The Master Finale | manxman | (Book Four: The Master Collection)

VI - Love Again, my Love

It was times like these when Timothy wished decisions were always the easiest things to make. For years, he had been alone, having chosen this lonely path to walk without the mere guidance or company of any other. He wasn't a simple man in the slightest, that much anyone who knew him could tell, and while he'd been content with these past lonesome years' life has given to him, there was a light to this darkened tunnel that was trying its damnedest to draw him in. And he wasn't easily swayed either.

Timothy told himself he would much rather spend the last of his days by himself, go about his day in the usual fashions if it meant he wouldn't have to suffer, and so far, since the incident, that's exactly how his life has been. Timothy woke up in the morning, got dressed, tended to the vegetable garden, perhaps took on a request, and then ended up here at Reynolds Parlor.

That was the kind of life he was used to, and while it sometimes called for him to take a loaded gun and pull the trigger, use a blade to carve away someone else's life, or even use his bare hands to do the work he was paid to finish, Timothy saw no wrong in how he lived. Though he never voiced the complaints, he would most certainly give almost anything to make it stop. He didn't want to look into soulless eyes anymore, feel the warmth of foreign blood on his hands, or watch as the body of his next victim was scorched from existence. The problem was...

...Timothy didn't know how to stop.

That was such a foolish thing to say, and Timothy knew it. Who didn't know how to just stop doing something they disapproved of? He hadn't a condition or anyone controlling the fact that he took up these jobs. All in all, Timothy hadn't a good enough excuse as to why he did these things. This blood and death that followed him everywhere he went, the ghostly aftershocks of images that filtered into his consciousness, he'd earned each and every one of them. And that...that was something he wanted to make sure never happened to Jasper. A man who was already bothered by the false hopes that his loved one was still alive; someone like that shouldn't also bear the heavy burden of many more treacherous illusions.

While Timothy sat there at the bar in Reynolds, he considered Jasper Lancechester the kind of man who didn't heed such warnings, and with that consideration in mind, he stood from his stool then and slid his unfinished drink towards Simon.

"So you're going after him?" he was asked.

Without speaking, Timothy started away from the bar and neared the stairs. He had to stop Jasper anyway he could from committing the same mistakes he had. The Master was far too vulnerable of a man to stoop to a level as low as his, and he wanted to make sure nothing of the sort happened.

When he turned to start up the stairwell, Timothy stopped suddenly when Jasper was still there. He was seated on the middle step with his wounded leg outstretched, and was leaned against the side of the wall.

"Jasper," the dark-haired man neared him, a soft furrow in his brow, "Did you hurt yourself?"

The Master looked shamefully down at himself, placing the walking stick across his lap. "No," he sighed tiredly, "I was just taking the time to think about what you said. That, and the stairs wore me out."

"I'm sorry," Timothy held a hand out to him, "Let me help you."

"Actually, do you mind if we just sit here?"

"Not at all."

When Timothy climbed the few steps and took a seat beside Jasper, the two didn't say anything to one another for a moment, but after a minute of gathering his thoughts, the Master glanced to the man beside him, and said, "Last night, can I ask why you were still awake? I have a hard time sleeping while it rains for the noise, and it is even more difficult to read with the thunder."