Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Heaven Sent ❯ New Information ( Chapter 4 )

 

Disclaimers: See Prologue.

 

Warnings: none

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Trowa sat at his desk staring at the feather as he twirled it between his fingers. Somehow, it didn't look quite the same from when he first saw it. The feather was similar in appearance but it just didn't have the same `awe' it had had. The colors seemed duller, lacking the glow of life. What lay before him was what the lab technician had called a `costume feather.'

 

****FLASHBACK (To the day before)********

“Detective Barton! I have that information on that feather you wanted”

 

“Yes, what is it,” he snapped. He was in one of his unpleasant moods, as usual.

 

“Here's the report,” the technician said a little less confident than before, as he handed over the file. “According to the test it's only a costume feather, nothing more.

 

He took the files from the technician and calmly thanked him while in his head he was screaming. //A COSTUME FEATHER! NOT POSSIBLE!\\ He took the feather out of the file and true it looked like the feather, but he knew that it couldn't be the magnificent thing he had seen only hours before. It just couldn't be.

****END FLASHBACK********

 

He now sat staring at the feather again but he couldn't make heads or tails of anything. A costume feather? Why would the victim have a costume feather on him? It just didn't make sense.

 

It was at that moment that one of the technicians burst into the room “Umm . . . Detective Barton we have more information on the feather,” he said.

 

The technician was a smaller man but muscular compared to Trowa with light brown or dark blonde hair and brown eyes. He had a youthful face, which hinted that he was new. People can't be in this business and stay young, not with all the horrors you see on a day-to-day basis.

 

Trowa put the feather down and cleared his throat, “So what do you have?” he said in his usual stoic tone.

 

The technician, who identified himself as Patrick Shelby, went on to discuss how Quatre had found out that the victim had been involved in theater was the lead in an upcoming play called Moonlight Majik[1]. Shelby also went on about how then Detective Michaels did some investigating on the costumes and found that one of the costumes, the one the feather came from, is of a swan. It was a custom order from a local shop, the only one in town that carried it.

 

Trowa only half listened to what the man was saying. Once Shelby mentioned Quatre, he found it hard to concentrate on anything else but the little blonde. //Why is that?\\ He couldn't stand the sight of him but he had been upset when Winner and Ross had come out of the closet together; not that it was any of his business what those two did. But why had it bothered him? The answer to that question and many more would have to wait for now, he had a case to work on.

 

~*~

 

Quatre lounged in one of the dinning room chairs as he stared at the feather he had found on the latest victim. Though beautiful as it was, he was not happy to see it. “This only confirms my suspicions,” he said to the empty apartment. All of the victims had feathers, such as the one he held in his hand, with them after he examined their bodies. This had not been in the original case file because he did want to arouse suspicions. But with so many victims already and more to come he couldn't afford to play it safe any more. He had already contacted the head of his department and they had agreed, it was time to let someone else in. The main problem was getting Trowa to believe him.

 

The small blonde put the feather away and stared out the window. It was a clear spring afternoon but he couldn't enjoy the beauty for his thoughts kept wandering to Trowa and how he would react to the news he was about to receive.

 

Just then Trowa walked through the door. “How do you feel about working on your day off?” Trowa had made it into a question but Quatre knew it was a command rather than a question.

 

He let out a sigh and grabbed his coat off the chair. “What's up?”

 

Trowa looked at him for a moment before answering, “A new lead, and we've been sent to check it out” With that he left for the car as Quatre followed, absorbed in his own thoughts.

 

 

~*~

 

The shop was in an older district of Chicago. Most of the buildings were old, rundown, and made of brick and the streets were in desperate need of repair. There were potholes big enough for a good-sized man to lie down in and still have plenty of room.

 

Trowa left the car on one of the major streets and they walked to the shop. Silence floated over them like a third person as they approached the shop.

 

In the end, it was Trowa who broke the silence as they came to the front of the shop. “This is it,” he said matter-of-factly.

 

Quatre stopped walking and looked at the shop. The shop was at the bottom of a large rundown building with the upper floors probably used for apartments. The shop itself looked quaint with mannequins in the dusty windows displaying elaborate costumes with bright colors. A faded sign above the door read “Madame Crystal's Costume Shop”.

 

“Trowa, what relevance does this actually have with the case?” Quatre asked, and before Trowa could answer, he continued. “We already know that the feather is from a costume the victim was wearing for a play.”

 

“No we don't,” Trowa interjected. “The feather is similar to one the Vic was wearing. Plus, how is possible for the feather to still be on him after everything. It would have had to have been glued onto him.” He stopped for a small dramatic pause and then went on. “So it is my guess that our killer has another calling card that was probably missed or overlooked.” The last phrase was said with a slight glare in Quatre's direction.

 

Quatre let out a heavy sight. How could he argue with that reasoning and not give himself away. He would just have to let Trowa think he was right, for now at least. When the time was right he would let Trowa know the truth. Now was not that time. So with heavy steps he followed Trowa inside, knowing full well that this was only going to be a waste of time.

 

 

~*~

 

A small chime above the door rang as they entered; their nostrils immediately filled with the musty smells of stale air. The shop was a cluttered mess of metal racks full of costumes in a ray of colors. Due to the mess, Trowa and Quatre were forced to walk sideways and weave their way trough the labyrinth to reach the back of the shop.

 

When they emerged from the last of the costumes, they found that the back portion was not nearly as cluttered as the front had been. To their right was a semi-circular, wooded counter where an antique cash register rested. To the left of the counter, were three doors that reminded Quatre more of shutters than doors - presumably dressing rooms.

 

As if on cue, a woman appeared from behind a beaded curtain that neither of them had noticed behind the counter. She was as tall as Trowa with a slender, willowy build. Her copper colored hair was streaked with the silver threads of aging and flowed in a wave down to the small of her back. But her face was youthful, a long, slender face with high cheekbones; wide, full lips, a narrow nose and large, round crystal blue eyes. She wore a dress of deep purple that hung loosely from her bonny shoulders and down her frame. She was heavily accessorized with beaded necklaces or varying lengths, as well as several bracelets and a ring on each finger.

 

“How can I help you gentlemen,” she said in a rich alto voice.

 

“Are you Miss Yerikovich?” Trowa asked in his best professional voice.

 

“Yes I am, and please feel free to call me Nancy,” she said, her tone pleasant as if Quatre and Trowa were old acquaintances.

 

Trowa flashed his badge. “I'm Detective Trowa Barton and this - indicating Quatre with his thumb - is Agent Quatre Winner. We have a few questions we'd like to ask you about one of your costumes.”

 

“Certainly,” she said, her voice still pleasant. “What is it you would like to know?”

 

Trowa, handing her a picture of the costume in question, began, “You sold this costume to the University of Illinois?”

 

“Ah, the Swan Prince costume, yes I did. Isn't it a magnificent piece? Took me three months to finish.”

 

“You made the costume?” Quatre asked, not hiding his surprise.

 

Nancy turned to him, as if seeing him for the first time. “Of course, I make all my costumes.” She continued to stare at him as Trowa continued his investigation.

 

“The feathers you use for the costume, where did you get them?”

 

“I ordered plain white feathers from a costume company but the mother-of-pearl coloring I added myself.”

 

“Have you sold any other costumes containing the same type of feathers?”

 

“No, I haven't. I used my entire stock on the Swan Prince.”

 

Her eyes still stayed focused on Quatre, even as Trowa thanked her for her time. As they turned to leave, she spoke. “Mr. Winner?”

 

Quatre turned, “Yes?”

 

“Be careful, what you seek is searching for not one but two targets.”

 

He merely blinked at her. “What to you mean?”

 

“All will be revealed soon. Have a good day *Agent* Winner.” And then she disappeared behind her beaded curtain.

 

~*~

 

Trowa waited for Quatre to come out. //What could be taking him so long? Is he buying a costume?\\ He was going over the conversation in his head over and over again. It didn't make any sense. “Something's not adding up, and I bet Winner knows why.”

 

Pushing away from the building he had been leaning against, Trowa began to pace. As he paced, he tried to put the pieces together; trying to find a way to connect them all. But try as he might, he couldn't make heads or tails of it.

 

Quatre finally emerged from the shop. “What took you so long?” Trowa snapped.

 

“I had to us the bathroom.”

 

Trowa rolled his eyes and started heading for the car. “Let's go.”

 

He stopped when he didn't hear footsteps following him. “What is it now?” he said turning around. Only, as he turned around, Quatre wasn't there.

 

“Winner?” he called, but there was no answer. //Where could he have gone to now? He is proving to be more of a pain then anything.\\

 

“WINNER GET THE FUCK OUT HERE NOW!” Trowa beginning to become irate. They had things to do and he was playing Houdini.

 

Trowa began to walk back the way he had come, his footsteps echoing down the ally way. As he neared his target he noticed that the world around him had gone silent. There were no sounds of cars in the distance, no machine noises, and no televisions running, nothing. He shouted for his partner once more, but no sound came out.

 

He quickly turned and headed for the car, and then he noticed to figures in the distance. They seemed to be fighting. Trowa immediately recognized one of the figures as Quatre, and raced to help his partner. But as he neared the scene, his world flashed white and then fell to black.

 

TBC . . .

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Night Majik is not a real play as far as I know and I meant to spell Majik that way.

I didn't like this chapter and that is why I have revised it. Please tell what you think. Thank you.