“Fuel that burning desire!”

  “Please, I’d like a mundane life.”

  “What’re you lookin’ at?!” Slurred words poured out of the loony drunkard.

  “Lighten up, ya egghead!” A stranger bellowed down at the man from the 2nd floor of a nearby establishment.

  “Fuck off!” The drunkard yelled back, abruptly turning around as he shoved his pants down to moon the poor stranger.

  “...Not bad, sir!” The stranger hollered back, coupled with a few cheers from his companions. It must have been a well-endowed bottom to receive such a favorable reception. Was that necessary…? Nicholas thought as he watched the distasteful situation unfold.

  A friend of the now-bare-bottom man slung a loose arm around his shoulder, teetering him around while singing horribly off-tune.

  “Boss makes a diimmee~ I make a ppennyyy~”

  “That’s not- Puh St- I’m gonna hurl ya bastar-” His pants were still halfway down as he did everything in his power to stop himself from spewing vomit everywhere. His friend was not much help as he continued dragging him around with reckless abandon. The two tumbled down the road, becoming a part of the street’s atmosphere.

  This was the Northeastern District, otherwise known as the Spirit’s Gullet. Citizens come here to drown themselves in their sinfully delicious desires. While being a smaller part of town, the area itself is packed with establishments targeted towards an audience that wished to forget their hardworking lives.

  Cheap, efficient and grimy. Nicholas watched the remaining drunks cheer their hymns and puke their brains out. Some others sat hunched over, cradling a bottle as if it was their own child. Nicholas didn’t fancy going out often, but after enough time working as a government employee, even a stoic man like himself had enough steam to blow. Although he felt a tinge of regret for coming here the night he died. If only I had chosen not to. He inwardly sighed at his stupidity.

  …No! There’s no use lamenting my past actions; I’m sure Vivian would pinch my cheeks if I moped around.

  Clack. Clack.

  Finally, Julian and Matthew arrive at the bar, with a ghost in tow.

  A wooden sign swung lightly over a medium-sized bar. The chain slightly squeaked from the unmanaged rust. On the sign was expertly hand painted cursive; it read:

  Among the others in the area, this particular bar was furnished very differently in comparison. The architecture of the bar was not overtly high-end. What truly set it apart were the copious amounts of hanging potted plants, thick green vines, and curling flowers that were sprawled everywhere. The foliage was quite dense, crowding any corner that wasn’t already occupied by tables and bar stools.

  “Quite true to the name indeed.” Julian briefly admired the various flora before following Matthew inside.

  The inside of The Garden was about the size of an average living room. Julian took a moment to take in the interior design. To his right was a long hardwood bar top that curved into part of the wall. The outside of the bar top was lined with stools spaced equally apart, and hanging from the ceiling were chandeliers composed of twinkling glass flowers. They slowly twirled as the lights emitted a moody amber glow. A combination of brass and mahogany wood lined the shelves behind the bar top, filled ?to the brim with gleaming bottles covered in yellowed labels.

  Above the farther half of the room was a balcony that overlooked the main area of the bar. The railing of the balcony was lined with bronze balusters. Lazy vines and leaves were plastered atop the railing, dangling down like Christmas garlands.

  At the far back was a raised platform–a small stage–that was crowded with well-loved instruments. On a normal Friday, there would typically be boisterous and lively music playing from that very stage. However, not even the friendly chatter over drinks could be heard. Instead, there was the low hum of ?various uniformed officials discussing tonight’s case.

  Murmur… Murmur…

  Towards the left wall was a thick wooden board, inscribed with rules.

  Is this some sort of dungeon??! Julian mused. The owner must be peculiar. Silently, he began to read each rule with a keen eye.

  1. No discrimination within the bar. Any kind of person may come and have a drink.

  Note: Operating Hours: 5 pm to 3 AM

  “This one seems rather.. open-minded.” Julian muttered, just loud enough for both Nicholas and Matthew to hear.

  A smooth answer soon came from Matthew’s own pre-existing knowledge.

  “The Garden is known for its accommodating nature–many patrons praised the service as being exceptional to even the lowliest of citizens. However, given that a majority of the lower to middle class would congregate at the bar, many weren’t wealthy. Yet, despite the lack of high-status clientele, the business itself continues to thrive.”

  “It appears to have almost worked out in their favour.” Julian pointedly looked at the combination of officials and Matthew’s presence in the bar.

  “Yes, well… When you accept all manner of people,” Matthew paused with an irked expression, “it beckons poor company.”

  If that were the case, wouldn’t this bar have a history riddled with scandals? Nicholas thought in response, casting a measured glance towards Matthew.

  2. The bar will serve a drink as long as the participant is and or above the drinking age (19+).

  “Does this one even have to be listed?” Julian knew that this was a regular rule in every bar in Liefde. Out of the three listed here, he’d consider this one the most standard. Shifting his eyes lower, Julian read the final rule.

  3. All patrons in the bar must consume the flower in their drink. If drinkers are allergic to any of the flowers provided, the bar will substitute it with an edible herb. The waiter will confirm that each drinker consumes their flowers upon ?the arrival of their drinks.

  Note: All the flowers are edible and safe for consumption.

  “This-?” Shocked, Julian had to reread the third rule a few times.

  “Skeptical?” Matthew smiled wryly. “I am too.”

  “What a perfectly convenient rule to facilitate a murder!”

  “I agree. However…”

  The two share a knowing glance as Julian spoke, “If it were that easy, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

  Matthew chuckles. “Correct.”

  “Hm. I’m assuming there were no signs of poison in the autopsy.”

  Shaking his head, Matthew responded, “No, rather, all three of the victims nearly starved to death. They had nothing in their systems.”

  “Then-”

  “OI!” A great and obnoxious voice echoed across the bar.

  The three turn their heads in unison, looking towards the unfamiliar voice.

  “Aren’t ya one of those detectives here to investigate? Well git on with it! I ain’t got all night to answer your damned questions.” A gruff and slightly pudgy man–wearing a black vest and pants, white collared shirt with a comically small bowtie–huffed and puffed in agitation.

  For a second, Julian could see Matthew’s face crumple in annoyance before snapping into a business-like smile.

  “Yes sir, you must be one of the owners.” Before walking over, Matthew passed over a small file to Julian. In a hushed voice he hurriedly spoke, “Autopsy and report from this morning. You’d have eventually seen this later, but I’m assuming your curiosity has been piqued.”

  “Ever reliable.” Julian gratefully received the file.

  With that, Matthew briskly went over to initiate a discussion–or interrogation, Julian thought–with the owner.

  Nicholas quickly hovered over Julian’s right shoulder, peering down at what was in his hands.

  “Ah, it’s like an early Christmas present!” Julian wistfully said with glee.

  “And my case wasn’t?” Nicholas flatly asked.

  “No, your case is incomparable to a present.” Julian wore an incredulous expression.

  “...I-”

  “Most definitely a blessing.”

  “...”

  “A blessing.”

  Oh, he’s serious. Nicholas thought. I suppose my joke didn't land…? Maybe I’ll try a different approach next time.

  Julian opens the file and pulls out a thin stack of papers. On them were details printed together in neat, black text. The first page read:

  Julian flipped to the next page, reattaching the photos to the first page in the process. Nicholas quietly read along.

  "This appears to be the final page." Julian slipped the first two pages underneath the third one.

  Flipping the page over, the backside was empty.

  “That seems to be it.” Julian said. “Dr. Georgia certainly outdid herself with this report.”

  Flipping the page with Ms. Canary’s information back around, Julian stared at it for a moment before realizing. “Ah, the photos. We haven’t looked at them.”

  Carefully, Julian thumbed the paper clip off the side of the page and pulled out the photos. At the very top was Ms. Canary’s photo. She had a brilliantly beautiful face and cunning eyes. The next few were photos of her weapons, autopsy, and clothing.

  “How thorough. They even took a photo of the watch.” Julian commented, raising a photo closer to his face.

  “Well, it was her one personal belonging.” Nicholas responded, leaning in to take a closer look.

  “It doesn’t look too expensive.” The silver watch had a modest look to it. Must’ve been why she decided to keep it for herself. Seems perfect for someone like Ms. Canary.

  “...”

  “Well seems that’s it-”

  “Wait.” Nicholas exclaimed. His eyes were blown wide in complete shock.

  “Everything alright?”

  Nicholas paused, feeling a torrential downpour of sudden emotions. Apprehension flared through his very core.

  “...Is there a photo of the backside of that watch?”

  “Ah… let me see. Oh! Here it is.” Julian rifled through the photos and raised yet another. They both silently stared at the photograph in Julian’s hands. Engraved with careful precision were the initials N.Z. on the inner side of the watch.

  Julian blinked and suddenly felt what Nicholas was feeling.

  “Nicholas, what’s your last name?

  “...Zondervan”

  [N.Z]

  [Nicholas Zondervan]

  This was, without a doubt, Nicholas’ watch.

  The same one I wore before I died. Nicholas thought, apprehension tainting his previous composure. “My parents gave it to me as a graduation present. I wouldn’t mistake this for anything else.”

  “Then tell me, Mr. Zondervan. Why do you think she was wearing this before she died?” Julian asked, with unusually sharp eyes.

  Nicholas felt his heart racing–if he had one–as he tried to gather himself. Thoughts of all kinds flooded his brain as a chill shot through his ghostly body. “I have no clue, but–”

  This is a lead.

  Royal Road's formatting is quite fun... I hope I didn't go too overboard huhuhuhu... If it's confusing please let this poor author know!