"My Name is Charles Bonnet"

This picture makes me look bald as all get out.

Word count: 15971
Pace: slowing down
Reason: I'm just as mystified about what's going on as Charlie is.
Today's excerpt: from chapter 2. Sorry to go back and forth like this, but you know how it is.

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When faced with a situation like this -- and I've seen more than my fair share of intimidating messages written in blood on the door of an unknown room -- I find it best to take a deep breath or two and start over. I give myself something of a little reboot, begin at the beginning. Take a deep breath.
Take a deep breath. And let it out. Hold your head high, keep your back straight. Do everything you can to maximize the flow of your own blood and maybe it will feed your brain and help you figure out who this other blood belongs to. Start at the beginning.
My name is Charles Bonnet. I am 34-years-old, and aside from being a private investigator of above-average skill and moral fortitude, I am average in every way. Mine is not the face that you will remember from a crowded room. I don't tower over the crowd, nor am I towered over by it. I don't stand out from the crowd; I'm right smack dab in the middle. While this hasn't particularly helped me with the ladies, it has undoubtedly aided in my investigative career. Until I became a private detective (please, please, never call me a "private dick") I cursed my forgettable features, my average height, my neutral voice, everything about me that made me blend in. Now I know they're my greatest gifts. I know, I know -- it doesn't seem like that'd make me the most interesting guy in the world, but what can I say? I am what I am.
I grew up here, in this city. I realize I'm making an assumption here -- this anonymous room with its anonymous lightswitch and once anonymous door (now covered with...well, covered with chapter one's eponymous message) could be just about anywhere. But, I've got a feeling about these things. I told you that already, but believe me, I'd know it if I wasn't in the city anymore. Anyway, I was born here, like I said, 34 years ago, and from what I can gather, I had an average, run of the mill kind of childhood. The average kid doesn't get beat up, the average kid doesn't get abused. The average kid just gets ignored. And while it seems the average kid also doesn't find a permanent home, at least he makes it through his childhood relatively intact -- a goal of mine that has lasted well into adulthood. There's nothing better than being relatively intact, especially considering the alternatives, which again, I've been forced to consider on more than one occasion.