The Tales of Gehiwian Circle

Family Heirlooms

11th December, 1990

Two years. Two bloody years.

Thorston sat at the kitchen table, dressing gown hung loose and open over his dishevelled form as he hunched over the kitchen table. Tiredness wrinkles had taken over his face like earthen fractures, steely eyes soulful recluses for the dwindling spirit with him. Two years ago, that had been fractured too, the chasms within only widening over time.

I can't do this without letting them.

Spread across the kitchen table were articles and notes from one of his late father's folders. He'd inherited them all when he passed unexpectedly, two years ago. They took him back, way back to one of the most influential nights of Thorston's life, when he discovered the darker side of Gehiwian. His father, seeing it has his duty, had gathered up what anecdotes and accounts he could of unsolved crimes and mysteries, hoping for a larger picture or web of connections. It was a pet project he doubled down on in retirement, until the hourglass of life decided to run out for him.

Now it's mine, Thorston sniffed, Mine to finish, whatever the cost.

He rubbed his aching eye, bags underneath almost a shape moulded from his hand. Downing the last remnants of a lukewarm, grainy coffee from his stained mug, Thorston shuffed away one of the papers for another.

The bleeping ring of the landline phone blared out from his hallway. Dragging himself of the groaning kitchen chair, Thorston slunk through his living room into the hallway. He picked up the phone of the hook, answering it in a gravelly voice as he gripped the curled wire in his hand. "Grange, who's calling?"

"-Thorston-" a familiar voice answered him. Rebekah Washburn, the sweet CSI forensic scientist from the Gehiwian Police Department. Pretty girl who caught his attention whenever he saw her, she was one of the most genuine people in the department. A rock of support over the last two years, Rebekah was the only person who's soft tone alone could crack his hardened shell-like skin.

All I've done is let her down...

"-Please tell me you're going to make it to your disciplinary hearing-" she demanded.

"When's that again?" Thorston licked his lips.

"-Tomorrow.-"

"Right..." Thorston licked the inside of his mouth with his tongue.

"-You're losing yourself to this, can't you see? It's consuming you, this obsession-"

"I-," Thorston's voice croaked as his eyebrows fluttered, "I need to finish it, for him."

"-There's people out there who need your investigative skills, now-" she explained to him, again "-Isn't that what your father lived for, what you carried on that made him most proud?-"

"Yes, but," Thorston gazed back towards his dining table.

"-I'm not losing you to this, we're not losing you. Please let it go-"

Thorston shut his eyes, thinking back to when it all began.

***

11th December, 1958

The fire burnt warm and bright as five-year-old Thorston Grange sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace. In his hand was a small wooden train, which he ran back and forth on the thin rug. Trains were the most interesting thing in Thorston's life at that point. His father's work as a policeman came second. His dad chased bad people and kept the town safe, but he never spoke about it much. The little bits Thorston knew were enough to see him as a hero who didn't want attention. It was only years later that vision changed, when Thorston realised a lot of his father's work was left unfinished.