It's two months today since I published the latest chapter to this very story. So, it's time for the next one, the longest so far. It took a bit more of my time again because there are some key facts, moments and happenings here that I had to weave into. Nothing of this I actually planned. Like I've written before, I'm no-one for plotting, I write as I go basically. And still, I guess some hints and indications I've written before, make a lot of sense now. Hope you enjoy!
[Thursday, 25 December 2014] Time didn't stand still for a long eternity. Unfortunately, time went on to midnight to clock into a new day. But when time had finally come this far, Dean and his master already had been into another sphere – the sphere of dreams and unconsciousness and insubstantial desires.
One specific desire was missing though. Neither of them desired to go to their bedrooms. Both of them just wanted to stay where they were. And even though they didn't discuss the issue, both of them knew because of a simple look and a slight lip movement. Their specific choice of a place to spend the night still was like a normal bedroom. Being a water bed, it was just a little bit unusual and unfamiliar. But there were sheets, cushions and a big enough blanket for both of them.
And when they placed themselves in the appropriate position, they were even able to see the snow fall.
It was almost like Christmas. And then they remembered that it was indeed Christmas. But before they became sentimental again, sleep covered them with its veil.
– – – –
And it wasn't just like a new day when Dean woke up the next morning. It was still dark outside but snow wasn't falling any more. William was still sleeping right next to him and it shouldn't have felt different because the young man had already experienced the feeling of waking up right beside the man who was supposed to be his master, his employer, his lord of the castle. But when Dean looked at him now, those closed eyes looked like the eyes of his lover. And he knew that it had been true what he already told him, that he would do everything for him.
Right now, this wasn't very hard, and Dean didn't have to weigh up huge moral conflicts against each other when he decided to go down to the kitchen to prepare a good and healthy breakfast for an early meal in bed for the two of them. Yes, Dean had to leave now but they would be able to stay in bed longer than without the breakfast.
So, Dean just covered himself with his own bathrobe that was still here from late last night and tried his best to leave as quietly as possible.
– – – –
William had just felt some small movement right beside him but was still too drowsy to react in any way. After a while, he felt his left arm reaching out but his hand only felt about on the empty sheets. He still had his eyes closed and he was about to leave it this way for the time being. Because the more he woke up, the more he remembered about last night. And he didn't just remember, he also felt it.
Because William hadn't experienced something like this for a very long time. Dean had probably felt it. Or had this been his very first time? It didn't feel like this for William. Despite what he guessed before, the young man seemed experienced this way.
Maybe he was just a natural talent – like he was in so many other departments. Or maybe there have been other guys – or gals – before him. For some reason, this wasn't a pleasant thought. So, William kept his eyes closed in dearly hopes, it would vanish as soon as it appeared.
It helped that it was still dark outside, early morning, so there were no bright shadows dusting across his face. There was only the discreet smell of bergamot and oranges, the smell from their bathing water last night that was still dripping from the ceiling. And it brought back great memories as well.
William rolled on his back, so he was able to not just taking in the smell of the previous day but those memories, too. It made him sleepy again, so he almost missed the footsteps that seemed to make it up the stairway and then towards the door to the bath.
But before the door was opened, William was well aware of everything that went on around him again. He knew that there was only one person who could be possibly walking around the castle right now. There was no reason for anyone else being here, especially when he missed the young man right next to him.
So, the door was opened and then closed. And William thought that the entering someone suppressed a curse. It sounded like he was carrying something.
"Can I help you?" William asked when he heard of another curse, this time a little louder, and he almost got what Dean had been telling his clumsy self.
"You're awake?" was the surprised sounding reply out of the dark like William noticed when he'd finally opened his eyes.
"Obviously," he simply stated, followed by a quick, "Hold on," and then it was Dean who heard something, and it sounded like the movement of somebody on a water bed.
Just moments later one single fluttering flame illuminated the very near surrounding of their choice of bed for the latest night. And William looked at his boy who was balancing a huge tablet on both of his arms with probably all of the kitchen's equipment placed on it.
"I'm really sorry, dear boy," William said and showed off a sad face.
That seemed to be a strange reaction to his sight, Dean thought, but decided to place the tablet down first, between the window and the water bed. Then he squatted down to pour the fabulously earthy and spicy smelling coffee into two cups when he felt one of William's hands making its way beneath his robe to stroke the skin on his chest.
But Dean only looked up when he was finished with his coffee procedure.
"Why are you sorry?" he asked and was only partly surprised about the change of expression on William's features. Dimples showed off when he smiled, and he took his time with the answer.
"I'm sorry, dear boy, because I prevented you from pouring the coffee all over me and the bed," he said and smiled even brighter when he added, "That clearly was your intention, wasn't it, since you made your way in here without the tiniest source of light."
"Nothing of such would have happened, sir," Dean protested lightly, emphasizing the 'sir', "Because I'm a good boy and know what I'm doing."
"Of course, you are," William said, now grabbing firmly at Dean's back to pull him closer to him, down onto the bed.
"What's with the coffee?" Dean asked when William decided to break their kiss. "There's also some great breakfast I just prepared for you."
"Is there any danger of it turning cold?" William asked, already drawing his interest back on Dean's chest.
"No, it's already cold," Dean replied, still not really getting what William was up for, "You told me, you don't like warm breakfast."
"Well, it depends on the way it is served," William whispered with a knowing smile on his face. Watching his boy now finally realizing the ambiguity in everything that William just said, simply was a thing of beauty. Dean wasn't dumb or dull at all. But sometimes, he needed his time to get certain hints. And William liked to play with him when that happened.
But he realized that playtime was over when Dean clearly forgot about the breakfast but used both of his strong hands to William's shoulder to pin the man down on the bed. He somehow also managed to sit on top of his master, looking down on him with a cocky smile around his lips.
William would probably love that smile in other circumstances. He certainly would have loved it at the party from a far more distance away. But with their recent past, it was simply dangerous and already went a way that William wasn't able to tolerate.
So, more quickly than Dean could even think, William had returned the move, so it was now Dean who got pinned to the bed – with William lying on the boy's back, outstretching one of his arms, so he wasn't able to move and had to look into William's face.
With everything his master now said, he was still very calm – or at least sounded alike. But still it was more terrifying as if he would yelling and screaming at him.
"Don't play with me, boy," William whispered. "If you might have got the impression last night that something changed between us, then forget about it as soon as you caught this ridiculous thought. Know your place and that's being my servant. Nothing has changed and nothing will ever change. If you are a good boy, you'll have a great life in here. If not..."
William paused. He needed that moment to sense about his boy's reaction. Words always lied. But eyes couldn't – never. So, his left hand got a firm grip to Dean's hair to stretch him even more. And it was just the right amount because now the boy's eyes were wide open and enlightened by the flame.
Those eyes didn't show fear or anger – both of those feelings weren't what William desired anyway. Instead, those eyes looked like Dean enjoyed what his master was doing with him right now. And William had mixed feelings about this revelation. At least, he simply wanted to see just a tiny bit of what might look like a real master and servant relationship, eyes that reflect the boy's knowledge that he would never be able to fully belong to him. Instead there was simply the opposite hope and desire and probably also some knowing feeling that William's plan with him wouldn't work.
At least, that's what he was perhaps thinking. Because that's what those eyes looked like right now. And William was just about to give in to those eyes. He was about to loosen his grip to the boy... but then he was reminded about his little speech that he hadn't finished yet. He had almost forgotten because of those wicked eyes and the wicked boy they belonged to. And William made the boy suffer for his responsibilities by stretching him even more and tugging at his hair.
"If you don't behave, you know what's waiting for you," William finally finished what he started far too long ago. But he wasn't even sure if this had been the exact words he wanted to say in the first place. Those words sounded weak. And William felt weak. And he felt that his own wicked left hand lost all its grip just to make its way to the boy's neck and from there beneath his robe to feel the warm and young flesh.
Why didn't the boy say anything? Why didn't he make him stop by smiling his smug grin or trying to box his way to freedom? Instead, he seemed to look right into William's soul and did nothing but waiting for William's next step.
In the end, it wasn't William who rescued both of them but the lights that went on outside the castle, followed by the disturbing sound of the doorbell. And all of a sudden, William wondered why both of them needed to be rescued in the first place.
Only when the doorbell rang for a second time, William asked himself who the hell would come to his castle – right in the middle of the festive Christmas season and as early in the morning as humanly possible.
"It's still possible that it's only a fox", the boy finally said, and there was the smug smile.
"I might agree with you if it was just for the lights," William said, still trying to sound serious. "You know about the doorbells; there is neither a way nor a reason, a fox could be able to reach them twice."
"It's obviously a cunning fox, sir," Dean said and his hands now tried to keep William down with him. Because he had clearly enjoyed their earlier play.
"It certainly is," William agreed this time. But then sat up and reached out for his own robe. And Dean was only able to look at his back for the moment. It dawned on him that he wouldn't be able to convince William to stay with him and just ignore that stupid fox outside their castle. And he wouldn't lower or even downgrade himself without any chance of a positive result. There was still this glimmer of self-respect in him that refused to give in to humiliating behaviour in any shape or form.
"Are you listening to me, Dean?" was the next thing that the young man heard from his master. His slight attention and distraction from his own thoughts got the better of him again and there he'd clearly missed something important.
"I do now, sir," was the only answer possible then and Dean bowed his head in shame. But to his surprise he felt one hand on his shoulder and one gentle kiss to his forehead. This all made him look up again. And therefore he further earned a kiss to his lips, followed by a soft smile.
"Since it's Christmas, I'm generous for now. But you should really do something against your rather short attention span, Dean. I need to count on you in every possible and thinkable situation. And until I can't, we're not going to handle really serious business. But that's not something for now. Now you should go downstairs to identify the cunning fox. I'll join you soon," Mr Regal said. He waited until he got the confirmation from Dean that this time he understood what his master said and wanted from him. And with one of his knowing smiles he left the bath hall, leaving Dean for the time being.
– – – –
"Mr Regal, sir? Am I allowed to go to town?" Dean asked and it was the first clear sentence he directed at the lord of the castle since they'd parted earlier this morning. Since then, too much had happened to simply keep composure and be the good boy without moaning and fuming. So, Dean desperately wanted to go out into the cold to numb his brain.
Too much thinking caused terrible headaches in the last two hours.
But Mr Regal and his guest who were sitting on the couch in the living room, seemed to be confused about the young man's question. The other man was clever enough not to shot him just another of his untimely comments. Perhaps he finally got that Dean didn't exactly share his sense of – what he might call it – humour and kept silent for once. But, of course, Mr Regal needed to ask why and how and that Dean always said he didn't like the cold, if he would just stay inside to avoid it. Mr Regal probably thought it was funny what he just said. But Dean didn't smile. Instead he simply repeated his question that sounded more like a demand right now.
"Well, if you've already done your work in the kitchen, you are free to do whatever you like, except, of course, it's against my rules and interests. But I can promise you already that you'll find it boring in town, since we live in the middle of the festive season," Mr Regal said just to shot his guest a knowing smile that infuriated Dean even more.
But he tried to stay calm when he replied: "I don't mind, sir. It's the walk itself I'm after, not what might be at the end of it."
"Alright then, dear boy, go and enjoy your time off. But be back in time for dinner," Mr Regal said now with a little more focus on him. But he still didn't seem to have the slightest idea what was wrong – or that there was something wrong at all.
– – – –
The sky was ridiculously blue and the sun was shining down on Earth like a madman. Dean would have preferred the weather to cover him with thick snow, blasting those ice crystals right into his face like needles. But instead, this sick white landscape all around him seemed to be a carpet of sparkling diamonds.
The young man tried to ignore it. But through his sunglasses, this glimmer and beauty was even more and better recognizable. So, his grumpy mood wasn't about to change in any given time.
Everything had been made worse by Mr Regal himself actually. Dean well knew that any inappropriate behaviour towards his guests would put him into hot waters. And his master usually made it known to his servant that he did wrong and needed to change his bad habits immediately.
But not this time. Dean had asked the guy directly if he hadn't anywhere else to stay over the festive season. But Mr Regal had just smiled at that disrespectful questioning. And the more time went by, the more Dean wondered if yesterday actually happened. Because William had been so different last night. He had treated him differently. And, of course, their sex had been entirely different.
Perhaps treating him just like his servant and nothing else was his way to forget all about that happened, especially in front of his friend – or whatever this cunning fox was to Mr Regal. If Dean was really true to himself, he wanted to know about their actual relations and then throw this Robbie Something out of the castle.
Dean had to stop his fast-paced walk down into town for a moment. He inhaled deeply and felt his lungs filling up with the frosty air. When he had changed from his maid costume for work to his own clothes, upgraded only by the warm winter coat, and just arrived back in the foyer, Mr Regal actually had the decency to tell him that he shouldn't use his new bicycle for a first downhill ride. And Robbie Something had been standing right behind him and laughed like it had been the best joke he'd ever heard in his entire life.
Inhaling – exhaling for a second time, and Dean was able to shake off the anger about that moment that was about to beat him up from the inside all over again. It still felt like Mr Regal had made fun of him, especially since this Robbie guy found it all funny. Dean never got the feeling from his master that he had the intention to make ever fun of him. He always thought he took him serious – unlike all those other masters he had to serve for.
Mr Regal would have been the first one who treated him right, or in his case: not like a master would treat his servant. Perhaps, Mr Regal wasn't exactly that special like he thought he'd be, Dean assumed. Perhaps, he was just about to swallow down his own disappointment by putting his current master right into the box where he'd shoved all his previous masters before him. Simply to forget about this heartache he felt all over again.
Thinking about all this, basically creating his own headaches, Dean arrived in town faster than he thought he would need to. And he stopped again when he found himself just a few metres before he would pass the first house of the main street. Everything, even the road in front of him, was covered in white snow. There was hardly any dirty place, no car on the street, no visible sign of a human being. Not that Dean had expected anything different.
The bells from the opposite side of town just chimed one. So, at least there was a reverend awake to do his daily work. But apart from him every other inhabitant seemed to sleep or still enjoying their lunch or whatever those people were doing at Christmas.
Dean sighed. Because he was left disappointed again. But just for a moment when he wondered what he'd actually expect. Or whom he'd expect to meet. And all of a sudden he hoped he'd have just went to the cottage to live through some peaceful hours on his own. Because pictures made it back into his mind from a few days ago, right after Mr Regal had sent him away. There were nice memories about Tommaso and his coffee shop but also those other unpleasant thoughts about the night club, the Pink Balloon. Not that any of its guests would remember about him because of his sunglasses, the coat and his big woollen hat which he wore right now. But still, Dean himself remembered about those idiots, and that was enough to question his decision to walk down here.
But the town looked peaceful at the moment. And there was still no-one else but himself. So, Dean decided to finally have a closer look at all the different houses, the bars, the restaurants, the little shops – just to learn a bit more about this town and its residents. He could still go to Tommaso for a chat if there really wasn't anything exciting about this place. It wasn't Monday, so he could have a sandwich and a coffee and could make William pay for it later. And actually, since he just got this idea, Dean was looking forward to it and his mood brightened for a good amount.
Even the snow wasn't entirely terrible any more. Because Dean now really tried to get something back from his walk from the castle to town. When he had been here to buy the Christmas stuff and the present for Mr Regal, he had been too distracted from focussing on what he needed. And on top of that, this Antonio guy was a pain in the ass. When Dean had been back from town, he couldn't even tell any more if the seller had been male or female.
But not today, not right now. In the distance he saw a person crossing the street. But apart from him – or her – nothing distracted Dean from taking all pictures in from mostly dark red and light blue houses. There was one pub with a dark green wooden front. A sign said, The Kind Leprechaun, which didn't make sense but the illustration of an actual friendly looking leprechaun somehow fittingly connected with the name of the pub.
On the opposite side across the street happened to be a launderette with lots of socks hanging from the ceiling. That looked completely ridiculous but still somehow endearing, and Dean caught himself staring at those socks for a while. And when he finally went on again, he found that his mood had lightened even more. And it probably happened because Dean had realized something – not just because of the scurrility of some shops and facilities but also because of the town itself. It was like a different time he jumped in, from the 21st century back to the Middle Ages.
Mr Regal, His Lordship of the High Castle, wasn't exactly the ruler over this county but everybody here seemed to like and respect him, even though Mr Regal always claimed that he had no friends and wasn't known to hardly anyone. The party had already proven differently as well as his friendship with Tommaso – and now this Robbie guy. Dean had always thought that Mr Regal would tell him about his shadows from the past and his secrets if he would trust him and when he felt the need for it. But Dean, since he started to care for his master, didn't just want to wait. He also wasn't very patient. And the longer Mr Regal waited for him to show Dean a bit of his trusting side, the faster Dean would try to find out himself.
Probably for Mr Regal not trusting him any longer from there on. And so the light mood went to a darker tone again until Dean found a shop full of antique furniture, stationary, books and other stuff. The window was arranged like an old living room, probably Sherlock Holmes style with a wingchair and even a fireplace with real fire in it. Still, the shop wasn't open and there were no visible prizes. And then Dean saw something that made his heart skipping a beat: a clock with its hands moving backwards.
What happened there? And what happened around him? Dean turned around and looked up and down the main street. There was still no-one to be seen, and he wasn't even sure any more if that person he'd apparently seen in the distance, had been actually there – for real.
It must have been a ghost from the past. Or one from the future. Dean once read this story from that guy Dickens, A Christmas Carol, a wonderful copy of a book in Mr Regal's library, where there happened to be those ghosts helping the evil Scrooge guy becoming a nice pal at Christmas. That couldn't be an accident. But when Dean tried to open the door to ask the shop owner what was up with the clock, of course, he found the door to be closed.
And after all, he'd been a good boy, at least for the last twenty-five days. So, there was no reason for some good meaning ghosts trying to make a good boy where there was one already.
So, Dean left the antique store and especially tried to forget the specific clock. Walking down the main street of town towards the church was now captivating with the snow all over but not too thick, and it still wasn't snowing. It was all peaceful, but as much as Dean loved being on his own, he suddenly missed at least a few people, someone he could possibly interview about this place. It wasn't the right time yet to join Tommaso at his coffee temple, so when there were no living people around, Dean guessed he had to go for the dead people. And hoped that next to the church would be a graveyard.
Dean passed another restaurant called, The Ivy Inn, heavily decorated with ivy, of course, and heavily closed, too. Then, on the opposite side of the street, was a small lake. It was also a long one with a bridge right in the middle that connected two clusters of tiny houses, family homes with Christmas decoration hanging in their windows. It basically looked like being in Lilliput over there. But there weren't any people, not even very tiny ones.
Further down the road, Dean passed several little shops for leatherware, flowers and groceries. There was a bakery, a vet, a pharmacy and a building business with a butchery and a bulky car repair shop basically marking the end of the centre of town. But even though the garage door was standing widely open, there wasn't anybody here as well.
At this point, Dean had probably finally given up to meet some human being today, so he went straight up the little hill where the church was placed on the top of it. Actually, when he first saw the church earlier, he didn't really want to go there.
He'd always been a bit uncomfortable around churches, especially small churches of villages or small towns like this one. Because when there was a mass or a liturgy, most people who lived in town, went there, and everybody knew each other, while the vicar would also knew all of them plus if anybody had missed the latest mass or if he'd done anything blasphemous or naughty recently. In Dean's impression, the vicar had a direct connection to the supernatural being that inspired the people to build churches up and down this country, and even though Dean didn't really know if he believed in this entity, he still had a massive respect for those vicars. After all those years of sin and guilt, he still felt like a little boy in the company of a vicar or any clerical being.
So, of course, he didn't go inside the church when he arrived there. He went straight for the graveyard that he'd already spotted from the entrance to the sacred territory.
Surrounded by a hedgerow, the size of the graveyard corresponded with that of the church. Birch trees and small shrubs separated several sections from each other. And every section had a few lines of graves with their individual tombstones to them. But every line seemed to lead to the centre of the graveyard as if there was something special hidden behind the higher decoration of taller shrubs and willows.
What Dean experienced now, was like the cemetery scene in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly when Tuco was running along those tombstone lines, searching for that one grave that promised wealth to the finder of the treasure.
Now, Dean wasn't running but he was searching for something, anything that stood out from all the other ordinary graves. But unlike Tuco, Dean wasn't sure if he'd find anything because he didn't know if there was anything special or uncommon or revealing to be found on this place. He simply took a look at the tombstones and hoped that anything that was written on one of them would kind of speak to him, some name he knew or a special date, one certain quote, remark or proverb that would remind him about anything. But the majority of tombstones just had a name with the year of birth and the year of death to them, yes, most of times not even two full dates. So, all in all, those tombstones didn't exactly scream special or extraordinary. Those tombstones marked the dead people of a town who were most certainly happy about not being special or extraordinary. Those people had been happy to be a part of this rural community.
"You should go to the island," all of a sudden Dean heard a very well known voice behind his back. And he turned around in an instant. Of course, he hadn't expected to meet anyone here any more. So, the surprise came in a package together with a heavily beating heart.
The person, now in front of him, wore a thick white winter jacket, the hood well placed on her head, also one pair of white trousers. No wonder, she had been able to sneak up behind him without him noticing her.
"Fran! What are you...? How...? Damn it, you almost killed me," Dean tried to make a complete fool of himself.
"I didn't mean to," Fran said, and it was probably meant as a common greeting. But she also smiled and seemed to wait for any other reaction by the newest servant of Mr Regal. And it appeared in the form of a sudden flash of shyness that she really hadn't expect from him.
Dean looked around themselves, if in search for any help or a way to escape he didn't even know himself. As much as he anticipated to meet up with Fran again, the surprising ambush-styled attack wasn't exactly what he preferred when joining with people in public.
"I wasn't expecting you here, you know," Dean finally said when he tried to look Fran in her eyes again. It didn't last long.
"That was rather obvious," she replied and sent him a beaming smile. "So, what are you doing here all alone in the cold – on Christmas?" Fran continued to ask.
"I was about to ask you that," Dean mumbled and looked on the tombstone behind Fran. There was a pal called Roger G. Finney buried there, about forty years already. This guy most certainly was more comfortable in his skin at the moment than Dean.
"And I used the words to make myself clear. So...?" Fran just didn't want to let go. But as some kind of gesture of open arms, she took down the hood from her jacket to reveal her boyish cut dark brown, almost black hair. And it was a gesture that worked for good. Because Dean finally realised how stupid he sounded and acted.
"Well, I actually was in search for company. The castle is rather... crowded right now, so I needed some space. I also hoped to get to know a few people in here or learn something about the town. But, Christmas might be the wrong time for it. Still, I could have met Livingston; so, seeing no human being at all isn't that bad, I guess," Dean opened up about his intentions this early afternoon but it earned him a raised eyebrow.
"So, I'm no human being, cheers for that one," Fran said and Dean noticed only then that he just dropped another clanger.
"I'm sorry, that... I mean, being here was also me trying to get back my social skills – if there were any in the first place," Dean said and only mumbled the last words. "You know, lizards and snakes usually don't talk much. And Mr Regal sometimes is as talkative as his pets. It's not that easy to maintain any social skills up there."
Fran cocked her head to her left side as if she'd hard thinking to do in assuming if Dean was genuine with his apology. But then she smiled again and finally closed the still large gap between her and the young man.
"So, you came here to talk to the dead, I see. But actually, I get your problem. You've got a large house, and William always has work to do and for you. It's just that you've picked the wrongest day of the year to start getting social down here. I only stepped out into the snow and the cold because I saw you from my window. I was curious what you might have in mind, being here all alone. But you said, your castle would be crowded right now. What did you mean with that? Did William get another legion of lizards?"
The way Fran talked about Mr Regal still confused Dean. Everybody in town seemed to know him better than he did. And Dean wanted to know him better but he still was slightly afraid about asking the real questions. He also wished, Mr Regal really just would have gotten another legion of lizards.
"No legion, just one guy, apparently a friend of Mr Regal. But this Robbie Something really is annoying as hell. He's another reason why I'm here now, freezing my butt," Dean told Fran whose eyeballs seemed to plop out their socket the moment she heard what Dean said to her.
"Robbie? Not Robbie Brookside?" she asked and already sounded excited.
"That might be his name, yeah," Dean answered but looked rather unsympathetic.
"Uncle Rob is really back? And you only told me because I basically forced you! When did he arrive? And for how long will he stay? Come on, Dean, please tell me, I need to see him," Fran now basically begged Dean.
She really was excited about the guy. And Dean just couldn't believe it.
"First of all, I don't get what's so special about him. He arrived far too early today, basically ruined an all perfectly fine morning. And I've got no idea about his intentions to stay. I hope he's gone already when I'll be back home later today," Dean answered Fran's frantic questions with his arms folded across his chest.
"You clearly don't know him, Dean," Fran replied immediately, now far more serious than before. "He's William's best friend and he helped him surviving very dark days in the past. Maybe he ruined your morning and that clouds your first judgement a little bit. But Uncle Rob saved William's life before, so maybe you want to give him a bit of time."
"I don't know... yeah, maybe. But I can't say I'm overly exited about the possibility of this becoming a permanent deal," Dean tried to somehow wiggle out of the subject but he also felt at the same time that Fran wouldn't let go. And he was right.
"You mean Uncle Rob staying at the castle?"
"Yeah, you know, it was good before. I already got used to Mr Regal's pets, together we bought the other castle, cleaned the cottage and stuff. All of a sudden, it feels like he invaded my territory and I'm unable to do anything about it."
"And you're right, Dean. You can't do anything about it because you're just a servant to the castle," Fran finally said and it sounded like she wanted to make that clear right from the start. And it dawned on Dean that there was a lot more coming from her today. Part of him was looking forward to it; the other part just wanted to run away as fast as he was able to. But he stayed. He wanted to get to know some information that he most certainly wouldn't get from Mr Regal in a hundred years. It probably wasn't nice to ask a third party, namely Francesca, and he was about to break a couple of rules. But the way things already started, Fran was the one with the mouth, while Dean was the one with the ear. He didn't ask for information; he didn't even meet up with her. She came to him; she offered information.
So, Dean would happily took them without even wondering about her intentions – if there were any.
"I know, I'm just a servant," Dean said and sounded serious himself. "At the latest, this morning I got the hint by a virtual kick in the ass. So, I know who I am. But let's talk about something else. Actually, you mentioned an island I should go to. What did you mean?"
It would have been rather obvious to anyone if there would have been there someone that Fran didn't really like to change the subject. Somehow she seemed to be interested about Mr Regal and his relationship with Dean. Not that the young man was aware of that particular interest. He just thought that she just wanted to start a conversation, and since she knew Mr Regal, it was the first subject to talk about she could think of. If she at any time would turn back to something awkward or embarrassing, he could still start an argument. But as long as she'd get the hint, there was no reason for Dean to assume there could be some deeper intention about Fran's asking or statements.
All of a sudden he felt a hand grabbing his own hand, and he knew that him overthinking things once again got the better of him.
Dean looked into Fran's grinning face when he loosened her grip to take his hand back where it belonged on a cold winter day.
"Sorry, I was just thinking about something," he mumbled.
"After you just asked an important question?" Fran countered and her grin widened even more.
"Yeah, that happens sometimes, you know, I'm not at fault for the thoughts that my surroundings put into my mind. So, where's this island? I won't let a thought distract me again – for now," Dean replied and showed her a little smug smile himself.
"That's good, because I'd really like to show you," Fran said and turned around, slowly going towards those bushes and trees that seemed to separate a special place from everything else on the tiny cemetery. And Dean followed her. "It's just called island – or I'm calling it that way – because it's basically similar to an island: you first have to come through the periphery of it to be able to stand on it. There is no other way because it's entirely cut off from anything else," Fran started to introduce Dean to that special place while they were going to it.
Dean already wondered why this place even existed. Obviously it wasn't just a special place, it also must be a special person buried there. Because it was actually pretty clear that there must be a special grave for a special person there. So, instead of asking something rather stupid like, shouldn't all dead people treated equally?, he kept his mouth shut and made sure to take in all sensual impressions.
And then, finally, they reached the interior of the island, an area almost entirely surrounded by the hedge, except for a tiny entrance via a few steps made of stone, and framed by six willows.
Fran gave Dean some time to discover himself what he was able to see. There was indeed just one grave but a huge one: a simple but large square stone with a small inscription that Dean wasn't able to read from a distance of about fifty feet. But the most prominent feature of it was a female figure in a deeply mourning pose, using the square stone as support for her grieving body. This figure obviously was made of stone as well but it looked very realistic and almost lifelike. For any other details to discover, it was the wrong time of the year. Because the grave itself was covered in snow, and also its surrounding up to the hedge and the trees – the whole island – had this innocent and pure look to it that made it hard not to get at least some tight feeling in the chest.
"You should read the inscription, Dean," Fran finally suggested with a much softer voice than before. But otherwise she did nothing, so Dean already assumed that there most certainly was something written there that could be of some influence to him, even though he didn't have had the slightest idea about this place before.
So, he still wasn't sure what to expect but his heart increased its beating anyway when Dean placed one foot in front of the other to went slowly towards the grave.
In eternal regal love. William
Thus read the short message on the cold stone, under the name of Jon Moxley and two simple dates of 1985 and 2006.
This boy had been only 21 years of age when he died. And the message spoke for itself. But through all of its shortness and fondness there was clearly some heavy and hart felt pain screaming into this world from every single of those letters and numbers.
Dean remembered that Mr Regal had spoken about a dead friend, that Livingston had been somehow involved in his death and that he made it impossible for him to visit his grave. He couldn't have meant this very place because it was rather public and he went there without having any difficulties.
But there was something else. That name. That date. Both sounded somehow familiar. Dean was pretty sure that he himself was born in 1985, too. And he had also heard this name before. But he wasn't able to connect anything specific to it.
His thinking process was in full effect when he felt the presence of someone in his back. He turned his head and he was relieved when it turned out that it was just Fran who had closed up to him. When their eyes met – Dean's with a huge amount of disarray – Fran felt it was time to share her knowledge about this place with the young man in front of her by asking suggestive questions.
"Now, does something look familiar here to you?" Fran wanted to know after she had went on Dean's side, so both were able to look at the tombstone without blocking the view of the other.
"Well, I guess this is the reason why Mr Regal acts and behaves the way he does, why he isolates himself on the castle. But familiar? No, there's nothing familiar here to me," Dean lied. It was still true that there felt nothing actually familiar to him. But he also had this feeling that this grave had more to do with himself than it looked like in the first place. He just wasn't able to put the finger on it. And as much as he liked Fran, but he didn't want to open up that much to her just yet.
"But you did connect the grave with William," Fran said while Dean wasn't quite sure what exactly she was getting at.
"That's not too hard, you know. I mean, the little message pretty much lights up everything. I'm not that dumb not to get that," Dean replied and looked at her.
"I didn't want to suggest that, Dean. I just thought that you might have recognized something else," Fran was fast with her appeasement, so Dean turned his attention back towards the tombstone.
"No, I haven't," Dean finally said after a while of trying to grab something from his deeply hidden long-term memory. There might be something but being put slightly under pressure – or felt like this – he wasn't able to find the right key to open the specific door. So, he finally asked, "Do you know something about this guy Moxley?"
"Just rumours, half lies and half truth and nobody really knows what's actually false and true. What I do know is that you're not William's first servant – whatever this term means in William's case. But that's not my business. Actually, he didn't seem to have a servant since Jon Moxley died. I don't know about the reason why he finally chose to get another one. But people also said that Livingston and William had been friends before it happened. And since you had been sent by Livingston in the first place, it makes for a strange coincidence that you also got a striking resemblance to that Jon Moxley. Tommaso once showed me a picture of him, so if some people looked at you in a strange way, you know why."
"What do you mean with resemblance? And why has Tommaso a photo of him, not to mention why he'd show it to you?" Dean turned fully back to Fran, his mind already completely unable to cope with the information he just got.
"Well, um, we, Tommaso and I, got a little thing going, so one day we talked about you and he showed me the pic," Fran admitted and felt the need to add, "We're not really dating, you know, it's just fun and stuff. I like him and he likes me and..."
Dean didn't really want to know more. "I don't really care about what you two are doing and how you call it," he said. "But why do you talk about me and Mr Regal? I mean, you can, go ahead. But don't tell me, alright? It's weird to hear that people talk about us, probably assuming things that are not even close to what really happens."
"I just wanted to help you, Dean. And I don't assume things. I just found it a little bit unusual that this Mox guy on the picture kinda looked like you ten years ago. So, I just wanted to show you the grave, thinking that might be important to you," Fran replied to Dean's outburst. Part of her was able to understand him, but the other part was hurt by his accusations.
"I'm sorry, Fran," Dean said when he finally caught up with her again. After her latest words, she'd left not just the grave but also the so-called island. Now, both of them walked together, through the snow and the same way back they had come here earlier. "I'm just – confused, I guess – and I got the idea that you might know more but don't want to tell me. When you called the man Mox before, I don't know, but something clicked in my head. I can't explain. It's like you've got the right key to the door but you don't know how to use this key. What I want to say: can't you just tell me more? Maybe if you've got something else, I might remember about stuff that I have forgotten. I mean, I hate Livingston but I don't really know why. I know what he did but there must be something else in the past. Otherwise I've got no idea why and how he was able to trick me into betraying Mr Regal. Please, help me, Fran, do you?"
– – – –
"That's the photo," Tommaso said after he'd placed the picture on the bar of his coffee shop where Dean and Fran had taken their seats. Fran had assured Dean before that she really didn't know more but that maybe Tommaso would be of some help. Showing Dean the specific photograph might be a good start. So, the two of them had gone to Tommaso – for a delicious freshly brewed coffee and some more information on the history of the town's dark castle. Something that Dean had already planned anyway, and it appeared to be a good decision.
Dean didn't say anything for quite some time. He still looked at the photograph but it actually felt like looking into a mirror ten years ago. This lad in the photo was him. There was no doubt about it. He couldn't remember about the very situation that photo was taken, but it wasn't possible for two people to look that equal – not just similar. Or did he have a twin and he didn't know anything about him? Was this dead Jon Moxley guy his other half biologically?
"Like I said, he looks like you... looked like you," Fran finally said, probably trying to lead Dean out of the tunnel he'd brought himself into a couple of minutes ago.
And it worked. For the first time since Dean saw the photo, he looked up again to take a huge mouthful of the still hot coffee. It brought him back to reality.
"If I didn't know better, I'd be certain that was me," Dean said, looking at Tommaso who just dried his hands on a dishcloth. Maybe he hoped he could read something into the Sicilian's features that he didn't want to show him but were rather noticeable to Dean. But so far, Tommaso had quite the poker face on unfortunately.
"I got the same idea when I first saw you. Then, since I knew better, I also thought about twins separated at birth, even cloning or some strange medical experiment. Who knows? William has got the money, so everything looks possible to me," Tommaso said and didn't break the eye contact.
"Medical experiment? Come on! Why would Mr Regal have such stuff done?" Dean asked and was glad that he was able to change his focus to Fran at last. Tommaso was able to look someone down with his piercing blue eyes, that's for sure!
"Because he loved Jon," Tommaso said and got back Dean's attention when he continued. "And he was shattered to hell when he realized that he was dead. And because he was pretty much convinced that Livingston was at fault, he turned all his emotions into anger to unleash it on his former good friend. In court, Livingston was cleared of all charges though. But that made William's anger even nastier. The only reason why he didn't kill him, probably was because he realized that it wouldn't bring back Jon. And he didn't want to go to prison for the murder on his freshly sworn enemy. At least, the trial took as long as William needed to get back a slightly rational mind. So, when he saw you for the first time, he must have been rather shocked, haven't he?"
"I'm not sure. I mean, there wasn't anything unusual about him. But after all, I didn't know him before, so I wasn't sure how his usual self behaved. Consequently, I don't remember about his initial reaction to seeing me for the first time," Dean tried to answer Tommaso's question, warming his hands on the huge cup of coffee.
And Dean was glad that he got something to hold on right now. When he thought that some facts or events in the last days could have blown his brain clean off, there was still no comparison with the situation he was in right now. Guilt crawled up all over his body regarding his earlier behaviour towards Mr Regal. Sure, he'd locked away some key informations from him, but he had no right to be jealous of Robbie or behave like he owned anything in the castle. Especially, he didn't own Mr Regal. He finally got that as clear as an innocent thought.
Secretly, he was thankful to Tommaso and Fran because they didn't ask any other question and both seemed to wait for anything that Dean had to offer them instead of vice versa. They'd given him what they knew and what he needed to know. Anything else was up to Dean himself.
"I'd like to invite you to the castle for a small end-of-the-year celebration on that very day, if you got the time," Dean finally said, when his cup was long cold and empty.
"Does William know about this?" Fran asked immediately, probably not wanting for Dean to bring himself in a bit of trouble.
"Not really. But we already spoke about the possibility to celebrate the New Year at the castle. So, I think he's fine with it. Of course, I'll talk to him, so it won't come as a surprise," Dean said, now wandering with his eyes between Fran and Tommaso.
"Who else do you have?" Tommaso wanted to know but already looked like he was very much up for Dean's impromptu party.
"Well, I hope Robbie stays that long and I think I'm gonna ask Antonio. That's all because I kinda want to keep it private," Dean said without overthinking things this time.
"Antonio? You mean Cesaro, Livingston's personal trainer?" Tommaso asked because Fran's kick to his shin hit him too late.
And this indeed was an information that Dean didn't really need right now. But he kept a brave face. Because he already sensed that something was up with this Cesaro guy. It was just like the topping of the cake – in a negative way.
"His trainer?" Dean asked but it was just a rhetorical question, actually not even a question, just a confirmation for himself that it was true what he already assumed, that Cesaro worked for Livingston. "I'd no idea when... I was working for this... kinda shit."
"Actually," Tommaso started and kept his legs hidden behind his bar this time, "Cesaro was both, Livingston's and William's, trainer, until, you know, the incident happened. Cesaro had to choose one side and he got the wrong one, in my honest opinion."
"I'm gonna invite him anyway," Dean declared. "So, if that's no problem for you, then you are very welcome at the castle."
"We're looking forward to the party, Dean," Fran said with her most genuine smile.
– – – –
"That was one of the best meals I ever had the pleasure to enjoy," Robbie said after cleaning his mouth on the freshly smelling napkin.
"It certainly polished your language, Rob," Mr Regal said, vaguely smiling at his friend. Both were sitting in the living room while Dean – fully dressed in his maid costume – cleared the table of the dishes. He had been marvellous all evening, courteous and suavely, no word spoken without the absolute need, the food on point, friendly but not flirtatious to Robbie. And William already wondered what might have happened in town.
Dean hadn't say much after he went home. He'd straight dressed up for work, prepared an opulent supper, looked after Mr Regal's pets and even had the time to get the washing machine ready and clean the library before serving the meal in the living room to a spectacular decoration from stones, glass and little flowers.
When Dean came back to the castle, Mr Regal and his friend had been sitting in the library, talking about the past and the present time, sharing memories and stories. On his way back, Dean made a promise to himself not to make a fool of himself once again. And he didn't want to shove Mr Regal into any sort of a no-win situation. On the scale of things, Dean wanted to be a good servant to make Mr Regal's time with his friend a pleasant one.
He wasn't sure if it could possibly work. But he actually enjoyed it when Mr Brookside said that he liked the meal. Dean only enjoyed his statement internally, of course. And he only said, Thank you, sir, when Mr Regal expressed the satisfaction of the two of them of how the evening went so far.
After he'd served a dessert of self-made fruit chips, Dean was allowed by Mr Regal to go to his room after he'd have done his work in the kitchen.
– – – –
From Dean's Diary / 25 Dec 2014
How much has changed since yesterday. I don't know how to start to express what runs through my head. Mr Brookside arrived and I wasn't keen about him at all. William and myself had a perfect time early today but all that vanished like the dinosaurs a couple of thousand years ago. Was pretty angry about the guy – and jealous. But being outside on the graveyard in town, hanging out with Fran and Tommaso – never thought those two could be dating! – gave me a complete opposite opinion about him – and William as well. He's obviously got his ghost of the past – I really shouldn't have read this Dickens story but it's actually a good one! – keeps him trapped in everything he does. And maybe this Brookside lad can be more of a help than me. Because, I don't know what Mr Regal sees in me, perhaps that very ghost, but it doesn't help him to jump back in to the present time. And then...
Dean looked up from writing into his diary, turned his head towards the closed door to his room. Because he thought that he'd heard something.
But there was nothing by silence. So he turned back to his pen and paper when there actually was the knock again.
It was half past twelve when Mr Regal entered Dean's room to his servant's permission. The boy still wore his fishnet stockings, together with his black briefs but nothing else when William met his surprised look. He took a seat right next to him without saying a single word, just looking at him from top to bottom.
"The way you behaved earlier today deserved you a lot of punishment, dear boy," William finally said but kind of smiled at him.
"I know, sir," Dean replied, knowing that one simple sorry wasn't able to eliminate all the broken rules and the foul treatment to Mr Regal's friend.
"But I was also pleasantly surprised about you and your behaviour since you came back home," Mr Regal continued. "Something obviously happened in town. So, will you tell me?"
"I just met Fran and we talked and then we went to Tommaso, had a coffee, and talked again. That made me realize about my standing here and that I had been at fault and no reason to behave the way I did," Dean said, sailing on a metaphorical ocean with a lot of icebergs, trying not to hit one single one of them.
"And this is all that happened today in town?" William consequently asked. "You went from spoilt brat to pure angel just because of a little chat with, admittedly, great coffee? If that's indeed the case, I know how to change your mood within an instant from now on."
"Well, I also invited Fran and Tommaso to the castle for a private party to celebrate the New Year. That might have calmed me down," Dean said, trying to avoid further revelations with one important one. But William didn't seem to be surprised about it.
"We need to prepare a few things then. But we can talk about this tomorrow. Do you have a question for me tonight, dear boy?" William asked with a genuine smile that offered Dean the confidence he'd hoped for.
"Not really a question, sir. Just please tell me about Jon Moxley," Dean said and felt that it was the right demand at the right time.
Terrible cliffhanger, I know. But you know what to do to get an earlier update. Looking forward to your opinions and / or suggestions. Cheers in advance!