The strange events of Rue Ruine

Chapter I: Aftershocks

It was an exceptionally hot summer, Zayra was slowly sipping coffee from his favorite mug as he disinterestedly read the June 10 1883's edition of the Les Ancienne.
Apart from an accident between two ships in January there had not been a single interesting piece of news for the rest of the year.
His bored gaze wandered at regular intervals between the newspaper, the door, and a painting of his current landlord, Mr. Templeton's.
The movement of his eyes was punctuated by the regular ticking of a pendulum clock that resonated throughout the apartment.
As he looked at the empty tray of pastries with a sad grimace, letting his arms fall to the sides overcome by the tedium and the maddening tranquility of the day, he turned his eyes to the ceiling.
"Could a day be more empty of events?" Asked rhetorically to his cat Mr. Jenkins, who was sleeping peacefully on the empty couch in the living room, his black fur absorbing the rays of the sun filtering in the tiny apartment situated on the third floor of the 17b Rue Ruine.
The city of Marcalme was renowned for being an eventless harbor but, although that was one of the main reasons Dr. Zayra Là Rouliere chose to move there, it was still exhausting not having to do anything.

Suddenly Zayra's attention was caught by a tinkling noise coming from the white ceramic coffee cup, he lowered his eyes and stared at it, noticing that there were little concentric waves rippling the liquid inside of it.
A moment passed before the whole floor began to shake, all the precious silverware and the carefully drawn ceramics created a concert of sounds that remembered Zayra of rain falling on different materials.

Zayra examined his surroundings and after a couple of seconds of careful observation he placed his head on the table so that his eyes were on the same level as the coffee cup, he slowly lowered his hand with an uncertain but precise movement, he pressed with his finger on the borders to stop it from vibrating, as soon as he did that the whole earthquake begun to fade away.
A bit of dust fell from the ceiling and then there was peace again, Zayra uncrossed his legs and stood up, being careful not to touch anything around him measuring every step he took.
He inspected his surroundings looking for damages in the apartment, opening the drawers, checking the chandeliers  and meticulously search for any cracks in the decorated plaster of the ceiling.
Visibly there were no broken dishes or crooked furniture, the seismic shock hadn't even woken up Jenkins, as if there was something in the whole world that could arouse the attention of that cat.

Just as Zayra was about to examine the bedrooms the sound of the doorbell caught his attention, he left the cup on the table on his way to open the door.
"Rejoyce Jenkins, the pastries are here at last" he shouted at the cat excitedly, mainly because he didn't know the next time he would've been able to afford them.
On the threshold of the door there stood a young man, long brown hair gathered in a short ponytail with a short and unkempt  beard, he was about 20 cm taller than Zayra and his scruffy appearance made him appear older, the wrinkled clothes gave out the low social extraction of the man, a dirty white linen shirt and khaki trousers with brown suspenders.

Who wears khaki these days? thought Zayra

But the truly interesting feature were his luggage, they were limited to a shoulder bag and a mysterious rectangle wrapped in a jute cloth obtained by stitching together various bags of Casamayor coffee beans, the same ones that were always moved around by the longshore men in the port of Marcalme.
"Good morning sir, My name is Raphael Fauxar, pleasure to meet you. I've read that..." he looked down at a piece of paper "Dr. La Roulière, am I saying this right?" Asked after butchering Zayra's surname with his English accent "is in search of a tenant" he finished while holding up a flier.
It read 'Roommate wanted at 17b Rue Ruine' signed by Dr Zayra La Roulière.
He took the piece of paper from the man inspecting it with mild discomfort but ultimately recognizing his signature "Indeed I-"
"Is the doctor home by any chance?" said Raphael searching behind Zayra's figure.
Zayra stared at him indignantly
"You have it in front of your eyes Mr. Fauxar"
Raphael widened his eyes "You are Dr La Roulière?"
"Yes, is there some kind of problem?"
"No i'm really sorry, I just imagined you ermh... older... that's it"
"How old do you think I am?" he said, raising his eyebrow.
"20?"
"Preposterous! I'm well over 27 for your information"
"Oh, I see" he said unconvinced.
"So we're about the same age" exclaimed trying to break the awkward silence.
Raphael reached out for a handshake, Zayra stared at his calloused hand and after a moment of indecision decided to offer his.
"Well Mr. Fauxar welcome to Marcalme" he said, giving his back to the man.
"How did you-" Asked Raphael wondering how the man knew he was from out of town
"Besides your accent? I hanged these flier only in the bay so you must have seen them when you got down the ferry" snarted at him as he made his way inside, Raphael walking behind him full of curiosity, it was the first time that his house was a proper building with walls and floors that don't fall apart and a roof that doesn't seep water.
He observed everything around him full of wonder, carpets, green and gold wallpaper alternating with numerous walls entirely covered with bookcases.
The main room was a large open space with arches separating the various sections of the flat:
"As you can see here on the right we have the kitchen and just over there the living room, mind the carpets!" Exclaimed after Raphael almost stepped on one of them "they come directly from Paris... Oh and this is my most prized possession, the small library, my family had it done directly by Italian monks in..."
But Zayra's words came muffled to Raphael whose attention had been caught by Mr. Templeton's portrait, the way it was painted reminded him of something, he interrupted Zayra's digression about the library "Who painted this?"
"Ah, I see you appreciate Mr. Templeton's painting, he's the owner of this place you know" answered Zayra looking at the painting admirantly.
"Yeah but who made the painting?" Insisted Raphael
"I believe that it was a friend of Mr. Templeton, a woman from the Légion d'honneur if I recall correctly, ehmm... Bonheur something if I recall correctly"
"YOU HAVE A PAINTING OF MARIA BONHEUR?"
Noticing his enthusiasm "I take that you know the painter?" Asked Zayra
"I wish... Bonheur is a genius of realism and an incredible source of inspiration for me and for anyone who does my job, that painting should be worth hundreds of thousands of francs"
This comment seemed to awake Zayra's attention, perhaps from now on he would take better care of that painting.
"Anyway, resuming our little tour... oh there's the other inhabitant of the apartment, let me introduce you to Jenkins" the two stopped in front of an armchair with the black cat sleeping on it,  Raphael didn't seem thrilled by the sight of the cat, wich, maybe feeling the man's discomfort, yawned and twitched his furry ears.