Murder at the House

c.h.a.p.t.e.r. o.n.e

Many things in life changed, but the core remained untouched, because humans, no matter how far they’ve dragged themselves from the swamp, would always be the same. No amount of civility would ever change the inner animal; mask it, perhaps, or even tame it to a certain extent, but what was taming as much as fear?

The inner animal, as far as I know, has several base instincts. The female in me recognizes the need to love, to feel pleasure, and to survive. The cop in me knows of the brutality, of hatred, and the need to destroy. It’s something I see on a daily basis, of when father turns on daughter, friend on friend, and strangers mutilating because of the darker side of human nature that cannot go away no matter how far people hide in brightly lit homes with double- and triple-locks on the reinforced door.

I’m thirty years old, and I’ve been a cop for six years. Originally, I wanted to become a psychologist, but I discovered I couldn’t deal with trying to heal things already don – I wanted to be on the front line to prevent it from happening in the first place, despite the corruption and money that would always flow from hand to hand.

Humans had killed one another since the beginning of time – now, on June 10th, 2092, a human had done so again. But this is where the aforementioned corruption and money played in.

Sex has always been one of the strongest factors in the human species. Often mixed with the higher emotions of love and the lower factors of violence, sex has been approached from infinite angles and still remains as mysterious as ever. Sex, in this modern society, is not hard to find, due to prostitution as well as the whole abstinence concept having less and less followers as people move farther and farther away from religion. But what embodies sex the most in this world s what is commonly referred to as the Happy House.

Bluntly put, the House is a house of prostitution. When prostitution became legal, there was a huge surge in the business, until it died out as people searched for new thrills, new taboos to be broken. About three years ago, the Happy House was invented, and has become famous worldwide after the first year.

When I say “commonly referred to as the Happy House,” I mean that I have no idea what the real name is. All that is known is that five men started it, and only those who are well off can afford a single night, and the fabulously wealthy are known to have spent all of their fortunes within the mysterious walls. The actual place is not a house, but a large manor outside of the city. Many pass by with curious glances, but there is never anything to be seen in heard.

Nothing is known of the people, either; each client is sworn to utmost secrecy under the pain of heavy fines, and, I suspect, possible death. However, rumors have always been abounding, and there are whispers of beautiful men and women, of hundreds of slaves ready to perform any bidding, any desire, and any fantasy. The tabloids are filled with articles on mythological sex gods, aliens, and once even that those in the House were all demons planting seeds in the wombs of any that dared to knock upon their doors.

Tabloids, obviously, are other things that shall never change.

I never knew much about any of this – I’ve been divorced once already and I definitely can’t afford a night – hell, an hour! – at a place like that. But I’ve just put down a single page of writing. The paper is of a pale, aged yellow and thick enough that I suspected that it would have paid for my dinner, as the envelope would have provided for my breakfast. The writing was done in crimson ink, a color that spoke of all that the House had to offer in sex; love, passion, lust, and to some, violence, pain, and blood.

And I knew that very soon, due to the power of wealth, I would know far more about the Happy House and the mysterious inhabitants than I’ve ever dreamt – or wanted – to know.

• • •

Dear Ms. Anastasia Burkhart,

Due to the tragic death of one of my closest friends, I am writing to you on the behalf of my partners, my business, and myself. As I am sure you know, the nature of the House is highly secretive, and any exposure due to this recent turn in events shall not only harm us but the privacy of our clientele.

I have recently become aware that you shall be assigned as primary to the case. In order to protect those whom are served, it has been arranged that, in exchange for funding for the Department, we shall close down the House for a time period of two weeks, during which you shall either discover the murderer or the case shall be closed and buried.

Forgive me for being blunt, but I am quite sure that you understand that any more loss in business will not do, and all means must be used to discover the culprit as soon as possible. Please be at the Downstairs Café at six O’clock sharp tomorrow evening, located on Eighth and Kenya’s, where the nature of the investigation shall be determined.

Yours truly.

P.S. I am writing this with the understanding that you understand the term ‘discreet’, and that any attempt to exploit this communication or abovementioned meeting shall be met with dire consequences.