All of his days were the same now. He would awaken when the faint beams of the sun caressed his face through the chink in the curtains. After dragging on his clothes, he would open the door to his room just enough to snatch up the plate of breakfast his landlady laid down on the floor in the hall, put out the empty plate from dinner and his chamber pot. As soon as the sun would start to die, he would draw the drapes again-not wanting to see the darkness fall-and would light every candle and lamp he could fit in his small room. Every other day he would wait for the halls to fall silent in the in between hours after breakfast and before lunch-the other boarders in the ramshackled house having gone off to work or fled its oppressive charms-and dash for the room at the end of the hall, the room set aside for bathing. It was rare for a boarding house to have its own bathroom, most of them forcing their renters to use one of the numerous public bathing houses in London, and Daniel wondered if it was the reason his father had selected this place for him. If so, it was a rare kindness, one he would never had thought the man capable of.
Even after all the horrors of that hellish night in Castle Brennenberg had passed, Daniel was still a man who lived in fear. He feared the night and what it could hide, he feared his fellow man and the evil that lurked in their hearts only waiting for the right fertilizer to encourage it into bloom, and he feared his own past. If his crimes were discovered, even if he could barely remember the doing of them, it would be the gallows. He feared the judgment that waited for him after this life most of all. There was a ballroom of restless spirits howling for his blood and a little girl with a grim smile that was patiently biding her time to re-make his acquaintance.
To anyone else his self-imposed imprisonment would have seemed tedious, but he cherished his routine. Each day was exactly the same and he took medicine to make sure all his nights were unremembered. And he had books, so many books, new ones left outside his door every week by either his father or his landlady; he never cared to ask who had left them. How could he be bored when he could escape his miserable existence through the adventures of plucky street urchins and stalwart pioneers in the Americans?
It had started off as a normal day, no ill omen in the dregs of his breakfast tea, no bird dashed against his window as an evil portent. There hadn't even been a sudden rainstorm to lend the atmosphere a certain ominous bent. The light had begun to fade and Daniel closed his curtains and lit his lamps on schedule. He hesitated with his sleeping tonic-delivered every Friday, also left outside his door. The newest installment of Dickens's serial had been waiting for him with dinner and he had forgotten about it until just then. He could put off reading it until the morrow, but found himself suddenly quite eager to immerse himself in the world of overly-wise and lucky guttersnipes. It might just keep his dreams civil.
So he settled down in the only chair he owned, drawing it near the stove for warmth, and began to read. He felt proud of himself, staying up past dusk. He wondered if it was a sign he was healing at last… Then there was a knock on his door.
Daniel froze, his blood cold, his breath held. He was tensed to flee if the pounding resumed and if the door began to splinter inwards…but to where? There was nowhere to run, no hiding spot offered in this too small and cramped room of his. The knocking came again. Not pounding, he noted now, just a genteel sort of rapping. Maybe only his landlady or his father having been pierced through with a rare sense of guilt? Daniel made himself breathe.
"Who is it?" He called out. Only silence met him. He got slowly to his feet; his hands were shaking. "I asked who it is. Name yourself, please."
Again there was no response. Daniel rested his forehead on the rough wood of the door and strained to hear what was lurking outside in the corridor. He always picked the worst moments to be brave, he thought as he undid the latch and threw the door open.
"Good evening." The man outside smiled and Daniel was struck by how white his teeth were, how perfectly even. The man took off his hat and gave a small bow.
Daniel gaped at him. The stranger seemed much too elegant to be gracing this sullen house. He wondered if he were hallucinating. "May I help you?"
"I was wondering if this would be room 14. It seems as if some of the doors have lost their markers."
"I don't think they had them in the first place. It is, by the way, room 14. But I am afraid you must have been given the wrong address-"
"So you wouldn't be Daniel then, formerly of Mayfair?"
There was something mocking about the man's tone and Daniel fidgeted, uncomfortable. "I am he. May I ask who you might be? I do not receive guests. Ever."
"I was given your address from your father, a very oafish man, I can't see the family resemblance at all. May I come in?" He raised an eyebrow, that slightly mocking smile still gracing his face. Daniel stepped aside, cursing the manners that had been instilled in him by his mother.
The man still hovered in the doorway, his dark clothing and hair making him seem to be part of the shadows behind him. It was as if he were waiting for something more and Daniel shuddered, remembering tales of demons not being able to enter without proper invitation. "I don't have much in the way of food, but I could put a kettle on." Apparently that was proper invitation enough, for the man crossed the threshold. It eased Daniel's anxiety a bit. Surely an eldritch creature would not be able to come in at the offer of a cuppa.
"Thank you." His voice was deep and he put slight, but unusual stresses on certain vowels; Daniel took him as a foreigner, but could not quite place where from. The man took off his coat and looked around for somewhere to put it. Daniel quickly stepped forward to take it from him and his hat as well, but soon found himself in the same dilemma. He settled for placing them on his bed, hoping the flickering of the candles hid his flush of embarrassment.
"What a humble abode."
Daniel quickly occupied himself with making the tea, not wanting the man to see him bristle. "It's what my father could afford. I am thankful for it." He shrugged. "And it's comfortable enough."
"It ill suits you."
"I disagree." It came out a bit rougher then he had intended. He made sure his voice was more level when he spoke next. "And what business brings you here? You said that you had spoken with my father?"
But the man's attention was not on him. He was pacing around the small room, poking into the shelves and flipping through the stacks of magazines and newspapers Daniel had accumulated. "You appear to read a lot."
"It is one of my more happy diversions."
"This one." The man selected a French book that had recently been translated. "Tell me about it."
Daniel, a bit nonplussed, handed the man a cup of tea and began a synapses and literary analysis on the works of one Victor Hugo, a conversation that should have not lasted four hours, but did. The man asked very astute and provoking questions, and the conversation was adeptly twisted to encompass other authors and other works. Daniel realized after he had put on the kettle for a second pot of tea that he was having fun. It had been a long time since he had had fun.
The clock on the ground floor began to toll. Midnight then and Daniel hadn't even felt that sense of dread he usually felt as the night deepened. His guest grimaced and rose to his feet. "I must apologize. I have kept you from your bed much too long. I have no excuse."
"Oh, I really didn't mind!" Daniel scrambled from his perch on the bed-he had given the lone chair to his guest-as the man bent to retrieve his coat and hat. He followed him to the door, realized he was wringing his hands and forced himself to stop. The words "Will you be back?" were on the tip of his tongue, but he sealed his lips against the uttering of them, not wanting to seem… pathetic.
The man turned when he entered the corridor, taking Daniel's hand and bowing over it. Daniel froze, thinking for a moment the man meant to kiss it as if he were a woman, but he was soon released and the man swallowed up by the darkness. He hadn't even said goodbye…