A Study in Ruin

Prologue

ARCHER

I was sixteen when my father tried to kill me.

I remember the date because it was my birthday. He came home for one of his rare visits, the door slamming behind him hard enough to rattle the glass in the windows. He smelt of whiskey and stale cigar smoke, the way he always did.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe – the house seemed to shrink whenever he was inside it.

It was during one of the worst storms of the year. Rain hammered the roof, and I could hear the wind raging outside.

My mother had been gone for three hundred and fifty days.

When I was younger – young enough to believe she was coming back – I used to mark every day she was gone on a calendar.

Little pencil crosses filling square after square.

I thought if I counted long enough, she’d come home for me, but she never did.

So, eventually I stopped.

My father had always been cruel, but after she was gone there was no reason left for him to pretend otherwise. He’d chosen that night to be done with me for good.

I can still feel the way my skin burned when his fist connected with my cheekbone.

My stomach. My ribs. Another strike that sent my head spinning so hard the room blurred.

He struck me again and again until I was on the ground.

I remember the way the breath was knocked from my lungs, as if I was drowning on dry land.

I remember gasping, my chest straining for air that wouldn’t come.

Eventually, I stumbled to my feet and tried to run. I opened the front door, and the freezing cold rain hit my face like a wall of ice.

I made it to the street outside and remember looking around for someone. Anyone.

His hand caught the back of my coat and dragged me down onto the slick cobblestones. The rain soaked through my clothes instantly. Another blow landed and sparks burst behind my eyes. My head struck the ground and the world tilted sideways.

He only hesitated on what should have been the final blow because we heard a sound.

I managed to turn my head to see a light spilling onto the cobblestones and a handful of people emerging from a pub on the corner. They were laughing, their faces happy and smiling.

He ran.

He left me there, wishing I was dead on the side of the road, my blood mixing with the rainwater soaking the pavement. My wounds had only just healed from the last time.

I left that night and never looked back.