Sway Me Smooth

Chapter One

It's warm. Just the way he likes it. Not too cold, not too hot, just the right amount of breeze that washes over his face. A gentle face and a smile greet him across the table, features too similar to his own. People would often admire her beauty, perhaps sometimes his as well, if he didn't possess such temper. Did he ever get this from his father? Gosh, he can't even remember one trait of his. The maid places the tea cup carefully on the table, accompanied with the daily letters, and he takes a look through them as he waits for the tea to cool down a little. There are the usual ones, reports of finances that he doesn't care about too much but has to look through it in case something major happens, and then there's this one letter with nothing but a name on it, his name.

It's not new, he would admit, but once he opens it, his eyes recognize the handwriting all too well, unfortunately, and the one sentence written makes his heart beats a little faster.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" The woman sitting across from him asks in a gentle tone, cup held a little far from her mouth as she glances between him and the letter. "Should I?" She places her cup down, reaching with a hand across the table, and he drops the letter into it, allowing her to scan it. Her brows crease, and she flips the paper around to see who sent it, but it's blank. Nothing but the few words written on it. "What's this?" She looks up at him, and honestly, he should know better. It's not something to worry about too much.

"Probably a scam," he clarifies. "But I'll call Arram," he pauses, "just a precaution." She drops the letter onto the table, and he takes it.

"What does it mean?" She asks, and when he stands up, her eyes grow wider. "Is it that serious? What is this all about?" She continues with a huff of breath. "At least finish your breakfast."

"It's alright," he calms her down. "I won't be long." But he's startled from the inside, and he knows she can read as much out of his behavior, but he can't ignore it. Something is pulling at the strings inside his brain, and he knows he won't be having a peaceful morning anymore, so he walks inside until he finds the phone and dials the only number he's been calling regularly for the past seven years. It rings for a moment before the old friendly voice greets him. "Arram, it's me."

"Mr. Lee. How can I help you?" He looks down at the letter in his hand and inhales deeply.

"Someone has sent me a letter with nothing on it but my name."

"A threat?"

"No," he denies, "I don't know," he adds. "I mean, I'm not entirely sure of what it means, but ... It's my fathers' writing ... I'm certain of that."

"The professor has many published books and articles showing his handwriting," Arram explains slowly, and he closes his eyes as he listens. He knows that. "Someone might have copied it and sent it to you. What does it say? Do they request money? Files?"

"Me," he answers. "It's requesting me."

There's silence on the other line for a moment before Arram speaks up again. "What did they write?" And he looks down at the letters, a memory with snow covered land and a tiny hut coming into vision. One that he thought he had lost forever. A voice that he didn't think will hear in his dreams even, but here they are, flashing all those unwanted feelings again.

He's four, and he's shaking because of the cold. His mother said she'll be allowing them a moment as she moves their bags to the car. He can see her through the window, and he hates that he'll have to travel far from home in this weather. His mother promised that they'll go to a warmer place, but what he doesn't understand is why his father isn't moving away with them. He's kneeling in front of him as he wraps a scarf around his small body. It covers half of his face along with his neck, but he accepts the added warmth.