Evening all, I have been feeling a little creative, itching to start writing again and so here it begins. Please see the below and let me know what you think. It will be a crime fictional story. Thoughts / Comments all appreciated. Thank you for your time.
It was as though the light in her sky blue eyes had been switched off; her pupils were circular tunnels of blackness, deep and uninviting, they were encrusted with a glasslike reflective shell that protected her against almost everyone, almost. She did not scan his face or appear remotely connected to the outside world; her golden tangled hair was matted around her face and her features remained spiritless and unchangeable, that was until he spoke.
Dean Pearson, a private detective from S.P.S, Shropshire Private Services slowly removed his hands from his pockets and positioned himself onto the faded, once floral green armchair, opposite Amelia.
“Good Morning Amelia,” said the detective, forcing his voice to sound as friendly and welcoming as humanely possible. “How are you feeling today?” Amelia, the little girl leant over and stared at her feet, transfixed by her shoes she studied these as though they were about to perform a magic act. “I did as I promised Amelia, I’ve been back to see you now for 5 days in a row, would you like to chat about anything?” Dean leant forward and scooted to the edge of his seat. If it were not for the small decorative square table between them their feet would almost touch. Dean felt the little girl’s personal space was important to her; he had worked so hard the last few weeks to gain her trust and did not wish to do anything to jeopardise that. He opened his palms in a peaceful gesture and continued. “I know that you have been very nervous around Eleanor your foster mother, but she only wants to look after you – and the other children, they would love to get to know you.”
Amelia picked at a loose thread on the sleeve of her cotton jumper and nervously darted her eyes around the room, she was like a little frightened mouse and if a pin dropped she would most likely have squeaked in terror and ran into a corner and hid. After five minutes of one sided chit chat, Dean sat back in his chair and relaxed, he had said enough today, encouraged, put at ease, if the girl was to speak she would do so to her own accord. The clock ticked just past 10am, when a small whisper interrupted his silent musings. If it was not for the echo that the large and elaborate room carried, he may have dismissed the sound as distant bird song.
“Is my mummy okay?” She tweeted with an air of innocence that only a child could possess. He did not have the heart to tell her the truth, nor had he been instructed to. Her mother was gone, not just missing but confirmed dead, they had discovered this the previous night and despite Dean’s original misgivings about Joanna’s involvement in the murder case, he now believed she had been innocent. He had prepared for this moment, practised in the mirror over and over all morning to ensure he told a smooth and convincing lie. He felt guilty and ashamed. He had solely gained the trust of this innocent 6 year old child and yet he was about to lie to her, and fill her with false hope which would later be torn apart. But for now he looked across towards little Amelia, hopes high and tears lining the rim of her eyes.
“Your mother is fine, she is at peace and loves you very much.”