weather, so this is pretty normal for me."
"Hmm…"
Rose looked thoughtful, but still didn't look up from her knitting.
"I guess I'll make this jumper for you then. I was going to give it to Eve, but it seems like you'll be needing it a lot more than her. You don't mind maroon, do you?"
"As long as it works, I'll be fine with anything, really."
She glanced up, gave him a small nod, then went back to her knitting. Not a second later, the sound of a closing door crashed into the room. Evelyn came waltzing in, her face brimming with energy.
"Harvey's gone with Mr Mansell to his office for a visit," Evelyn explained to Sigerson brightly, "and Elena has gone shopping as well, so it's just us three here. Wanna play a game of bridge like the good ol' days?"
Sigerson hopped up, an excited glint in his eyes.
"Not now, Evie. I'm gonna go back to the orphanage; I want to check something."
"You absolutely cannot go."
This was the first time Rose put down her knitting.
"You're still wanted by the Enforcers, you know that? I don't have dad's power, so I'm afraid I can't provide safe transportation for you like last time."
"Then put me in a disguise."
He turned to Evelyn, who hardly seemed surprised.
"I could, but I'd like to make a request first."
Sigerson raised his eyebrows as if telling her to elaborate.
"I… I want to go in your place."
"What?"
All of a sudden, the idea struck him—what if he sent her to accomplish his task to pacify her inferiority complex?
It might be harsh for me to think that Blight might've negatively influenced her to frustrate me, but all the same, I can't rule her out as completely innocent, even if she is my only family member left. For now, the safest option is to let her do as she wishes and step in only when necessary. She'll only stop until she thinks I see her as an equal, so I'll lay quiet for now.
Coughing in a business-like manner, Sigerson said, "Fine; I'll let you go this time. Get your stuff ready in ten minutes. I'll be waiting."
"Yessir," replied Evelyn, rolling her eyes but disappearing into the changing room appreciatively.
As expected, she came out not too long after, fully donned in a plain white dress without the usual laces or frills. Underneath the dress was a tight corset, which wrapped itself around her slim waist somewhat easily. The corset, in Sigerson's opinion, had some practical use; he himself had it reinforced with bits of iron, intended to protect her against minor attacks and wounds.
"How does that feel?" asked Sigerson, admiring his handiwork.
"Is the corset absolutely necessary? It looks so ugly."
"No one will see it," said Sigerson exasperatedly. "Besides, if you get into a scrape, I can guarantee it'll be more effective than you'd realise."
Evelyn, still checking herself in a tall mirror, said no more, unable to find any more complaints.
"The last touch," said Sigerson, taking a wig from Rose. "Here, put this on."
When the final piece was placed on her head, Evelyn seemed to be a completely different person from the appearance alone. Except for her wide green eyes, everything else changed—from her dress and hair to her posture and speech. Instead of her usual straight rosy hair, locks of wavy golden flowed from her head, tied neatly into a ponytail. Her dress and way of speaking suggested a rustic background while her posture indicated hours of time spent in the fields.
"You really did do everything so well!" complimented Rose, gazing at every little detail.
"With that wig on, you might be mistaken as my sister?"
Evelyn just stood there smirking in satisfaction, until Sigerson dragged her off to the side to fill her in on the details of the mission.
"What I need you to do there, Evie, is get into the orphanage's archive and bring back a folder with the label 'The Johnson Twins Accident'. Don't look into it, just give it to me. I'll be depending on you."
Those last few words filled Evelyn with a sense of purpose.
"Okay, let's go—"
"Just a minute."
Rose stood in the entrance, hands stuck out as if halting Evelyn's eager march.
"Take this, Eve."
She handed her a simple handbag.
"You can hide whatever you need in there."
"Now remember," said Sigerson, scrutinising sternly at his cousin. "Do not do anything rash. Just bring back that folder."
"I know, I know."
She turned around, waved goodbye, and departed. Rose asked tentatively just after the door shut, "Do you think she'll be okay?"
"It'll be fine," he replied, slipping on a coat himself, but without the intent of leaving the warm sanctuary. "If I wasn't sure, I'd never send her. She'll manage it."
His voice was calm and collected but Rose suspected he was more worried than he let on. There was no point talking about it, however, so she shifted the topic subtly.
"Why didn't you get the folder yourself the last time you were there?"
"I couldn't," was the brief reply. "If I stayed any longer, they would've been suspicious. Besides, I felt the eyes of someone watching me, so I thought it would've been better to try again some other time."
"But didn't you bring back an envelope from your last journey? What was that about?"
"That," murmured Sigerson, "was the reason why I needed her to go back. Have a look at this."
He took the dirty envelope, opened it, and spread its contents onto the dining table. Both of them sat around the pile of papers and pictures, their eyes darting around to capture each one in their vision. The photographs and hand sketches mainly featured a young boy, at least five but not reaching ten, with messy tufts of raven black hair, partially covering his droopy orange eyes, which gave him the chilling gaze of a deadly hawk eyeing its prey. His expression was, frankly, quite disdainful—those piercing amber eyes seemed to be rolling due to sheer boredom.
"These sketches are quite well drawn," said Rose, appreciating the partially coloured drawing of the boy, dressed in only white pyjamas.
"Yes, aren't they?"
Sigerson picked up one of the notes and read it aloud.
"November the 7th. Today, I spent most of my time reading these old newspapers Mr Blight gave me. Horrible stuff isn't it? There were plenty of crimes listed down in the paper, but one of them caught my attention. A thirteen year-old pregnant girl was brought in before the court today, but the man responsible for the baby was let go with only a year of community service, but I suspect it's because he's a Custodian.
"I can't believe it. Injustice seems to be everywhere nowadays; Mr Blight tells me it's normal but sometimes…"
Here, Sigerson paused for a moment, dreading the next few words.
"Sometimes… I wish I was the judge. I wished the perpetrator was dead. I want to strangle him. He doesn't deserve to live. Let me kill him."
He stopped reading. Rose, her face slightly pale and lips trembling, asked, "What was that?"
"I believe," said Sigerson, "that this curious little note was written by the boy in the pictures.
"What?"
The door opened and shut to admit Elena in, whose arms were full with groceries. As Rose jumped up to help, regretting she'd pried into this strange business herself, the detective hurried to gather everything up and brought it to his bedroom, where a homely desk stood, waiting to be used. He spread out the contents once again but was briefly interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Would you like coffee, Liam?" asked Elena gently, poking her head through the little opening. A lightning fast shift blocked her from seeing the documents on the desk; Sigerson thought it'd be better for Elena to never be exposed to such dark topics.
"Yes, please," he replied, hoping this answer would suffice to remove her from the scene. His wish came true right after his answer. Elena gave him a thumbs up and closed the door carefully so as not to disturb him. The moment she was gone, Sigerson went straight back to the documents spread out neatly across his desk.
These photographs and sketches of this young boy match the other orphanage records, so the chances of them being fake are quite low. What disturbs me more are these notes on the side. Each one of them has dates attached, so they probably combine to form some sort of diary. The handwriting…
He took another quick glance at the notes. The hand that wrote the words was clearly educated; the spelling and grammar was perfect, yet there appeared to be some kind of messiness to it.
A child wrote this, so I can dismiss the idea of this diary being forged. Since I know that a kid, probably the boy in the picture, wrote this, that only makes it more disturbing than ever… These entries…
He read through all of them again, starting from the earliest entry and going all the way to the final one a year later. Each new entry had a different date and an inequitable crime written out in full detail. At the end, the same desire would be scribbled down over and over again.
Kill.
There's something very wrong with this boy… What's his purpose in Blight's plan though? He doesn't seem like a very big threat at the moment, so what exactly was he raised for?
Deciding he'd do better to wait for Evelyn's return with more information, Sigerson exhaled tiredly and leaned back, rubbing his sore eyes.
Just then, a knock alerted him of Elena's reappearance, pulling his thoughts away from the war. He opened the door, and to Elena's surprise, took the mug from her, leading the bewildered girl away from his room. As he walked off to the sitting room with Elena, arm in arm, he breathed to himself silently, "I'll leave everything to you, Evie."
---
Meanwhile, still trudging along the crunchy icy path to the orphanage entrance, Evelyn clutched her handbag nervously, pulling the cloak tighter over her. This was the first time her cousin had actually given her a noteworthy task to carry out. The mere thought of this brightened her mood significantly, while she hummed gaily, fiddling with the golden ponytail. Austere doors stood between her and the target; all she had to do was enter.