A cough. Rustling of paper. The tip of a finger licked then turned a page. Drawings and words printed. Victor Van Dort took pleasure in few things, but sitting in his study gave him peace. Reading and memorizing the mechanics of certain insects. It was a new hobby of his.
Victor looked through the window in his room. A gray eternity filled the day sky. It made the town look just as gray. Reflections of the clouds on the puddles in the mud. It had rained the night before. The town crier walked cautiously around the main streets as to not slip in the wetness.
Eyes refocused onto the image of himself in the window. Only twenty-three years of age and he had already started to grow some white hair. His bangs were speckled with lines of gray. Victor did not remember exactly when that started to happen. He did not dwell on it.
The clock on the right wall chimed nine. The room swallowed the noise, happy to hear a sound. Chords wavered until the last striking tone died within Victor's ears. Grasping the jacket that hung over his chair, he wrapped it around his body and left the room.
Quick, sharp steps down the staircase. He walked past the opening to the living room, past the door to the left in the hallway and finally reached the kitchen. A half loaf of bread sat on the table in the middle of the room. It was enveloped in a nice white cloth. It immediately reminded him of Victoria. She always wrapped the bread in the same way. The same pattern. Victor took the cloth off and cut a slice with a knife. The bread tasted dry in his mouth.
Victor left the kitchen and walked to the front door. He took an itchy scarf from the hat rack on the wall and put it around his neck.
"Have a good day at work, Victor," said a voice from the living room.
"I will, Victoria. Good bye," said Victor. There was no reply.
Closing the front door behind him, Victor sighed. It was very cold out and his breath carried through the air. Victor put his ungloved hands into his jacket pocket and started to walk. There were many stores in this town but no many people to buy things. It didn't bode well for the stores most of the time. But, for whatever reason, the fish market had a slight boom in popularity and Victor was given a job as an accountant for his parents' business. They had a small building in the middle of town. It had two stories. The first story held the shop and the second held Victor's office.
A man was out front cleaning the windows. Victor recognized him.
"Henry, hello. Has father come in yet?" asked Victor.
"Not yet, sir. Some new orders came in early today and the receipts are on the counter," said Henry. His wet hands shook slightly.
"Thank you, Henry. And please, you don't need to wash the windows this early. Let's go inside," said Victor. He opened the door for Henry and they both walked in.
It was only slightly warmer than the outside but it was something. Henry went off into the backroom and started to prepare some new fish. The familiar stink of fish followed Victor as he went upstairs, receipts in hand.
His office was much like his study in his own home. Books scattered the floor. Paper messily placed on his desk. Victor walked to the chair hidden behind the desk and sat down. He put the receipts in a file and wrote, "Do this at some point" on it. Victor turned around in his chair and looked out the window. The sound of chopping could be heard from downstairs. It began to rain again.
"This is going to be a very dull day," said Victor to nobody in particular.
Rain slid down the panes of glass. A light tapping sound as they landed. It was dark outside. Hints of fog touched the windows from the inside. The light from the lamp flickered and its distorted reflection flashed orange.
Victor's eyes began to hurt and he remembered to blink. He got up from his chair, his leg muscles whining in disuse. He turned off the gas lamp at his desk and walked downstairs. Henry had left an hour before. Victor turned off any more lights in the store then locked the front door behind him.
The rain was hard and Victor pulled up his jacket over his head, scarf neatly tucked inside. A very brisk walk took him back to his house on the edge of town. The house was dark and Victor knew Victoria must have gone to her bed.
Once inside, Victor shed his scarf and coat and hung them up to dry. He walked into the kitchen. The bread was folded up neatly within the cloth again.
Victor was about to take another slice when he heard a rushed knocking at the front door. Bewildered, Victor walked into the hallway and opened the door. It was the town crier. His overcoat was soaked through and his face was a patchy red.
"Enn, please come in! It must be – " started Victor.
"I'm here on business, sir. I have some…news to tell you," said the town crier.
"Well, what is it?" asked Victor.
Water was gathering on the brim of the town crier's hat and it dripped over the front of his tilted face.
"Your father has died," he said.
The rain continued to fall.