Alfred found himself at a nearby secondhand book shop.
It was just the kind of break he needed from having a glass to the floor of his flat trying to hear if anything was happening downstairs.
Being nosey is not a heroic trait, he tried to remind himself.
He flicked the glossy spines of the old books and comics lined up on the shelf, looking for something to jump out at him. He came to a stop, his finger landing on a thin purple paperback.
He slid the book of the shelf, it's slight musty smell making him cough.
He flicked through the pages and saw nothing but words, yet somehow the book seemed to capture him just as well as his favourite bright comics.
From his brief skimming it appeared to be some kind of dark fantasy novel. Faded gold lettering on the cover labelled it as "Mortal Temptation" by Ignatius Kirkland.
He took it to the counter to buy, it looked short so it would hopefully not bore him out before he finished.
"... three pounds please" The man sat at the counter hadn't even bothered to look at Alfred, just a quick check inside the cover for the pencilled-in price.
"Here ya go," Alfred handed over what he hoped would be the right amount, still getting used to British currency, "I, uhh, like your hair pin."
The man at the counter looked up and touched his cross shaped barrette, yet still didn't reply.
Alfred picked up his book and left the shop. He wasn't sure he'd ever grow accustomed to the cold style of British customer service.
As he headed back to the flat he again tried to peer through the downstairs window, just in case. He thought he could just about make out faint electric lighting from the cracks between stacks of rubbish. What kind of person could live there, he wondered.
It was kind of exciting having the apartment to himself, he brought his speakers to the spacious kitchen and started playing some Johnny Cash. He ordered a pizza earlier and was sat munching while debating what he could do with his time.
If he was back in the states he'd just call over his friends and have an all night gaming session.
Playing games on his laptop was still an option, so was Skyping Mattie but he settled on starting his new book.
It was a strangely gripping book. The main character, Oliver, has just moved in with his brother after his wife death. He is increasingly haunted by what he initially believes to be a delusion of a man he'd been in love with as a teenager.
Alfred was completely caught up in the man's guilt that he is actually relieved that his wife has died, as he was forcing himself to hide his sexuality. Alfred was noting the hints that the character may even have killed his own wife.
Eventually his heavy eyelids fell shut, only to be brought open by a loud crash from below.
"What the heck?" Alfred jumped out of bed… did that come from downstairs?
He went across to the kitchen and pulled open the household documents draw, silently thanking Kiku for being such an organised housemate.
With minimal rummaging he found a single door key, this must be it.
He stepped out into the cold night air and turned to the second door, a small rusted metal 'a' adorned the otherwise plain door. His breath turned into a thin white cloud in front of him as he paused before inserting the key into the door.
It took a few seconds of jiggling before clicking unlocked, Alfred panicked slightly that he would break the key.
He had to shove the door quite hard to get it open more than a few inches. Almost as though the door had rusted in place on its hinges.
He entered the apartment, it was like nothing Alfred had ever seen before, stacks and stack of books, newspapers and magazines lined the dimly lit corridor, he could see a light coming from one room at the far end of the cramped space. As he got closer to the room he had to turn to his side to get past some of the stacks. The smell of pungent mould rising from them caused him to hold his breath.
When he got to the source of the light he found a tiny room filled with oddities and more books. Alfred scanned the room noticing a variety of strange items on display from fantasy figures to half finished knitting, it made him feel as if he'd never truly know the meaning of clutter until that moment. He also had discovered the cause of the noise. A several towers of books must have collapsed at once, like giant dominoes.
From under the piles of books a frail feminine arm protruded, it's slender fingers unmoving.
"Hey!" The American exclaimed, suddenly worried he was too late, that the poor woman had been crushed.
"Francis?... Allistor?" The voice was muffled and weak, but deeper than he expected "Get me ...out" it called. The American started digging, he strong tan arms tossing books aside in a sudden effort to save whoever it was trapped under there. Eventually the figure was uncovered, he helped them shakily stand up, he slenderness he had mistaken as femininity he could see now as malnourishment. The skinny man let out a long dry cough before he spoke "The earl, where is the earl?"
Alfred turned around half expecting to find a dignitary stood in formal dress. "The who?"
"My cat!" The man snapped at him. "And look at the mess you've made, I'll never be able to find anything now"
Alfred blinked at the man several times, not sure if he was serious. The man ignored Alfred's presence and went to collect the books, muttering about knowing their true value. "Look at this," he held a tattered old book that had obviously suffered Alfred's muscles in the rescue attempt "It was a first edition."
Still unable to make a lick of sense out of the situation Alfred backed up slightly until he felt something soft nudging his calf. He looked down at the small grumpy face cat. It nuzzled it's folded ear up his leg.
"Hey look! I found your cat!"
As he reached his hand down to pet the cats fluffy coffee and cream coloured fur the frail man let out a gasp of "don't"
It was too late, the earl ripped his claws up Alfred's hand, causing a fine splatter of blood to hit the carpet.
"Ouch! Bad kitty!"
The man looked at Alfred properly for the first time. His beaten down expression contorting to anger ripping through his green eyes.
"Who are you?!" He went forward to push Alfred with his twig like arms "Get out you intruder bastard! GET OUT!"
Alfred left quickly, somehow managing to avoid knocking down further piles of books and other rubbish. Feeling as though he should be offended, after all he did save the man, Alfred retreated back to the upstairs flat.
He stripped off down to his boxers and flopped onto the bed. To mentally exhausted by what he had experienced he dozed off, snoring loudly.
