Murder Mystery of Arck

Universe's Someone or Just A Doubt

I think we should go back. That’s what I wish I could say out loud. But I keep my mouth shut and follow Sebastian into the boys’ dormitory.

It is mostly empty with every door closed. I am considerably shocked to see that everything is in some kind of order here, in the boys’ dormitory.

“You know,” I say, looking around with amazement, “I never thought your dormitory would be so……clean.”

“The fortnightly check is today,” he says, turning in a long hallway that ends with a huge window that is open on the other end, “So, everyone cleaned up.”

I nod my head in understanding. I always kept my things where they belonged because my mother has nagged me into that habit. Now, I can’t tolerate the sight of something out of its place.

I noticed that the room at the end of the hallway has yellow tape blocking its entrance and that its door was open. My eyes squint as a gust of wind comes in through the window, but I continue walking.

There is no chatter coming out of the room or anything sound that could alert us. So, we walked towards the room without any hesitation. There is no one inside and everything seems to be in its place.

The officers are probably going to send these things to Mark’s parents. His roommates were shifted to different rooms temporarily, so the room seemed empty, except for Mark’s things.

“Let’s get this over with,” I exclaim as I enter the room, ducking under the tape. I look back at Sebastian, who stands at the entrance, looking back at me.

“I’ll be back in 30 minutes,” he says, stuffing his hand in the pockets of his overcoat as his eyes glance at the watch on his other hand, “Try not to get caught.” And with that he leaves after waving his hand.

I turn and take a glance at all the things in the room. There is a bunk bed and a single bed, with two wardrobes and two tables. A shelf standing against the wall, right beside the door, with books lying messily.

Under one of the beds, there are books and a closed suitcase. Beside the bunk bed, there is a door that opens to the bathroom. The single bed is unmade and there are clothes scattered on it. That was supposed to be Mark’s bed, I think.

“What am I looking for?” I whisper to myself as I start going through the books on the shelf. There are some books I’ve never seen before and there are others that I have read before.

They all have one thing in common. And it is that they all were somehow related to Space. There are books about stars and planets that seem a bit more complicated than what I read in secondary school.

The simpler ones I have gone through before, when I was in middle school and obsessed with Space. Let’s just say, I am not as obsessed anymore. Space has been unpredictable since the beginning, and I have just realized that I don’t like unpredictable things or people.

But it still fascinates me. It reminds me that my life is just as small as the plant I live in. And there are only a few things and people I care about. It reminds me that my time is very limited and all I need to do with it is take care of these few things and people. That way I will regret fewer things.

The books look brand new, so they are of little use to me. That doesn’t necessarily mean that I will not flip through them. He could have written some notes that could be helpful. I am too prudent for searching through things.

I go through a few books, and as I predicted, there is nothing written or underlined. Perhaps, he didn’t like messing up his books, I think as I took the last book from the shelf.

‘The Sleepwalkers: A History of Man’s Changing Vision of the Universe’, I read the title in my mind. This title is giving me a headache, I think, staring at the book in disapproval. I open the book and a note graces my eyes.

To my universe

– Haz

From his friend? I think as I start going through the pages as fast as I can, my eyes are searching for any note or line. This one looks older than the others. The corners of several of the yellow pages are folded and there are stains here and there.

He must have read this many times considering the condition of the book. The person who gave this book to him must have been very special for Mark to read a thick book like this many times.

Mark had underlined several things and made several notes along the edges of the pages. But they are mostly about what he thought about something written in it or something that somehow reminded him of Haz; nothing else. I sigh and put all the books in the position they were in before I came in here.

I move towards the bed in front of the shelf, the floor squeaking beneath my feet. There aren’t as many and as thick as they were on the shelf. The boy loved to read, didn’t he?

I grab the stack of books and pull them out. These were older like the book from Haz. I set them aside and pull out the suitcase with care in order to avoid making noise.

The squeaking floors have made more than enough. Although the aesthetic they provided is much appreciated, they made me feel like I am being followed. And I don’t think I need to say that it is not a good feeling.

First, I take a look at the books. Because why not? I suspected that, since they were older than the others, they could be from Haz. And I suspected correctly.

The first pages of almost all the books were addressed to Mark from Haz. If they were close enough to give, not one but many books, they were obviously very important to each.

Mark’s suitcase is made up of leather, like most of the suitcases I have seen. It is old and worn out at the corners, but still functional. I loosen its straps before opening it completely.

There are some more shirts, t-shirts and pants neatly folded and some papers rolled, and placed beside them. I search under the clothes and the pockets, and find nothing.

It is a waste of time; now that I realize that if the officers were here and they checked everything, they must have taken any and every thing.

Nonetheless, I start going through the other compartments in the suitcase. They are mostly empty except for some letters from home and test papers from school with exceptional marks.

“Done yet?” a voice says, startling me. The papers fall from my hands as I flinch at the sudden disturbance. I turn my head to look at Sebastian and let out a sigh of relief.

“Are 30 minutes up?” I ask as I look back at the mess of papers in front of me and start arranging them in the manner they were before. “Yeah,” Sebastian says, walking around the room, “Find anything?”

“ Uhhh-let me see,” I begin, sitting cross-legged on the floor, “Letters from home, clothes and more clothes, test papers, books; so many damn books. Question: are two people deemed to be close if they give each other books?”

“Depends. How many books?” Sebastian says, grabbing a book from the shelf and looks back at me. “Many, many books,” I replied, sorting out the books that were addressed, in front of me, “And they are addressed.”

Sebastian looks at the books in my hands in disbelief and questions, “They are from one person?” I nod, glancing up at him. He scoffs, walking towards me and sitting down, “To answer your question, yes, if someone gives a person that many books, they are indeed very close.”

I wouldn’t know. I am sorry to say that I am not as much of a book enthusiast as I’d like to be. But it is justified, in a way. I thought I’d be a book lover when I was 12, when I read my first ever novel. I was shocked to have even completed the book.

But what I studied in seventh grade was different and easier and less time-consuming than what I studied in higher grades and what I want to study now.

So, to conclude that, after eighth grade, I was completely and utterly consumed in my studies, so much so that I couldn’t read for pleasure.

“Who were they addressed from?” Sebastian asks, taking some books from my hands. “Someone called Haz,” I answered, cracking my knuckles.

His head snaps up at the mention of the name. I see some kind of recognition floating in his eyes as I look at him. “What?” I say, setting the books aside and putting the papers back in their place.

“Come on, let’s go,” He says, hurriedly, putting the books back under the table, “I need to check something.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We can’t just assume, you know,” I say, matching my steps with Sebastian’s with ease. I am small compared to him, but I am pretty tall for a girl my age. We were currently trying to find Harry Winning. Sebastian has a doubt. And it seems more like a speculation as we walk closer to Harry.

“How many people here go by the name Haz?” He asks, glancing at me. I scoff, grabbing his arm and stopping us both, “I don’t know, okay? It is a nickname. Many people get called by their nickname.”

“I just need to check, alright?” He says before turning around, only to be stopped again by me. His eyes look at me with annoyance filled in them. There is also a sense of urgency in them; of desperation.

“What are you going to do after you ask him, huh?” I question him, staring straight into his eyes. They soften after hearing my question and his shoulders relax as he sighs.

“I am going to wait for an answer?” He replies; it is more of a question than a statement.

Sebastian Worde was more doubtful about himself than anyone else. I’ve seen him question himself and his actions before, but it is not frequent; because he prepares himself for the outcomes of his actions.

There are times when the unpredicted happens, and you can see the doubt in his eyes if you look closely enough; he is quite good at covering it. This is one of those happenings for him.

He would have never thought that his best friend, Harry Winning, could possibly be connected to the murder of a person. They have known each other since they started walking and grew to become really good friends, if not brothers.

And I think it scared him that he might discover something so shocking that it might change him forever. He would recover, but what would bother him were the aftershocks. This doubt doesn’t mean that he doesn’t trust his friend. It is the possibility that scares him.

“Sebastian,” I say, putting my hands on his shoulder, “I know I can’t stop you from asking him. But whatever happens, we’re going to deal with it.”

“We don’t really have a choice,” he whispers. I give him a small smile and say, “I think it’s better to say it out loud; for reassurance.” His lips form a sad smile with the doubt remaining in his eyes. It’ll only grow if you prolong this, I think to myself.

“Okay,” I sigh, slipping my hands away from his shoulders, “Let’s find Harry fast. We have to go to the funeral after.” His body immediately straightens and he nods in response before turning around to leave.

I stare at his back for a moment before joining him. Sebastian’s response to anything is as unpredictable as the universe. Nothing surprises or worries me as much as his reaction does.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sebastian and I are searching the whole university for Harry. And he is nowhere to be found. We first searched the library, because that’s where he usually was on a Sunday afternoon. But he wasn’t there today.

Then, we decided that it would be better if we split up and search different parts of the university. And we did. But it seems like it is all in vain.

It is now two thirty in the afternoon and we have to leave soon, if we still wished to attend the funeral. It is not my first time attending a funeral and I doubt it is a first for Sebastian.

I’ve attended quite a few funerals for an eighteen year old. They were unusual events for me. They were like reminders that a person didn’t exist anymore. And then whenever you think of the person, about what they would have said, you realize that you can never know because they are dead.

It is certainly not how I think people wish to be remembered, but that’s how I think of it. And I can’t look at it any other way, no matter how much I try and think about all the things a person did when they were alive.

I could never understand a person so well that I can remember the food they liked or disliked, or what made them happy. I don’t pay attention to small details when it comes down to the people I love. But I think about all these things when they are dead.

What was my grandfather’s favorite dish? Did he like listening to classical music or did he enjoy listening to rock ‘n’ roll? What was his favorite color?

I could never know a person so truly and closely that I would mourn their death. I can spare a single tear, but that's all you’ll get from me. And I wish it wasn’t this way, but there is nothing I feel about deaths and funerals.

I knock on the open door to the teacher’s quarters. Professor Reed is seated on the chair behind a desk near the window. “Come in,” he says, without looking up from his work. I walk in and stand near the desk, looking at the paper in front of him, my hands behind my back.

Looks like he is checking our tests. This is the exact moment I want to turn around and run. God, I hope he hasn’t checked my answer sheet. I can say that I have written acceptable answers, but I don’t know if they are correct or completely unrelated.

I haven’t bothered checking them yet, because it would take me another day to recover from the anxiety and depression the information would bring me.

It’s always better not to discuss or look at the answers before the result comes out. Just do anything other than looking at the answers. You can try and understand them after the result is announced.

He looks up when I don’t say anything. “Ah, Ms. May,” he says, putting his pen down, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I just wanted to ask if Harry Winning visited you today,” I replied, offering him a small smile, hoping that he would suspect anything unusual.

“Oh, yes,” he exclaims, “He was here a few hours ago. I think he was planning on going out today.” I frown, looking down at my feet. I don’t think Harry has ever gone out on Sundays. I don’t know, I think it is a bit odd or just new.

“Why do you want to know?” Professor Reed asks, raising his eyebrows, “If I may ask.” I look up at him and shake my head before answering, “It’s nothing. He just had a book I needed.”

“And I take it that you are preparing for the test on Monday,” he says with a bit of suspicion in his voice. “There are many tests on Monday, sir,” I blurted out in a deadpan voice. And I am not ready for any of them.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he picks his pen up. “Then I hope you are prepared for them all, Ms. May,” he says, looking down at his desk. If only it were that easy, I think, if only I could just absorb what I read.

“Yes, sir,” I say, saluting him, “Have a good day.” I turn around and start walking towards the door. My shoulders slouch as I think about what Professor Reed said.

If Harry is not connected with Mark in any way, why did he go out? Did he mention he was going out today? He did say his father wanted to meet him, I think as I remember the conversation we had a few days ago.

And if Harry is connected, just as Sebastian suspects, he would attend Mark’s funeral.

I bump into a person turning a corner and mutter a ‘sorry’ before moving on. “May,” calls a voice as a hand grabs my arm. I look up to see Sebastian. “Did you find him?” He asks, releasing my arm.

“He went out today,” I replied, looking around the corner, “I think-” “-He went to the funeral,” Sebastian interrupts, completing my sentence.

“Yes,” I responded, looking back at him, “If he did know Mark.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~