Someone had removed the booze out of the mahogany office so the tall, handsome man with immaculate grooming nursed another cup of coffee. The way it swished around in his cup reminded him of his childhood summers spent in Austria, where his parents and grandparents would drink cup after cup of coffee while sitting outside in view of the laps. There had only been three.. maybe even two summers he'd spent there, and yet he remembered them as if they were the entirety of his childhood.
According to the facts, Harry Phelps had spent the majority of his summers in the states. But all those memories were a blur. They weren't even memories but more factoids, information Phelps knew to be true not because he knew it, but because he was aware that facts existed proving it to be true.
He took the final gulp of coffee and then stared out the window. The storm was getting quite bad. If his life wasn't currently in the process of going down the shitter, he'd be feeling glad to be inside instead of out there. But what did it matter now that he and his fitted suit were remaining dry? He rubbed the fabric and thought of rain, and the reason people hated getting caught under it. Things like that wouldn't matter soon enough. He might as well just go out there and get pelted by the rain while he still had the chance.
Yes. Do things while he still had the chance to. This was a very foreign motto for Phelps. He went to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink when he remembered again that there was nothing in there. His ex-partner had probably removed it after she found out that Phelps was sitting in here taking swigs. Phelps looked around, again, to see if maybe she had just moved it out of sight.
While browsing around he found some unopened boxes of kleenes and cough drops. But no booze. Fuck. Might as well go dance in the rain, Phelps thought.
If only he had somebody to dance with him. But he was utterly alone. The department had known him to be a ladies' man... but they had also assumed he had a family somewhere. They thought he was the type of traditional handsome man with a beautiful wife back home that he cheated on during his dark nights solving mysteries.
It was true that he had many lovers during these dark nights, but it wasn't true that there was someone waiting for him back home. There was nobody he was cheating on. Nobody who loved him the way the traditional yet beautiful wives love their handsome husbands like you see on TV.
Phelps sat back down in the chair. Maybe he could go to the liquor store to pick up a fifth of some single malt Scotch. So why'd he sit back down again then? Didn't he want to go get wet under the rain while he still had the chance.
He stared into the stained coffee mug when the door swung open.