Episode – 1
Listening to the tick of the old clock soothed his mind, as he sat in the crampy,
dusty office.
The smell of the old carpet that had been laid down on the floor across the room still lingered like an unfamiliar stench of an unchanged diaper, and he knew he’d never get accustomed to it.
Gracing the peeling walls were the awards – his five minutes of the limelight, it wasn’t too many, but he was content with the work he’d done throughout his life.
The Scarlet Killer, perhaps the most gruesome murderer the town had seen til date, was his prized possession. He’d been an ambulance chaser back then, called upon by the Commissioner to help out with the case. The relationship with the commissioner went back to the old days when his father used to throw those sausage-fest parties that he could never really get around to. There was a lot he didn’t like about his father, but he respected him nonetheless, like a good, faithful son.
As he recalled the countless days he’d spent on the case, he couldn’t help but remember the M.O that the Scarlet Killer was so expertly used to recreating every single victim he’d mark with – He’d gut the victims and make the intestines spill, wrapping the body with the intestines, all the while maintaining the consciousness of the victim. He would’ve ended up on the same menu if it wasn’t for her.
He glanced upon the radio, which had grown quiet.
He’d found it when he was a kid, lying in the basement of an abandoned building near the railway station.It was the one secret belonging that could be labelled as the success behind getting to the crime scene before any contamination could occur, because
The radio was no ordinary one –
It would quite literally provide him news from the future, reading out new articles that would be the headlines in the newspapers that would be published within a week’s time, as per his experience with it. The time range varied, often it would have the news from the next day, or even one week from the same date, but it helped nonetheless. He flicked the unfinished cigarette into the vase, filled with the flowers from clients he’d helped out. He’d been receiving carnation and lily flowers through the entire month, and he’d grown tired of them.
There was a knock on the door. His secretary, Mater Dei, peeped in and warned him about the arrival of a new client. She looked disapprovingly at the mess on his table, and took out the flower vase into the adjacent room. He adjusted his coat, quite literally shoved all the bottles into the lower cabinet of the table, and opened up the window blinds a wee bit so that the light wouldn’t hurt his eyes as badly as it would usually do.
The client was an old man, graying and frail, whose eyes betrayed his mind, darting across the room and peering at objects.
The old man set his cane down near the table, and began to say,
” I heard you could help me with my problem. It’s regarding my wife – she’s gone missing, and I need your help finding her. “
The Last Tree House 
