Chapter 10

Donovan

I never would have thought I’d be called for this job. Malcolm Middleton is one of the most prestigious artists in the country. I’d dare say he’s surpassed Andy Warhol in terms of artistry…and pretentiousness. Art has never been a field that interested me in the slightest, but for some odd reason I do hold a sense of respect for it. It’s not easy to devote all your time to a form of craft in the expense for other’s time and money. To spend a good portion of your life with one medium seems insanely boring. Now I say that, as a detective that’s been in the field for more than 12 years now. At least by the end of the day they actually have something to show for their hard work.

I strolled through the city for an odd amount of time before actually going to the overpriced apartment building. I generally take any opportunity of a casual walk when I can get it. This simple activity clears my head tremendously. Thoughts about success, failures, falling in love, falling out of love, fears, triumphs, all of these topics circulate in my head. It’s good to ponder on, but I’ve notice it’s been quite too long since I started this little venture.

I made my way towards the apartment complex, and notice the front walkway entrance stretched longer than needed. What surrounded it was practically a small botanical garden of sorts. I’m not sure if this was a way to make whoever was walking towards the building to feel inadequate with their income, but it’s sure as hell doing a number on me. After that lengthy stroll of unpleasant self-reflection, I finally made it to the front entrance. There was a huge golden double door with plenty of intricate carvings and designs scattered all over. This was definitely done by Malcolm Middleton; his work is very distinguishable from the rest. He always incorporates small but vast amounts of detail into anything he touches. That’s what makes him so sought after. I’m not even surprised he’s had his hand into designing this building, I mean, if you’re going to live somewhere, you might as well have a say in how it looks.

I rang the buzzer and a soft spoken lady answered. “Hello, are you Mr. Pinkerton?”

“Oh…uh, yes.” Judging by her voice, she’s a rather young lady. “I’m here to investigate Malcolm Middleton’s suite.”

“Oh yes, it’s quite a mess up there.” Odd, the amount of damage done to his living space must be bad if the receptionist is saying something about it. “Come on in.”

The buzzer went off and it scared the shit out of me. It was most certainly louder than it needed to be, but given the atmosphere with this place, exaggeration is a given theme. I hear the doors unlock and proceeded to open one side. I immediately noticed how heavy they were. It brought flashbacks to that damn cabin I was stuck in. Once I got inside, I immediately made a B-line towards the elevators towards the right of the lounge area. My eyes caught the one and only receptionist sitting idly behind her desk intensively writing something. She then looks up and catches my eye, and we had a brief moment of info gathering. She probably didn’t know I was black, like how I didn’t know she was Asian; A cute one at that.

I noticed two of my other co-workers walking down the hall towards me. I fairly recognized them, but it wasn’t enough to start a conversation, so I just settled for a slight head tilt; they returned the same gesture, so I guess the feeling might’ve been mutual. I stopped in front of an elevator and waited to go up. This guy’s place is at the very top floor, and my only assumption would be that he could have better solitude. Most artists don’t want any kind of distraction between them and their work, or he just wanted to feel higher than everyone else…or maybe both. After standing and waiting for so long, my door opened up at the top floor. Surprisingly for a 13 story building, the entire ride up wasn’t stopped. I walked out and headed down the hall. I was looking for the door number 0237. It should be easy, seeing as every other door is “1300” and so forth. Oh wait…here it is.

I knocked, and not even 2 seconds later Sebastian greets me. “You must’ve taken a lil stroll, huh?”

“You know me so well.” I walked in and noticed the extreme minimalistic style of the loft. Also, the place is huge. It’s got to be over 4,000 square feet and the ceiling itself is too damn high. It’s an understatement of how impressed I was about this place, but it was more of a shock as I noticed the numerous amounts of holes in the walls. Vases were smashed, cabinets doors were dangling by its hinges. Counter tops had multiple bashes of craters scattered all across. The paintings had been beyond ripped apart and banged up, except for one. Sebastian and I stared at it for a good moment now, and it’s obvious for both of us as to why we were. It was a painting of a plague mask emerging from the shadows. My stomach churned at the thought of why this deranged person destroyed everything but this one painting.

Sebastian broke the silence. “Yeah, I’ve been looking at it too.”

“It’s as if the more time passes by, the more he seems to have a grip on our lives. Will we ever get out of this…?”

“No…I don’t think we are.”

Plenty of weeks can go by without hearing or seeing a trace of that psychopath edging his way in my life. I’ve talked to Sebastian on whether or not he’s had to succumb to his manipulations but surprisingly he hasn’t experienced much sense my unfortunate inauguration in this shit show. I could only imagine how long he’s had to deal with this. There must be plenty times where he just wants to have a normal day, but instead gets an unwanted visit from that ridiculous freak show. It seems like anything we can do now will have his hand apart of it somehow, even today. After a lengthy pause, Malcolm Middleton burst in and spilled his ray of sunshine all over us. He wore a thick striped black and white sweater and black leggings. His hair was a puffy black and white with spurts of edges sticking out to a sharp end. He looked to be in his early 50’s but his exuberance says otherwise.

“Well hellooooooo! I’m so ecstatic for you being here! Your name iiiissss…?”

“Eh, detective Donovan Pinkerton. You can just call my Don; I’m not one for too much formality though. You must be-”

“Yes! I am THE Malcolm Middleton! I’m glad you have an eye for such greatness and prestige, haha.”

I’m barely a minute into talking to this guy and I’m already annoyed beyond belief. There’s no possible way for me to hold an actual serious conversation with this guy. I could hear Sebastian snickering a bit besides me; I just want to get this day over with. “Yeah, that’s great. Now, do you have any clue as to why someone would come into your home and destroy most of your property? I’m certain losing some of these paintings could cost you a fortune.” I need to get straight to the point.

“Yes. A lot of work goes into making these wondrous works. I couldn’t imagine why they would attack little ol’ me.”

Sebastian intervened. “Do you know why they destroyed every painting except that one over there?” He points to the plague mask and everything around us stops. The mood shifted greatly and I could understand what he was trying to get at. There could be more people like us that are under his grasp and we wouldn't know. It was a pretty smart move for him to get straight to the point. “I have a feeling you know why.”

Malcolm paused and let out a huge sigh. He reached into his black leggings which surprisingly had pockets and pulled a pack of cigarettes out. “Could we walk outside for a moment? There are a lot of things I would need to explain to you both if you’re aware of what my actual situation was.” He begins to walk out towards the balcony and moves the sliding door. We both give a mutual look at each other and realized what could really be going on. We proceeded to follow him outside and look out towards the city. It was oddly peaceful and empowering actually. I can see why he chose to be this high up. No one knows you’re really up here, and that sense of solitude can be really comforting in of itself. Until someone comes disrupts it.

He lights his cigarette and lets out an impressively big puff. “So…where should I begin?”