CHAPTER ONE —

— 'ADMIRAL'.

"IT WAS ALL, REALLY, TOO EASY."

Kane watched the red and blue lights in the distance, all blurring together into one rather pretty colour show. If she squinted enough she could completely forget that there was a crime scene behind said lights, and a man screaming bloody murder at his poor old mother because he couldn't fix himself.

She sighed and shoved her left hand into her jacket pocket. Her right hand, holding her iPhone to her lips, trembled. "It's particularly cold tonight, folks. A miserable night, honestly, to expose the heinous crimes of a gambling son who refused to work for what he wanted. Though, considering the bitter nature of his actions, perhaps we're due for the chill."

A distant squawk hit her ears. She smirked into the faux-fur collar of her bomber jacket.

"I guess I should fill you in, because the last time we left off, we were short a couple very important pieces to this puzzle." Kane paused for a couple seconds, exhaling into the late autumn night, before continuing. "This one...of all my cases, I think this one might have ruffled my feathers the most. And that's not just 'cause of the birds, I swear."

To most, the sight of a teen girl hovering on the edge of an active crime scene in the middle of the night, would be considered odd. But the tall, dark-haired, girl in muddy Doc Martens and shadows wasn't just some gawking adolescent avoiding sleep or her overbearing parents. She was a thinker. An observer. A problem-solver, if you will.

And in that moment, she was soaking in the giddy glory of problem solving the perplexing case of the Parrot Perpetrator. Just another crime solved by the infamous, intrepid, truly ineffable, Karma Kane.

"So. It's been twenty-four hours since our last talk, and I'm standing just outside of the scene where forty-four year old Jimmy Avondale is getting thrown in the back of a cop car, screaming and kicking and covered in feathers. Who's Jimmy, you might ask? Well, remember the son of poor Sharon Avondale, the one she hadn't heard from in ten years, the one I foolishly brushed off? Well. Turns out our Parrot Perpetrator is Jimmy, a gambling addict who decided he'd try the easy way out of his problems - which to him, meant stealing his mother's beloved 'Admiral' and using him to get back his inheritance."

Kane toed at the dirt with her worn combat boot, still smiling wanly. "Little did this asshole know, Sharon would do anything to get Admiral back. And, of course more importantly, he didn't know she'd be calling me in to help." She paused, squinting at her recording device.

"Okay. Note to later me? Redo that line in post. Too frickin' cheesy. Anyways."

She looked up again to the flashing lights. The carousel's garishly painted horses glowed in the police lights, looking desolate without laughing, screaming children riding them around and around. She imagined a young boy amongst them all, freckled and grinning from ear to ear. Spinning around on the same horse he always did. And a younger Sharon in the crowd of parents, who had seen him on the carousel a thousand times but every time made a point to cheer her dear little boy on.

"Let's go back a little bit, folks. Twenty-four hours ago, I was staring at a bunch of clues that added up to jack-shit-nothing, wondering if I'd ever solve this stupid case. I hadn't slept in three days. I had a Biology test the next morning, an English essay due third period, a million other things on my plate but all I could think about was this damn case.

"I knew I had to be missing something. There was something sitting right in front of my nose, taunting me. Daring me to solve it, like it just knew I'd never figure it out. I was just about ready to call it quits and hit the hay for a glorious thirty minutes when—"

CRASH.

KATE BLACKWELL BLINKED, and when her eyes reopened, she was no longer surrounded by the smell of day-old popcorn and red and blue cop car lights. The carousel had disappeared, and so had the bitter chill cutting through her worn leather jacket.

The mysterious crash hadn't been anything exciting to investigate; it was the sound of something hitting a wall in the real world. The wind had completely dissipated in seconds, leaving the hair that just been whipping across her face alone. And that pride tugging at her gut, the feeling of relief for finally solving an impossible mystery?

Completely vanished. All she felt was disappointment...and a little hungry.

She found herself really sitting cross legged on the floor of her shoe closet, dressed in her favourite blue hoodie, gym shorts and with a thin layer of sweat sticking to her skin. The flaw in using a small stuffy room as a recording studio. Everything was all packed in like sardines, including her, the mic sitting an inch from her pointed nose, and her laptop, balanced precariously on several boxes of shoes. Her computer's glow was the only source of real light in the tiny room, aside from the cracks under the door.

Kate scrunched her eyes tight, squeezing so hard she could see stars exploding across the inside of her head. That same childlike feeling never went away, while doing this, that sensation of regret when she was taken out of the fantasy. Like she was seven years old again, pretending the old wardrobe in the attic could take her to Narnia. Or eleven, covering her ears to block out the screaming and wondering where her Hogwarts letter was.

Except she was seventeen now, sitting on the floor of her closet, recording her roleplaying to escape the crappy version of reality she got stuck with.

"Crap."

She sighed and got to feet, groaning as her bones cracked and creaked. She closed her laptop lid and opened the closet, eyes immediately protesting at the blast of light hitting them. Her bedroom was still lit by natural light, though it was dying as New York's night woke up, its horizon darkening outside her bedroom window.

The sound of glass shattering came from below. Probably something expensive. And very fragile. And probably really nice, now broken. Why did they keep putting breakables where he could reach them?

Her bare feet padded across the floor, carrying her to the large window. It was always such a pretty sight. Peaceful to a native New Yorker, who could tune out the shouts and honking car horns and constant life carrying on below, who could just watch the sunset fade from honey pink to dusky purple and marvel at it.

Kate was pretty good at tuning the rest of the world out. Well, except for—

"—damn excuse, I want you to just do what I fucking ask!"

That.

A series of thud, thud, thuds accented the muffled screams below. Someone replied back, but their voice was too quiet and too panic-slurred for her to make out their words. Not that it mattered; she'd heard the same argument almost every day. She could practically perform it herself, if she really wanted to.

Kate's hands curled deeper into her blue hoodie as she stared at her bedroom floor. Despite the heat roiling through her room, she didn't take it off. She only buried deeper into it, fingers folding around the ends of the sleeves. She often felt like a little kid inside of it, as the sweater was too many sizes too big and engulfed her narrow frame. But it was comforting. For many reasons.

Kate huffed.

"One day, I'll finish a recording without an interruption," she grumbled, flopping back onto her bed. Her eyes met the white ceiling above. "One day. Maybe. Possibly? I — ha, who ya kidding, Blackwell."

"This is all a fucking joke!"

Kate snorted. "Ya' got that right, Dad."

"Spineless vermin; can't you do what you're fucking told?!"

"Ouch," she said, imagining the poor face of whatever employee he was yelling at now. She blew a raspberry up at her ceiling fan. "Wouldn't wanna be on the other end of that. Or — would I? Would it be better then what we do now?"

Of course, the screaming below cut out just as she finished her question, leaving her waiting in silence. Kate sat for a couple moments to see if he'd say anything else, or break anything else, but all she got was the trademark clicking of expensive shoes on expensive tiles.

"Whatever," she groaned, forcing herself back up again. She could hear voices picking up again, but as fun as it was pretending to be a part of the super-fun-sounding conversation below, Kate knew she probably had better things to do. Not that she really wanted to do them, but they were there.

And with her father home, she knew she wasn't going to be able to focus on Karma Kane again.

Finishing the episode would have to wait.

The light in her room was starting to fade more and more, leaving her room draped in purple hues. Kate didn't bother turning on a light just yet, though. She liked the way twilight soaked into her space, how the shadows grew on her walls and the air felt darker, tickling her bare calves. It made her feel mysterious. Cooler than the person she actually was.

Kate spared her window view one last glance as she pulled her copper hair into a ponytail.

"What a world below," she spoke aloud, a habit undoubtedly built from her solitary environment. "Whole new world...no one to... I — how's that song go?"

As Kate idly pondered the question, another large crash sounded below her. It wasn't glass that time; it sounded heavier. Which probably wasn't a great sign, especially with the screaming picking up again, too. It sounded just about as angry as usual, maybe a little worse. But she didn't hear anyone yelling back, so either Mr. Blackwell was ruining someone's hearing via phone, or just losing his shit alone.

If only the world got a load of it, Kate mused silently. The news might call her family a bunch of Mother Theresa's, but 'the Genius Mr. Blackwell' sure didn't uphold his 'saintly demeanour' behind closed doors.

She sighed, crossing back through her room to her door. Her closet called, still open to her makeshift recording studio. If only.

"Let's see what the fuss' about this time, Blackwell."

Kate stepped into the hallway. A row of closed doors greeted her, doors that had mostly emptied rooms behind them, with no else one around to give them life. The shouting continued below her, though it was fainter; the joys of sharing a vent with her father's office. She wondered how smart it'd be to go downstairs, listen in, maybe even tempt a run-in...

"Miss Blackwell?"

Kate startled and looked up. She hadn't noticed she wasn't alone, not until the small, slight Cecilia spoke. The dark-haired, honeyed-eyed housekeeper had just been pushing out of one of the many empty rooms, a duster half the size of her in hand. Why she still bothered cleaning them, Kate didn't know. She had said time and time again that since no one but herself still had to haunt the halls, there wasn't really a point. But Cecilia still swept and dusted every single one, nonetheless.

It sounded like a depressing job, cleaning a house that no one loved anymore. Kate was pretty sure she was the only person with a soul still haunting the Blackwell Mansion; that all that was left was ghosts and the heartless Mr. Blackwell, always pacing his office downstairs. She didn't know why Cecilia didn't just leave — but a part of her was grateful, selfishly, that she stayed.

Kate nodded back to the smaller woman, and met her halfway. "Hey, Cecilia."

"How was school today?"

She shrugged, leaning back against the wall. "It was fine, thanks." She looked down the hall, where yelling still came. "I'm guessing he's home?"

Cecilia nodded, like that was even a question she needed to answer. "Mr. Blackwell's taking dinner alone, tonight." Like he had for...how long, at that point? "He'd prefer to be alone."

Kate found it funny that she had to get that reminder. The last time she had properly talked to her father had been when she was eleven; she sort of knew the drill by this point.

"Would you like your meal in the kitchen today, or up here?" Cecilia asked, oblivious to Kate's bitter thoughts.

She shook her head. "I'm good right now. Gonna do some homework, I'll find something later."

"Ma'am, you really shouldn't neglect a meal."

"And you, Cecilia, don't have to ma'am me," Kate hummed teasingly. "Haven't we had this conversation before?"

"Okay, but ma— "

"—and I will eat. Honestly, the show downstairs' kinda making me lose my appetite. I don't even know why I came out here," she admitted. "I don't know what I thought I'd do."

Cecilia's lips pursed in that sympathetic mother face Kate had seen too many times. And with warm brown eyes, a sweet thick smile and gentle wrinkles pressed into her skin, she looked the part too. Some days, Kate felt like Cecilia could actually be the only family she had. Considering the only time she saw her father was on the news or heard him yelling in his office, their live-in housekeeper was all she had to see around the place.

Well, that and Pietro, her father's chef. But he didn't seem to like her that much.

"Do you need anything, ma'am?"

"Kate."

"Kate," the woman wearily corrected, a low sigh following the name. "Please. Can I get you anything? You shouldn't be alone in your room all the time."

She smiled softly, the gentle sting of a thorn digging into her heart. "I'm okay, really. I'm going to do some homework, decompress. Avoid wandering 'til the beast calms down a little."

"Mm. That might be best. He seems rather explosive, tonight."

"I'll say. D'ya know why, or is he just in his usual 'everyone in this world is stupid except for me', state a'mind?"

"I am...not sure. I did see someone leave in tears, but that's not out of the ordinary, so...who is to say?"

Kate smirked, though it was wane and bitter. "Yeah. Yeah, that adds up."

"I think Mr. Blackwell just had a hard day at work today."

Hard days at work seem to just be a normal nine to five to her father. Which was stupid, considering the man barely did anything anymore. He was so rich he didn't have to. Kate knew for a fact that most of her father's workload was just screaming at people to do what he wanted. He no longer had to solve for plague cures like the days of his youth; he just had to call the shots.

But yet everyone kept using the same excuses for his screaming fits. Like there weren't better ways to handle stress! Had he ever even tried yoga?

"Will you be okay?" She asked Cecilia, glancing back to her. "You can, like...spend hours pretending to mop my room, or..."

Cecilia chuckled low and patted Kate's shoulder. "I think someone would be confused why I was mopping carpet, ma-Kate, dear. And you know I'm not supposed to spend my time loitering, much as I appreciate the offer."

"I could trash my room, if that would help?" Kate had been cleaning her own room since she was nine, but she could pretend to be too spoiled for that, for the kind housekeeper's sake. "I'll throw paint on everything! It'd be fun!"

"Thank you, but I'm alright. Mr. Blackwell never notices me much."

Well, that sounded about right. Mr. Blackwell didn't notice anyone much anymore, unless they were green, paper-thin and covered in dollar signs.

Another raise of her father's voice below, and she winced. "I'm gonna get back to work, Cec," she said, an apologetic tone to my voice. "Feel free to step in whenever."

"Don't work too hard. And please eat a proper meal tonight!"

"I will, I will!"

"Gummy bears don't count, Kate!"

She just chuckled and retreated back into her room, closing the door gently behind. She didn't lock it; just in case Cecilia decided to pop in. Instead, she flipped the lightswitch and closed her curtains over the Manhattan skyline outside. Her eyes glanced curiously over her room, wondering if there was anything around remotely interesting. But the sound equipment in her closet didn't sound appealing at the moment, and anything else sounded boring and...too much work for her brain, anymore.

Kate decided to just go with the classic. She flopped down onto her bed on her stomach and planted her face into her bed, ready to give up on everything for the night. "Frghmmmmm," she grumbled into the comforter. "Bhearmmmmgghh."

Buzz. Buzz.

"Crap," Kate groaned, recognizing the sound of her phone. "Go away."

The phone ignored her and kept buzzing.

She lifted her face just enough so it was uncovered, resting her chin on the comforter still. "That's probably not important," she mused, "right? Who calls on a Thursday night with something important?"

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

She put an arm under her head and turned it, so she was facing away from her vibrating phone. To her left sat a worn brown journal, clearly well-read and well-loved, with about a thousand sticky notes hanging out of the pages. She squinted at the lifted pages.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

"So not interesting," Kate groaned to the journal. "I'd rather hang with you, to be honest. You're way cooler. And way less chatty."

The dog-eared book didn't say anything back. But her phone continued to buzz as the two of them sat there, staring each other down like, 'aren't you gonna get that?!'

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

"Fine. Fine! You win!"

Kate rolled over to her right and grabbed her phone. She flopped back to her back and, shooting a glare at the journal that hadn't said a word in the exchange, finally answered the video call.

And much to no surprise, it wasn't anything important at all, despite the immediate cry from the other end declaring otherwise.

"Why the hell did it take you so long?! I could have been dying, Blackwell!"

She groaned, forcing her body up into a half-sitting position. She adjusted the view so it wasn't just her chin and neck, but rather her face, frowning down at the other end. "Are you dying, Callahan?"

The pretty, perfectly put-together face of Aliana Callahan blinked back rather impudently. Always a looker, the girl was; and her look right now was full pink-lipped perturbed pout.

"True friendship is answering first, questioning later."

Kate ran a hand through her ginger hair. She had to fight the urge to roll her eyes; starting an argument about that, on top of whatever this conundrum was, didn't sound fun.

"I answered, didn't I?"

"Like, ten years too late!"

"I'm sorry for taking five seconds to finish getting changed. Didn't think you wanted me answering with my shirt off."

On the other end, Aliana's eyes widened, her mouth falling open. "Are we not close enough for me to see your boobs, Blackwell?"

"You know the rules, Ali. Tits are for Tuesdays."

"Is it not a Tuesday?!"

"It's Thursday," Kate yawned, snorting at Aliana's faux disappointment. "How'd you forget? Where's your head at?"

Aliana shrugged. She shuffled around, falling back on her own bed of pink and white sheets. "I'm pretty, honey. I don't have to remember what day it is."

"Oh, of course."

Her friend got comfortable on her bed, resting her head on the palm of her hand. "So. What are you doing right now?"

"Mm, just struggling through a biology assignment," Kate lied. In reality her biology work had been done since last night and tucked safely away, and all she had with her was the worn journal beside her. But she didn't have much else to say in response — her actual evening activities were much less...casual.

"Ew. That's so boring, you poor thing."

"I know, I know." She reached for the journal and placed it on her crossed thighs. "I'm miserable."

"Good thing I called and spared your bubble brain, huh?"

Kate chuckled absent-mindedly, barely registering the slight thrown at her. She thumbed through the pages lazily, barely paying attention to what it said. She'd read through it so many times, it was like walking through the halls of her home. She could navigate its pages with her eyes closed.

Kate had had the journal since her eleventh birthday, since it had come in the mail from a mysterious benefactor. All that had been attached was a one sentence note, a 'welcome to Del's beautiful mind' in chicken scratch handwriting. She didn't know who wrote the note. And she'd only been able to figure out it was her mother's book by the tiny D.W curled into the corner of the first page.

It was filled to the brim with the late Delaney Blackwell's thoughts, memories, ideas, stories, and more. Tales of strangers she'd run into, plot ideas she would never get to make into more, a couple 'to-do lists'. There were a lot of notes about her 'darling girls', the sweet, serious Mari and her inquisitive little detective Kitty that Kate had long since cried over. And a lot, like a lot, of random notes about people Kate knew she'd probably never meet. Mostly people she wasn't sure actually existed, strange people. Mysteries she'd never solve, not with their only witness dead in the ground.

"Blackwell, are you listening?"

She looked up from the page she was on and to the camera. "Uh. Yes?"

"Sure. Then what was I saying?"

"Uh..." All Kate had in her head was an African Grey Parrot affectionately named 'Admiral' — probably because instead of listening, she was reading her mother's blurb on the beautiful stranger with that same parrot she knew in, quote, 'another life'. "You were talking about...you know...that..."

"You're so lucky you're pretty, Blackwell. You know that?"

"You're so mean, Callahan. You know that?"

"I'm sorry, I was just trying to talk about my future with my best friend," Ali snipped, "though I guess she's too busy for me, she's got way-y better things to do, right?"

"Okay, oka- I'm here, I'm with ya. What d'ya need?"

The brunette on the other end looked more serious then, leaning into the phone a little more. "I need you to convince my step-mother to go take a long walk off a short pier. A-S-A-P, puh-lease."

Kate gave a short laugh. She tried to make her words sound like she cared more. "Ah, c'mon. You don't mean that."

"Uh, no. I do. You know what she said to me?" Without waiting for a response, Ali ploughed forward. "She had the nerve to say that I was throwing away my future, just because I said I wanted to take a year off to travel. Like, I'm sorry Yvonne, who's the one that's actually graduating high school here?"

"Okay, what did Yvonne do to you this time? Why're you going for blood here?!"

Ali huffed and leaned further into her pile of fluffy white pillows. "It's just...ugh, honestly, Blackwell? I'm so beyond miserable. And I shouldn't be miserable! Senior year should be fun, and my stupid parents are making me, like, take shit seriously?! And not even my dad, it's just her trying to one-up me constantly!"

If Kate didn't know Ali as well as she did, she would have only felt annoyance listening to her whine like that. But because they'd been joined at the hip since fifth grade, when their father's became business colleagues by vague association, she didn't mind the complaining. Even if, sure, it was petty and above and beyond privileged, and kind of a lot lamer than rereading about mysterious African Gray Parrots and their owners.

Kate reluctantly set down her mother's journal and readjusted herself on her bed. "I'm sorry, Ali. Can I help with any of it?"

"Ugh. No. Unless you happen to know how to hide a body, probably not."

And even without thinking, Kate's gaze shifted from the phone to the makeshift recording studio, still waiting for her to return to the crime scene. For a second, she almost felt like she could hear the distant, hoarse squawk of an African Grey Parrot, and the sounds of shouts in the cold night air.

Kate's lip quirked, smiling like she imagined Karma Kane did.

If you only knew, Callahan, she thought to herself, with all the cheesy gusto of her fictional counterpart. If you only knew.

AUTHORS NOTE:
I'm editing this on my phone because  my computers acting up, so I don't know if this'll format perfectly. But I wanted to post this on Friday because I want to make updates a regular Friday thing;  considering I've prewritten  a good chunk of this and I write better with motivation, I want to set that goal. Hopefully it plays out okay!! :)

THANK YOU
for reading.