Eight, Nine, Ten

[2] N I N T H

[Mid-February 2018]

Ninth looked up at the hospital building as he got off the taxi; nervousness still stirring inside him even after travelling so far to this place. He knew nothing about the man he was about to meet except for the fact that he was one of Eighth's closest friends and the one in possession of Eighth's journal as per the co-pilot had informed him. Steeling himself and schooling his face into a calm expression, he headed in and went directly to the reception.

"Matthew Hall please," Ninth said quietly at the reception, his eyes looking around at the quiet reception area.

"Can I have your name and reason for the visit?" The receptionist asked while typing away on her computer, pausing for a moment to give him a glance before going back to typing.

"Ninth King. He's one of my brother's friends and I was just informed that my brother gave him something for me," Ninth partially lied. He didn't know if the man was expecting anyone from his family after Eighth's death but that's no reason to not visit him. In fact he should expect it as he's the last one to receive something from his brother.

"Alright, please leave an ID here. Mr. Hall should be in his room right now after a stroll from the garden. His room is 229," the lady gave a smile after he gave the ID before motioning him to the direction where the room should be found. Ninth followed where she was pointing at and occasionally glanced at the room signs on the wall until he arrived at room 229. He hesitantly raised his hand before knocking 3 times, there was only silence before he heard a reply.

"Come in," A soft and weak voice called out from inside.

Nothing could have prepared him for the person behind the door who greeted him as he opened the door, a frail man on his wheelchair by the window looking at him. But no matter how frail he looked, his vivid blue eyes were firm and strong; without pity to himself or any shred of regret which should be common with people in his state. A black bonnet covered his hair but Ninth can guess that he had no more by the looks of it.

"Good afternoon, I am..."

"Ninth right? The writer?" The man gave a gentle smile, not even a bit surprised to see him. "Eighth showed some pictures but with your number I'm not that confident with my memory."

"Ah yes. You're correct. Were you expecting me?" Ninth asked, a bit startled.

"I am, it's been awhile since the funeral. I thought one of you would eventually track me down," Matthew mused. "Come in, come in. Have a seat on the sofa. I have a guess on what you came here for,"

Ninth closed the door behind him and followed his instruction, going towards the sofa and sitting down as Matthew wheeled himself to the drawer by his bed and rummaged the drawers until a leather journal was retrieved.

"So how did you track me down Ninth?" Matthew asked curiously as he now wheeled himself towards the sofa.

"James finally told me about you and how Eighth made him hold unto something for you. From there well... I had to use some pending favors I had. It wasn't easy," a frown came unto the writer's face at the memory.

"Sorry. As you may have well deduced, I'm sick. Very sick. And I wanted to live out my last days peacefully. I've only told Cyrus and James my location and no one else."

Cyrus, the name which only a few should know made Ninth stop.

Frozen because of the name that came out of Matthew's mouth, Ninth could only stare at Matthew who only hummed as if nothing was wrong with what he said. His eyes still firm and unapologetic when Ninth narrowed his eyes at him but it didn't make Matthew flinch or intimidated. "How do you know that name?"