Behind Closed Doors

Chapter Thirty-five

The night was black because of the erratic power supply, and the weather was cold, almost bleeding with unshed rain. But that was not what Henry was interested in as he stood staring at the yellow house across the street, the wrought-iron gate that kept out trespassers hanging half open. To his mind, it was as if the house with its lush surroundings were a living breathing mass, beckoning to him invitingly.

Phoenix was inside that house waiting for him to come, and he knew that he had to no matter how scared he felt he was, or how unsettled.

He reviewed what had happened on the night he had finalized the change of power of Ethnicity Studios with Anthony St. Claire and had come out to the terrace which was flooded with artificial light to receive some of the balmy evening air that was circulating outside. And then he had spotted Phoenix, the actor looking dazzling and beautiful, talking to his wife Fiona. The shock of seeing his lover after the passage of so many years had been so great that for a moment he could do was stare at the pair as they stood there together. He stood there watching them, and then Phoenix had gotten away from Fiona, and the guy had continued to make his way to the house; suddenly, Phoenix was looking up and then Henry found himself looking into those intense brown eyes that he had missed for years.

Phoenix's face had registered no emotion; there was no shock, no recognition and no pleasure in his face, only that unreadable blankness. Then Phoenix had broken eye contact and had turned and walked away. The beast had dared to walk away! It was as if he had encountered a stranger on the road, one that was nothing more to him than something he'd stepped into on the sidewalk, and he had turned and walked away.

That night, for some reason only she was privy to, Fiona had clung to him, almost desperately, as if she was about to lose him, and in compensation for her love he had made slow, tender love to her. Then she had cried afterwards, but she wouldn't tell him what the problem was, making him to suspect that perhaps there was something that the beautiful guy had said to her, but he dared not ask her about him. He was afraid that he would re-open old wounds to start bleeding anew.

Heaving a sigh, Henry crossed the street and slipped through the dark gate into the compound. He walked straight into the house, the strong smell of jasmine and roses seeping into his senses. Moving past the elegant foyer, he walked into the living room through which white light shone from a florescent lamp on a table. He had never been there before, but he seemed to know where he was going to without having to be told. He knew where to find the person he was looking for.

T. O. Phoenix stood facing the windows, his back to the door, his eyes watching the night. He was dressed entirely in flaming red, and he seemed to have been waiting for Henry for he said: 'Henry' and then turned round slowly to face him.

Phoenix's eyes looked like baked bricks, and his face was clenched as hard as a fist, shuttered totally. Henry thought that his beautiful face held a lot of secrets, words that should have been spoken when he and his mother went to bail the bastard out of the police station and cover up what he had done. It was that secret that had made Henry to pull away from him, and it was also that secret that had kept them away from each other through the years. The actor should have stayed gone, but he was here now, and now was the time of reckoning.

'I saw you stab Ali Hassan to death,' Henry said coldly. 'Why did you do it, Phoenix? What drove you to go and stick that thing in his chest? What made you to do it? I thought it was just the special kind of person that can think to kill another person, but I never pegged you for such a special person.'

Phoenix kept quiet, but there was that cold look on his face, that look that hid all the tragedy in the world and kept the fans begging for more of his performances when they saw him act. It was him at his classic best, the hard guy of the screens, sure of what he had to do and how he had to do it.