by Theo Rion
For a few seconds, the darkness remained silent and calm, as if everything had been immersed in sleep. And suddenly Kurt felt the touch of John’s hand on his face. His touch left a wet track.
Blood. The image flashed and faded in Kurt’s head.
“Now I have marked you too, so you have to be devoted to me,” John said calmly and firmly. Obsession recaptured Kurt, and darkness concluded an alliance with it. Darkness deprived Kurt of vision, and obsession deprived him of his mind. John slipped a bloody hand over Kurt’s lips and chin. Unwillingly, Kurt licked his lips. John’s breathing was quite close.
“Mr. Fenririr,” Kurt said loudly, pulling away. “You’re acting stupidly.” Kurt’s voice trembled treacherously; he was stepping back, feeling trapped in his own study, where by negligence he was one-on-one with John, and it seemed as if he were with the devil himself.
“What’s stupid, Kurt?” John’s voice haunted him, and Kurt tried desperately to remember where the way out was. The moonlight didn’t spill its saving river of light through the window; there was just pitch black and John’s voice. Kurt stumbled back against the couch, but oddly enough, it didn’t help him understand where he was.
“Mr. Fenririr…”
“Oh, God, will you finally stop this ceremony? You caught a bullet for me; I think it gives you the right to call me John.”
Kurt couldn’t bring himself to say, John, as if it were the only boundary that separated his world from chaos.
“We need to light a candle…it…I have them…in the…”
“I see you clearly,” John’s voice sounded with a sneer.
“But I don’t…see you.”
“So, open your eyes.”
John was really close again. This time he touched his hand and moved closer. In the dark, Kurt could hardly discern John’s face. But the fact that he was so close was enough for Kurt’s thoughts to tangle like cobwebs.
“Maybe, in the drawer!” Kurt rushed to another part of the room. It seemed John was amused by this game, because Kurt heard a chuckle.
“Kurt, stop tossing things around,” he said urgently.
Miraculously, Kurt found his table. Squatting down, he opened the bottom drawer. No candles were there, but Kurt was in no hurry to stand up.
“Now you have decided to play hide and seek?” John laughed.
Kurt stood up. “No, Mr. Fenririr,” he said, giving his voice hardness.
Now that they were separated by the table, Kurt forced himself to stand still. He knew what he was afraid of. He guessed what John could do, and oddly enough, it wasn’t what frightened him. He was more afraid of his own reaction. He was afraid he would surrender. And then it would be the end of him.
As Kurt’s eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he could distinguish John’s facial features—his eyes, and lips curved into a smile. John leaned closer to Kurt and breathed on his cheek. Silence ensnared them, bound them together as strongly as possible. Kurt tried to breathe calmly, but it seemed to Kurt that John’s next breath would tear his chest apart.
He froze as John stopped literally inches from his lips. Kurt could barely breathe, the rest of the world ceased to exist for him. Therefore, he could not say whether it lasted a moment or forever. Then suddenly someone knocked at the door, loudly and persistently.
Kurt gasped and turned towards the saving sound. He left the room, trying to ward off a vague feeling akin to disappointment. It was a constable, Kurt’s acquaintance, and a doctor. Kurt had sent for them, seizing the moment when he was out of the study to pour tea.
“Mr. Rhein,” the constable said and paused. “What’s happened?”
It was still difficult to think. But seeing the way the doctor and the constable were looking at Kurt, he remembered that there was blood on his face.
“No, no, I’m fine,” Kurt said, surprised at the tone of his own voice and hastily wiping his face with a handkerchief. “Come in. Thank you for coming so quickly.”
They went upstairs, and Kurt opened the door to the study and suddenly remembered that he had gas lighting in the house.
John was sitting at Kurt’s table as if nothing had happened. He only smiled when he saw Kurt, the constable and the doctor enter the room.
With the same surprised look, the constable now looked at John.
“Good evening, young man,” said the doctor, going to John. “Who did this to you?”
“Life!” John exclaimed theatrically and smiled. The elderly doctor began to examine John’s wounds and look for something in his kit.
Meanwhile the constable approached John. Before he opened his mouth, Kurt said:
“Mr. Fenririr was attacked by some criminals, officer.”
John glanced at Kurt, a sly smile touching his lips. It was like he decided to accept the rules of the game. Kurt was determined to get rid of John.
“Indeed, officer. Heinous, filthy scamps!” John exclaimed, barely holding back laughter. “Attacked an honest man in the midst of London,” and John broke down and laughed. Oddly enough, Kurt could hardly restrain the urge to join him. It looked like they were two adolescents who had decided to josh their guests. The doctor looked perplexedly at John.
“He’s in shock,” Kurt said seriously.
“Yes, Mr. Psychologist is right. He’s a professional in everything regarding shock,” John said, turning to the doctor, who had already begun to wash and bandage his wounds.
“And how many offenders attacked you?” asked the constable.
“Three…or maybe eight,” said John. “I would have been able to handle three, and eight, probably, too. So, it should have been no less than fifty,” he nodded gravely.
“Or maybe it was just one crazy person,” said Kurt. “Listen, officer, now that Mr. Fenririr is out of his mind because of the incident, if you could escort him home, he would feel better, I’m sure.”
“I don’t need an escort.” John stood up without giving the doctor time to finish his ministrations. He took his jacket off the couch, threw a look at Kurt, in which Kurt had time to read mockery and at the same time anger, and left.
Kurt walked the doctor and the constable to the door, apologizing profusely for John’s sarcasm and paid them for their efforts.
Kurt returned to his office. Drops of blood spattered the floor, and bloody towels lay around—the only evidence that John had ever been there.
No, Kurt was deceiving himself. Kurt’s study no longer belonged to him. It breathed John’s scent from every nook and cranny. In some desperate attempt to change it, Kurt opened the window wide.
He spent the rest of the night unable to sleep. He lay entangled as if by red ribbons, with the lady in red silently watching him from the darkness.
Chapter 12
The next morning, Kurt sent Edna away early. Alone, he got lost in his thoughts. John too often and too easily took the initiative, even when Kurt decided he would not let him succeed any more.
It’s because I never show the initiative, don’t take the first step, and as a result, I find myself driven. I just have to respond, defend and parry. If I want to change the balance of forces, then I need to make the first move. This idea seemed dangerous to Kurt, but in some way inspiring. It was dangerous because Kurt’s actions might start almost a fight for power, and to fight with John was much more dangerous than just fending off his attacks. Although after last night, Kurt was no longer so sure. And enthusiasm captured him, because ardor, which lived in his soul, wanted to break free and gave an impression that Kurt was really able to beat John at his own game. Teach him a lesson. Outwit him.
Into his thought barged the second Kurt. And why do you want to deprive people of an idol? Everyone knows that John isn’t an angel, but it’s even more poetic. Goodness is rarely interesting.
“John doesn’t deserve such an honor.”
And who gave you the right to judge?
“Judgment won’t get John.”
You’re wrong. You can tell everything to the inspector, but yo
u don’t want to. It’s your vanity. You want to punish John for the way he disregarded your feelings. But remember that poor woman, Archie’s mother, who is crying at his bed all day. Don’t you think she would feel better if she sees a villain, the man who did this to her son, being punished by fair trial? In the act of justice, a special sweetness lies.
Kurt couldn’t object to that, and his counterpart continued…
No, you don’t want John to go to jail. You cherish the hope that he will change. But before that, you want to take revenge for yourself. You’re the same as the others. And even your revenge is an act of your unrequited love. Oh, how much pathos and tragedy! John doesn’t change people, he only evinces what they already have inside. All these base passions, vices. And what’s wrong with that? He only shows who is who! And is it worth worrying so much about those who deserve to be deceived by themselves? Change your mind, Kurt, and don’t go down this road.
Kurt opened his eyes and looked at the open notebook in front of him. His own voice sounded in his ears. And then Kurt realized it was true. That he could not give up the desire to bring his plan to an end.
* * * *
The day was perfect. In the morning, gloomy skies shed drizzling rain, but by lunchtime, the sky had cleared. Kurt, dressed immaculately, was pleased to leave the umbrella in the hallway and went out into the street. His impeccably worn suit was in accordance with his friendly countenance. He slightly touched his hat and nodded, meeting other pedestrians. And each person who knew him noted that today Mr. Rhein was in a good mood.
Kurt hired a brougham and went to the part of the town where John’s house was located. Driving past it, Kurt was surprised at how empty and bleak it looked in the sunlight. The brougham stopped at a nearby mansion. Though less grand than John’s house, it still had some elegance. As Kurt stepped out of the brougham, a woman in a clean apron approached him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Rhein. I’m Margaret, Mr. Cormack’s housekeeper. He has already left, but his secretary, Mr. Kosinsky, is here. He asked me to accompany you to the office.”
“Then let’s go!” Kurt walked cheerfully along the walkway to the house behind the hesitantly mincing woman. Kurt didn’t know where this courage came from; however, he liked this change.
Mr. Kosinsky was a tall young man with fair hair combed back. He was extraordinarily serious, as if he administered affairs of justice and not just kept order in the ordinary accounting documents. Kurt was a bit amused when Kosinsky left the table to greet him, straightened his brown vest and, with a gesture of extreme dignity, drew a golden watch out of his pocket.
“I hope I won’t keep you,” Kurt said with a smile.
“Well, I must admit, I have a lot to do, so if you don’t mind, let’s get down to business. You want to rent this house for one month with a payment of—”
“Yes.” Kurt interrupted him, noting the man’s displeasure. “I must tell you I’m really in a hurry; I have carefully examined the documents and if Mr. Cormack agrees, I’m ready to sign the necessary papers.”
Mr. Kosinsky pursed his lips and handed Kurt several sheets of paper, on which with a light stroke of a nib, Kurt left his signature.
“From today, the house is at your service. Miss Margaret will remain as the housekeeper, if you please. But you have to pay her salary yourself.”
“Thank you, sir. But I have my own housekeeper and won’t need the services of Miss Margaret.” Kurt bowed. “Good day, sir.”
Kurt returned home to collect the things that he might need in the new house. It was hard to restrain his impulses. He was nervous in the exciting anticipation of something new. His life was as a pure spring. And yet, sometimes, a premonition of something bad struck Kurt, but he chased this feeling away. Unfortunately, it came back again like an intrusive guest which could not be accused of rudeness or discourtesy, but whose company was hardly a pleasure. And yet, as the rules required, you have to talk to him for half an hour on abstract themes. So as this feeling came constantly, Kurt devoted a few minutes to thinking about it, and decided it was just his usual cowardice interfering, and again chased it away.
At noon, he sent for Edna. Sitting in the living room with a fresh newspaper, Kurt waited for her arrival. She came in, carrying a tray with freshly brewed tea. Carefully placing the tray on the table, she poured him a cup of tea. Kurt put the paper down and looked at her with a new air, which made her nervous.
“Sit down, Mrs. Hoggart,” Kurt said, indicating a nearby chair. Edna sat down on the edge of it and clenched her hands. “Let’s be honest,” Kurt continued, “and this time I won’t accept your polite excuses. I know you speak to Mr. Fenririr about me and what’s going on in my house. Please don’t insult me again with lies.”
“Mr. Rhein, I—”
“Come, come, Mrs. Hoggart?” Kurt’s voice sounded softly, but at the same time, adamantly.
“It’s not like that,” she tried to protest, but her attempt was weak.
“Then tell me how it is.”
“Look, no one forced you to hire me. You knew I worked for the Fenririr family and still you hired me, didn’t you?”
“But you didn’t bother to mention that you would be working as a talebearer as well.”
“Mr. Rhein!” She seemed resentful. Kurt watched her calmly; he could see her despair, remorse, shame and unspeakable pain. Discarding everything else, he focused on the contemplation of her pain; it was as though he struggled to read Edna’s mind.
“Mrs. Hoggart, I rarely take people wrong, and I don’t believe I was mistaken about you. If I had thought that you were unscrupulous, I’d have never let you cross the threshold of my house. But I’ve seen different. I’ve seen your dedication. You obviously respected Sullivan Fenririr and Catherine Danee and loved Philip. But you’ve never been loyal to John Fenririr. It was in your tone when you spoke his name, and in your eyes. Your sadness over the Fenririr house becoming what it has become was clear. And you know whose fault it is. What prevented you from leaving this house after Mrs. Danee and her son left it? What prevented you from going with them and continuing to serve the family you love? Why did you stay with Mr. Fenririr? This question troubled me. And I realized that there could be only one answer to this question; you’re afraid of him,” Kurt said calmly. “But you’re afraid, not for yourself,” he went on. Edna sat in silence, and her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. “He somehow coerced you into bondage.”
Edna’s eyes filled with tears. “Mr. Rhein, don’t…” She dropped her head, and a few tears fell on her apron.
“I learned you have a daughter named Rebecca. Where is she?”
Edna was silent.
“Look, I might help you, if you trust me.”
“Trust you?” Edna suddenly smiled bitterly. “Excuse me, Mr. Rhein, but the trust doesn’t come so easily when it can wane in a second. You don’t need to get involved in this, Mr. Rhein, and don’t play with Mr. Fenririr; you can’t outwit him. You don’t know who he really is. Don’t know what he’s capable of. What kind of people he’s connected to, whose protection he has.” Edna paused and quickly looked away before continuing. Kurt marked her next words carefully. “He can’t be stopped. If he’s up to something, he’ll get his way at any cost.”
“Maybe you know something about Mr. Fenririr, but you know nothing about me.” Kurt smiled. “It’s too late to dissuade me.”
There was a knock on the door. Edna rose to open it, but Kurt stopped her. “Go to the kitchen, Mrs. Hoggart.”
She glanced at Kurt with surprise but obediently withdrew.
* * * *
“I must admit, Kurt, you have gotten my interest,” said John, standing on the doorstep. He was buoyant, as if he slept the last night like a baby, and hadn’t come to Kurt whipped and beaten. Only few marks were visible on his face. His hand was bandaged, but what was on his back, Kurt could only guess. John’s movements weren’t constrained, from which Kurt concluded he wasn’t in any particular pain. It was amazing consi
dering the numerous wounds that had been inflicted upon him the night before. Kurt started to doubt even more the veracity of the tale John had spun around those wounds. They were real, but were only few in number. They could very well have been self-inflicted or perhaps been dealt by another as a result of John’s own orders.
Kurt smiled and invited John in. “I can’t see what I might have done yesterday to—”
“I think yesterday everything was fine, but you ruined it. And I don’t accept your apology anyway. So, don’t bother,” John said as he sat in the armchair in the living room.
“Actually, I was waiting for an apology from you,” Kurt said and looked at John. It was a lie, of course; Kurt didn’t expect nothing like that and John knew it. He laughed contemptuously.
“So why did you invite me back today? Want to dig into my head, do you?”
John seemed to be in a good mood, and Kurt felt surprisingly calm. He found John’s company enjoyable and interesting, bringing revival to his life. The premonition of something bad, however, didn’t go away.
“To be honest, yes, there’re several places in your head that bother me,” Kurt replied, pouring tea into a second cup.
John smiled mischievously.
“I rarely come across such a unique head, in which, as you put it, it would be interesting to dig. I also can’t boast about an abundance of highly respected patients.”
“Highly respected? In my opinion, you’re giving away too many unnecessary honors to me.”
“Why unnecessary? I always thought people who participate in all sorts of secret societies are susceptible to honors. The essence of any secret organization is ritualism, isn’t it, Mr. Fenririr?” Kurt shot at random. He didn’t have hard evidence of John’s proclivities; it was only a guess based on observation and what Edna inadvertently blurted out. But still it was worth voicing his suspicions, especially as Kurt had decided to conduct a more extreme game.
John smiled wryly, but not without pleasure. “Kurt, could it be that you hired a private detective? I hate stupid denials, so I’ll answer directly. Yes, I’m a member of one particular society. How did you find out?”