"The Cask of Amontillado" Narrative

Here it goes.. Narratives aren't really my area, so feedback would be greatly appreciated :)

*Montressor’s POV* 16:14 PM

The firm, but not foreboding rapping upon my door ceased.  At first, I had been startled, who could it be?  But soon I realized who it must be.  Naturally, I’d presumed I’d be held a suspect for Fortunato’s disappearance.   After all, it was I who preformed the act of blinding justice.  No one dare cross me.   Quickly, I snapped out of my fond reverie of the night before, tousled my hair to appear groggy as if I had been at Carnival all night, and opened the archaic door.   There before me stood a man, no older than twenty, holding stacks of crumpled papers together.  His face was stern, but his eyes informed me that he was nervous.  The man, who I assumed to be an investigative detective cleared his throat and spoke to me.  His was voice wobbling, his words carefully chosen.

*Detective Inspector’s POV* 11:00 AM

I said my thank you’s and goodbyes to the small group of friendly, if a bit hung-over townspeople.  Last night there was a festival in the town, Carnival to be exact. So it was only natural that a man went missing, no front-page case here.  In fact, there had been many reports to the police station; fistfights, public indecency, controlled substances, you name it.  In fact, I wasn’t sure why exactly I had to investigate this in the first place.   Although I had only been in this town for a mere matter of weeks, I knew enough about the town’s true characters from talking to my superiors.  Fortunato was the man who had been reported missing, a real egoist if you’d ask the Chief. This Fortunato knew his Amontillado from his sherry, that was no doubt.   I assumed he had just gotten drunk in some childish bet and spent the night in the park, passed out in a stupor.  Well, I’d thought this until the townspeople gave me a clearer picture of what had been going on. 

*First Witness* 10:30 AM

Name and Occupation: Drita, mother of three and wife to Orlando

Account Transcript

Witness: “Ah.  Well it was all kind of a blue if you ask me.  Children running everywhere, adults intoxicated the usual.  Actually, I didn’t really see Fortunato that night…or-or maybe I did.  I’m not sure…”

DI: “All right, well what can you tell me about this man *points to drawing*, a Montressor.”

Witness: “Oh, oh good heavens no, this can’t be true!  Is he truly the prime suspect..? Oh poor Fortunato.”

DI: “Indeed.  Would you kindly tell me everything, and I mean everything you know if have heard about him?”

Why did our tone change so suddenly?

Witness:  “Well, it has been mostly rumours.  Something about the man’s family.  Oooh, if only I could remember.  A pause.  Hhm.  Well I do know the man has shady practices, but him and Fortunato seemed to be on such great terms!  Certainly, they have only left town on a business trip… Wait, Sir, it’s coming back to me.  Ah yes, Fortunato’s business.  I never approved of it myself.  Coming from this village, well there’s no room for snobbery!  And certainly, that’s all Fortunato does.  A wine connoisseur, who believes he is the best in the honorable practice.  I do recall a fight, very quick, no voices raised.  More of a disagreement between the two.”

DI: “You mean Fortunato and Montressor?”

Witness: “Yes, yes.  They’ve been going at each other for years – in friendly and professional manner of course…

From then the witness trailed off, and I ended our interview

DI: “Ok.  I’ll take it from here, thank you Mrs. Acardi.

*Detective Inspector’s POV* 15:55

I began to walk towards the manor of the Montressor’s.  My first case, and I am interviewing a madman, to use the eloquent words of the town’s butcher, Lorenzo.  Crinkling the stack of papers over again in my hand, I noticed I was breaking into a sweat.  Is it not only 50 degrees out here? Passing the brick houses, row after row, my gait became more rapid.  Anxiety built inside me, as strongly as these rustic brick houses were formed upon their foundations.  That was the problem, no foundation to this crime.  I mean, whom could I believe?  If this Montressor truly was a deceiving madman, what could I do?  It was the first time I felt like an amateur, knocking on Montressor’s door. My hands shaking, thoughts blurred, as I bumbled through my introduction. 

“Ah good day sir!  Fine day it is, after last night’s festivities!”

“Mhmm yes, lovely spring day indeed.  Would you – rather, may I ask you a few questions about that f-f-fine night?”

“Of course, lad, do come right in.   You’ll have to excuse me; I’m a bit out of it after last night.  Oh dear God, it appears I am still in last nights dress!  Haha, well sit down, will you?  There’s no turning back now! Hahaha oh good fortune brings you here… Good fortune.

Well, maybe he really is mad

“On the contrary, I have come to ask you about your er.. friend, Fortunato…”

“Fortunato, oh! what ever happened?  That poor man, always getting himself into trouble..”

Maybe he’s telling the truth…

Suddenly, he rose and handed me a wine glass.  Into it, he poured a deep burgundy fluid, certainly an expensive gesture.

Maybe he isn’t so bad

I was nervous enough; the wine might soothe my nerves

“Hmm. Yes, that’s what the villagers have been saying.   Now tell me, when was the last time you saw Fortunato that night?”

“Wait…wait just a moment sir.  I have a faint idea, but I can’t seem to grasp it!  I know he came into my quarters to drink some of my fine Mersault Premier… Mhm, well maybe a quick trip to my wine cellar would jog my memory.  Do you wish to follow me?”

I knew it wasn’t in my hands to follow him, but the man seemed so hospitable and charming with his broad toothed smile, that I knew harm was unlikely. 

Did he just take something from my overcoat, hanging upon his coatrack?

Montressor must have just been checking for flammables, to keep his priceless wine protected.  I slung on my coat, heeding to his warning of the musty nitre in the catacombs.  Something seemed off about this aspect of my consultation, but I followed.  I was certain this would be good for gathering information, even if it meant having to spend time down in a mysterious cavern.   So I threw on my overcoat, which felt slightly less heavy.

We began to venture through the dimly lit cellar, myself asking him a few more questions about Fortunato, such as: what had he said to him?  The regular small talk between detective and suspect, right?  Mostly, I was warding off the growing feeling of nausea in my stomach. 

Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea

My sickening thought was pushed aside by the low growl of Montressor.

“So you asked what he was wearing that night, hadn’t you, my good sir?”

My gait slowed to ponder his question, and also because we approached the seeming end of the catacombs, the promise still unfulfilled.

“Y-yes Mr. Montressor.  Do you *cough* have an answer?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” 

Maybe this-

*****OFFICIAL POLICE REPORT****

MISSING DETECTIVE INSPECTOR, ABOUT TWENTY YEARS OF AGE.  WAS SEEN LAST AT AROUND 15:30.  ANY DETAILS PLEASE REPORT TO POLICE STATION.