After retrieving my coat and hat, I traversed into the rainy night. Gaslight softly burned in the streetlamps, letting a warm orange pierce through the blue-blackness.
I decided I would travel towards the docks, with no real intent in mind. Something about my previous dream gave me the urge to inspect those brackish waters, although at that point I was not sure it was wise to indulge in such desires.
Nevertheless, my feet continued to move me eastward. The city was lively as it always was, if not more, in this time of the evening. Carriages went to and fro. People of respectable stature walked along the streets while those unsavory kept to the alleys. Bells rang and scalpers of all sorts shouted out in hopes anyone would give them a morsel of attention.
As I continued down the path, I felt the presence of someone watching me. Of all my countless nights wandering the streets, why did I feel like something was spying on me then? I had not seemingly done anything out of the ordinary, yet I could still feel the presence of something viewing me from afar. Something hiding. Something waiting.
The safest course of action was to not act suspiciously, and to keep on my course towards the docks, and that I did. Forcing myself to not constantly peer behind me, I simply followed through with my plans to visit the harbor. I could see the many freight ships moving throughout the river Thames, looking to finish their journey while the evening was still new. As Bradley described, the tip of a sunken cargo vessel could be seen piercing out of the dark waters farther offshore.
Then, I waited. The area I was in was too bright and congested with pedestrians to rob or murder me, and I was content to wait there until the sun rose. The only two options for whoever this was that took interest in me was to either confront me in sight of the public or give up. Perhaps my paranoia and insomnia came in use for once.
It was not long before something very unexpected occurred, though, as a horse neighed whilst coming to a gentle stop. A carriage had parked just next to me, and the passenger’s door opened to reveal a posh velvety interior. Although hidden by the light of the lantern at his side, I could see a thin gentleman in a luxurious three-piece suit wave his hand. I hesitantly moved closer as he tried to speak above the rainstorm. “I do say! I believe I recognize you! Theodore, was it?”
I was an extremely cautious person. With all that I had seen, I had learned to notice when situations hid more beneath the surface than they seemed, and strangely enough I felt no such maliciousness with that man inside his coach. Of course, I continued to keep a safe distance from this person, but by him knowing my name and the lush interior of his carriage, I could tell he was not there to rob me of the lint in my pockets. “Who are you?”
The gentleman shuffled in his seat awkwardly, as if he did not care to answer the question. Despite his demeanor, though, he moved the lantern in the carriage to reveal his face. Even as I looked upon his visage, I found no resemblance to anyone in my memory. He was an older man, perhaps middle-aged. His greying hair was neatly combed over to one side, and his suit was a classical black, with an accompanying bowtie. With further inspection, my eyes began to recount details of his face… Nigh invisible in the dim light, there were hundreds of thin scars over his face. These scars were so small that they could be easily mistaken as wrinkles by someone even closer than I, but my vision was keener than many.
Such scars, I knew, must have been self-inflicted… Like incessantly scratching at one’s skin with their fingernails…
After seeing the recognition on my face, the man spoke with genuine remorse. “Would you please come out of the rain? I mean you no harm.”
I entered the coach, dumbfounded by the complete change in his composure from last I saw him. Even though I looked directly at his face, I would not have recognized that man if not for the scars. He went from a crazed man draped in an oversized coat, to a prim and proper gentleman of such that I had never conversed with in my life. I spoke, requiring further confirmation that the bizarre situation I found myself in was real. “You are from… Dr. Prescott’s office?”
He nodded solemnly. “Yes, yes I am my dear boy. You see, I noticed you on the streets earlier, and I felt as though I must convey my regret towards our last meeting. I know I must have given you quite a frightful experience then, and I simply wished to apologize for how I portrayed myself…” I simply sat there in the motionless carriage, watching the man. “Well, I hope that we may forget all about that and introduce ourselves properly. I am Alfred Hughes, benefactor of New Windsor properties.”
He extended his hand, and upon finally recollecting myself, I shook it. “Theodore Chatwood.”
With a smile, he responded. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Chatwood.” I nodded back. There was an awkward silence, leading me to grow closer to the carriage’s door, but Hughes continued. “You look positively pale. I was just about to go get dinner, what say you to letting me apologize by taking you out to eat?”
With the talk of dinner, my stomach rumbled. I had not eaten in days, and I foolishly used all the funds I had on cheap alcohol. The answer was clear. “That would be very kind of you.”
With a smile, Hughes tapped the roof of his stagecoach, signaling his driver to proceed. “Delightful. There is a new revenue that should be able to accommodate us on short notice. Hopefully, it will be satisfactory.”
With my hunger now on the forefront of my mind, I absentmindedly answered. “Anything is gracious enough.”
We did not speak much on the rest of the journey. I spent most of my time watching the city effortlessly flow past me. I had only ridden in a carriage a select few times, which made the sight of the city I would so frequently take hours to explore whisking by me quite the novelty.
Eventually we came upon a bright and tall building, bustling with patrons. Hughes exited the coach, as did I.
His driver left to find a suitable resting place for the horse while we turned to the entrance. Hughes went to the host and spoke a bit with him. After a small amount of conversing, he turned to look at me, then turned back to the man.
Once even further conversation was finished, Hughes gestured for me to enter alongside him. Within little time we were seated, and Hughes commented. “Yes… Not the classiest of establishments, but it will have to do…”
Yet what he said seemed far from the truth to me. In every chair sat a man fully garbed in well-fitting tuxedos, and women in beautiful and undoubtedly expensive dresses. The room itself was white and lavish, with embroidered tablecloths and fine silverware. A stark contrast to the unwashed, unshaven, slightly hungover, ghetto dwelling commoner that was myself.
Within mere moments, a waiter came to our table. He held his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke. “Good evening gentlemen. Firstly, could I interest you in one of our fine wines this evening.”
Hughes had most likely smelled the alcohol on my breath in the carriage, leading him to politely decline. “No thank you. What are tonight’s entrées?”
He nodded. “Well sir, tonight we are serving a small array of dishes. We have bœuf à la Bourguignonne, quiche Lorraine, bouchée à la reine, and Ratatouille.”
Hughes said. “I’ll have the bouchée à la reine, thank you.”
Next, the waiter turned expectantly to me. Every word that came out of the waiter’s mouth was completely foreign, leaving me to resort on the only word I comprehended. “I will… Uh… Have the beef one…”
The waiter stared at me with a blank expression, simply trying to understand how I was even let in to such an establishment. Within a moment, though, his endless smile and cheery façade was restored. “Right away, sirs.”
As we waited for our food, Hughes began making inane conversation. His property business. The up-and-coming enterprise of petroleum. His estate in the country. All conversation that was unimportant and concerned me little. My answers were left to thoughtless agreement and the nodding of my head, all waiting for the food to arrive. And once it did, I ate without restraint. Delicious food, and the first thing I had truly been able to stomach in days.
Hughes continued to make conversation. I ignored him, that was, until he began to discuss topics more towards my interest. “And, you know, I must again apologize for how we first met. I am just not myself without my medication…” He spoke. “I am sure you understand, though. You are also a patient of Dr. Prescott’s, are you not?”
Between large mouthfuls, I replied. “That I am.”
“Well, if you do not mind me asking…” He continued. “How often do you have your appointments. And does the good doctor allow you to take your prescription home?”
I looked up from my food and at Hughes. He had not even touched his meal, and his fingers tapped impatiently on the table. Unlike the unkempt and sharp nails that cut through his flesh days prior, there were no nails at all. Just flesh with a thin white membrane over it. Not one, but all his fingernails were missing this way, meaning it was no accident that ripped his nails from their sockets. “Just once a week… And I am only given my medicine by Dr. Prescott himself… Why?”
He went from tapping his fingers to anxiously scratching the back of his neck, eyes twitching all around the room. “Oh… It is simply because the amount of medication I have been receiving has been reduced recently. As well as that, I have not been allowed to take any back to my home… I was hoping you might have had… More… Of it…”
I went from hunched over my food to sitting with proper posture, sensing the change in the atmosphere from relaxed to highly tense. “No. I am sorry. As far as I was aware Dr. Prescott was the only person qualified to handle the medication…”
His hands traveled back to the table as his feet began anxiously tapping. His hands clenched to the tablecloth as he fidgeted, speaking quicker and with more emotion. “Well, that was once not the case… You know what I think? I think he’s running out. I think he doesn’t have enough medication for us…” Under his breath, in less than a whisper, Hughes spoke again. “Perhaps if you were dead there would be more to go around…”
In shock, I questioned. “What did you say?”
Again, he mumbled, his hands pulling the tablecloth into his fists as veins appeared across his forehead. “Been using all my goddamn medicine…”
In protest I sat straight and spoke loud. “Excuse me!? I haven-“
Slamming his fists against the table and roaring, Hughes released his pent-up rage. “YOU’VE BEEN USING UP ALL MY DAMN MEDICINE!”
The entire restaurant became quiet as the crazed lunatic I had met previously suddenly came back to life. Eyes surrounded us from every angle. Yet, after only a few seconds, the ambient chatter began anew, and all patrons continued with their night like nothing had happened. Small, I responded. “I… I did not even know you existed before that morning…”
Hughes’ entire body was shaking furiously. Once he noticed how violently he tremored, he took a deep breath and dropped his head low. “Oh… Oh, I am so dreadfully sorry… It has been a very stressful week for me… Changes in my medication schedule…”
I cautiously stood from my seat. “I… Understand the feeling… If you do not mind, I believe it is time for me to go home now…”
He cupped his hands around his face, speaking through them after a brief pause. “That is fine… I am so sorry for embarrassing myself once more… So sorry…”
Without hesitation, I left the establishment. I did not care to ride back to my apartment.
I believed I had had enough socialization for one evening…
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