Questions Unanswered

The warm autumn night of 1885 had slowly rolled over into the hot summer breeze of 1890. The prestigious mansion, belonging to the banker, sat bold and stately in the moonlight. Its owner, however, could not be more on edge. A glass of wine in his hand, and the daily post in the other; the banker sat stoic in his lounge chair, watching the fire in the fireplace crackle and hiss. His eyes drearily shifted to the piano in the corner of the room by the window, and he remembered how he always used to play the beautiful melodies of Haydn and Mozart. Now it sat, collecting dust and untouched in over five years. His eyes then lingered to the safe underneath the painting above the fireplace. Strange he thought to himself how the mind loves to dwindle on the past. It almost keeps us from seeing the future ahead. It lusts for a conclusion and prevents future answers from being discovered.

     The Bet; those two words had been racing in circles in the banker's mind for the past five years, and he had no idea how to quiet them. The two million dollar stake on a bet that he and the lawyer could not last 15 years in a prison has long since been over, but the lawyer had not asked for the money. In fact, when they went to collect him the next day, he was gone. He had just vanished, like a phantom.

     The banker's hands began to tremble, despite the ever-escalating hot weather outside. The wind whipped outside the hallway windows. The walls gave a low growl of disapproval. He remembered the skinny figure of the lawyer that night. His pale face and ghostly white hair, he looked like a very delicate piece of glassware that would shatter if he shifted. The lawyer had not been seen in five years, and it frightened the banker. His mind constantly wandered to the state of the lawyer. He also remembered the note; the note that the banker still has locked away in the vase above the self-portrait. These thoughts continued to harass his mind till the wee hours of the morning.

      The thunderstorm had suddenly crashed down with all the power of Thor. Unable to sleep, the banker had resumed his spot in his lounge chair by the fireplace, reading the news. Ever since the night the bet was made, the banker had barely kept in touch with anyone who had been seated at the table that night; all except the host, whom he kept a firm acquaintance with; he repeatedly asked about the lawyer, but the host could not answer. It was as if the lawyer had dropped off the face of the earth, never to be seen or heard from again. The post had a few missing stories about the lawyer as soon as he went missing, but soon the post stopped trying as well. As the banker continued his silent thoughts, a shifting sound could be heard from down the hall. The banker's body froze with fear, and his head snapped in the direction of the sound. Nothing could be seen from the faint candle-lit hallways, not even the paintings that draped the halls. The banker wearily stood up and asked in a faint voice "who is there?"

     No response. The banker made no more movements. He did not know how long he stayed in that position; a minute, maybe two, or even an hour? He did not know. He was probably over-thinking the whole thing, but it could not be helped. He grabbed the closest object, a lamp stand with no shade, and made his way down the hall. He kept one hand clasped around his only means of survival, and the other was ghosting the wall, to keep him alert. He managed to find his way down the hall and to the door, which was safely locked. The banker let out a breath of air he did not know he was holding. There sat a letter on the floor, somehow the banker already knew who it was from. He picked it up and read over the contents at least three times to carefully inspect every detail.

I know you fear for me, or perhaps you fear about me, but that does not matter. I have no ill will of you or towards man. I know my place, and you will not be a part of it. I know my triumphs and my downfalls, and I can see how you would... fear me. Money is not an obsolete in my conquest, and I have no reason to carry more than I do. I am not seeking fortune, only guidance. I am still above you, but I cannot manage to see you from atop my pedestal. Peace be with you.

    The banker carefully set the paper in his vault, beside the other note he received from the lawyer, and sealed the vault shut. No one can stop the brain from thinking, and no one can stop the brain from committing. I do not fear you, and I do not loathe you. I hope you can forgive me as well.