Shell Shocked (The Cosmic Carapace, #1) Read Online Free Page B

head.
    He blearily splashed his face with water and brushed his teeth. His hand reached down to his stomach which was starting to form a very small paunch.
    I really need to start looking after myself, he thought. He had noticed that his face had become more puffy recently. He was fully aware that his face was fairly normal. No dashing good looks here, but nothing too unfortunate in the appearance stakes either. This waxy look his skin seemed to be developing would not do at all though. Recently he had been eating badly and drinking too well. Or eating well and drinking badly depending on your particular view of these things.
    In truth, he wasn’t very good at the day to day life stuff. Organisation came as naturally to him as sky-diving is to a limpet. This was a disappointment to his foster parents who had been the kind of people to lay the table for dinner with a set square. They had tried from an early age to get him to conform to their strict routine. The more they pushed, the more the young Spencer rebelled. He ignored the neatly drawn timetable which hung in the kitchen which divided up the household chores. He refused to acknowledge the designated time to eat his daily allowance of fruit and instead, wantonly ate a banana whenever he felt like it.
    Endless schooling on the importance of good paperwork, planning and how to keep a meticulously tidy and clean house, had had the effect of forging in Spencer's mind a longing for mess, disorder, and generally anything that didn't involve him having to scrub a surface. They'd meant well, but his natural uselessness at so many things, including (according to Lisa) his inability to form meaningful relationships, shone through. This might be why the tortoise was worrying him so much, he could well forget it only to discover its grim skeletal form in years to come hidden behind a radiator. It was, he considered a form of OCD, but in reverse. He craved chaos, wanted disorder.
    They had though succeeded in one aspect of their child indoctrination program. They had taught him to be a good person. A person of strong moral fibre. This was the part that Spencer could not forgive them for. Spencer knew, as he had been taught, that the good will you showed in the world would be returned to you. It was just a shame that almost nobody else felt this way, it was a bit of a flaw in the theory really. Yet annoyingly, he still believed it. Faith is a funny thing.
    If he was being honest, he was bored. The idea of becoming a private detective had thrilled him when he had first started. The thought of tracing stolen jewelry for a lady of the aristocracy who, while inviting him to her manor house in the country for afternoon tea, would reward him handsomely. Or tracking down a former bank clerk who had disappeared with thousands and had taken up a new identity. The reality was cases like Edie's, or worse, the cheating spouse, were what made up the bulk of his work. The shock of the number of people suspicious of their partner's fidelity was only outdone by the shock of the number of people who actually were being unfaithful. He would always do his job thoroughly, but nobody likes the bearer of bad news. It was all a far cry from what his imagination had provided him as a child. He briefly pictured himself sliding over the bonnet of a car before apprehending a criminal mastermind and sighed.
    He was in a rut. He needed something to get his teeth into, something to get excited about other than a takeaway curry and a single malt.
    He winced as he rubbed the lump on the back of his head and walked the four or five strides it took to reach the kitchen worktop. A persistent, dull beam of half light forced its way around the side of the grey curtains which covered the only window. It caught the the gold leafed edge of the business card the odd Mr Spangler had left yesterday. He reached for his laptop and tapped 'Ingress Bushy Park' into the search engine.  1,678,854 results. It didn't help though.