Cold.

Part 1: Cold

The dead black sky consumed all the light from the sun. It was as if some giant had painted the atmosphere in pure black ink. Snow dropped down from the deep void above, gently landing on the hundreds of metallic structures that protruded from the earth. The only light was that which streamed through from apartment windows and the occasional street light, not that many worked now. The streetlights weren’t kept under maintenance and the few that still worked flickered and buzzed as if in pain.

The city never slept. It never awoke, only stirred, as if it was having nightmares. The snow crunched beneath my feet. Even with my thick boots, my socks still got wet with the deep, dirty snow. No matter how you dressed, you’d always be cold here, so people rarely ever went outside. The roads were useless, only ever used for trucks to bring in supplies from off-world.

I walked up to the corner of the street. A broken traffic light flickered red, engulfing my body, I pulled my jacket collar up to cover the bottom half of my face as I held up a cigarette to my mouth. I tried to light it, but the cold refused to let me have even that. I hated this fucking city.

From across the street, I noticed a different kind of red, sprawling along the ground, seeping into the pure white snow. I threw the cigarette away as I crossed the road. My boots crunched through the snow before I stopped right before the trail of blood. I looked up and saw that it led on along the footpath before turning into an alleyway. As I scanned the initial blood patch, a far thicker splotch than the rest of the trail, something caught my eye. I kneeled down and picked up the bloody ring, faintly shimmering in the streetlight. This was it.

Part 2: Frigid

My apartment was never particularly warm. The average pay for a private investigator here didn’t get you all that much. I would’ve been much better off moving away and being a miner, or plugging in and doing some meaningless work in the digital realm. I never did this for the money though. Most say you’ve got to have a cold heart to deal with this job, but the truth is your heart’s gotta be warm enough to care. The cops were a myth here, so someone had to give enough of a shit to do it.

I sat on top of the toilet in my bathroom, with the seat down and my pants up. Sometimes I’d go just to give me something to do. I can’t open the window, otherwise the wind would rush in, looking for shelter and snuff out my cigarette. The smoke gradually built up, slowly rolling out from the bottom of the door.

As the sound of a knock on my door emanated from beyond the bathroom, I quickly got up and opened the small window on the wall. As my cigarette flew out of my hand and onto the street below, I whisked the smoke out the same way.

Stepping out from the foggy bathroom, I made my way over to the apartment door. Instinctually, my eye pushed up against the peephole, scanning the dimly lit hallway just beyond the door. A man stood right up close to the door, constantly looking back and forth, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t look particularly nice, or like he could pay well. He was going to be interesting.

I took a step back and gripped my pistol subtly. The door handle squeaked as it turned and so did the door as it was dragged open.

He looked surprised when he saw me as if he didn’t expect me to actually still be here. As he reached out for me to shake his hand, I loosened my grip on my pistol.

“Are you the P.I.?”

I gripped his hand and shook it. Neither of us seemed comfortable with it.

“I’m Ridley Valentine. I need some help.”

“Come in.” I let go of his hand as soon as possible and walked over to my desk, inviting him in. “You want a smoke?”

“Nah, the wife wouldn’t want it.”

“Suit yourself.”

“You gonna ask me what my problem is?”

“Should I need to?”

“It’s my wife.”

“It always is.”

“Shut up.”

“Go ahead.”

“I think she’s been cheating on me. She’s been going out every week. Whenever she comes back home, she’s always distant. She went out last night, said she was going to a friend’s house.”

“And you let her go on her own?”

“Shut up. She hasn’t come back all day.”

“Okay, I think I get the gist. Come back here tomorrow and you’ll get some answers.”

He didn’t say any more than he needed to. He got up and left. I started my work.

Part 3: Numb

If you get cold enough, you’ll just go numb. No feeling. Just some sense of impending doom. I wished it was cold enough. I want to be numb. The temperature teetered on the edge of numbness, but it never got there. It would trap you in a state of sheer cold. Just before you lose your sense of feeling so that you feel all too much.

As I stared at the rotting corpse of Mrs Valentine, I felt all too much. I wish I had been numbed enough to deal with this. The cops sure were. I wasn’t. I was just cold.

The snow disappeared in the alleyway, it was far too narrow to let it in. The blood didn’t. The maroon liquid continued to build up around her as if she was drowning in it. You don’t release how much blood is really in the human body until it’s outside of it. Her corpse faded away in the dark the further down the alley I looked. In some ways, it was a comfort that I couldn’t see her face in the darkness, though I knew I would have to if I wanted to get paid. I took out a flashlight and switched it on, suddenly revealing her mangled face, still screaming.

It clearly wasn’t planned out. Several bruises and a black eye, hand marks around the neck and finally three bullet holes in the wall and two through her jaw and right above the left eye. Whoever did this got angry with her and wanted her dead, quick, but she was a fighter and it pissed them off, so eventually they just started shooting.

Great. Now I just needed a perp. Luckily, they left a trail of blood-stained shoe prints leading down the alley.

As I slowly wandered down the alley, my flashlight leading the way, I noticed it getting colder. I carefully stepped out of the way of the warm blood below me, walking right beside it. As I continued, it began to feel as though the alleyway was becoming narrower, tightening its grip on me. I stopped my hand from shaking by gripping my pistol in its holster.

Eventually, I noticed a dumpster on the left hand of the alley and bloody hand prints on the side of it. I drew my pistol as I approached and my breathing became heavier. I aimed my pistol at the dumpster, my breath seeping out of my mouth in the same direction. I knew someone was behind there, I could hear their breathing. I could hear their shaking.

As I turned the corner I saw him.

“Wait I-”

His body slumped down, dragging the blood from the back of his head down the side of the dumpster. Blood ran down his face from the bullet hole left in his head. Smoke emanated from my pistol as I stood over him, gun still pointed at his head.

Shit.

Part 4: Warm

I would finally be warm.

That’s what I thought as I sat in the pilot’s seat of some old starship I had rented, with no intent of returning. Even the ships from that fucking planet were cold. But I would be warm soon enough. I’d head to some paradise planet and forge an identity. Sell this ship as my own and use the money to get some shitty, low-stress job and spend the rest of my days in the warm sun.

That sounded perfect. Too perfect.

I killed that man. I don’t know why. He had thrown his gun away. He was high and scared out of his mind. He probably would’ve gotten himself killed anyway, but that doesn’t make it better. He probably deserved it. That doesn’t make the feeling any better. The guilt still stayed and dreams of paradise didn’t make it any better.

Maybe because they were just dreams, the real thing would make all of my problems melt away.

Soon enough. Warmth.

THE END

Part 5: Shit.

Shit.

I couldn’t lie to myself any longer. I wasn’t going to feel any more warm on any other planet. Just numb. Numb like the police force that left us to die in the frigid cold.

I couldn’t be numb, I wouldn’t allow myself. Not to the cold. Not to the people. There was still that guy. He was an asshole, but he wasn’t numb. He felt the pain of his wife going missing and he still did. It was never going to go away, that pain, but I sure as hell wasn’t making it any better by leaving.

He wasn’t the only one. It was still a city. There were still families in every one of those apartment complexes. A driver in every supply truck. There was still life in that city. There was still warmth. There was still warmth in me.

That night, the bodies of Mrs Valentine and her murderer appeared outside the door of Mr Valentine, as well as money for her funeral, no matter how shitty it would be.

Suddenly, the city became a little bit warmer.