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His fingertips brushed against the sapphire glaze of the cup’s handle. He allowed himself to ponder the action he was about to willfully start. Thankfully the corridor was empty, he could stare at the door as much as he wanted, as a vessel for his thoughts. Finally he curled his fist up and stroke at the yellow glass panel with his knuckles.
Silence screamed back at him. The seconds were long and a thought planted itself inside of his head that maybe this was a call to leave this case and go back to open his own door. Despite this - he knocked again.
“Who’s there?” A voice belonging to a very annoyed person spoke from inside of the room he was trying to access. He drummed his fingers on the ceramic handle again.
“Mike.” He spoke, awaiting the verdict of the room’s inhabitant.
There was a minute of what Mike could only guess was consideration. “The door’s unlocked.” The voice rasped, as if trying to suspend a groan.
He pressed the heavy cast iron knob. The door creaked upon opening. Just like every other thing in this Manor it was tasteful, but very old. He walked inside, immediately noticing the only source of light was a small lamp placed on the bedside table. Even in this scarce illumination he could see a bit of the room, he looked with curiosity. Every room in the Manor was the same upon their arrival, but there were no rules such as ‘you shall not move the furniture and decorate by your own means’. Mike took it as a free pass, but as observed the inhabitant of this particular room did not. An average sized bed with one bedside table, both made from dark oak wood. On the right a desk with a cushioned chair, on the left: a wardrobe. One potted plant in the corner and a beautiful carpet that had seen better days. The desk, though, was occupied by an impressive collection of various rocks. Mike regretted not having better light at the moment. Heavy and dirty work boots laid on the floor next to the bed and their owner was lying on it.
“Why did ‘ya come?” The man asked, not caring about politeness or any general rules of treating another person. He only lifted his head on the pillows to glance at him and furrowed the one eyebrow that survived whatever had burnt some of his skin off.
Mike quickly came back to reality from his trail of thought and pointed towards the cup. “I brought you tea. Chamomile, it helps with anxiety and sleep, did you know that? I knew a person who was good with herbs, she told me it has very helpful qualities.” He smiled in a way only Mike could and approached the bed.
There wasn’t even a hint of trust in those burnt umber eyes. The man quietly fixed the pillow and after a while stopped even looking in Mike’s direction. He concentrated on the white ceiling. “Put it on the table.”
He obliged, placing the hot cup on the spot where varnish had worn off in a circle shape. Unexpectedly the lying man spoke again.
“Answer me again. ‘Ya simply wanted to give me tea, yeah?” He mocked, crossing his arms on his chest. One was marked with another patch of charred skin, likewise a finger affected by it lacked a nail.
“Short answer yes, long answer no.” He spoke vaguely. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Short answer no.” His voice was harsh like sandpaper scraping on a pumice stone.
Mike folded one of his legs under himself and sat down on the edge of the bed. Its owner’s face remained unchanged - eyebrow still furrowed, eyes narrow, lips tightly shut into a sharp line. A fresh scar marked the lower lip, another cut on the cheekbone. Mike let the other leg dangle in the air. “Are you alright?” He asked, reading that face.
The man sent him a nasty glare, like Mike’s sight was poisonous to him. He could see how the room owner’s adam’s apple moved when he swallowed. He opened his lips a little early before speaking. “Are people talking? Be honest for fuck’s sake.” He added upon seeing Mike’s eyes drift away.
“Yes. You know how bored everyone is, it’s a perfect condition for any news to spread like wildfire.” Mike shrugged, playing with the ruffle on his wrist. It had a bit of dried blood he couldn’t scrub off.
“Goddammit.” He commented simply, sighing from deep within his chest. He lifted both his arms up to rub his face, consequently hiding it from Mike’s view.
“I think you should stop caring about what they have to say. Why is it important if they’re talking about you? Let them, they don’t have greater joys in life.” He moved his shoulders up and down once again.
The man mumbled something incoherent. After a second of quiet he said something, though it wasn’t clear if it was a repetition or a new sentence. “I have a pack of cigs in the drawer. Give me one, ‘ya can get one too for all I care.”
Mike took out a beaten-down carton and selected two of the better rolled cigarettes. They were fat and weirdly shaped. Mike only smoked twice, or maybe (scandalously enough, even) thrice in his life, but this weirdly seemed like a request to do it together. So he grabbed the lighter. Ever since that one particular day Mike still had an aversion to fire. He looked to the side while lighting up the cigarettes.
The other caught that, raising his non-existent second eyebrow. He grabbed the cig handed to him with a “Thank ‘ya.” only a decibel above a whisper. He inhaled the smoke with his eyes closed. Something close to relief washed over his face and its muscles relaxed for a moment.
Mike exhaled, the smoke escaping his lips and making its lazy way to the ajar window. “So, are you okay Norton? You haven’t answered.” He felt like he was pointing out the obvious but it was necessary to get something out of the man.
Norton looked as if he was in pain from having to even consider this question. He bit down on his cigarette. “I suppose.”
Mike placed his cigarette between two fingers and rested the hand holding it on his knee. “You got me worried I admit. It may be silly, you barely ever speak to me, but it is what it is. I heard you don’t let people in. You let me in, that’s a good start and I just want to know if you’re feeling better.” While speaking he gesticulated with the other, in his fashion. “People like to talk and not intervene. If I can help by any chance I’m going to try, passiveness is a plague that kills.”
“‘Ya can lay down.” He seemed to ignore the speech, inhaling again, taking pleasure in the way the smoke flooded his brittle lungs.
A strange request, he thought, but Mike laid down anyway. They were both on their backs, silently observing the still ceiling and going through their cigs. Mike watched in shock as Norton put his one out on the charred skin on his forearm.
“I lost feelin’ in it.” He explained, slightly amused from his reaction.
Until Mike finished his cigarette they remained in complete silence, only broken by the noises of owls seeping in through the window. He put it out on his belt. The leather went through a lot already, similar to Norton’s skin.
“I get how you feel.” Mike attempted to start over, only receiving a laugh-like exhale from the man next to him. “Right, I k n o w how you feel.”
“Sure, Morton.” Norton sneered, really contemplating lighting another one.
“No, I truly do.” He turned to the side, resting his head on his hand and curling up one leg. He observed the curves of Norton’s profile, especially on his aquiline nose. The black piercing, or whatever it was, stood out on it in the darkness. “I also had to take part in a game in a place I knew and didn’t want to see again.”
“What?” Norton turned his head, his eyes widening barely. “I never heard of it.”
“People talk if you give them the slightest anchor point, so I don’t.” He looked at the other man’s confused face before elaborating. “I made sure no one was around me and when they were I hid what I was feeling.”
Norton commented on that with meaningful silence. He stared at his hands instead of the ceiling now. “How?” He asked quietly, almost shyly. His voice lost the rough aspect for a split second, long enough to make Mike consider what more could be buried inside.
“It takes effort to develop. I’m a showman, I know a great deal of acting. Used to be, anyway.” He smiled compassionately at Norton, the inner ends of his eyebrows moving up. “So I do know how you feel. I didn’t want to be alone in my cesspool and I guess neither do you, correct?”
He didn’t respond, instead he also turned to the side. Their eyes met, they laid face to face.
“Words are sharper than the two-edged sword, you know? It’s a sentiment I’ve always found true. Talking about your issues is cutting them in half. I can bear some of your weight, so that your shoulders will rest.” He spoke softly, not breaking eye contact despite the temptation to do so.
Norton clenched his hand, digging fingernails into the burn marks on his arm. His cold gaze didn’t change, with great effort behind such a result. “I don’t want ‘ya doin’ charity work for me.” His attitude screamed I DON’T WANT PITY, I’M NOT PITIFUL, THERE’S NOTHING FOR YOU TO FIX, IT’S ME, MY LIFE, MINE! But his eyes had this deep somber in them that Mike knew could be cared for with enough trial and error. And if he could, he would. He knew it had to be him, Norton had to let him in.
“I’m not doing this because I feel bad for you, I-” Mike’s words were disrupted by a cough.
“We can make a deal. ‘Ya will take the weight off my back or whatever but…I can listen to ‘ya too. Whenever needed.” He scratched the back of his neck, unsure if his proposal was appropriate, if he would regret it.
Mike didn’t move at all, instead his pupils noticeably dilated. “A deal’s a deal.” He reached his arm out to shake his hand. Norton didn’t quite get it, he grabbed his hand lightly and - did not let go. He laid on his back again, feeling as if the hard task would be easier if eye contact was not mandatory. Mike’s hand in his rough palm.
“I used to work in that mine we ended up at. For a very long time.”
“I grew up in a miner town, I was the son of a miner, who was the son of a miner, who was a son of a miner. I never got anything above basic education.”
“'I'm sure ‘ya can see it, can’tcha ? They say I talk like a brute, no manners or whatever.”
“I worked since I could pick up a pickaxe. It ruined my lungs, I have to carry that jackass inhaler with me everywhere. It ruined my life. I…”
“I want to live a better life.”
“Hhhhhh. Sorry. I worked there for years, my parents died and I still worked there. Once I thought I had a chance at…climbing the ladder? I had a plan.”
“That plan killed people. Freak accident. I, uh, came out with just scratches compared to my coworkers. I.”
“God.”
“I feel like I should be in the dirt next to them, y’know? And I shield myself from that. I try to not, uh, think about it. It won’t bring them back. But that fuckin’ match. That match.”
“‘Ya say ‘ya know. When it reaches the brain it- ‘ya can’t escape. There’s nowhere to go. And ‘ya have the whole match to carry.”
“To be honest I didn’t want ‘ya to see me like that. No one, matter of fact.”
“I didn’t want ‘ya to help me out. I wanted to…”
“Disappear?”
“I never thought I’d see that place again. I wasn’t prepared. If I knew I…don’t know, I would do s o m e t h i n g about it.”
“I was like a zoo exhibit to Martha and goddamn Kevin. Staring until their eyes would fall out if we didn’t escape. Mh.”
“You didn’t. If any of them knocked I wouldn’t let them in, y’know.”
“I always just wanted to live a better life. I don’t understand why this had to be me. People have thousands, millions, they can throw them into a bonfire if they just wanted to. I had to dig out every penny with my bare fingers from quicksand, mud and stone. I don’t, I’ll never understand why it just had to me. Am I perfect for the role? I, hhhhh, if it wasn’t me I wouldn’t even be here now. I wouldn’t, hhrrrhghh, I wouldn’t fall for this death trap by a shiny lure. I wish, ghhnmmhh…..”
Norton lifted his forearm, uncovering his eyes and coming back to reality. Mike was still there, on his side, looking at him. His eyes looked like they were glazed and in terror Norton realized his felt strangely wet too. He didn’t even notice how hard he was squeezing Mike’s hand in the midst of his monologue. He uttered a quick apology and let go, sitting up on the bed and taking the cup of not-so-warm tea into his shaking hands.
After a moment Mike sat up as well, leaning his back against the wood. “I wonder ‘Why me?’ as well. It takes a toll, hm?”
Norton nodded, trying to drink the beverage. His breath was unsteady. More and more irregular. His heart rate picked up and he was sure he was going to either freeze in place or run out of this room. Both results would make him so ashamed of himself he would probably never speak to Mike again. But the man proceeded to grab onto his arm.
“What’s that smell? Do you feel it?” He asked out of the blue.
“What s…mell?” He asked, trying to focus on the source of said smell. Even more strange: he couldn’t feel anything in the air. He looked at Mike with a silent question, only then he noticed he was breathing normally again and his shiver stopped.
“Works like a dream doesn’t it?” He smiled in a way only Mike could. “When you get distracted your body kind of forgets that it was supposed to panic.” He soothingly dragged his palm across Norton’s arm and shoulder. He eventually put it on his back, swiping circles onto it. “How are you now?”
“I feel…lighter.” He searched for the word. He took another cautious look at Mike.
“Better than before?” He didn’t stop, which Norton was silently grateful for. “Maybe the chamomile worked.” Mike joked.
“Mhm.” Norton grunted, staring ahead of himself.
“If I hear someone spread the story about our match I’m going to delicately tell them to keep their mouth shut.” He promised, rubbing his shoulder-blade until its tension dropped. He looked into the burnt umber and went as far as to brush his long fingers against the scarred cheek before retracting his arm.
“I’ll get going now, unless you want or need me to stay?”
“‘Ya can go.”
“I can make you more herbs. Or deliver something to eat? You missed dinner.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I get the innuendo.”
Mike slowly got up from the bed. He looked down at the Prospector, who looked up at the Acrobat.
“Mike?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you…for the tea.”
“I got a whole lot of it, remember.”
As soon as he was alone Norton tugged off his clothes and crawled under his bedsheets. Before there was no unusual smell in his room, now one pillow had a scent of someone who uses bombs to juggle. He brought the pillow closer to himself, eventually hugging it tight. He closed his eyes to drown in the warmth of sleep and comfort of not unpacking the hard feelings he had to experience.
Mike gently closed the old door with a smile on his face. There was a way in, albeit a crawlspace. But any way would be good enough for someone who wanted to try it out. He had to succeed. He wanted to see Norton live that better life. He would see it, by his side. His heart was clear on that part, as it struggled to stay in his chest. He walked back to his room with his hand pressing onto the left side of his torso.
To contain it.