//------------------------------//
// Chapter 3  
// Story: Detective Rarity Chronicles Pt. I - Bad Blood 
// by RarestRarity1779 
//------------------------------//

	Rarity walked towards the address she had gathered from the ID card at a leisurely pace, and as she did so, pulled the diary out of its evidence bag and studied it.  Spike peered over her shoulder and tried to read it as well, but usually just ended up fruitlessly warning Rarity of an incoming pedestri-an or unsafe crosswalk.  However, Rarity knew the streets of Las Pegasus like the back of her hoof, and when that was combined with her sharp wit and quick reflexes, it was nothing for her to side-step out of the way, skip over some discarded trash, or come to a stop at a crosswalk without miss-ing a beat or even lifting her eyes from her eyes away from the pages.

Most of what was written inside was trivial.  Things like the victim’s thoughts on the day’s events, and even a few poems and songs; typical diary things, but the further she read into the pag-es, it became rather obvious to her that things had started to change in the author’s life.

“Very interesting…” she commented quietly, “Spike!”  She unglued her eyes from the book just long enough to look up at him, “Take a note.”

“Yes ma’am!” he said and playfully saluted.  He then pulled the notebook from his coat and awaited Rarity’s observations.  

“The tone, penmanship, and detail of the victim’s writing seems to change rather drastically, particularly within these past two months.  Here, she writes, ‘Sometimes I feel like the odds are stacked against me.  I feel like I have to watch my own back in my own home.  I know my habits aren’t particularly cheap, but sometimes it’s treated as if we can’t afford it.’  Notice that the entries get shorter and less detailed as we progress closer to the final date in the book, which was only a week ago.”  As she spoke, Spike’s pencil scribbled away.

“Ah, and here she writes simply, ‘We had another fight this morning.  Had to leave and walk through the park a few times.’”

Rarity stopped at a crosswalk and glanced up as the traffic began to move quickly up and down the street.  She studied the last few pages, each with entries that were just as undetailed and brisk as the passages that it immediately followed.  Some were even as simple as, “Had a bad day today,” or “Going to lay down.”  As the last three pages with writing on them were examined, Rari-ty noticed that the victim’s actual writing changed drastically as well.  Lyra had apparently pos-sessed very beautiful and careful penmanship, but on these pages there were ink blots scattered about, the lines looked more to be scratched down rather than actually written, and there was even an accidental repetition of words every now and again.

“Judging by this book, it looks like Miss Heartstrings suffered a downward spiral these past few months, and it sounds as if that downwards spiral was brought upon by some sort of disagree-ment at home.  And here,” she pointed at the writing quickly for Spike before she moved to cross the street with the crowd, “On these pages, it looks like she was in a depressed state.  Some of these aren’t even full sentences, and the writing… it’s an absolute ghastly far cry from the writing on the earlier pages.”  

While Lyra’s diary did tell nothing short of a story, Rarity knew that it was only the tip of the iceberg.  Anything else that she would need to learn she would find out from where the de-ceased had lived.  The diary strongly suggested that she did in fact live with somepony who had some sort of relationship to her, but even if she didn’t, she knew that there could be very valuable evidence contained within the home.  She sped up her pace and continued to read through the book for most of the journey.  

Knowing the streets as she did though, she was fully aware of when she was in close prox-imity to the residence.  She stopped briefly and placed the book back inside of the evidence bag along with the wallet that she had confiscated.  She folded the top of the bag over neatly and then tucked it back inside of her saddlebags.  “We’re almost there Spike,” she commented as she fin-ished, “only a few more blocks now.”

The rest of the walk was largely quiet and uneventful as Rarity, and Spike too, played over different scenarios in their minds.  Rarity explored the possibilities of everything from a robbery gone wrong, to a random assault, to whomever the pony that Lyra had been arguing with finishing her off for good.  Another possibility lingered in her mind too, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to consider it, and even if she did, she wasn’t sure if it was the wisest decision.  Meanwhile, con-cerned with his own theories, Spike mostly concentrated on trying to cope with the sight of the sce-ne and of the body.  He’d never seen something so horrendous.  He also worried if Rarity thought any less of him because of how he had handled it.  Everypony else had searched every grimy nook and cranny of the scene, and hadn’t been afraid to get up close and personal to the body, all while he chose to stay glued to the wall and write down the things he heard and what few things he saw.  He was in such a deep state of thought actually, that he was surprised to hear Rarity inform him that they had arrived.

The duo looked up at the brick building that towered over them.  It was an apartment com-plex, one that was actually very similar to the one that Rarity and Spike lived in and operated her PI agency out of.  It looked a little ritzier, yes, but still similar.  After some seconds of looking up at the building, Rarity took Spike off of her back and the two walked through the front doors and en-tered into the lobby.

As with most apartment buildings in Las Pegasus, it was a very minimalistic lobby.  The floor was a checkered bronze and black pattern, the walls were a very bland, and Rarity thought rather ugly, olive green vinyl.  Straight ahead of them were two sets of stairs, one which led up, and another which led down to a wooden basement door that was illuminated by the glow of a furnace somewhere beneath.  Directly to her right, there was a wall of narrow bronze mailboxes.  She scanned over them until she saw the signature, “L. Heartstrings” written in the same beautiful fash-ion as the passages in the diary.  “Well well well,” she commented to Spike and took her hat off just long enough to straighten up her mane, “This is it.  Apartment 515.”

With that, the two started up the stairs.  Even the stairs were similar to those in her apart-ment, right down to the number of steps and the number of creaks.  One of the largest differences between her apartment and this one was the silence.  Her apartment was in a busy central location, and ponies were coming in and going out of their abodes and the front door at all hours of the day and night.  But here, not a single pony could be seen or heard exiting or entering into their apart-ments or coming in or out of the glass front door.  Each step that Rarity and Spike took echoed off of the floors and walls with a disturbing tap that, in a quiet location like this, could easily be mis-taken for a boom.  Even the apartments were deathly quiet, almost as if they were abandoned or if the ponies that lived inside lived a quiet and lonely existence.  Rarity wasn’t sure which scenario was the more unnerving.  

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of uneasy walking, the two found themselves on the fifth floor.  Each floor had a long, somewhat narrow hallway that ended at an outside wall with a single, simplistic window on it.  Once at the window, one would turn either left or right to access more apartments.  The two walked slowly down the first hallway, observing the numbers as they walked past.  “501, 503, 505, 506,” Rarity whispered to herself as she passed each apartment and looked at the number.  The hallway ended at apartments 510 on the left, and 511 on the right, so the duo cut a right and took only a few steps before they found themselves face to face with a wooden door that bore a brass plaque with the number “515” on it.  

“Ah, here we are,” she mumbled and took a deep breath.  She wasn’t sure who or what could be on the other side of that door, so she scooted Spike to her rear, and, with that, extended her hoof and knocked on the door.