Read Detective Docherty :: Paranormal Investigator

Do-do-do-do. Do-do-do-do. Ares’s watch went off as he opened the door to Detective Docherty’s office. Six o’clock sharp, right on time. He took an easy breath even though he didn’t need to. He supposed it was an old habit. They died hard after all.

Ares pressed his cool palm into the doorknob as he opened it. His heightened senses as a vampire never ceased to amaze him, and he still marveled at how everything felt. This was not just a metal knob. He could feel its hollowness. Turning it felt like turning something inside himself.

The lighting was dim inside the office. He said hello to Snow, the goldfish, as he took his seat next to her forty-gallon aquarium. Her white sides bulged out as she swam with interest to the corner closest to him. She was waiting to be fed and responded to any kind of movement this time of night. She was lucky he was there, otherwise she’d starve to death as the Detective often forgot to feed her.

Ares pulled out a small container of goldfish food, popped open the lid, and sprinkled a couple of flakes in for her. He did not want to overdo it in case Docherty had already fed her twice that day, having forgotten he already fed her—assuming he had fed her at all.

Ares watched her suck down the flakes eagerly and then waddle down to the sandy bottom. Her white fins danced around her like an evening gown. Peculiar, he thought, that even though she was white, she was still called a goldfish. He would never understand humans. It had been so long since he had been one.

Snow chased a few false hopes around the bottom of the tank, floating around seashells and corals the Detective had collected on his numerous vacations to the coast. Ares rolled his eyes at the large castle in the middle of the aquarium. He could not decide what was worse—the bikini-wearing mermaid lying next to the castle or the dragon statue with bubbles coming out of its mouth. Of all the things in Docherty’s office, the aquarium was the cheesiest.

Ares looked around the rest of the room, moving into his usual routine. He passed over the bookshelves, reading the titles silently in his head: Big Foot: Man or Alien?; Ludwig’s Complete Collection of Fairytales; Famous Vampires Throughout History; Crystals, Crystal Balls, and Mirrors; and, his personal favorite—Santa Claus: The Man, the Mystery. Ares then followed the detail of the carpet (animals, unicorns, and lions) over to the desk, where his eyes skipped over the Detective and gazed at the pictures along the wall behind him.

Ares lurked in the background of some framed newspaper clippings with Docherty, but there were a lot of pictures he was not in. There were photos from many of the Docherty’s adventures, so many adventures from before his time with the Detective.

A good portion of the pictures were of cases with happy endings; the rest were primarily silly vacation photos of the Detective in his youth, wearing tacky Hawaiian shirts and shorts entirely too short, showing off his knobby knees. Most of those had been taken during his trips to the west coast.

The remaining photos were of fascinating places and marvelous creatures that even Ares had never seen.

On the back wall, immediately above Docherty, was a picture of him and a hatchling dragon that he had saved from some very surprised miners. The photo brought a grin to Ares’s face. A dirt-smeared Docherty was standing in the middle, wearing what one might describe as a safari suit and a miner’s cap, while he held a baby dragon. The hatchling, which was no bigger than a miniature poodle, was yawning and stretching its tiny wings. Miners stood around them smiling and laughing. Some of them were even patting Docherty on the back. The photo was a classic black and white. Docherty was in his prime back then. He had trimmed dirty blonde hair, a lean build, but still had glasses. He was grinning from ear to ear, showing off his dimple on the top of his right cheek.

Ares let out a long sigh and waited patiently. Docherty was hunched over his desk, writing a report with such ferocity that Ares thought he might puncture the wood. Ares moved his long black hair away from his eyes and cleared his throat loudly. Docherty still did not look up, so Ares moved his chair, scraping the floor as much as possible.

“What? What’s this now? Ares! Did you just get here? Walking in at anytime of the night. I say, you know that work starts at six p.m. sharp. You can’t just walk in anytime you’d like. What on earth do I pay you for?”

“You don’t pay me. I’m here voluntarily,” Ares replied in his typical dry tone. He gave the Detective an equally dry stare.

“What’s that? I don’t pay you? Why ever not? You’re a genius.” Docherty blinked heavily through his thick spectacles. His white mustache twitched along with his mouth as his mental gears turned.

“Well, thank you, but—”

“Come, come my boy! I insist on paying you at once,” the Detective said with finality. He pulled a delicately folded handkerchief out from his breast pocket and wiped his nose. Though the Detective was absentminded and far from organized, he maintained a professional appearance. He wore suits to work, with a different colored handkerchief each day, polished shoes, and a bow tie, and he kept his white hair perfectly combed. He only wore hats when out in the field and insisted on taking his hat off whenever entering a home or place of business.

Today’s handkerchief was hunter green with lime green polka dots—classic.

Ares was hoping to change the subject and distract the Detective from his ridiculousness when a knock came to the door. He turned and was surprised to find a young woman standing in the doorway.

------------------

Published by Raven's Hollow Art and Publishing

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Please do not resell. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not encourage piracy. Thank you for your support.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.