Snapdragons

A Journey Lost in Thought

The carriage spent hours rumbling through London. At each corner, the wheels would falter through a pothole and splash dirty water onto the cold streets. The scenery continued to be miserable throughout most of the journey as Alistair balanced his luggage on his knees, softly bouncing the small suitcase every now and then. Truth be told, Mr. Fairfax was quite…nervous? Though Edwin had said he was sure his family would no longer be living at the summer home, what if someone was still residing there? What if Alistair would only be intruding?

Alistair feared making a situation more difficult than it had to be. If there was a way around a problem, he would attempt it. Except, he didn't see any way around this, especially not now that he was approaching the outskirts of the city and on his way to the countryside.

He would have to learn how to relax. Perhaps this was a good opportunity to do just that. Alistair had never experienced a life different from the city and its apathetic habits. Maybe he would get to see a field of flowers or children gazing at the clouds or a brook with clear water supporting a plethora of vegetation. Something as small as that would be so sentimental.

Ever since Alistair's parents passed, he had nothing supporting his adulthood besides their left over fortune. After college, he sustained a career immediately because there was no other option. No family business, no close relatives to confide in, nobody. Until Mr. Deighton.

Mr. Deighton lit a fire in Alistair, though it would never be admitted. Alistair often found himself looking for Edwin in every place, hoping for a glimpse, even when only the ghost of his presence remained. Why? Well, Edwin offered a sort of solace. How? Alistair wasn't sure. But he figured that if you are lonely for that long, a single person who cares, whether their intentions are pure or not, can mean a great deal.

When Alistair had hired Calvin and, later on, met Ms. Endicott and Ms. Oakley, he felt he had finally found people to confide in. Having good friends in this world is difficult, definitely. But when they make you the happiest you've been in God knows how many years, it's worth it. It's certainly worth it.

Finally, low buildings gave way to trees and quiet roads and the morning gloom began to clear. But…instead of the lingering smog, the air was clear and only a pale blue sky remained. Alistair decided he liked that color of dulled sapphire. It reminded him of painted porcelain cups and clean blankets.

On the side of the road that was noticeably bumpier than the city streets, a woman rode a horse. The stallion's hooves thundered as the woman clung to its mane. In a sprinting position, the horse looked a lot like the silver paper weight from Mr. Barlow's hideaway. Mr. Barlow. Mr. Barlow is dead.

Alistair hadn't been able to sleep last night. He was a murderer now. Someone was dead because of him. And that horse, as lovely as it was seeing a horse running through the grass so freely, was a reminder of a crime of passion.

One glance at Mr. Fairfax could tell you he hadn't slept in days. His hair was tousled, heavy dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his complexion was ghostly pale. So somehow, eventually, Alistair was lulled to sleep by the rocking carriage.

He was on a ledge, looking out at a raging sea. It was a twenty foot drop to the tall, dark waves that slammed the break wall with barbarous force. Wind blew strongly and rain sprinkled from the night sky. Out in the water stood a lighthouse, completely surrounded by waves. The sturdy tower did not produce any light, only let the ocean beat it again and again.

Alistair wasn't alone. Beside him was Mr. Deighton and in front of him was a furious Mr. Barlow. Mr. Barlow was backing toward the edge of the break wall, a scroll in one hand, a knife in the other. His face was out of focus but was still wrinkled and weathered as he scowled.