The Case of the Mysterious Crashing Noise
Written for Cabari, who loves her some Turnbull.
Renfield was just dusting the last corner of the Queen's portrait in the upstairs hallway when he heard it. It was a rather startling crash, and at first, his ears did not discern the exact location of it - for he had been humming a rather jovial tune of his own composing, and considering his options in the polish to be used on the posts of the ancient bed situated in the Queen's bedroom. But soon enough, he heard another crash, this one definitely coming from the direction of Constable Fraser's office. Renfield gave the portrait in front of him an apologetic look, and after a moment's indecision, raced downstairs in the hopes of helping Constable Fraser alleviate any unpleasantness that might have been connected to the noises he had heard. After a near tumble down the last few steps, Renfield righted himself, skidded down and around the hall, and came to a halt in front of the closed door. He lifted his hand to knock, but then pressed his ear against the wood. Perhaps, if Constable Fraser was in some danger, Diefenbaker would let Renfield know with his barking. Such a smart, fascinating animal. The connection between him and Constable Fraser was quite stimulating to watch.
Renfield screwed up his eyes and concentrated on listening. He heard a groan first, then quiet laughter, then another, lower, slightly longer groan. Oh, dear. Perhaps the Constable had fallen and injured his head, and was now delirious. This required immediate medical assistance. Without further thought, Renfield turned the handle of the office door. It refused to be turned. He quickly deduced that the door was locked. This posed a serious problem, as Constable Fraser could very well be bleeding out of his head even as Renfield was trying his best to figure out a way to save him. Renfield decided that the time for courtesy was nearly past, and began pounding on the door with all of his strength.
"Constable Fraser, sir! Constable Fraser! Are you all right?" he called out. "Please unlock this door so we can get you assistance in whatever it is that has just conspired!" He paused to listen. All seemed completely, eerily quiet. He was just beginning to worry that he had lost the Constable to unconsciousness, when a familiar, and unexpected, voice called out:
"Go away, Turnbull!"
The voice belonged to Detective Ko- Vecchio, and Renfield's thoughts whirled. Perhaps Constable Fraser was not injured, after all. Ray was a good friend, and surely he wouldn't have-- pushed the Constable, or -- or even punched him in the head. But why wasn't the Constable talking? Renfield pounded on the door once again. "Constable Fraser, sir, I need you to answer me. Are - you - all - right - sir?"
"Turnbull." Ah, the Constable's voice this time. Renfield breathed easier. "Everything is completely under control. There is no cause for you to worry whatsoever. Everything is in good ha- hands, ah, and -- yes, Constable, you are free to do -- whatever it was you were doing, once more." Renfield heard another quiet groan. "Please," the Constable continued, "feel free to take your leave now."
Bidden to go by a superior officer, Renfield gave the door another worried look, and took his leave. The Queen's portrait needed dusting again. He picked up the polish on his way back to the second floor. Since Constable Fraser had told him, himself, that everything was in good hands, he had no choice but to believe him. However, he was still unsure about Ray's involvement in the situation. Well, no matter. They were probably shifting some archive boxes. Diefenbaker hadn't been heard, and he was quite a faithful pet. Really, sometimes Renfield found himself worrying needlessly. He had other things to focus on, he decided as he picked at another corner of the Queen's portrait. Things like cleaning wood, and polishing the posts of the bed, and keeping the Queen as happy as she could be, gazing at him with definite approval from the portrait. He began humming his tune once more. Yes. This corner was nearly sparkling.
Feedback: mrsronweasley@yahoo.com
Back to Ficlets