The creaking brass hinges of the heavy wooden double doors broke Ernest from his self-loathing.
“Please come in, Mr. Solomon. Mr. Jacobs has been expecting you,” the butler said with nothing but emptiness in his eyes. He looked more like a linebacker than a butler; this man weighed three hundred pounds if he weighed an ounce.
As hard as he tried Ernest could conjure no words. His head was spinning and the salt crunched under his feet as he climbed the stairs to the front door. By the third step he realized he left his bag on the sidewalk behind him but he knew if he turned back the urge would be too strong to try to make a break for it.
As he crossed the threshold, the air inside held a different kind of gravity, it was heavier somehow. He knew he was entering a world in which he didn’t belong. The scent of the place was just as he expected a proper English house to smell, the subtle fragrance of fine leather, expensive candles, and generational wealth.
“This way, Sir,” the butler said as Ernie followed him towards the back of the house. Ernie felt the man’s heat signature as he walked three feet behind him.
Ernest’s breath quickened. Beads of cool sweat began to form on his forehead as they approached another doorway leading to a flight of stairs down to the basement. The old wooden stairs groaned, protesting each of the butler’s footsteps as they descended.
“Watch your ‘ead, please. I believe you’ll need it,” the butler whispered, smirking over his shoulder.
The bottom of the staircase opened to the limestone walls of the damp, windowless cellar. Two red velvet wingback chairs were facing one another on a faded red Oriental rug. In one of the chairs sat a dapper man with a perfectly shaped bald head. His legs were crossed at the knee and he wore an impeccably tailored gray suit with brown saddle leather boots polished to a mirror shine.
As the man stood to shake Ernie’s hand he noticed a deep and jagged scar that ran from just above his ear to his chin.
“Welcome to London, Mr. Solomon, I’m Peter Jacobs. Before we begin I must tell you how much I admire your work. I can tell from your writing that you're an honorable man. I told Mr. Cincotti that after I read your book I saw the world in a completely different way. Do you know how rare that is for someone like me? When Harry told me of your troubles I couldn't bear it because I recognize such an immense greatness in you.”
Mr. Jacobs stood so close that could Ernie feel his warm breath on his face. Ernie’s body tensed as Mr. Jacobs rested both hands heavily on Ernie’s shoulders and gave them a firm squeeze, staring him straight in the eyes.
“I’ve developed a great instinct for people. It’s a talent that has served me well in my business. We’re rooting for you.”
As he smiled slightly, the light caught the flash of a gold-capped tooth as he turned on his heel and began to pace back and forth in front of Ernie.
“Anyway, I digress. I’ll be administering the process here today,” he said.
“Let’s run through the terms of our agreement, shall we Mr. Solomon?”
To be continued...(the 4th and final installment of Indentured Solitude will be coming soon!)
~eric vance walton~
Did you miss parts 1 and 2 of Indentured Solitude? If so please click the following links to read them:
Part 1
@ericvancewalton/indentured-solitude-a-short-story-in-4-parts
Part 2
@ericvancewalton/indentured-solitude-an-original-short-story-in-4-parts
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