Detective Fiction

“How did you say he died again?” Forctis Eaton asked from the floor where he was crouched next to the sallow corps in question. He gazed up at the man who stood in the small dark room, whose name it had never so much as crossed Eaton’s mind to ask, with his eyebrows puckered and pulled together into a frown and his jaw set in a way that made it appear far too angular to be natural. The man with the mystery name, was clearly startled by Eaton’s forward demeanour and chiselled face that reflected experiences and things seen far beyond his years, these made him appear older than he factually was. Not that anyone knew his age, or anything else about him for that matter. So startled by this in fact that it took him a full three minutes and twenty three and a half seconds, by Eaton’s count to respond. When his composure finally returned he replied simply, “I didn’t…” This clearly frustrated Eaton for reasons known solely to him as he took a deep breath and ran his hand through the dark and wild mane that he called his hair. His dark hair was a perfect juxtaposition to his pale skin, as was the dark shadow of stubble that clouded across his skin. He probably could have been considered handsome if it weren’t for his guarded persona and bitter cold wall that any approaching stranger, or even friend, ran straight into. He looked up through his thick black camel eyelashes at the man and through his gritted teeth and clenched jaw he managed to growl out with a glint in his unusually dark blue eyes that illuminated and highlighted the faint flick of green in his left eye, “Surely by account of the fact that I tried to acquire that information from you again, despite the fact it may not have been previously disclosed to me, it would be insinuated that the knowledge I seek is still required and thus you are being a hindrance to me rather than a help by stating the obvious, I suppose you do not know very much about me, however you will very quickly learn that I do not regularly...