Faces of the Wind

Chapter 49

A man in a uniform held a bundle of large keys and locked the thick wooden gate. The keys jingled loudly as he did. There was no way out. No way back home. No way anywhere. Adrian felt trapped and oppressed. He could no longer see Arden or Lydia... he could not see Oliver, Bob and Julia... not even his wicked aunt. He was now alone, as he once wished. His aunt always said be careful what you wish for. He knew not a single face of those staring at him. Everything looked grey. He was walking on water... or air—something soft and wobbly. This is just another nightmare, he told himself. This is just a nightmare. Definitely a nightmare. He must wake up.

A young man in a uniform similar to that of the man who locked the gate approached him. His face wasn't bad. Friendly features. "Come with me, Mr.—" he looked at a small notebook in his hand, "Mr. Blackf—" he held the notebook closer to his eyes and squinted, "darn Francis and his poor handwriting!" He snorted in soft laughter.

"Blackford," Adrian said, as if to himself, slowly regaining lucidness.

"Mr. Blackford," the young man smiled, "I am Peter Dolittle. Please, come with me. I'll show you to your room."

"Room?" Adrian's face was overshadowed with confusion.

"Well," he scratched his head, "we prefer not to call them cells. Plenty of unfortunate gentlemen in here."

Peter escorted Adrian to a small stone room. The walls and flooring were all grey and there was what seemed to be a stone bed in a corner. In the middle were a wooden table and two chairs—good ones in comparison with the ones he used at home. There wasn't the smallest hole in the wall to let some sun in. No, there was one. He found it. He had to raise his head to see it.

"You'll be provided with a mattress, a pillow and a blanket in a few minutes," Peter said, standing behind Adrian now, "this came without prior notice, so we didn't have time to make proper arrangements. This room was emptied this morning. Mr. Turner died last night—very peaceful it was—a nice feller."

Adrian turned to look at Peter. "Mr. Turner?"

"The man who occupied this room for almost thirty years," Peter scratched his head, "he had a very large debt, the poor feller. No family to help him, but they did collect his body to give him a proper Christian burial." He crossed himself.

"I'll leave you now," he added then walked to the door.

"Are you going to lock that?" Adrian's voice was now louder.

Peter turned. "What? This door?" He smiled, "No, certainly not."

"So I'm free to leave this room?"

"By all means." He left and closed the door behind him.

Adrian, feeling very weak at the knees, sat on the hard floor, and his head fell forward between his shoulders. His father always said if you fear something so much, rest assured it will happen. It has happened. But why? Why hasn't Edgar warned—or threatened—him? Shouldn't there be a trial? Arden will be sorry she wed him. She has definitely been regretting it for a while. Now, she will leave him for sure. He has brought her nothing but shame and pain. She left her family when they were no longer good for her, why not leave him? It was that easy for her. After all, he was of no importance—like a drop of water in the ocean... like a sand particle on the beach. Someone who existed on the margins and was never truly of importance. He was once important to one man, and that man apparently came to regret it later in his life. Why should anyone pay his huge debt—the debt into which he got himself while drunk and idle. That money should go into something important... more important than the freedom of a reckless fool. Maybe the world would be better off with him locked up.