Collyer Clutter of the Heart! Will You be My Helen Warden? / Looking at the Past through Red-Stained Looking Glasses? (my hour's up, we'll talk next week!)

The banging of the gavel signaled the trial’s beginning. An old, stern looking mare set the wooden instrument down and sat it by the corner of her podium. “Court is in session. Today, we will discuss he case revolving around decorated knight Glorious Valor and the circumstances leading up to his death. The prime suspect has been apprehended and is in this very room as we speak. Mr. Porter, will the prosecution please introduce the guilty party?” An earth pony stood up, dressed to the negative nines in the cheapest suit and an even cheaper cologne. His legs could barely keep up as his portly figure rose from the stand. All that stood still when he rose was his stiff troupe, fashioned into an awful comb-over. “Your Greatest Honor, I have the man who killed Glorious Valor. He is a sickening, vile man... saved his own skin and left Valor behind to die s torturous, awful death. Mr. Gumshoe, will you take the stand?” Carmine, who had been sitting at the defense’s side, stood as soon as his name was called. In a strange turn of events, he was the only one there... no defense attorney would take his case. No one should have taken his case. Though the courtroom was empty, aside from the judge and the prosecutor, boos and jeers filled the room as he dragged the iron ball chained to his ankle all the way to the stance by the judge’s side. He heard it all from the disembodied voices: “Murderer!” “Killer!” “It should’ve been you!” It was a struggle, but eventually he managed to drag himself up with no help from the impatient judge's hoof tapping or the snarling bailiff. With a grunt, Carmine sat himself down and held the large ball against his gut. Porter spoke, starting off his menacing walk to the stand. “Mr. Gumshoe... forgive my if my words are too big for you, but I will try and dumb them down so you may understand me,” Prosecutor Porter’s coal-covered voice resembled that of a devil’s speech, yet the invisible crowd seemed hung on his every word like it were a golden coated voice from above. “Did you kill Glorious Valor?” Carmine couldn’t look straight at him. His eyes unfocused every time he came to face the lawyer’s visage. Instead, he looked straight ahead. “No, sir. I did not kill him. I loved him— I would never.” “You loved him?" The lawyer replied with an actor's scoff-laugh. "Carmine, let me remind you of a case the two of you covered near the start of your careers. In the case of who killed Mr. Garrison, a traffic guard who had a healthy life insurance settlement hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles... who killed him?" The amber glow in Carmine's glow faded as he realized the lawyer's strategy straight away. Cases from before that would dirty up his reputation and begin hammering the first couple nails in the wooden boards that would be his coffin. Regrettably, Carmine spoke. “...His wife, sir.” Porter grimly chuckled, following shortly after was a twisted, toothy grin. “I see. And what about that lovely lounge songstress, Miss Opaltine. Who was it that cut that young woman’s throat?” “Her... her boyfriend, if I recall." “Uh huh. So, is it that crazy to assume that in the death of a loved one, love actually plays no factor? Occam’s Razor, Gumshoe, and you look like you could use a shave.” Carmine sniffed once in his seat and clutched the ball as if it were some kind of stuffed animal that brought comfort. It was cold, hard and heavy, yet it brought more comfort than this bone snapping courtroom. “Explain to me what happened, Carmine. In your own words.” “We were part of a rescue mission, sir. There was a little girl who'd gone missing and Valor, another guard, and I were sent to free her from her captors. We were betrayed by one of our own... Lamia Sod. She was killed in the mission, as well. Just before we escaped, they rigged the buildin' to blow. Valor sacrificed himself... he was out. She was kickin' the crap out of me. I couldn't even see what was goin' on, then... then he jumped on her and kept her there while the kid and I escaped. It blew up shortly after..." “Uh huh. He ‘sacrificed’ himself, you say? And just where is the child that you claim was there with you the whole time?" “She... was gone. I was knocked unconcious and when I awoke, she left. No one saw her." “No doubt, it was an unnecessary sacrifice, to rescue a girl who may or may not have been there," Porter added with a sneer. Carmine felt the room getting hotter. He couldn't tell if it was the heat turning up, or his own body getting worked up past the point of sweltering. Sweat flew down his face like bullets, which solidified into chalky debris at the floor below him. He looked down... the ball was gone, yet the weight remained in his gut. The heat continued. Porter slammed a hoof down on the stand, his forked tongue slithered between his slit lips as his diamond-pupiled eyes stared a heated glare into the guilty party's dulling eyes. "Why didn't you know about Lamia, Carmine? Ain't you supposed to be good at this? Ain't it supposed to be the only thing you're good at?!" The sweat was getting heavier, like cement was pooling over his face and restricting both his vision and his breathing. "I-- I didn't! I didn't know, how could I have known!? She saw right through me, it--" The judge slammed her gavel down on the circle-shaped block. Her appearance had been altered greatly, with an elonged neck that moved and writhed around like a snake's. "Why were you not strong enough, Carmine? Why couldn't you have fought better?" By now the sweat had cascaded over his whole body, covering him in a plaster-like cast of dust, debris and powdery cement. He tried reaching out, but the concrete kept him from moving faster than the others could speak. His mouth opened, but that only invited the cement to spread within him, effectively silencing him. The ghostly voices cheered and wooed as Carmine was rendered mute. The only thing that broke the loud cheers of the crowd was the booming gavel. "I have reached a verdict. Carmine Gumshoe, the court finds you guilty of murder. You are hereby sentenced to a long, lonely life. Do you have anything to say, Carmine?" He tried to move, but he could not. The judge continued shouting his name... but over time it became gentler. Kinder. Carmine shut his eyes... the voice continued... and continued... and continued... "Carmine? Carmine! Are you paying attention to me?" The red stallion shot up in his seat on the leather couch. A pen was waved in front of his face by an older mare, with her hair up in a nice, old-lady like bun while the larger man next to her spoke. "Carmine! I'm sorry to say, but your hour's almost up." Though the image before him was crystal clear, he still couldn't right process this. The image of the courtroom faded away, transitioning into a dull, but still inviting room. In front of him was a large desk across a coffee table, where the fat stallion idly clicked a pen. His mustache moved with his lips, almost replacing his need to move them. Eventually, Carmine found the words to respond. "Sorry, Doctor Ross. I-- I was lost in a thought..." "That's quite all right," spoke the portly stallion. "I don't suppose you were listening to Doctor Kubler and I? We were discussing your treatment as well as your progress." Carmine then looked over to the mare, who stood aside on a stool next to the table. Her blue eyes searched the stallion for any hint as to what he could be thinking about, but ultimately she found none. Whatever was wrong, Carmine had shoved it aside. The mare clicked her pen closed and held a clipboard up to her face, where she read through some notes. "Well, as we were saying... you seem to be doing better. Less impulsive decisions, you're taking on more responsibility such as buying a house and your cats. I don't think we'll need to mess with the dosage on your medication; everything seems to be coming along. Still keeping away from the drink?" "Only time I've been in a bar was for work. Even then, I only ordered water. Ain't even felt the temptation," answered Carmine as he looked down at his cold coffee cup. The larger man spoke, his mustache curled upwards in a hairy smile shape. "Good to hear, Carmine! You're quite the different stallion you were years ago. I'd dare say, you may start to feel... well, for lack of a better word: normal?" "I agree with Doctor Kubler," Ross replied with a smile. "Carmine... this may be too personal of a question, but have you considered getting back out there?" The sentence struck a chord with Carmine, prompting an eye twitch that only ticked once as he repeated the question in his head. Nervously, he tried to deflect it, purposefully misinterpreting it to give him time to answer. "...Huh? I still got five minutes left, y'all want me to leave already?" "No, I mean... moving on. You know, dating?" Carmine was silent. His eyebrows fell down, pointed downwards as the heat in his face began to increase. Still, he said nothing. Doctor Kubler noticed the sour look on the PI's face, and desperately tried to save some face with her colleague. She sat the clipboard down and gave him her best sweet smile. "We believe it's important to at least try to get back on that saddle, especially with your treatment proceeding so well as it were! Her antics only angered Carmine further. He was so mad, he could spit, yet doing so would only solidify his image as a dumb hick. He wouldn't give them the pleasure. Rather than respond directly, he stood up in his seat and backed up to the door. "Are you serious? You finally say I'm makin' some progress-- progress that I ain't even feelin', and now you're tryin' to set me back again? Go to hell." Ross stood up from his seat, a single bead of sweat treaded down. "Now, Carmine, Doctor Kubler was merely asking if you felt ready to move on, not sending you back to Swango Memorial! It's been six years and... well, Doctor Kubler and I have noticed that you can't really love yourself unless you're loved by someone. It's not the healthiest way to live, but we thought that we may be able to work through that so long as you have someone else's support by your side. Since you won't speak to your family, and you rarely coordinate with your friends, we just wanted to ask if you thought of adding someone special into the picture? There's no need for such a reaction." "Refer to my previous sentence. Go to hell." With a minute left in his session, Carmine swung the door open and slammed it shut right behind him. He managed to ruminate on things during the short walk home. The doctors were right to a degree, he knew that. But Carmine also knew that his chance for love had completely come and gone. This was his place. This was his role. While there was nothing better for him, there was also nothing worse in the cards. A "happy" medium was a bit of a stretch, but somewhere in the middle. It was an okay middle. A lonely one... but Carmine was okay with it.