the sinner; h.s (au)

preface

P R E F A C E 

Dr. James Preston fixed his black tie around the crook of his thick neck. His fingers trail down to softly tap his front pocket, reassuring himself of the six concealed bullets for the heat he packed in his jacket.

He, followed by three other gentlemen, stepped through the threshold of a regal Victorian-styled mansion since its door was left ajar. They gazed up at the detailed mural pieces painted across the vaulted ceilings. Beautiful marble statues and oil paintings decorated the center and the walls of the foyer, all under a lavish glass chandelier. It resembled the likings of an old castle largely due to the vast green land on which it stood. The property belonged to a devilish man who was in the middle of pouring himself a glass of well-aged scotch in another room. But, at the moment, the two parties remained unaware of the other's presence.

"Quite the remarkable place he's got here," announced one man whose grizzly voice suggested he'd smoked one to many cigars.

"Where do you suppose he is?" inquired another, checking the hour on his pocket watch. "There must be a good reason he's dragged us all out of bed at this late hour."

"Whatever the reason, it seems he's forgotten."

"No, I don't believe he's forgotten," James Preston interjected abruptly between them. "The door was left unlocked. He was expecting us."

The other men exchanged disgruntled looks. "What should we do? Continue to lurk in his foyer?" said one.

"Shall we ring the doorbell again?" suggested the other, scratching the side of his bald head.

"No need, gentlemen."

The sudden intrusion of a serene voice startled all the men. A tall and slender woman appeared in front of them; a welcoming smile forming on her red lips. Her dark hair fell to her waist above which a short pencil skirt tightly hugged her hips, ending only a couple inches above her knees. The few undone buttons of her blouse exposed a black and lacy brassiere on which most of their eyes lingered.

"This way, please," she said cooly and gestured that they follow her down the long and dimly-lit path.

The men walked a few steps behind the mysterious woman. She lead the way until a large pair of mahogany doors at the end of the corridor. She knocked twice to announce herself and then pushed the doors forward to reveal the back of the wealthy Mr. Styles who stood stoically above of a strong hearth.

"Thank you, darling," he thanked the woman. Before she closed the doors behind her, Preston noticed her smile change into one slightly more wicked.

"Gentlemen, please sit."

Mr. Styles turned to face his guests. His dark brown hair curled in front of his electric green eyes. He was taller and younger than most of them; most likely in his early thirties. Clearing his throat, he slicked his messy hair back into place and fixed his undone tie. From the lipstick stained on his shirt collar, it was fairly evident that a woman had left him this flustered and breathless.

The room in which they all stood was almost entirely made of wood. A long table filled the width, but not a single carpet or rug decorated the room with any colour; there was only the table, chairs, and a crackling fireplace. The men uneasily found their seats around the table. Mr. Styles remained standing.

"Gentlemen, I'm sure you all know why I've called you all at this late hour," he said to them. "Each of you are stuck in unimaginable predicaments-"

"I deal with my own affairs," Preston interrupted bitterly, causing Mr. Styles' jaw to slightly clench. "Besides," he pressed on, "you don't know any of my problems."