Mr. Junior finally made it home by 1:23 pm. Once he had crossed the bridge, he rotated the leaver so that the house was protected once more. He creeped inside quickly, sneaking and peeking around corners to make sure nobody saw him. The house was silent. And on deaf feet he made it to his private basement. He looked for the information sheet the lawyer had left him in order to understand what he was dealing with. There were many names and profiles, too many to count. But how many of these people would he come across? Surely not all of them. But Mr. P had said that they would come of their own accord, nonetheless he wanted to make sure he at least had some information before that came about, so he sat reading and reading profiles, drinking water to help his mind focus.
As he got down the page he stopped at a profile that was all too familiar:
Name: Mr. Fird.
Occupation: Psychologist and prolific writer.
Address: Not disclosed.
Information that would be beneficial to know:
Mr. Fird was and still is the leading and ground-breaking figure of matters that concern the mind. He had spent his time, as the recipient will already know, working with Mr. Senior to understand the mechanisms and behaviours that plague individuals from the offset...
Mr. Junior stopped reading, the memories came flooding back all too quickly and he discarded the sheet as he made his way up the stairs and locked the door behind himself. His agitation was swelling up inside. He walked over to his study briskly and grabbed two bottles of red wine, along with a glass. Returning down the basement he placed them on the floor and went to lock the door again.
First glass.
Sec/ond glass.
Third glass.
And soon he only had one bottle left.
Mr. Junior's heart was sucked into a black hole, like the galaxy and he were one. He had no tears to cry. He never had done. Instead, he was binged with booze, a melancholy that demobilised, and a head full of wild thoughts.
***
At the dining room table everybody had finished their lunch. Most of the maids had retired to their rooms in small numbered groups, leaving Lady Isabel, Madam Tracy, and Lady Itisthia in an awkward silence.
At the start of lunch it was noticed that Lady Itisthia had been missing, creating suspicion, and when she appeared late her misplaced behaviour was even more evidence for concern, at least for Madam Tracy and Lady Isabel; but the other maids were curious too.
Lady Isabel and Madam Tracy had served the food, and the two had a small conversation in the kitchen.
"Do you think that she was with him?" Lady Isabel had asked.
"It's the only place she could have been, but not in the way your thinking."
"Well, what makes you say that?"
"Because, as lovely as she is... well, it just wouldn't happen. Just forget the thought... her daughter, however. Now that's another story."
"Well, what does that men?" Lady Isabel asked, all flustered and confused.
"First of all, she has the exact same birthday as him, which gives her brownie points. Second of all, she is as wild a woman I've ever met, and absolutely beautiful... a few years ago, when she worked in the house..." Madam Tracy stopped talking. She looked at Lady Isabel and realised she had been rambling too much. The refreshing feeling of being able to talk to somebody freely was a novelty, but she reined herself in and directed her attention back to lunch. "Come on, let's serve."
"Your just going to leave me hanging like that? Why the sudden reluctance?"
"I've told you too much about everything already. Oh, and also, it's an unwritten and unspoken rule not to gossip about others business... but I'm sure you've figured that out by now."
Throughout lunch Lady Isabel was itching to ask more questions, but she joined in the conversation everybody else was having instead.
The strange arrangement of the house was starting to stir, and everybody was beginning to feel it.
In the present moment, however, the three were looking at each other with uncertainty, and a sense of anticipation, at least from Lady Isabel and Madam Tracy.
"Well?" The two said in unison, their eyes piercing Lady Itisthia who was fidgeting with her purple dress. Her cheeks turned red and she looked embarrassed to be the centre of attention. "There is nothing to tell, ladies," she said in a quiet voice. "I was asked to help and that's all I did."
Lady Isabel and Madam Tracy looked at each other with concern. "Are you actually serious?" Lady Isabel asked in frustration, she was agitated and wide eyed. "Calm down. You must learn how things work," Madam Tracy replied, standing up and tucking in her chair. She grabbed Lady Isabel by the elbow, making her stand up and follow her out of the dining room.
Lady Itisthia was confused as she took the opportunity to leave and retreat to her room.
***
Mr. Junior was slightly disoriented as he walked into his master bedroom and got into the shower. He had finished the second bottle but had caught sight of the newspaper and remembering Kresten City he immediately decided he would visit. It was his new project and business adventures that had distracted him from falling into his usual habits, this being said, he was already falling into the abyss.
Once he was out of the shower he got dressed into an all black suit, black dress shoes, leather gloves, with a double shoulder rig wrapped around his waist. He took two pocket pistols from a small case and slipped them into each holster, then grabbed a heavy, black overcoat and walked his way, slightly off balance, out of the house.
The wagon Lady Itisthia had used was in the front garden and he lowered the drawbridge before riding out. The sun was still beaming overhead whilst he rode throgh the forests passage slowly, his eyes were still blurry as he looked around, his mind was far from clear, and his body felt broken, deep wounds rising to the surface.
The road was bumpy as he passed Mr. P's home near the river Kredert, but he roade on not bothering to pay any attention to it, determined to understand the mysterious City in it's dark glory. That was why he was going. He wanted to see the lost land. He wanted to see the place of his birth. But he was also fighting the memories.
The lost land would be the place he would build his future he decided, but first he needed to see it. Feel it. Know what he was walking into. And what he was walking back into.
Beyond the river the river farmers were on their land busy at work, and Mr. Junior received some shocked looks, some unwelcoming looks, and some desireful looks from Ladies that wanted him to charm them. Though he paid no attention to anyone. He was still in his melancholic state but he tried to remember the City as best he could. It was in vein, though. His memory was muddied by too much.
The roads had widened out as the fields on either side became level grounded --- he had been riding at a slight upward trajectory --- and he could see the 'Shadow Walker's Castle' in the distance; at least that's how he remembered it.
The gates wide open and a thick fog --- one that felt as though it was going to choke you --- engulfed the air as soon as he entered. The buildings stood as dark shadows as he made his way slowly through the streets, his blurry vision slowing him down. The castle was his target. But he was hearing those small sounds building in his ears. The paranoia was back. The cold sweat soaking through his suit. Rats scurried along the streets in haste, people... people were sat on the ground leaning their backs on the walls, eyes open, blood smeared along the ground and walls, insects and birds picking at them.
Mr. Junior's chest was knotting and his throat felt as though it was closing up, he was stumbling about, here, there, until he slowly came to a crawl on the ground; blood dirtying his clothes, a severed head lay next to him. And the eyes. The eyes were back on him. Following his every move.
A shot rang out, echoing through the air with it's fierce, alarming roar, making Mr. Junior scramble to his feet. And then he saw movement, heard even more. Left, right, figures scurrying for shelter. Another shot rang. A cry coming afterwards. A man down! The threat was real now.
He grabbed the gun from the holster above his right hip and stumbled against a building, ducking low, not knowing what was going on.
More footsteps were heard all around, making him panic, his right hand gripping the gun tighter and tighter.
"It's going to be a long day, boys," he heard a voice shout. A wicked laugh following. Not somebody he had heard before. he didn't know where it came from, the echo bouncing from ear-to-ear.
The shots had stopped temporarily, so had the movement, allowing Mr. Junior to try regaining his faculties. His head and soul were still sucked into the dark galaxy, ripping him from inside, his chest chest feeling like it was being squeezed.
What was he to do?
He thought about trying to retreat, but he was almost halfway through the large City, bodies pilling up. He couldn't risk it. He knew he wouldn't get to the castle like this, his breathing was laboured and the stress was building up, but slowly, moving step-by-step, he managed to start making his way back to the gates.
Then a shot came flying past, hitting the wall just above his head. He turned and raised his gun but nobody was there, the footsteps fading in the distance as he did so.
"Stop wasting precious ammo, boys! As you well know, it's expensive to fund a war!" It was the same voice from earlier. "I expect every bullet to hit your targets!"
Who is he talking to?
Mr. Junior's senses were heightened all of a sudden, the adrenaline pumping through him, pushing him on.
He was making progress through the streets as best he could, stopping when he heard movement or a shot. But then he saw a figure peeking out from his left as he was moving between buildings. A shot whizzed past and he turned, ducking and slipping to the floor. But he managed to return fire and a loud cry followed. He carried on moving.
But he saw another figure on his left through the fog, almost mirroring his every move. They eventually got to opposite sides of the gate, which was in the middle, but Mr. Junior was panicked by the accuracy of the enemies copy-cat like movements.
Everything he did was copied at the same time, then he remembered the newspaper's 'mysterious events', so he decided to try something.
He stood up and walked out into the open, gun raised, and he saw the figure was still mirroring him. The fog was thick and he walked closer, but when they came face-to-face Mr. Junior froze. The figure looked exactly like himself!
They stood looking at each other for several moments, until multiple could be heard from pistols in the distance.
Mr. Junior rubbed his eyes and pinched himself, seeing if he was lost in his dark mind, but the figure did the same... until Mr. Junior turned and ran, hoping he was spared, but he heard footsteps behind running in the other direction...