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автор David Edwardson

David Edwardson

The last word

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© David Edwardson, 2019

This story tells about the power of the word, which radically changed a person’s life, and entailed unexpected consequences.

ISBN 978-5-4493-2655-3

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Contents

1. The last word

This story tells about the power of the word, which radically changed a person’s life, and entailed unexpected consequences.

CONTENTS

The last word

This story is a fiction of the author’s mind and doesn’t relate to real life. Any matching names and places of action are no more than coincidences.

***

I woke up in a George Hotel, one of the best Edinburgh’s hotels and the night trip from London made itself felt despite my cheerfulness and elation. The knocking of the train wheels partly continued being heard in my ears… No, please, get me right, I don’t mind trains at all but train trips are very tiring. A short while lying on a bed and thinking about train I decided to forget about it: I had to get to the meeting.

The meeting should been held at ten a.m. Looking briefly at the beautiful chandelier hanging above me, I got up and reached my watch, that was lying on the night table next to me. It was ten minutes past eight, though my breakfast should be brought at eight thirty. I went to the window, opened the curtains and saw the picturesque view of moving cars against the backdrop of beautiful buildings. It evoked a sense of interaction between the beautiful past and the breathtaking present.

Without thinking twice I went to the bathroom and entering it I saw dazzling white walls with perfectly engraved patterns. Designers did really great job to surprise the guests with even such trifles.

I took a shower, brushed my teeth and barely had time to get dressed, as I heard a knock on the door.

“Can I enter, sir?” asked the waiter loudly.

“Come in!” I said distinctly.

The door opened and a young waiter came into the room. He was about twenty years old with the trolley where my breakfast and coffee were served.

“I brought your breakfast, sir!” he said with a joy.

“Thank you,” I said politely.

“Bon appetit, sir,” the waiter said with a smile, closing the door behind him.

For breakfast I got cheese and jam scones flavored with cream. It looked very appetizing so I immediately began to eat them. Wiping the scones with fresh coffee, I felt an aroma I did not know before: it was an espresso, but unlike espresso in other countries — it was famous for using more roasted grains and bigger portion than usual.

After breakfast I went to the mirror to tie a tie. Doing it I was staring into the mirror for a long time in an unfamiliar atmosphere for me. Using a hair gel, I achieved an ideal hairstyle and, finally, had perfumed with scented water and wore a jacket, but when I was going out I thought about the time and almost forgot about my watch lying on the bedside table.

By the way, it was a Blancpain watch which my uncle Richard gave me as a present. It was his farewell gift at the last meeting… Since that I haven’t seen him in the UK and couldn’t find out where did he go.

I looked up at my watch and saw it was a quarter to nine. I knew that a red car should come for me at exactly eight fifty a.m., so it was impossible to lose a minute. I closed the door behind myself and went to the ground floor to give the key back. Amazingly beautiful walls and ceilings beckoned me to stay, but my time was up. I came right on time: the receptionist was free and could quickly service me.

“I’d like to give the key back,” I said.

The receptionist, a young lady with a pleasant appearance raised her head and looked at me.

“What’s your name?” she asked softly.

“Arthur… Arthur Phillips,” — I introduced myself, giving her my passport.

The receptionist kept looking at me for a long time, then again at the document.

“It’s just a hairstyle,” I said slowly.

“I get it. Your room is ninety-nine, right?” she asked smiling.

“All right,” I responded in a confident tone.

“It costs two hundred and fifty pounds, Mr. Philips.”

I opened my purse, took out the money in cash and laid them out in front of her. I spent not more than twelve hours in this hotel but considering the quality of service, I was pleased with the price.

Recounting the money she nodded and handed me the form:

“Your payment is accepted, sign here, please.”

I put the signature in front of my surname.

“Thank you for choosing our hotel, we’ll be happy to see you again,” she said, giving me my passport back.

Taking the document and thanking her in return, I moved to the exit.

When I went out of the hotel, my mouth fell open: a gorgeous red Hudson Hornet, a pure classics straight from the fifties was waiting for me, and it caused an incredible feeling of nostalgia and romance at the same time.

The classic stylish and streamlined look coupled with red coloring demonstrated an amazing work of the designers of that time.

As I approached the car, I noticed a waiting driver. Opening the back door, I saw a comfortable white-coloured car interior. I sat on a backseat and closed the door. The driver was sitting ahead the wheel in front of me. His beard and hat prevented seeing face completely, but it looked like he was already older than forty.

“Good morning,” I said joyfully.

The driver remained all the same and did not say a word.

For a moment I thought he was deaf, but I decided to clarify it.

“We need to go to Dunfermline. Do you know about it?” I asked him loudly.

The driver turned his head to me and nodded.

“Let’s go then, we need to be there by ten!” — I haven’t even finished as the car started off and we set off.

The road to Dunfermline was twenty-one mile long and according to my calculations we had to arrive there in a little over forty minutes with minimal traffic.

Judging by the movement, the speed of the car haven’t reached even forty miles. We turned towards Queen Street, passing by the beautiful Queen Street Garden park. The car was incredibly quiet, when suddenly the silent driver turned on the radio and at that very moment The Beatles was playing my favorite song “Yesterday”.

Oh yeah, rarely there is a chance to see the neighborhood of Edinburgh with your favorite song. The Beatles really made a splash: who would have thought that a few Liverpool guys would conquer the world. By the way, I haven’t ever been to Liverpool but I always wanted to visit that town.

Having left on the main road, we passed “Dean Gardens”. The incredible beauty of the park and the buildings caused me delight. For a moment I wished my eyes were a camera and I could save photos with my every blink to print them right away.

Moving along the road, we were coming closer to the Fort Road Bridge located above the Firth of Forth bay. The music from the radio was the same but with songs of the great John Lennon and I could see the railway Fort Bridge from the car window. Its length was more than one and a half miles, and the construction was fully completed in the distant 1890. This bridge can rightfully be considered one of the outstanding structures created on Earth.

Despite these beautiful views and my favourite music I felt tired of the trip so I’ve decided to take a nap before arriving at the destination, completely trusting the silent driver.

***

I was awakened by the car signal. I opened my eyes and saw the driver letting me know that we’ve arrived. I nodded and left the car. Looking around I saw an enormous white castle. There were many guests in front of it. Huge round pillars on the sides made the grandeur of this building. Two arc-shaped ladders sent guests to the central entrance of the building. Coming closer I looked around, admiring beautifully made flower beds and tiny fountains, located on both sides of the castle. This, verily, was that same estate of the Tweedie family. Ronald Tweedy, none other than the most famous building magnate, who made the company almost from scratch. He survived a lot of misery and suffering but he didn’t despair and today, on his son’s birthday, he have to make an important statement. In the meantime, I’m just one of the guests who came to this event.

Two men in suits from private security inspected the guests. When it was my turn I was asked to raise my hands and turn around. The man with a metal detector checked my body, said that everything was all right and wished a good party. I was in the building and perfumed ladies with their men were everywhere; they were all dressed in a pretty classical style and it seemed I was in the nineteenth century in the Victorian era.

A huge long buffet table for guests was richly covered with various dishes. Suddenly a waiter came up to me and offered me some wines to test. I asked for a red semisweet. The waiter handed me the glass and went to the other guests.

With a glass in my hand, I was looking at musicians playing classical compositions. The violinist was so skillfully playing the Antonio Vivaldi’s violin composition “The Seasons”, so for a moment the noise ceased: I closed my eyes, as if I was plunging into a trance, and heard only him playing.

Accidentally the music stopped and I saw Ronald Tweedy standing on a stage in front of all the guests.

He was quite old and his bright red hair hardly combined with his wrinkles and his thick brows gave him a formidable look. His height was above average and elegant gray suit perfectly combined with his manner of speech and emphasized his charisma.

He greeted everyone and was pleased with such a large company of guests gathered in his house. I wasn’t sure about the exact number of guests, but there were quite a lot of them, considering on how huge was only the first floor of his castle.

He called his only son on a stage. Slowly moving, a young man moved closer to his father. That was a skinny tall guy, even taller than his father but they were still alike, in particular with red hair and thick eyebrows. But some kind of uncertainty was felt in him which seemed quite strange to me due to his father’s greatness and the day of his own birth.

“Today’s a special day for my son that’s also important for me and gathered in here,” said Mr. Tweedy.

“Many of those present here are members of my family and part of my part of my friends and, of course, are interested in promotions,” Ronald grinned.

There were heard cheers among the guests, photographers were taking pictures from different angles. I wasn’t a fan of the paparazzi, so I stayed behind the guests not to get into the camera lenses.

“Today I want to congratulate my boy Alan, who became a man… I wish you sincere love, great victories and that your way in Tweedy Industrial was clean and correct.”

The guests were amazed, the sea of applause overwhelmed the audience. Ronald embraced his surprised son and handed him the microphone.

It was incredible: a huge building empire since then was in the hands of an eighteen-year-old boy! His eyes twinkled and his face looked lost. Holding the microphone in his hand, Alan was speechless.

Everything looked really believable, as if the son really didn’t know about it and his father didn’t prepare him at all.

“I’m grateful to you, father… It’s a great honor for me and I’ll do everything for the company development and for the pride of our family,” Alan again embraced his father and thanked everyone, wishing to have a good time.

I was touched. I’m sure for many of them it was a historic moment. Guests one after another rose on the stage, congratulating and hugging the father and the son.

Music started again and the stormy joy of the guests was accompanied by dancing and singing.

Alan was sitting at a table surrounded by his partners and friends, happily leading the conversation. By the way, his father was his only close person. I heard that his mother and sister had a tragic death but the details are unknown until now.

Having tasted a dessert, I watched the celebration. Mr. Tweedie was passing by, chatting with the guests. Later he went up to the second floor, most likely to rest from noisy guests.

I left the table and moved to the stairs, as a waiter came to meet me. I asked him:

“Excuse me, where do you have the restroom?”

“The restroom is on the left in the corridor but now it’s quite crowded. You can use the restroom on the second floor, having passed same on the left side of the second floor,” — the waiter answered hastily.

“Thank you a lot,” I said.

The waiter nodded and moved forward.

Slowly going upstairs the marble steps, I looked at the snow-white outcroppings of the walls near which there were taking to each other guests. Unlike the ground floor, the first one was an observation point. Having risen on the first floor I turned left, moving to the toilet. A maid passed by me, holding an interesting vase in her hands.

I went to the restroom entrance and slowly opened the door.

White tiles completely covered the walls, the floor was made of marble with a bluish tint. I entered and closed the door behind me, in front of me stood a toilet, I leaned in and saw a pistol with a silencer and leather black gloves.

I put on those leather gloves and picked up the gun. It was ParaOrdnance R 18.9. In simpler terms, that was a Canadian copy of the Colt with a slightly low-profile design and a silencer.

Holding the gun in my hand, I turned to the mirror that was hanging over the sink. I looked at my face — it was no longer my face, but the face of a murderer, an executioner who takes life from the victim. Looking at my own reflection, I saw only a deep darkness that concealed true intentions. And only the mirror was a witness to the future action, but it was only a moment, accompanied by an absolute emptiness.

Behind the colored lenses, painted hair and an overhead nose, a completely different person was hiding, unwilling to look at his own face, he was hidden deep in his mind, far from this place and future actions. Now the role was assigned to the cold-blooded killer and those moments of thoughts were not necessary to him.

I hid the weapon in my jacket, put my hands in my pockets and went out

from the restroom. Moving along the corridor, I was looking at the paintings hanging

on walls, dark-red walls perfectly combined with creations of great artists. The corridor was surprisingly deserted. Moving more and more slowly, I listened to the presence of noise behind the door, but everything was very quiet. Really, who is interested in walking along the empty corridor in the midst of a holiday?.. Approaching the end of the corridor I saw a slightly opened door to the library, behind where there were rustling. Perhaps the old man was turning the pages of an old book from childhood, or archives of the company, perhaps even family album with photos of a young son. However, it didn’t matter for me. It was important that it was him.

Quietly entering, I saw huge bookshelves. The shelves were filled with books, some of them were so old that even the names on their roots were erased.

I looked at the ceiling and saw a very spectacular chandelier: a lot of artificial candles were beautifully arranged relative to each other and inside the candles the bulbs were barely visible. Perhaps it was a custom-made design work.

The bright light of the chandelier was so strong that it reflected on the dazzlingly smooth floor of the cherry blossom. I did not understand what kind of material it was but it clearly was a stone styling and given that I saw my own reflection in it, it certainly was of a decorative type.

The ability to pay attention to the details I have since childhood, but there is no way back and time doesn’t wait.

The old man continued to turn over pages and I approached closer and closer. Pulling the gun from the inside pocket of my jacket, I stopped a couple of meters from Mr. Tweedie, who was sitting at his desk. He looked up and saw his killer. He didn’t scream and didn’t even cry, perhaps he was stronger than that. Covering the manuscript with a cardboard cover, he looked at me steadily, waiting for his fate.

I pointed a gun at him and shot him in the chest. The old man fell to the floor, starting to bleed. I approached him to make a control shot but then something happened that I couldn’t expect.

Flowing blood and leaving this world, he said only one word:

“Thank you!”

That was his last word!

A word forever left in my memory that doesn’t give me an understanding. The old man died in front of my eyes. I still held the gun, sending it to his forehead, when suddenly everything became silent. What was it? Maybe it seemed to me… How is it? Why does the victim thank the killer?

A wave of misunderstanding seized me, my hand began to tremble and in my head I still continued to hear the last word of gratitude.

I didn’t make a control shot but slowly lowered the gun and immediately took it into my jacket pocket. Sighing heavily, I went to the library door and, going out, closed the door behind myself.

Hurriedly moving along the corridor, I still heard the last word uttered. Trying to deal with emotions, I went to the restroom. Closing the door behind me, I pulled out the gun, carefully removed my gloves and returned them to the place they were taken from.

Approaching the sink, I opened the tap, wet my hands and washed my face. I looked in the mirror but still was there, as if the movie scene was in front of my eyes. Why did he thank for this, even if he was old?.. You mustn’t thank for taking your life away!

I could think about that for a long time but that was the wrong place and the wrong time… I had to get out of there and leave on that exact red Hudson Hornet.

I went out of the restroom and went to the stairs; the noisy fun of the guests was still heard from the ground floor. Going downstairs, I tried not to look at anyone and moving along the hall, I took a glass of wine from the waiter with a tray. Sparkling wine left a pleasant aftertaste and I tried to quickly forget everything and leave the place.

Going to the exit from the building, I saw all the same guards discussing the possibilities of a sports car. Slowly passing between them, I went to a street platform, where some guests preferred to have fun in the open space, joyfully telling stories to each other.

The waiters were still dispensing drinks and decorating tables near the guests.

I tried to move faster and quickly went to the parking lot. I didn’t have much time, sooner or later someone would go up to the first floor, knock on the library door, open it and see the dead Ronald Tweedie. Perhaps it will be a maid, or maybe a son… And as soon as it would happen, the triumph would be over. Everyone will be suspected, and I, the true murderer, don’t need to be there.

Finally I saw a parking lot: many cars of different classes were parked near the stone wall. I moved to the right and finally saw it. I would recognize it from a thousand — the gorgeous red Hudson Hornet was parked next to the black Aston Martin.

Without thinking twice, I opened the back door, sat on the seat and without looking up said:

“Let’s go, time does not wait.”

Suddenly a completely different driver turned to me. It was a young man of about thirty, with another eye color, short light hair and long fingers on the steering wheel of the car and on the back of his neck he had a strange tattoo of a striped snake.

While I was completely bewildered and didn’t know what to say, the driver began his monologue:

“Well, manners, you stranger! You break into someone else’s car and ask to be taken away soon… Apparently, you went over with alcohol!”

Well, unlike the first driver, he was not deaf and was surprisingly witty.

“I don’t know what really happened, but I can assure you that I arrived on this exact car. But with another driver. I don’t have time to figure this out. We must leave right now!”

After my words, he only smiled and said:

“It doesn’t matter who sits in this car, the main thing is that he knows the answer!”

“The answer to what?!” I asked in surprise.

“To the riddle! Guess the riddle, and the car will move!”

All my thoughts mingled in my head… What was going on? I didn’t understand what he was talking about. Where did the last driver go? Was he asked politely to leave the car? Or, perhaps, he was killed and then hidden in the trunk of the car and this impostor is trying, like me, to slip away and poke me with riddles? I tried to collect a picture in order to give an eloquent answer but the word of the deceased like aching pain slipped in my head and going back to the past, I tried to get the answer.

Five seconds of reflection still gave me consent because I had no choice.

“Well, would you be so kind as to tell me a riddle,” I said quietly.

The driver looked in the rearview mirror and began to say:

“Two people approach the river. At the shore there is a boat that can withstand only one. Both men crossed to the opposite shore. How?”

It was difficult, my head was heavily loaded and yet I decided to strain my mind.

Two people approach the river and the boat can withstand only one but in the end both crossed to the opposite shore… There was clearly some kind of dirty trick.

Well, most likely they didn’t stand on one shore because at first it was only said that two people are approaching but it wasn’t told where. So the conclusion: most likely, they stood on opposite sides and when one swam to the other, he handed him the boat.

“I know the answer,” I said loudly.

“And how did this happen?” asked the driver.

“They were on different shores,” I said firmly.

The driver started the car and looked up:

“All right.”

“Now we’re finally going?” I asked.

“Undoubtedly!” he said.

The car left the parking lot and moved to the gate of the residence. An elderly man opened the gates to us and wished a happy journey.

The road was laid through a forest. It was very impressive. Earlier arriving in here, I was taking a nap and didn’t see this.

“Do you know where I should go?” I asked the driver.

“Unlikely. You had to leave and we are on the road,” — he said relaxed.

“We need to go to Edinburgh, Station Waverley, and soon,” I told him, sighing.

“As you wish,” he responded.

I sat back and looked only at the road.

“And yet what happened to the last driver?” I asked.

“I don’t understand what you mean. My goal is to deliver the client, the rest doesn’t interest me. Your name, your goals — all of it doesn’t matter. You solved the riddle, then you are going on this car,” he explained to me.

“Well, it’s clear,” I answered him.

“Well, don’t ask questions that you still won’t get an answer,” I thought. My head was already quite not right. The murder of a building magnate in the midst of celebration, and even the birthday of his son is much more insane than my interrogations. And his last word still made me shiver and misunderstanding.

I needed to get distracted to cool my thoughts and the radio would be a great solution.

“Excuse me, would you turn on the radio? Sometimes there is great music,” I said.

The driver turned on the radio but instead of pure voices we heard only a hoarse noise. The driver tried to set the right wave but it was hopeless.

“It’s useless, it’s quite expected: among these forest thickets we are unlikely to hear anything,” he explained.

“Well, I see,” I answered.

The driver turned off the radio and looked again in the rear-view mirror.

“Do you love music?” — asked the driver.

“Yes, that’s true, especially the Beatles,” I replied.

“Liverpool guys, then… I like them too, I was in their hometown,” he informed me.

“And how do you like the city? I haven’t been there yet,” I said.

“Oh, it’s a great place! Clubs, bars in honor of the legendary group, there is even the Beatles museum and many other equally interesting stuff,” he said happily.

Unlike the first driver he was rather talkative and told me everything about his trip to Liverpool. Everything down to the smallest details, right up to how he went over with alcohol in a John Lennon bar and almost didn’t make a fight, to naked women trading behind the counter.

“You definitely need to go there, do not even doubt it,” he finished.

I was curious to know about his tattoo but asking a direct question would be inappropriate, after all we are only two strangers riding in one car. I decided to ask a little differently.

“Your tattoo… is it from Liverpool too?” I asked.

The driver gave a little grin.

“Oh, no! It’s a completely different story, it means a lot to me,” he said.

“Well, okay,” I said.

“I can tell you if you are interested,” he suggested.

“Yes, of course, I’ll listen with joy,” I told him.

“Here’s how it was. I went to Mexico with the invitation of my old friend. A little trip, you know,” he began.

I listened attentively to him and tried not to think about anything else.

“So I traveled all over Mexico City and then we went to Queretaro State. Mexico is quite a hot place, and sometimes I even wanted to go naked. But this is not the essence… We, a whole company of crazy people, went on a campaign. It was all fun for them but for me it was a nightmare,” he said with a sigh.

“And then what happened?” — I asked.

“I had a camera… After all, what a trip without taken memories, I thought. And here we have a party in full swing, my friend Diego plays the guitar and the view of Santiago de Queretaro from the tops of the mountains was just amazing. And finally, when I decided to take a picture of guys and went to the side of the fallen leaves, when suddenly a snake bit my leg. It was a coral snake. Well, it raced: double picture in the eyes, losing consciousness… And our fiesta came to an end.”

“What is the end?” I asked in surprise.

“Fortunately, the city was not so far away and I was quickly taken to the nearest hospital where my life was saved. The bite was insignificant and a few days later I was again cheerful. I survived it, but if I survived, then I was reborn… So I decided to mark my luck with this tattoo of a coral aspid. The trip would be unpleasant, but still I learned from it a lesson.”

“You are very lucky! It’s impressive,” I said.

“Nevertheless, this snake is now on me and will remain with me for the rest of my life. Only because we accept our fear, we can get rid of it,” he finished.

We were already approaching the bridge of Fort Road Bridge which meant that halfway was already over.

The driver again tried to turn on the radio and this time we heard a clean male voice without interference. It was a sports commentator, vigorously discussing the games of the Highlanders. I often saw this truly powerful spectacle. The driver also silently listened to a certain Michael Gunn, who managed to throw a log weighing 201 pounds at 12.00. Thus, the log fell perpendicular to the ground after a coup in the air. This is real madness!..

“Well, it’s just crazy! This guy probably has crazy body!” the driver suddenly cried out.

“Yes, I’m afraid to imagine how he looks!” — I informed.

“So, you are also interested in the games of the Highlanders, aren’t you?” the driver asked.

“from time to time. I’ve seen them alive,” I said happily.

“It’s rightly noticed, on the radio you can’t see all the charm. But, as they say, be happy with what you have,” he grinned.

We drove and continued to listen to the games and sometimes the driver reacted to the results as hard as the commentator, that sometimes without restraining emotions, he clenched his fist and shouted joyfully: “Holy shit! It’s just incredible!”.

“My friend Diego was very fond of sports games of all kinds, but most of all he liked to bet,” he suddenly began.

“It’s a rather risky undertaking!” I expressed myself.

“Yes, he was like that but, dammit, how lucky he was! Football, hockey, basketball, even the games of the highlanders — all this succeeded him. They say that newcomers are lucky but in his case it was an unshakable belief in victory and just an incredible intuition like a canine scent,” he continued.

“He got rich?” I asked.

— Hell yeah!.. He managed to put together a fortune and start a new life,” — he finished, sighed and looked away.

We were already in Edinburgh and there were only a few minutes to the station. This driver was an interesting person and remained very mysterious at the same time.

We drove up to Waverley Station and the car stopped.

“We arrived, Waverley Station!” Said the driver.

“Thank you!” I responded joyfully.

I was about to leave but I decided to find out how his friend’s story ended.

“Forgive me for curiosity but what happened to your friend in the end?” I asked.

“Is it important? He disappeared as all of us will be merged into this world like a drop in the sea… And we will become invisible to everyone,” he told me.

I could understand his answer in different ways but there was no exact answer. Perhaps, there were good reasons for this.

“Well, that’s clear. And yet a mystery, what for you needed my answer, what was the point?” I asked at last.

The driver sighed and turned to me:

ЭThe essence of the riddle was that we always stand on different banks. This is just a metaphor but in fact it is the same. Even in the car or on the train, even being at the meeting, we are always on different shores and only the consent of one allows the other to get to the desired point. But we all the same disappear, dissolve and the only thing we have is our memory. You can survive the past, don’t think about the future, forget yourself, living in the present but memories will remain forever. I hope I was able to make a positive impression in you.

“Thank you for such an interesting communication and a trip!” I said.

Shaking hands with him, I got out of the car and moved towards the station.

For a moment I stopped and watched how the lovely red Hudson Hornet was moving away from me and the driver’s words aroused in me the desire for an inner transformation…

***

Approaching the Waverley station, I stopped and looked around this truly historic place. The station was in an ideal location to Princess Street, where the Edinburgh Castle and its gardens were located. I breathed out and trying not to think about anything I came inside.

I entered the center, looked again at the domed ceiling, then looked at the clock. The arrow pointed four-fifty p.m., the train was due to arrive at five o’clock. I took my ticket out of the jacket and went to the barriers.

The station, as always, was full of people. It usually worried me. However, this time the noise of the crowd again aroused the pain in my head. I felt as I were again in Mr. Tweedie’s house… Emotions rushed over me and I again and again heard his last word for a long time, and the anxiety brought me there more and more.

“It’s not the right place to be weak,” I reminded myself. After attaching the ticket, I went through the barrier and stood on the platform. I wanted the only thing: to leave as soon as possible and come back home.

The yellow-blue train was approaching the platform and it was the ScotRail train that would take me to London straight to Kings Cross Station!

Upon entering the train, I sat down in my seat next to the window and saw how we were moving, leaving Edinburgh behind. As I settled back, I closed my eyes and did not open them to London, plunging into a deep sleep.

***

Awakened from a deep sleep I looked out the window and saw the familiar Kings Cross Station. It was nine-fourteen p.m. The train stopped and I moved to the exit along with the other passengers.

Moving along the station I tried to get out of there soon and hurried home. By the way, my house was very close to the station, on 29, Golding Street so I didn’t need extra transportation and could get there on foot.

Leaving the station, I went northwest through Charrington Street and approaching Platt Street I turned left towards my Gold Street.

Before I could get to my street I felt small raindrops dripping down my forehead. The rain and wind began to intensify and I, feeling the cold flow of air and looking at the sky, realized that I was at home. Approaching my house, I looked around and saw people who were dispersing around their houses. Entering the building, I went up to the second floor, took out the keys and went into my apartment.

Silence and peace — that’s all I needed now, and there couldn’t be a better place for me. The absolute minimalism reigned inside the small apartment, emphasized by a strict design.

After taking off my jacket and shoes I headed to the bathroom to wash off the dirt and try to forget everything. Standing under the stream of water I felt the emptiness inside, thoughts were tossed from side to side, creating reflections, and attempts to resist only increased the tension.

Wiping my face I turned and looked in the mirror. Finally, after so long I saw true myself without masks, with a smile… I wanted to believe that this person could still be saved but instead of my reflection I suddenly saw Ronald Tweedy repeating the last word, trying to tell me something with it. But I saw another man behind him — the killer who made the shot. The killer looked at me and tore off his mask. That was me. You can try to deceive others but you can’t deceive yourself.

Leaving the bathroom I went to my shelf, opened the safe and took out Colt 1911, that my uncle Richard gifted to me. Undoubtedly, one of my favorite hobbies is disassembling the weapons. And doing it with the legendary weapon always gave me special pleasure, immersing in pleasant moments spent with my uncle, who taught me everything he knew himself.

My uncle was my father’s brother, whom I hadn’t known for a long time. My father Joseph was a policeman. He worked hard and did his job well, until one day he fell into an ambush where he couldn’t get out. According to the investigation he was shot in the night pursuit and he could get out if the ambulance was on time but he lost too much blood.

I was just a teenager and it was very hard for me to go through such grief. One day a man knocked at our door and introduced himself as his father’s brother. It was uncle Richard.

Over time, he became my mentor, friend, teacher and almost could fill my life with the meaning after a tragic incident with my father.

He avoided questions about the connection with my father, responding that he lived quite far away from us and had no opportunity to meet.

After a while, I began to live with him, helping around the house and carrying his letters. Sometimes he handed me envelopes with the addressee and without knowing what was inside I delivered them all over London, gradually getting to know the city better.

I never asked useless questions and he had the only rule: not to enter the room with the Latin inscription “Alter ego’ on it. But curiosity always lives in us and sometimes takes possession of us in full measure and prohibitions only tempt our interest. He always locked that door but one day I noticed that the door was opened a bit. Long hesitant, I wanted to see what was inside the room, at least on a second to see the secret hidden by him. But opening the veil of secrecy I saw there nothing beautiful and good, there were only the tools of death, the tools of evil… Then I still didn’t realize that it was a loop that I fell into and out of which I could no longer succeed. I saw there huge sets of different types of guns, sniper rifles, knives and bottles with poison. Thas was the reverse side of a kind and loving Uncle Richard and that’s what the words on the door, written in Latin, meant.

Turning around I realized that he was behind me. He was upset. Perhaps he came back to close the door before I came into but it was too late.

He only told me that he didn’t want me to see all that but the point of no return was already passed.

I peeked into his eyes for a long time, trying to see even a little part of the former Richard in him but it was too late — I saw only the murderer, the mask was torn off and it was no way to wear it again.

I wanted to escape, hide, run somewhere in the slums of London, just not to see the last rays of hope that disappeared into oblivion.

But realizing and accepting the simple truth about me already being a part of the big game, I understood that I have nowhere to go and that was the only thing that had left for me.

I asked to be his student and he agreed, realizing that I had become a part of his life. He started out small, teaching me to work with weapons to feel their weight with cartridges and without, to believe and to trust myself.

I learnt to shoot and gradually entered the clan of murderers and over time, destroying my essence, I was able to adapt, approaching him.

I had to pay with blood for luxury cars and women, but the gap between us was still great.

Richard was a perfect killer, he worked everywhere and if someone had to be eliminated people always asked him… His superiority was undeniable.

And yet, having given me this life, he rewarded me with events, filling with emotions, flaring up from bright colors to the gloomy dull tones accompanying me till this moment.

On our last meeting at the bar he took off his favorite watch and gave it to me. I didn’t know that was our last meeting and didn’t understand why did he give them to me. Coming back to my apartment I thought about it for a long time and yet decided to return the watch because I considered it was more valuable for him

Arriving to his house I was just disappointed: the house was sold, a new family moved into the estate and the former owner left for an unknown direction, I was told. Trying to find him, I realized that was the end and the motivation of his disappearance isn’t clear to me even to this day.

***

Remembering my past, I cleaned the muzzle, picked up the gun and put it back in the hiding place.

It was eleven-three in the evening. Turning off the light I fell asleep to finally gain strength and decide what to do next.

The next morning I made myself a coffee and, turning on the radio, tuned in to the news wave.

The radio reported a terrible tragedy that occurred in Dunfermline.

A woman’s voice, full of emotions, reported that the building magnate Ronald Tweedie was found dead in his house on the eve of a celebration of his son’s birthday.

“Shortly before his death, Mr. Tweedy gave an ability to rule the company to his young son, Alan Tweedy,” she said.

The news didn’t fill the emptiness inside me but only reminded more of the consequences, causing questions.

“According to the investigation, this is a premeditated murder. The police will continue investigating this monstrous murder,” she concluded.

Sighing heavily I turned off the radio and finished my coffee. Returning into the room I opened the wardrobe and reached for my jacket as suddenly I heard a bell in the door.

Slowly taking off my hand from my jacket I thought. Is it really the police or has the past decided to overtake me at this awkward moment? Scrolling different thoughts through my mind I walked slowly and quietly to the door. Looking at the peephole I saw a young lady not older than twenty-five.

“Who is she,” I thought, “and how does she know the number of my apartment?” A lot of thoughts have occurred to me and yet I decided to open the door to find out who this mysterious stranger is.

Opening the door, I saw her in all her whole glory: a tall girl with light fluffy hair, perfectly laid on her head and bright blue eyes with an attractive look. She was wearing a light blue dress with beautiful cuts on its sides, she was holding a small red handbag with both hands.

Of course, my surprise had no limit and I immediately decided to ask her:

“Excuse me, do we know each other?” I asked softly.

The girl just looked at me with a smile, looking me up and down, as if undressing. What does she need? I didn’t know what to say, when I suddenly noticed that she was pulling out of her red handbag an envelope and handing it to me with a smile.

“Is that for me? Are you sure?” I asked in surprise.

She nodded in response. Slowly holding out my hand I took the envelope from the stranger and looked at her again, letting her know that I didn’t understand anything. She just turned and headed toward the stairs.

Closing the door I just shook my head and hurried to open the envelope in order to understand what it meant.

Sitting in the room, I opened a mysterious envelope. To my surprise, it was completely empty. However, looking into the envelope I saw a text written in small letters but it was very difficult to read. Finding a magnifying glass in my closet I finally could read the message inside the envelope: “20, John Islip Street, Westminster, London. Today at 18:00.”

Address and time are everything that was written inside the envelope. Obviously, someone wants to meet with me but the motive for the meeting are completely unclear. I threw opened envelope on the desk and, reflecting, peered at the ceiling.

Who could it be? Another customer or echoes of the past? Neither one nor the other now didn’t bother me and there was no desire to meet either. And yet thas mysterious messenger, apparently, knew me… Moreover, they know my location, which suggested that it was clearly not an ulterior motive. Reflecting and analyzing I began to recall and didn’t find any previous links with Westminster. And again curiosity took over me. Like a savage wolfish hunger this feeling devoured me, causing more and more questions. Well, I didn’t have much choice; I looked at my watch and saw it was a quarter past three. There was plenty of time to get to this destination

Thinking about my plans and looking at the map of London I took out my new suit, stroked my trousers and brought them into a presentable look.

I didn’t try to change the appearance or seem like another person. Standing in front of a mirror I saw only myself. The masks were useless… After all, I was tired of these images constantly persecuting me, so I decided not to run away from myself and meet the mysterious messenger face to face.

As I was about to leave, I remembered of the envelope. Putting it in my jacket pocket I left the apartment and headed towards the Mornington Crescent metro station.

***

When I got to the Mornington Crescent station, I went through the barrier and entered the central train. There were few passengers in it, some of them were tourists. Two girls happily talked about something with each other in a foreign language. Listening to their speech I realized that their language was Spanish. Looking to the other side, I saw the faces of passengers: some were filled with the sadness of loneliness, while others happily talked to each other.

The society that surrounded me created the illusion that I was a simple person like them all, and not a monster filled with evil.

After another stop I heard that the next station was Pimlico. It was the one I had to get out. When I got ready to go out, I went to the door and saw my reflection, smoothly turning into Mr. Tweedie. And again I heard his voice and the last word he uttered. It was like a mental breakdown. My brain seemed to be trying to get an answer but it got no success. The ghost of the past haunted me and I didn’t know how long it would last.

The train stopped and the doors opened smoothly in front of me: I arrived at the Pimlico station. Going to the exit I walked up the escalator and went out the station.

I had to walk the rest of the way on foot; looking around I found the Bessboro Gardens. Moving along it I headed towards the Tate Britain gallery. I wasn’t in Westminster for a long time and it was an excellent occasion to remember my youth.

There was no rain despite the cloudy weather. I felt only a faint cold but it bothered me much less than meeting with the mysterious messenger. I stopped and saw a huge building. It was a house made in the best traditions of English architecture, which was in harmony with the environment.

At the gate I saw the same address: 20, John Islip Street. The gates were open, I entered the territory and headed to the main entrance, next to which were two men dressed in full black suits.

Even their shirt, hair color, shoes — all this was exceptionally black.

When I reached the entrance, I stopped in front of them. Their faces were quite unpleasant. Both of them had a very strange shade of skin. One of the men turned his eyes to me.

“Pass the received envelope or leave this place,” he said loudly.

I took out an envelope from my jacket pocket and handed it to him. A man in black took it from me, opened it and looked inside; the second man stood motionless as if he did not exist

A strange feeling arose in me, causing some anxiety.

The man in black hid the letter, looked at me again.

“Follow me, mister,” he said calmly.

The man opened the door and we entered the building. The door behind us shut, I turned around, when the man silently said to me:

“Do not be distracted, mister, follow me.”

We moved along a long corridor, which walls were painted red. Illumination was weak, but wqathcing closer I noticed waves. The walls looked as if they were wrapped in the water blood and the anxiety grew even stronger. But from a distance a some music came to my hearing. Classical, as far as I could guess the melody… I tried to hear it better, following a stranger.

Approaching the room arch the man stopped and turned to me.

“Come in, mister! He is waiting for you! Do not be afraid, he’ll finish soon,” he said, smiling.

I didn’t understand his words but I clearly heard Beethoven’s symphony.

Entering the archway into the room I saw a man in a black vest and a red shirt playing on a black piano. His hair was dark, his fingers were perfectly touching the keys that love and devotion to it was felt.

I continued to stand behind him and listened to him playing, along the way looking at the interior with a very strange design. The walls were painted in gray and red tones, it looked pretty scary and didn’t cause anything but splean and fear. To my left was a black fireplace, on the wall hung a very strange picture: it showed a beautiful forest where the hunter aims at an innocent hare that doesn’t suspect its fate.

Looking away from the picture, I saw the round table behind the stranger playing the piano. The table was clearly not cheap, perhaps it was even from rare ones: handmade, perfect decorative patterns on the table legs combined with cherry colour perfectly combined with a parquet of the same color.

The man finished playing, completing Beethoven’s symphony. Getting up from the chair and turning around he appeared in front of me in full growth. It was a man over forty-five years old, his face was perfectly smooth, he had no beard or bristles. The ideal shape of the nose and the proportions of the face caused the idea of his greatness in everything. I looked into his dark brown eyes and our eyes met. His eyes were literally soaked with darkness, their gloom made me feel nervous, as if I were drowning in dark waters, filled up with hopeless despair. Suddenly, a terrible aura visited me, I felt such fear, which I’ve never experienced in my life. It would seem that just a man was standing in front of me but I felt an absolute evil in him, against which I looked like a helpless child. I wanted to run. “Why did you come here?..” I continued to repeat myself. Only a few seconds of exchange of views was enough to make me feel insignificant and defenseless.

The man began his monologue.

— Fourteenth symphony, sonata. It is also called “Lunar”, comparing this work with the moonlight over the Firvaldshtetsky lake. It’s amazing being able to create such masterpieces and never to hear them! Poor Ludwig Van! Life is so unfair! Don’t you think so?! — He asked.

His voice was low and velvet, instilling some certainty of the words he said.

“Possibly you are right,” I said uncertainly.

“Possibly… How much I like the word ‘possibly’! And ‘possibilities’! And today I will give you this possibility,” — he said.

“What possibility?!” I asked.

“We both have questions and maybe we can help each other. Sit down, mister,” he told me.

The man didn’t introduce himself and asked my name. It was at least strange but I didn’t ask any unnecessary questions and decided to listen to what he would say.

We sat down at the round table. I tried not to look into his eyes as his gaze only inspired horror. Horror — that’s what was felt from him! I didn’t understand what was it connected with.

“Would you like a coffee? Or tea?” — He asked.

I wanted to refuse cause the atmosphere in that place made me leave as quickly as possible but he caught my glance and, as if under hypnosis, made me choose one of the variants suggested by him.

“Tea. I’ll have some tea,” I said.

Suddenly an elderly woman in black came in with a tray in her hands, where was a copper teapot and two cups with saucers. Putting the tray on the table, she poured tea from the teapot into one cup, and then into the second cup. Picking up one cup and a saucer, she put them in front of the man and then put the second cup and a saucer in front of me. Smiling and nodding, she left the room in complete silence.

“You are pretty silent, although you obviously have a lot of questions!” He said suddenly.

“You are right… However, perhaps, I will first listen to you!” I answered.

Picking up the cup, I looked inside and slowly began to drink. “He hardly wants to poison me,” I thought. “After all, now he needs me at least.”

The man smiled and began to talk.

“There’s one story I want to tell you. It doesn’t last long but yet… I hope you’re a good listener, aren’t you?” He asked.

“That’s right, I’m listening to you,” I answered.

The man picked up a cup of tea, took a sip and began his story.

***

Many years ago there lived a man who had goals, ambitions and plans but either because of his inexperience or because of a bad luck he couldn’t bring his plans to life. The banks didn’t give him money to realize the dream and even close friends were unable to help him. The man despaired and stayed in the abyss of thoughts about his hopeless future but one day he finally met his patron — a stranger who agreed to help him with his dream but with one rule: the future created by him won’t belong to him completely. Then the person didn’t understand the meaning of these words and agreed to a deal.

Things went better, innovative building projects were risen one by one, gradually enriching the person, raising him to the social ladder higher and higher. The stranger solved all the problems that arose in just a moment, leaving neither competitors nor steps. The influence of the man grew and his greed grew with him.

Do you know how greed eats out a person? The banknotes seem to seep into the human body through the skin completely filling it, destroying the integrity of the thoughts, tearing it apart between rational solutions and a dirty game. A person in this situation is unable to assess the real state of things. After all, when you’re on a horse you don’t think that the enemy will soon creep up and strike at the most vulnerable place.

After many years the stranger came for him and brought a young man with him, homeless, as desperate and as depressed as the man was once. The stranger asked to shelter the young man, to give him a better future, together with his children. The man at the same time hated the stranger and, threatening with violence, drove them both away.

Later, the stranger met with the man again and proposed to build a new building for the destitute. The man just laughed, finding this venture to expensive and denied the stranger, considering him insane.

A foolish man didn’t understand that he owed everything to a stranger and that everything had to be paid for, no matter if he wanted it to or not.

In an ordinary not remarkable day, a man was having dinner with his family and didn’t suspect the approach of the terrible end. His daughter was poisoned with food cooked in their house. The poison was so strong that she couldn’t survive. The man was defeated and, it seemed, nothing could be even worse. However, his wife was so heartbroken that she couldn’t survive and, despite having a younger son, choked herself in her own bedroom.

The man was left alone with the last ray of hope in the face of his son. For a long time he tried to rise a man who could become better than himself.

Fate played a cruel joke with him and the process had to be completed. But the man still managed to beat fate, using a hidden ace in his sleeve. To save his legacy, he just had to lay it out in the right place and at the right time.

“I suppose you understand who I was talking about?” The man asked.

I understood everything: it was about Mr. Tweedy. Gradually the picture made in my head but it wasn’t complete.

“I know who you were talking about and, apparently, you are perfectly aware of my activities,” — I answered.

“Right! But I’m not a customer. I had no idea that he would end this way!” He said.

“Then who are you?” I asked.

“Just a performer… We are quite similar but our methods and goals are completely different,” he said.

“Explain, please… What are you talking about?” I asked again.

The man smiled, his smile again caused me unpleasant feelings.

“Well, I’ll explain. Early morning, a guest had to go to a meeting at the estate of a building magnate. A red classical car waited for him. In the car the driver was waiting and then the car started… But there was a problem, something was wrong there. As it turned out, the two killers were traveling in the same car but their goals were completely different. Suspecting nothing, each of them, being an impostor, went to the ball of mortals in order to achieve their true goal.

I felt bad from his words. Was the silent driver driving me with my favorite music turned out to be the same killer as me? And even worse — he had a goal, which I guessed only now.

“The last thing Ronald Tweedy said was gratitude,” I said.

The man smiled:

“And you are still thinking: why did that happen? Just because the old man wasn’t able to kill himself, although he knew that it was his only solvation. And he knew that the hour of reckoning was inevitable. And then he had nothing left but to order his own murder and chose the best moment for it. Our goal was to kill his son but, alas, now there is no need for this!”

“It’s some kind of nonsense! What stops you from killing a guy?” I answered.

“There is no sense in taking life away from a person who won’t be grieved. And it won’t bring pain to someone who really deserves it. The young man had to die on his birthday, poisoned in front of his own father. But you, you the one who prevented it! You can be proud of yourself, perhaps for the first time in your life… Your shot not only killed, but, amazingly, saved someone’s life!” He finished. My sense didn’t deceive me. Indeed, there was an absolute evil in front of me. All his motives seemed to be a lie, he played the destinies of people as skillfully as on a piano.

“So I broke your plans?” I asked.

“Visa versa, you were just an instrument for achieving the goal, that was expected. Previously, people were more mobile, they were people of action, and now they are people of words, limited by their own consciousness. People build walls around themselves and then try to escape the motionless that surrounds them… And when they don’t care they call it “old age”. I call it liberation. People like Mr. Tweedy learn it only in that age.

“Perhaps you are right… So what do you want from me?” I asked

“Wait, cause we haven’t get a dish yet and you haven’t made your choice yet,” he said.

“I am sincerely grateful… But with all the respect to you I will refrain,” I answered him.

“Don’t hurry. Before refusing take a look and then make your choice.

A waiter came into the room with a large tray with a silvery stuff in hands.

I carefully examined the waiter approaching us. I seemed to know him… Loo