The Gentleman

He does not notice the bite and slash of wind against his cheeks. His joints creak as he lurches with the trees against the gale. He is a staggering madman, ignoring the warnings of the boughs the pull at his hair and clothing, of the mud sucking and catching at his feet.

A bolt of lightening dances across the sky, illuminating the figure in the trees. He starts at this, jerking sideways and stumbling into a tree. Eyes closed, he buries his fingers in the sodden bark as a peal of thunder echoes down the valley.

The ground crunched pleasantly beneath their feet as the trio walked up the gravel driveway to admire their summer home. The woman’s eyes squinted against the bright sun, and she removed her arm from the grip of one of her companions to shield them. The two men responded in kind, but all three summoned smiles against the glare.

When they reached the relative shade the looming front entrance provided, the first man separated from the group to open the door while the woman remained behind to help the third member of their party ascend the stairs. He smiled wearily at her.

“Thank you, Mary. I didn’t realize how tired I’d become.”

She shushed him good naturedly and took his hand. “No need to excuse yourself, Peter. It was a longer drive than any of us thought it would be.”

Together, they passed through the opening into the cool darkness of the interior. Mary smiled as the door closed behind her.

“Thank you, Jack. Always the gentleman.”

Laughter echoed through the hallways of the empty house as Jack took a bow.

He reaches the edge of the forest, breath fogging in the early morning gray. The storm has passed, but mud still sucks and pulls his feet with every step. He approaches the thin fence of an enclosed pasture, but stops with a sudden jerk.

Across the railing, a black mare stares at him with wide eyes. It trembles in the icy stillness, white clouds obscuring the air with every stinging breath. Panting, the two watch each other.

He becomes still, and the mare tosses its head uneasily.

The sludge protests as he takes a step forward, and the dark horse is gone, galloping into the fog with a shrill whinny of terror.

He grips the fence tightly in the silent morning, and does move again for a long time.

The trio sat on their dock, enjoying the warm vestiges of the evening. Across the lake, they could see the beginnings of a summer storm disturbing the dark surface of the water. For the moment, however, their shore line was calm.

At length, Peter stood and stretched.

“I think it’s time for me to leave and get an early sleep,” he explained, reaching for the hand Mary had extended as he passed behind her. He smiled down at her and kissed her forehead.

“Goodnight, you two.”

Jack grinned at the pair, and Peter, noticing, placed a hand on the other man’s head and ruffled his hair.

“Make sure you come in before you get wet.”

Jack shook off the offending hand and waved Peter into the house before turning back to watch the incoming storm. Mary kept her eyes on their retreating companion.

Half-way up the thin wooden stairway, Peter collapsed and rolled backwards.

The room was washed with the strange yellow-orange of a bed side lamp. Mary did not respond to the glare of the artificial light. Her attention was instead focused entirely on the man whose hand she held, on Peter lying prone and too still in the bed beside her.

Jack eased the door open, entering the room as quietly as possible. She looked up, and they gave each other a weary smile across the bed. Jack shook his head and made his way to his friend’s side.

“Mary.”

He touched her shoulder when she did not look at him.

“Mary,” he tried again, taking one of her hands in his own. “You need to get some sleep tonight.”

She looked away from him.

“Why don’t I take your place for a few hours while you go next door and let yourself rest for a moment?”

She shook her head and pulled her hand away from him.

“I can’t leave him, Jack.” She set her mouth in a firm line and locked eyes with him. “I can’t leave him, and I won’t.”

Jack tried to use her momentary pause to try again, but she just shook her head violently.

“I can’t, Jack! I’m his wife, for goodness sake. He’s my husband. I will stay by his side as long I can.”

She inhaled sharply and bit her lip, shaking slightly. There was a moment’s pause, and then Jack leaned forward and took her into his arms. Neither said anything for several moments as she cried and he stroked her hair. Finally, he pushed her away from him and looked into her eyes.

“I know, Mary. I know how you feel. He’s my brother, for goodness sake.” They managed to smile at his phrasing, and she nodded.

“Alright, Jack,” came the sigh. “Wake me if anything changes.”

He nodded and squeezed her hand.

Hours passed in relative silence and monotony. At just past two in the morning, the vanguard of the promised storm arrived in the form of a rising wind, throwing itself against the windows and the outer walls of the building. Rain followed, lightly tapping on glass panes and shingle roof tops and lulling the interior into a warm and expectant silence.

Downstairs, a clock struck three in the morning. At once, a bolt of lighting lashed across the sky, followed by a gust of wind strong enough to force the windows open. Jack leapt to his feet, rushing to shut the opening and prevent the storm from entering the house. With a great slam, the windows shut and a tense calm descended once more.

Jack turned and froze.

In the far corner, an elderly gentleman shook the rain from his long overcoat and placed it over the back of a chair. He quickly surveyed the room before his gaze landed on the unconscious Peter. Smiling with no small degree of satisfaction, the gentleman approached the bed.

Jack found himself suddenly able to move again, and placed his hands on Peter’s chest protectively.

“Who are you?”

The man simply waved him off, extracting a piece of paper and a pocket watch from his trousers for a brief comparison.

“What are you doing in our house?” Jack tried again, leaning over his brother towards the unresponsive stranger.

“Mh?” he mumbled, more to himself than to Jack’s question. “I am doing my job, Man.” He paused and took in Jack’s position.

“If you wouldn’t mind?” He glared pointedly at the hands on Peter’s chest and made a shooing motion.

Jack’s grip tightened instinctively on Peter.

“No.”

The man was unimpressed. He snapped his fingers, and Jack found himself in the hallway just outside the door. Panic rising in his chest, he burst through the doorway and attempted to throw himself between the specter and his brother. He succeeded only in passing through the old man and landing heavily on the bed at Peter’s side.

Jack whirled to block Peter from the stranger’s view, but the man only appeared irritated.

“Stop, Man. This foolishness will not change what I’ve come here to do.” He pinned Jack with his gaze. “You don’t need me to tell you that.”

There was a pause.

“Please.”

The shadow froze. Finally, he blinked and smiled.

“What do you offer me?”

“Anything! Anything I can give!” came the immediate reply. “Do not take my brother from us now!”

The gentleman’s smile widened, and his eyes glinted with a cold and ancient joy. He extended his hand and touched Jack’s forehead.

“Done.”

Lightening flashed, and the clock downstairs struck three.

Blinking rapidly, Jack stood from his chair in the corner and went to Peter. A brief touch to the throat momentarily calmed the dread weight nestling in the pit of his stomach. With a relieved smile, he left to wake Mary.

In the shadows, an elderly gentleman set the alarm ahead ten minutes and buttoned his coat.

At 3:10 am, Peter died. By 3:25 am, Jack was able to pull Mary off of his brother’s body. Neither could speak coherently until just before 4:00 am.

As the fourth strike of the clock rung in the empty spaces of the house, Jack led Mary into the hallway. As he studied her face, he could feel angry regret pooling in the depths of his stomach and dripping back to freeze at the base of his spine. What had he given up for a faulty contract? How many years of Peter’s life had he thrown away in his haste to bargain? What had he’d given up for himself, for Mary?

The last question set something strange and unrecognizable growling in the back of his throat. His comforting grip on Mary’s shoulders tightened, and her look of trusting confusion only encouraged whatever demon was in control of his faculties.

Without warning, her crushed her in his arms and kissed her roughly, muffling her surprised cry.

She pushed away from him in sudden horror and confusion.

“Jack? What are you thinking?”

He froze as if seized with a sudden thought, and then began to laugh.

“Thinking indeed,” he mumbled, and she reached out to touch his arm.

“Jack?”

He whirled in frustration, lashing out with the back of his hand.

“What do you want?” he cried, a streak of lightening and clap of thunder dancing down the hall.

Mary looked up at him terrified from the floor, and brought a shaking hand to her already reddening face.

The storm has returned as a drizzling fog. He cannot see more than a few feet in either direction as he walks, but he is not really looking anymore. Gnarled and dripping oaks emerge from the mist as giants, silent and looming sentinels directing his path and forcing him to the middle of a road planted long ago. It has not taken him long to grow used to this, however; though his hands clench in stinging, silent protest, his feet no longer resist the currents tugging all around.