head on a plate

The ambiance was classic upscale: crystal chandeliers casting prismatic light over mahogany tables and velvety cushions, each plush seat offering a panoramic view of the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. Despite the setting, Reid found himself drowning in the brothers' conversation about portfolios and acquisitions, as if a textbook on business economics had sprung to life and decided to host a dinner party.

"So, Archer, I was thinking of doubling our investment in clean energy, maybe moving a portion to green bonds?" Averyl posited, swirling his glass of Merlot.

"Mm," Archer muttered, his eyes offering more opinion than his words ever could.

The conversation was like a lullaby to Reid, who fought against his heavy eyelids. Finally, he succumbed, his head dipping down as sleep claimed him, right there in the fine dining establishment.

Not missing a beat, Archer gently placed a finger to his lips, signaling Averyl to lower his voice. The older brother observed Reid with a mixture of amusement and understanding, his eyes softening. "It's good that you have a friend like him, Archer."

Archer scowled, the muscles of his jaw tightening. "I have many friends."

A chuckle bubbled out from Averyl, as he pulled out his phone and hit a few keys before placing it back in his pocket. "You should have an email. Some information about our sleeping beauty's recent house visitor."

Archer arched an eyebrow, skeptical and intrigued at the same time. "And how, exactly, did you come across this information?"

Averyl shrugged, his eyes twinkling. "Let's just say I have my methods. Kirby provided some insights, but I've hit a wall."

Archer's frown deepened. "I'll look into it."

The older brother shot him a teasing smile. "If my resources can't uncover it, what makes you think you'll have better luck?"

A slight eye-roll was Archer's only response before he stood up and effortlessly lifted Reid from his seat, swinging him into a fireman's carry over his shoulder.

Despite the rough handling, Reid merely groaned softly in his sleep, his breath warming the fabric of Archer's jacket. Averyl's eyes narrowed, a flicker of concern breaking through his usually composed exterior. "Isn't it a bit dangerous for him to sleep so deeply?"

Archer nodded, adjusting Reid's weight over his shoulder as if he were nothing more than an oversized duffle bag. "That's one of the reasons I decided to live next door to him."

Averyl frowned, puzzled. "You suspect something?"

Archer shook his head. "Intuition."

"Had he seen the doc recently?"

Archer paused in his stride and shook his head, "…or at least he didn't tell me."

"I could find it out."

Archer gave a rare smile, "you know you can't. If Reid wanted it hidden, he wouldn't let it be known."

The statement hung in the air like a warning, or perhaps a promise. As Archer made his way out of the luxurious dining area, effortlessly balancing Reid's sleeping form on his shoulder, Averyl found himself pausing, caught in a moment of reflection. His younger brother had always been the quieter one, the more inscrutable, but in that instant, Archer's actions spoke volumes.

Archer was protective, fiercely so, and while that might not have been news to Averyl, the extent of it suddenly felt far more significant. Averyl reached for his wine, took a final sip, and decided that some mysteries were worth diving into headfirst. For family and friends alike, he'd scale any wall, cross any line. He'd always considered himself the protector, the guardian of his family's legacy, but perhaps, just perhaps, the roles were more fluid than he'd thought.

Then, Averyl smirked, perhaps he should add some excitement into their lives.

***

In an apartment that can only be described as "organized chaos," Reid's sleepy figure lay sprawled on a futon that had seen better days. Reid's cat, Jill, delicately treaded around his face, diligently applying her own version of morning biscuit-making. The air was thick with the aroma of stale coffee and something vaguely resembling incense. Second-hand furniture clashed with academic textbooks, framing a room that was the epitome of a charismatic, next-door-neighbor-slash-probable-genius vibe.

Archer burst through the door, his appearance as stark and severe as the decor was eclectic. Jill let out a snarky shriek, abandoning her dough-kneading duties in favor of skittering under the nearby cluttered desk. Reid grumbled, shifting his body in the opposite direction.

"Mrrh... Five more minutes, Mom," he mumbled into his throw pillow.

Archer's frown deepened, his usual stoic expression bordering on vexed annoyance. With a decisive move, he gripped Reid's shoulder and shook him awake.

Reid opened one eye, squinting as if he was seriously considering using laser vision. "If this is another one of your pranks, I swear I'll tie you to a cross. Naked. In broad daylight."

Undeterred, Archer thrust his phone in front of Reid's face. Reid glanced at the email displayed on the screen and erupted into laughter. "This? This is what made you break and enter? You really need to work on your crisis meter, man."

Annoyed, Archer smacked Reid's shoulder, causing a loud yelp. Reid bolted upright, any vestiges of sleepiness banished. "Okay, jeez, no hitting! I will report you!"

Reid took another long look at Archer's very unamused expression, then couldn't resist. With an exaggerated sigh, he reached out and pinched Archer's cheeks, pulling them into what might pass for a smile. "Look, if Averyl sent you this convoluted mess of an email, he must have his reasons. It's like a treasure hunt, but with more bureaucracy!"

Archer's frown threatened to become a geological feature. Grabbing Reid by the front of his disheveled T-shirt, he pulled him close. "You need to be me."

Reid pushed Archer's hands away, chuckling. "Nope."

Then, with a flourish, Reid threw himself back onto the bed, pulling a tattered quilt over himself. "I have a very important meeting with my pillow that I've already rescheduled twice, so I plan on catching some more Z's."

Just then, Archer's voice turned chillingly calm. "I'll unleash Adelynn on you if you don't help."

Reid sat up so fast, it would've given a whiplash injury a run for its money. Even Archer flinched a fraction, backpedaling just an inch.

"Nuh-uh. You wouldn't. Not Adelynn!" Reid grabbed Archer's chin with an iron grip, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "You dare?"

Archer met his gaze, the icy blue of his eyes clashing with Reid's fiery expression. And for a moment—just a moment—Reid could see a flicker of amusement in Archer's otherwise stone-cold facade.

Archer looked into Reid's eyes — I dare.

Reid tilted his chin up slightly — You don't!

The corner of Archer's lips tilted up a little — Try me.

He let go of Archer's chin and sighed, surrendering to the ridiculousness of it all. "Fine, I'll be you. But I'm making every decision based on what my horoscope says."

Archer nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, a near-miracle unto itself. As for Reid, he reached for the nearest textbook—"Introduction to Criminal Psychology"—and tossed it towards Reid as he stood, which Reid caught.

"Ah, the sacrifices one makes for friendship," Reid mused. "Now, if we're going to commit identity fraud, can it please involve some spandex? I've always wanted to try the superhero look."

Archer's eyes spoke a thousand words, none of which were fit to print, but Reid just chuckled. This was going to be fun… not. Reid sighed deeply before ruffling his bed hair.

"It's at three later."

Reid caught the look and called out, "Don't worry, I'll be the best you that you've ever seen! Like you, but with 75% more personality!"

***

In the upscale dining room of a modern fusion restaurant—a blend of sleek steel, warm wood, and ambient light—Reid found himself sitting across from a woman. This was no ordinary locale; it was the kind of place where the walls seemed to hum with whispered deals and veiled innuendos. Each table was a secluded island, allowing conversations of utmost secrecy or romantic interest.

Reid threw the woman a charismatic smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief. She looked him up and down, her gaze leaving icy trails in its wake, far from impressed.

"Archer Everett. You're not at all what Averyl described," she finally spoke, her voice tinged with skepticism. "I expected someone cold. Someone stunningly handsome. But you're just… a next-door-neighbor kind of handsome."

Reid — or Archer, now — chuckled softly. "Ah, I love the compliment but it's not so nice that he's setting me up as his evil twin."

Just as Reid prepared a snappy comeback to unnerve her further, his communicator vibrated subtly against his wrist. It was a text from Archer. "Keep it up," it read, stoically plain but massively loaded in context.

"Ah, my guardian angel speaks," Reid muttered to himself before refocusing on his companion. She raised an eyebrow, a silent demand for his attention.

"So, what are your future plans?" she inquired.

"Future plans, you say?" Reid leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Expanding the Everett Corporation into new markets, developing revolutionary technologies, and maybe solving world hunger if I get bored on a Sunday afternoon. The usual, you know?"

She nodded approvingly, as if mentally ticking a box. Just then, a waiter came into view—a Quokka, non-human but still part of the working force in this blended society. Its little paws carefully balanced a tray bearing a dish covered with a gleaming metal lid.

The woman gave a small, knowing nod to the waiter and then turned her eyes to Reid. "Be prepared."

Reid's eyes sparkled with delight. "Prepared is my middle name! Well, not really, it's Gregory, but 'be prepared' was definitely my boy scout motto. I've sampled cuisines from all over the galaxy; there's nothing I can't stomach."

"You talk a lot for an Everett."

"Hmm, what does that mean, I wonder?" Reid quizzed.

The Quokka waiter lifted the lid with a theatrical flourish, launching into a poetic description of the dish they were about to savor. "It will tantalize your taste buds, titillate your olfactory senses, and satisfy your deepest culinary—"

Both the woman and the Quokka waiter screamed in unison, cutting off his well-rehearsed introduction.

And there it was, staring up at Reid from the fine china—a severed human head. His own jaw dropped in stunned disbelief, before contorting into a grimace of disgust.

"Okay, let's clarify something," Reid began, forcing a smile that couldn't have been more unnatural if he'd tried. "I love exotic food, I really do. But there are lines, boundaries, ethical and otherwise. A severed human head is where I draw that line."

He leaned in, his voice dropping an octave. "I mean, I'm no food critic, but this seems like a one-way ticket to an intergalactic health code violation."

"What is this!" The woman shouted and by now, many patrons had turned heads, saw the severed head and screamed.

Reid's communicator buzzed again. It was Archer, once more the text was cryptic but meaningful: I'm coming over.

Reid looked at the woman and then at the Quokka waiter who had begun to sob, a little heartbroken at his ruined culinary presentation.

"Do you know who this is?" Reid said, standing up. "As much as I've enjoyed our tête-à-tête—no pun intended—I doubt the restaurant serves human head as a delicacy."

The atmosphere in the restaurant had gone from one of luxury to shock and horror in a matter of seconds. Archer strode in swiftly, his movements betraying a deep-rooted urgency. A distraught Quokka waiter—Hobbs by his name tag—was clutching a stained towel, its eyes brimming with tears. Without missing a beat, Archer handed him a handkerchief.

Reid, who'd initially been in the center of the culinary calamity, was now on his communicator, rapid-firing directives. "Alex Williams, I need you down here ASAP. Yes, it's urgent. No, don't be annoying — it's really urgent."

Diane, the woman who'd been sitting across from Reid, was sobbing uncontrollably. Archer leaned in, his icy eyes locking onto hers. "Did you know this person?" he reiterated, nodding subtly toward the horrific centerpiece.

Through choked sobs, she managed to get the words out: "Yes, that's Vanessa, my assistant." Archer frowned, storing the information away as he pivoted back toward Reid.

Aware of the curious crowd that had gathered—some inquisitive, others visibly shaken—Reid raised his arms. "Ladies and gentlemen, this area is now under police control. Unauthorized personnel, please vacate immediately."

Just then, a clatter of footsteps announced the arrival of the restaurant manager—a non-human, upright-walking chimpanzee clad in a sharp suit. He was called Chester, according to his gold-plated name tag.

His eyes widened in shock as he took in the grim scene. "What happened here?" he demanded, clearly unprepared for such a tableau in his establishment.

Hobbs, the Quokka, approached the chimp, his voice trembling. "I swear, I checked the dish right before I came out. I don't know what happened!"

Reid and Archer exchanged a meaningful glance, a language only they seemed fluent in. Reid moved closer to the chimp manager. "Do you have any video artifice in the kitchens?"

Chester narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You're not the police. Why should I let you have access?"

Reid grinned, the irony not lost on him. "Oh, no, not the police but we are with them," he gestured toward Archer.

Chester crossed his arms, "I will contact the police. Since both of you were here when this happened, you shall stay here."

Reid nodded in a mock salute, "sure! But I have already called the police."

Chester raised an eyebrow before lifting his communicator to dial the emergency number. As it went through, Chester had explained the situation and judging from his expressions, the police on the other line probably reassured him that there were personnel on their way.

Archer looked up and locked eyes with Reid. No words were needed; Reid understood.

"Miss Diane, when was the last time you saw Vanessa?" Archer added, breaking his usual man-of-few-words demeanor, the gravity of the situation requiring it.

"We parted just now before I met Archer…"

Reid nodded before placing his fingers on his lips, deep in thought. Then, he squatted down, now eye-level with the severed head.

"It does seem to be a recent death."

Archer arched an eyebrow and Reid continued, "strange…"

"By the way," Archer tapped Reid's shoulder while the man was staring at the wound on the neck, "when did you have a middle name?"

Reid looked at Archer before cocking his head, "what?"

"Gregory?"

At this point, Diane was looking at them both.

Reid looked up at Archer who was looking down at him and his eye twinkled, "right! no?"

"No?" Archer arched an eyebrow.

"I was joking," the freelance detective grinned.

"Ow!" Archer had flicked Reid's forehead and the freelance detective grumbled a little.

"So?" Archer asked while pulling Reid further away from the three people. 

Reid stroked his chin and his eyes twinkled, "we'll see when Alex arrives."

Just as they talked about Williams, the man burst through the doors. His entrance was every bit as grand as his personality—big, booming, and impossible to ignore. With silver streaks in his otherwise dark hair and a ruggedly handsome face, he had the seasoned look of a man who'd been in the crime-fighting game longer than most.

"Alright, what fresh hell is this?" Alex exclaimed, eyeing the severed head on the table with clinical detachment before flicking his gaze to Diane, then the various non-humans—Hobbs, the shaken Quokka waiter, and Chester, the manager-chimpanzee—in the room. Finally, his eyes settled on Reid and Archer.

While he gave Archer a polite, almost cordial smile, he ambled over to Reid with an exasperated expression. "Why are you always at the epicenter of my cases? You some kinda crime magnet?"

Reid shrugged, a wry grin pulling at his lips. "Oh, you know me, perpetually in the wrong place at the wrong time. Remember that time I went hiking, followed the well-marked trail, and still managed to get lost? My luck's as reliable as a compass near a magnet."

Alex rolled his eyes, his version of a fond greeting. Just then, a young man with a mop of curly hair tapped Alex on the shoulder. "Williams, I'll get started."

Reid's eyes twinkled like he'd just discovered an unsolved crossword puzzle in the Sunday paper. "Wait, aren't you the forensic investigator who worked on the Michelle Lim case?"

The young man cocked his head and then nodded. "Yes, that's me. I'm Ethan, by the way," he said, extending a hand toward Reid.

Reid looked at the outstretched hand as if it were an unexploded bomb, hesitation painted all over his face. Before the awkwardness could stretch another second, Archer swiftly stepped in and shook Ethan's hand. "I'm Archer," he said, curtly, doing the speaking for both of them as usual.

Ethan looked curiously from Archer to Reid, who seized the moment to pull Alex aside, steering him away from what could turn into an interrogation of a different kind. Reid leaned in, his voice low. "How did you get him on your team?"

Meanwhile, Archer gave Ethan a look—a blend of 'proceed' and 'be thorough'—as Ethan started unpacking his forensics kit. He studied the gruesome centerpiece, making notes and taking samples with an efficiency that belied his years.

Alex, rejoining Archer and Reid, raised an eyebrow. "I asked and he said okay."

"Impressive," Reid replied, glancing at Archer who expressed his approval through an almost imperceptible nod, the universal language of the laconic.

Suddenly, Archer's communicator buzzed. from Averyl popped up on their screens: "How's Diane?"

Archer frowned and replied, "Fantastic. A twist in the plot. Because, you know, severed heads at dinner are just so passé."

Reid chuckled. "Plot twist: now served as the evening's appetizer."

Ethan, overhearing them while he carefully maneuvered his tweezers to extract something from the head, looked up. "You guys always this theatrical?"

"Only on days ending in 'y,'" Reid quipped, watching as Ethan successfully retrieved a small piece of fabric lodged in the victim's mouth.

Alex leaned in, scrutinizing the new evidence. "That looks like a unique blend of fibers. High-end. We should be able to trace it."

Archer's eyes met Reid's. Words weren't necessary; they had a fresh lead, and there was no time to waste.

Ethan bagged the evidence and then looked at Alex. "I'll get this to the lab ASAP."

"Good. Keep me posted," Alex commanded before turning to Chester and Hobbs, who was still sobbing.

Reid was subtly circling Ethan, the forensic investigator, intrigued by the young man's focused expression as he carefully bagged the severed head that had turned an elegant dinner party into a horror show.

A twinkle in Ethan's eyes caught Reid's attention, and he felt that instant, unspoken camaraderie that sometimes occurs between people of like minds. This guy had potential—friend potential—and in Reid's line of work, that was a rare gem.

Poking Ethan on the shoulder to get his attention, Reid asked, "Got any early thoughts on the cause of death? I mean, apart from the obvious 'head not attached to body' situation we've got going on here."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, as if impressed by Reid's combination of levity and genuine curiosity. "Best guess right now? Poison. Fast-acting. Look at her face—no sign of struggle or pain. As for the beheading, well, that's a whole other level of disturbing."

Reid folded his arms, taking in Ethan's observations. "How so?"

Ethan shrugged as he sealed the evidence bag. "Well, it's a clean cut, almost surgical. The lack of blood suggests the head was removed post-mortem, and rather efficiently. But here's the kicker—it almost seems practiced."

Reid's eyes narrowed as he processed the implications. "Practiced, you say? As in, our culprit might have done this before?"

Ethan's gaze met Reid's. "It's a possibility."

Nodding, Reid stepped back, giving Ethan space to continue his macabre but necessary task. Just then, Archer stepped forward, his eyes locking onto Reid's in that unspoken language of theirs. Archer didn't even need to ask the question; Reid could read it in the slight tilt of his friend's head and the focused gleam in his eyes.

"Video footage?" Reid guessed.

Archer nodded once, a movement so slight it was almost invisible.

"Let's do it," Reid said, keen for another layer of this gruesome puzzle to be unveiled.

Both men followed Alex to the back of the restaurant where Chester had indicated the security room was located.

The security room was more like a broom closet with aspirations, cramped and filled with aging tech and dusty monitors.

Chester led them into the cramped office space in the back, cluttered with paperwork and security monitors. "Here," he said, gesturing toward the screen. "Check the footage from Kitchen Cam 2."

Archer walked over to the video playback artifice, his fingers moving deftly over the controls. Multiple screens flickered to life, showing grainy footage from various angles of the restaurant.

For the next few minutes, the room was silent except for the whir of the outdated machine. Both men were engrossed, scanning each screen for any signs of the perpetrator. Reid's keen eyes spotted something peculiar on one of the monitors—a shadowy figure near the kitchen door, right before Hobbs, the quokka waiter, emerged with the ill-fated dish.

"Stop! Rewind that," Reid instructed.

Archer obeyed, bringing the video back a few frames. There it was again—the figure, lurking.

"Our mysterious friend makes an appearance," Reid muttered.

Alex barked an order to an officer who had sidled into the room, instructing him to grill the kitchen staff for anything they might know.

Reid, meanwhile, leaned in closer to scrutinize the video feed. The grainy footage showed Hobbs, the quokka waiter, meticulously checking a dish on a table—salmon, according to the tag—before closing the lid. A blur in the background caught Reid's eye, but before he could ponder it, Hobbs dashed out of frame. He reappeared shortly after and picked up the same dish.

Glancing toward Chester, Reid asked, "Any other angles on this room?"

Chester shook his head, his eyes wide with a mix of concern and confusion.

"Hmm," Reid hummed, tapping his fingers on the table, each tap punctuating his racing thoughts. He turned toward Hobbs, who had been watching the video nervously. "Walk me through what happened before and after you exited the frame."

Hobbs looked between the screen and Reid, choosing his words carefully. "I had just confirmed that it was the salmon dish that was up for serving. Then, something caught my eye. I left the dish to deal with it."

"And that was?" Reid prompted.

"An accidental spill. Another waiter tripped and I went to help," Hobbs explained, his eyes twitching ever so slightly as if he were reliving the event.

"How long were you away?"

"2 minutes… maybe 5 minutes maximum."

"And when you came back, the dish was exactly where you left it?" Reid pressed on.

"Yes, exactly the same place," Hobbs confirmed.

Reid stroked his chin, a thoughtful smile playing on his lips. Turning abruptly to Alex, he said, "Maybe check if the footage was altered or snipped."

Alex raised his eyebrows, feigning incredulity. "I believe I'm the police officer here, thank you very much."

Reid chuckled. "A little defensive there, Alex. I'm just lending a helping hand, or an annoying voice—your pick."

Alex rolled his eyes but gestured to one of the tech officers to start checking the integrity of the video.

Content that they had milked the footage for what they could, Reid's eyes met Archer's. Archer's gaze held steady, the corners of his mouth barely twitching upwards. It was his version of agreement. Reid nodded, "Seems like we've exhausted what we can get here. Let's move."