The Streets of Hanford,

Early Morning.

Moriaty’s feet clomped hard on the damp ground – it seemed it had rained a little the previous night. She couldn’t care less that the prints of her soles were engraved on the soil as she trudged absentmindedly away to nowhere in particular. Moriaty wanted to be alone, all by herself, left to think about the tragedy that had struck.

She sighed nervously as she raised her skirt to kick a stump out of her path. The unfortunate plant yielded under the weight of her foot, uprooting totally to leave a gap in the middle of the path. The woman who had embraced nature was now blaming it altogether.

Trudging loudly, Moriaty’s heavy steps were deliberate. A sign that she wanted everything around her to feel her despair and to let the earth share in her meal of melancholia. She wandered through the grassy fields, her feet gathered moss and dew like a rolling stone picking up dirt. Her long dress was soaked at the seams, not that it bothered her in any way.

At this moment, if sadness could be tied around the neck of a bird and then sent far off into the wilderness – a wilderness where there existed no life, a place where even sadness and sorrow themselves would fail to thrive; a ground zero where all forms of melancholia could be immured then Moriaty would have gladly given her all to see to it in order to divest herself of the depression that plagued her core. The weight on her heart felt like the pull of the whirlwind on the hempen strings of fibre ropes.

Drifting through the motions of unrighteousness, part of her wanted to thoughtlessly trade her soul by consulting a demon at a crossroad, all to plead that the pain she was experiencing be taken away.

Moriaty sighed again as her hands absentmindedly slapped the tall, slender elephant grass blades that waved as she dragged her feet through them. She didn’t pay attention to anything else around her – she couldn’t; at least not in this current mental state.

Brock’s death was the imperfect grinch that had thrown chaos into the midst of the family at a time when the members were looking to stamp their present on Hanford and its environs.

If her dysphoria could be knotted around a milestone and cast into the deep – the deep of the ocean, the deep where nothing else could ever be found but the most infrequent of living creatures that subsisted never to be discovered, the very abyss where nothing could ever be salvaged – she would not cerebrate twice afore she would ecstatically assuage herself of the distress.

Moriaty didn’t have to be told – the tides in their mansion was changing faster than any member of the family was going to accede to. She stared blankly into the depths of the azure blue sky. As much as she was downcast, she thought the sky would light up her world and fuel her ailing spirits. Alas, the nimbus clouds spread as far as her eyes could travel and even could feel her morose mood. What if they never migrated to this part of the world? Would that mean Brock would still be alive?

Struggling to maintain stability, Moriaty really needed someone to confide in. She couldn’t go on aimlessly like this. There was no telling what she could end up doing if care wasn’t taken. The tall, wild grasses to either side of her on the dusty path seemed to be the only companion she had at the moment. Their lulls gave her some sort of inexplicable calm although she knew it was temporal. The way she drew her hands all over them, like a mother caressing the heads of her kids gave her some modicum of succour she could do with right there and then. The other side of her soul wasn’t safe. Moriaty’s eyes wandered backwards. She felt she was being tailed – or stalked by some being. She stopped in her tracks as she kept still and remained stealthy. She wanted to be sure she was alone as she couldn’t afford to let her guard down now. After all, if death could kill someone as brave and undaunted in battle as Brock, what more myself even with my powers. I could be overpowered – although not easily – if I were to run into a formidable enemy out here? And now I’m alone in the wilderness. Am I really that paranoid…

Moriaty couldn’t dispel the thought in her mind that she was being hunted by some undisclosed force. Her paranoia kept growing as every second fleeted. She used to have enough stones but with the unpremeditated death of Brock, there was no telling who could be lurking in the darkness or behind one of those trees that he now couldn’t see. Out of the blue, she felt the bush rustle. It dawned on her there was no Brock to give her that sense of protection that she had always felt with him being around. She wished he would just materialise out of nothing to keep her secure again, like he always did.

Caught off her alertness, Moriaty was ready to attack with amplified power.

“Who’s there?” she asked, at the top of her voice. Her breath was shaky as she drew toward the location. The rustling grew louder as she approached. She only barely remained on her feet in order to find out what was trying to gain the ground on her. If Brock were here, he would undauntedly face any danger on her behalf, just like he often did for her father long before she was grown.

Her hands were raised high above her head in a panic attack mode. She was ready to strike whatever enemy it was dead right before it assaulted her. As she lowered her head, ready to launch an assault, the bush suddenly parted ways and a rabbit jumped out with a couple of carrots in between its mouth.

“Holy shit!” she shouted as she fell back onto the road. She had been caught off-guard by the creature who seemed too scared of her presence than the likelihood of being attacked by what it didn’t know. She just lay there, laughing at her own folly. For a moment, she lost herself in bliss comforted by the transitory cachinnation.

Taken aback, the animal scurried off into the bush on the other side of the road. One of the carrots fell out of its mouth as it fled. Moriaty couldn’t help laughing at its folly. She watched it flee. Or so she thought. As she turned around to continue on her journey into the streets of Hanford, she heard another rustle again. It was the same rabbit. It was eyeing Moriaty as it focused on the carrot lying on the dusty path. She approached it gently. The rabbit retreated slowly while it maintained its guarded style.

“It’s all right. You can have your carrot back, if you want it,” she offered. Not that the animal could hear or understand her but she just wanted to talk herself into comfort. And perhaps, the rabbit might just be the perfect companion right now, albeit the conversation was going to be one-sided all through.

The animal was distrusting – which wasn’t too farfetched since its instincts could tell it could either end up dead or caged – it wanted neither. Moriaty compared herself to the small creature. In that moment, she could optically discern just like the rabbit that there were instances she didn’t trust herself to do the right thing, especially when she was emotionally strained. Those were the times she had had to rely on both her father and the late Brock to guide her aright. As she grew up, she enjoyed the attention from both of the men working together to maintain the family socially. She could have sworn they both competed to outdo the other when it came to dealing with her.

A glint of joy crossed over her face as a short smile temporarily painted her lips. This was what she enjoyed about her life. But the rift opened could ruin her age of responsibility. Her face coloured up as she recalled her father – the only one alive of the two most favoured men in her life – he had refused to see anyone, even her, his beloved daughter, who seemed to pine for his attention and listening ear.

She felt a slight nudge on her fingers and then she heard a rustling sound again. Her senses were jolted only to see the tail of the retreating rabbit. Moriaty had remained lost in thought so much that she didn’t notice the creature pilfer the carrot out of her hands.

Careless with her endowments, Moriaty got up and dusted the dust that had given her dress a new shade. She thought of the rabbit again – the kind of freedom the animal had, independent and definitely brazen enough to fend for itself even if it meant it would risk its life more times than she could ever blink for.

As she continued her wander, Moriaty picked out human sounds. She raised her head and caught sight of the town ahead. Unconsciously, she picked up her feet and strolled in. She stared into the eyes that gazed at her and dredged up a smile for all who passed. Her strange behaviour in broad daylight soon attracted gossip mongers like a colony of bees to nectars. They hurried past her – some even moved over to the side of the road to allow her amble down the path so they wouldn’t have to trade words with her. Her demeanour wasn’t in anyway attractive to the people. And it didn’t take long for everyone to see beyond the veneer of a high-spirited human that she donned on her face to know she was languishing in real sadness.

“Hey, isn’t she a Lovecraft?” one woman gossiped to a friend of hers – both of them held bread baskets to their side while they held their overflowing gowns at the seams with the other hand.

“I hear she’s from that filthy rich family,” the other quipped excitedly while she held back the arm of her counterpart gossip. Then, both ladies dabbled into the business expertly as if they had been waiting for the impeccable opportunity to discuss someone else’s life and family.

The first woman noticed the daunting look on Moriaty’s face. “She sure is beautiful but why does she look so sad?” she continued, tugging the arm of her friend.

The second woman’s voice fell into a hush as she addressed her friend. “So, you didn’t hear?”

The other was a bit flustered, wondering why it was possible for some significant event to have dawned in Hanford and she wouldn’t have been in the loop. Her interest was piqued; she flexed her eyebrows as she awaited the news like that was all she would ever live for. “Hear what?”

The other woman sighed, buffeted by her colleague’s seeming ignorance. “I think it’s because one of their family members died.” Her voice was quiet and her head was low as if she was taking a bow of silence for the departed.

The other woman batted her eyelids. She was obviously shocked, yet, it didn’t seem to affect her in anyway – it was her friend’s unmerited reaction to the whole saga that caught her unaware. “Are you serious?”

“Apparently it was the Confederates,” the rumour monger quickly added.

The voices of the women faded away as Moriaty went past them. The comments didn’t seem to amount to much let alone get a focus on her attention. They sounded like the murmurs of mere shadows – present in a second and inexistent in the other. For Moriaty, it felt as if they were never there in the first place. It wouldn’t be the first time she would be the subject of discussion for many. Heck, she was used to being the epicentre of attraction for all and sundry. On many occasions when people discuss her as she passed, she often spared many individuals cheery and friendly gestures and gave more acknowledgment to those that accorded her who deserved more respect. This time however, she was far too deplorable to be her usual self – it didn’t take a blink for the passers-by to observe the act she was putting on, no thanks to the recent crisis her family had all but experienced.

*****