Decorum | ONC 2023 Shortlister

Chapter Nine

The phones remained intact the morning after the storm, and in the two days that followed, Abigail attempted to call Dr. Whitlock to confirm that he would still be arriving on Tuesday. It was only four days until his expected arrival, but despite his insistence that he would indeed be present, Abigail had her doubts. After several failed attempts at reaching him, the doctor finally picked up his phone and gruffly reassured her that yes, he would still be coming around to check on Victor. Then, breaking into a fit of rattling coughs, he ended the call.

Abigail did not bring up the phone call with Victor for fear of sending him into another unshakeable delirium of absentmindedness. Instead, she joined him for breakfast in the library and flipped through her field guides, this time returning to the one on birds. Amusedly, she gleaned over the different images of owls: screech owls and barred owls, great horned owls and barn owls. There was something simultaneously alert and vacant in their eyes which confirmed that she had been correct in likening them to Victor Blackwell.

It was at this precise moment that Victor spoke to her from across the table.

"Did you find something you like?" He asked.

Abigail shook her head leisurely, "No. They're just nice pictures."

She ran her fingers over the images before turning the pages. In her peripheral, she could see that Victor's book had fallen still, and it rested openly on the table before him. She paid it little attention though, and instead flipped between the common crow and the common raven. She could plainly see their slight differences up close, but she wondered if they would look any different from afar. Something told her they wouldn't.

"I had a thought," Victor said after a moment, "that I am going to die very soon."

Abigail looked up in alarm, "Pardon?"

But he only raised an eyebrow matter-of-factly, "Doctor Whitlock only comes around when something is wrong, and the beasts have been moving closer. It's just a matter of what I want to do with my last few days now."

"You seem very certain about all this." Abigail said.

"I was thinking," Victor said, ignoring her comment, "that it's drier now that it's been a few days since the storm."

The two gazed out the window together at the sun that had begun pushing itself through the gauzy stretch of clouds that covered the sky. In the gardens below, the statues were sunning themselves with what little light they could find. Even the previously ever present fog that clung to the forest edge in the distance had begun to lift. If they had been outside, perhaps they would have heard the singular mourning dove that cooed in the distance.

Without tearing his gaze from the window, Victor said, "I think it could be a good day for a walk."

And so silently, as they had done once before, the two moved about the room, plucking roses from the vases and hanging bunches about the room, filling their pockets and handing stemmed flowers to each other. The saturnine library hung heavy about them, suffocating under its extensive collection of books and the memories of all the rainy and sunless days that had cast it in a constant state of wearisome quietude. Victor, upon tightening his robe about him, pushed a single rose behind his ear and followed Abigail away from the pestilent room. The library disappeared behind them as they descended the stairs, its oppressive force lifting but never leaving, a miserable, familiar weight they would never return to again.

Victor did not hesitate by the looming front doors, but instead followed Abigail barefoot out of the manor, the crisp, fresh air hitting his face for the first time in months. The grass outside was barely damp, sweeping under their feet and washing them of the burgundy carpets and decorous tiled floors. A soft breeze was carrying the clouds overhead, and with every gentle blow, it rifled their hair, sending cool teases over their scalps. In the distance, a mourning dove continued its soulful coos, accompanied now by the bright chirps and twitters of several canaries that hid concealed within the forest. Abigail and Victor followed the sounds of the bird song, crossing the property of Blackwell Manor only to abandon it for the unrestricting rustle of the trees against the wind.