Mr. Hendrickson placed his trilby black hat on his left side and laid his cane on the seat next to him. Then he adjusted his posture to face the speaker in front of him, and with a genuine smile he asked: “How are you doing?”
Unfortunately, the albino before him looked absent-minded, with his eyes looming into space as if there was a particular unknown force pulling him away.
He asked again: “It seems that I have uninterrupted something…”
Mr. Hendrickson never lost his way with words, always knowing how he should start a conversation, how he should manipulate the other party to get what he sought. However, it’s hard to confront someone who has witnessed him in his weakest moments, someone who witnessed him devoid of all those faked layers of pretense that he was wrapping his true self in. Someone who tried to save him despite that he didn’t know about him, about his status, his desires, and the worst, he stupidly succeeded.
Although he got these heterochromatic eyes to look at him, he perceived he didn’t hold Rokah’s full attention.
Something felt there was something wrong about the enigmatic young doctor; he wasn’t the confident person whom he had met.
“I think that my presence is not welcomed,” he added, referring to the maid that he barely remembered her existence and why she left suddenly.
“I think she just was afraid…”
The doctor said while bringing the milk cup to his mouth, taking glances at Mr. Hendrickson through an invisible wall. His voice was cold and distant, denoted by the caution that ruled the interaction between them.
Mr. Hendrickson didn’t grasp why his speaker was so reserved toward him this time. Where was that all concerned, heartwarming person he had met?
“She works at the manor; you reside at the manor… I think you can understand the rest.”
“Oh,” Mr. Hendrickson said as he chuckled. “I fear that this gave you a wrong impression about me.” He paused to take a breath and to steal glimpses of his surroundings, then continued: “I am not her patron, neither I am concerned about those whom they don’t follow the regulations.”
Before he could finish his words, he heard intense coughing coming from the direction of the doctor, who spilled the milk on the table. It came to him that maybe the doctor had heard a bad rumor about him…
No, the percentage of this possibility was low. He has long been forgotten by this village, his legacies all gone and his glories completely died.
A couple more minutes passed in silence. He gazed at the doctor sweeping the table with a piece of texture and wondering why did he come to see him again?
The truth was simple; he needed someone to converse with far off from the manor, and he chose this stranger. Or maybe this stranger chose him?
Weren’t people who feel oppressed by life, find condolence in each other.
“To be honest, my lord, I was wondering why I followed you that night.”
The stasis Nicolai had sensed earlier was melted at the doctor’s last words. It was as if he returned to himself and finally, the stagnant air between them started flowing. Further, the doctor’s sound was less gloomy when he added: “It was all in my misinterpretation, I believe.”
“Why did you follow me that night?” Nicolai asked urgently. His face indicated a degree of eagerness and fearfulness from a possible deviation of the subject. He concentrated on the color of the heterochromatic eyes, waiting for an answer.
Rokah, after he emptied what remained of milk in his cup and after some deep reflection, he said: “You bear a resemblance to someone I know, . .”
The looks in the doctor’s eyes took another dimension. It was difficult for him to articulate his words before he finally declared:” …, my… Father.”
“Your father…?” Nicolai echoed, shaking his head, showing a look of awareness as if all the interjections found their place in his head.
“He is dead. …” The doctor said, eyes down. And breath after breath, the stasis has returned anew.
A minute after, the seat moved away from the table as the doctor stood up, departing.
Nicolai didn’t object. He just was satisfied with this little confession. He took the hat in his hand,
Rokah interrupted the tour with one of the official maids who didn’t go fruitless. He successfully located the whereabouts of one of his problems.
His first line in dealing with problems was to confront them.
“How did you find me?” the man asked, giving his back. He was using a large ax to cut a tree trunk.
“Your scent is strong around this area. I thought why not I will give you a visit and maybe we can talk about what you need…” Rokah responded in a causal manner, avoiding showing any fears.
Though the Aractanthrope pretended that he did not care about the doctor’s presence, by detecting a few subtle signs, Rokah concluded that it perplexed him. Considering he never expected his location to be found by a worthless mongrel.
Rokah loves when people underestimate him, and he loves it more when he crushes their expectations. It gives him a sense of some sort of temporary superiority. And it made them respect him, even by a little, even for a while. He always needed a certain degree of respect if he was going to work for someone against his free will.
One final strike with an ax, then the giant tree fell, leaving a storm of snow dust to swallow the two of them.
The Aractanthrope is showing off, and Rokah is showing off too.
This was the sacred way to establish boundaries between living beings. It showed the limits that they should never cross. Even though Rokah limits were narrow. He must show his worth, or else.
Aractanthrope glared at him while leaning on the ax handle. Rokah wanted to interrupt this intense eye contact, but he needed to stay determined if he wanted to save some of his dignity.
After a few minutes of silence, the Aractanthrope stated with a smug face, ‘It’s not like you have another choice!’
Rokah’s chest contracted to hear another sad truth. He calmed himself with the thoughts of no matter what, there is always a way to get benefits from any situation. Hence, he ignored his sense of self-pity to get to the more important matter and stated. “Before I will infiltrate the main house, I need something in return.”
Rokah paused to detect any sign of objection, then he continued when he felt safe. “I need meat… Fresh meat, at least every week.”
Rokah noticed the curved eyebrows, the narrowed eyes of the Aractanthrope. He understood he wanted to know why, so he recited the prepared lie “I am a carnivore, that’s what makes me different from the other mongrels…”
There were several rumors about carnivorous mongrels who possess certain redeeming abilities, therefore the lie wasn’t completely inaccurate.
It seemed that it was believed by the Aractanthrope. Given that, he turned around, then he raised his ax to continue his work.
Rokah took the opportunity and fixed his vision to the man-body. Backing off a few steps, he was terrified to turn around and surprised at the same time, pondering why did the beast accept his condition so easily and why he is cutting the wood?…
Playing a woodcutter…
This monster is not all muscles without a brain as he first thought.
He felt a surge of terror taking a hold of his heart. This village is a nest to dangerous folks who are lurking under its calm surface.
Who is this man? Why he is here? He needed to disclose those questions he wanted to survive until the melting of the snow.
Observing carefully the movements of this man going back and forth while retreating, an irregularity in the sequence of his motion has captured Rokah’s concern… Made his lips bend over in a wide, subtle grin. Just now, the idea popped into his mind.
He murmured into his heart in ecstasy, “Maybe there is a way to kill him”.
The road to his room was never shining as it is now; everything was glittering despite the heavy, dark clouds. He opened the door with enthusiasm and proceeded to prepare a soup with what He has brought, then He checked His patient, giving him a full examination before He started feeding him. At the same time, he was calculating his next move…
Should he prepare to kill the Aractanthrope? Or should he use him first?
A strong hammering on the door disturbed his calculations. It was Madam Linda’s voice from the other side, and it was desperate.
Two terrified persons received him when he opened the door. They waved to him with their hand to follow them.
Rokah was too immersed in his world to actually decipher the situation or, more accurately, to want to understand what they wanted.
The sight of the mutilated corpse of Chewa under one of the pine trees made his heart slide between his ribs. It was in the same exact manner that the bodies of the woodcutters have been cut.
Impossible! He thought. They were together just a few hours ago…
Could it be the Aractanthrope? No way…
He approached the mutilated body, and he started inspecting the remains in the hope of estimating the date of the death.
